7 I Receive a Commission

The coloured boy awoke me at the usual time the next morning, and though still tired and sleepy I went to breakfast. That was the period when we ate heavy and hearty breakfasts and had no complaint to make. I had a big cup of coffee, hot bread, toast soaked in butter, fat cheese, and slices of ham and hung beef, the customary Washington breakfast of the time, and as I ate them, one after another, my condition as a man improved steadily.

Then I hastened to the Treasury, and when Mr. Gallatin arrived said to him at once that I had something of importance to tell him.

“I hope it’s not political, Philip,” he said humorously.

“But it is, Mr. Gallatin,” I replied.

He looked sorrowful, as if something else would be a relief, but told me to go on. Then I produced the maps and notes and explained how I had obtained them. I said that I was very reluctant to inform against my own kinsman, but I believed I ought to do it.

“You have decided wisely and honourably,” he said.

“Major Northcote is an able and dangerous man. Of course we will have to send him away now, whatever the British Government may say about it, and we would have done so sooner had so good an excuse been given to us. As you saw the other night, we are on tenter-hooks and have to be extremely careful. But we are hoping for better relations before long with England, and that she will make some sort of atonement for her outrages. At least, we are to receive a minister from that country soon, as you know they have had nobody here since we sent away that intolerable Jackson.”

He said nothing more to me about the matter, but I heard the next day that Major Gilbert Northcote of the British legation had been notified by the Government that he would no longer be recognised in any official capacity, and the Government trusted that he would see the propriety of leaving Washington at once. Major Northcote saw the propriety, so he was reported to have said, and prepared for instant departure. I did not expect to see him again, but he called on me that evening at my room and bade me a polite adieu. I replied in like manner, and he left. Mercer told me the next day that I was well rid of an evil friend, but while I felt some satisfaction over his departure I was sorry that some other than myself had not been the cause of it. This, too, I found to be Marian’s view of the case when next I saw her, though she had no blame for me.

I was somewhat surprised two days later, as I was about to leave our office, when our chief, for so I called Mr. Gallatin, asked me to visit him at his room that night. “It is important,” he said, and impressed by his manner I hastened my supper and was in front of the house in which he boarded at least half an hour before the appointed time. I walked up and down the street to pass that period of waiting, and when it had expired knocked at his door.

The Secretary was writing at a little desk, and his only light was a tallow candle. He seemed to live night and day among his parchments and other papers. He received me quite hospitably and cheerfully, and came at once to the point he had in mind, though I liked his introductory words but little.

“Philip,” he said, “you have been a good clerk for me, but I am going to give you other work to do now.”

I was surprised, but I said nothing.

“You are curious,” he said, “but I will not keep your curiosity waiting. We are going to send you on a journey, a long one.”

“When do you wish me to go?” I asked.

“To-morrow,” he said. “You will perhaps be surprised when I explain to you what your new duties are to be. Sit down there, because it will take me some time to tell you.”

I took the chair that he had indicated and waited in much wonder.

“I am about to give you a very important task for one so young and without great experience,” he said, speaking in a tone of the utmost seriousness, “but it is partly because you are young and inexperienced that you have been selected, as much by the President as myself.”

My wonder increased, but still I said nothing.

“You know, Philip, the extremely precarious situation of this Government and people. We are in danger of being crushed to death by the rival powers of England and France, which have arrayed one half of Europe against the other half, and we are plundered and robbed by both. It begins to be evident that we must fight, despite all the sacrifices that we have made and humiliations that we have endured to avoid it, and it is England whom we will have to choose as our foe. But, unfortunately, we are not united among ourselves. We are sixteen or eighteen petty republics, each with its own interests, and several combining to form sectional groups. The national or common Government is weak, and no one knows whether it can hold together under the shock of war. The West is, and long has been, eager for the contest. New England, which has suffered most from the rapacity and arrogance of Great Britain, is nevertheless against the war, because she thinks, and probably thinks correctly, that her great commerce will be ruined by the English fleet, which will outnumber our own at least forty or fifty to one, and is but little needed in Europe, owing to the destruction of the Continental navies at the Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar. We do not even know that New England would help us should we declare war, nor do we know what position the great and wealthy State of New York will take. Pennsylvania, we are sure, will go with the West and South, but that alone is not sufficient. We invite a quick and crushing defeat by going into the war without New England and New York. Even with them our chance is desperate, without a navy, without a regular army, without military supplies, without money, with a Government that has not yet been tested, with a sparse population scattered over vast areas, without any of the resources of war except the raw material of human flesh and bones which will have to be drawn from immense distances and beaten into something like military shape by defeats. The best that we can hope for is defeat first and victory afterward, instead of defeat first and defeat afterward and always.”

He made this long speech with slowness and deliberation.

“I hope that you have listened to every word, and that you fully understand,” he said.

“I think I do.”

“Well, you see that it is of the greatest importance to the Government to learn the exact state of feeling in New York and New England, not merely of a few leading men, but among the great mass of the public. Prominent and wealthy men, as a rule, know only the feelings of those in like position. But we want to know what the masses and young men think, and especially what the young men would most likely do, for it is they who always fight the wars. Now, we have chosen you as one of those who are to go and find out for us. Don’t hunt up the politicians. If you hear of any man who is called prominent, whose name appears frequently in the newspapers, avoid him. These are the men who may bring on wars, but they rarely fight them. Go among the young men of your own age; be a good fellow with them. Go into good society; you have a good appearance, decent manners, and you are of a good family. We will give you letters. Talk to the women as much as you can, especially to handsome or witty ones. They have far more influence than you think in bringing about declarations of war or peace.”

He spoke with much earnestness, and I was impressed. Moreover, my enthusiasm began to rise. Here was a mission which would be both important and agreeable, a coincidence which seldom happens.

“Go around, too, among the poorer people,” he continued, “day labourers and others—stray out among the farmers and talk with them all. Let them think you are a mere traveller for pleasure, then they will talk freely to you, where they would be reserved with a public man. They will disguise nothing from you.”

“When do you wish me to start?” I asked.

“In two days,” he said. “Come here to-morrow evening, and I will give you letters and some money. I will announce that you have resigned and gone North and East to see our great cities and complete your knowledge of the world.”

“Can not I tell my father the exact facts?” I asked. I was afraid when he heard of my departure that he would think I had been in some trouble.

“Yes, you may do that,” said the Secretary, “but caution him to keep your information to himself. We can trust him, I know. I think you had better take passage by the stagecoach line, as you will attract less attention in that manner than if you were to go horseback. You can spend two or three days in Philadelphia, a little longer in New York, and then go on to Boston. Boston is the point from which we are most anxious to obtain accurate information, and on your return journey we want you to make a long stop in New York. Now, good night, and think well over your plans.”

I did not forget to thank him for what I deemed a great honour, and I left the room full of joyful anticipations. It was a relief to me to escape from office work, and then such a mission to the great towns, in such a capacity, contained the promise of many and varied experiences. It was finer fortune than I had any right to expect, and I wanted to raise my voice and give a shout for my good luck. But the saving sense of gravity intervened, and my thoughts turned from my own good luck to our difficulties.

I went to my room, and there wrote a long letter to my father, describing all my interview with Mr. Gallatin, down to the last word. I finished the letter, sealed it, and addressed it. I knew it would please my father. It would bring back his own youth, and he would be proud of me. I could think that without egotism.

The writing done, I began to pack, which was not a long or tedious task. I put all my clothing in a small leather trunk which had been taken by my father from New York to Kentucky, and given by him to me. I also put in a large pistol and some ammunition. One can never tell what is going to happen in strange places and in troubled times. All these things finished, it was near midnight, and I had time to reflect that as I was not to start until the day after to-morrow it was not worth while to lose sleep.

I went to the office the next morning and worked as usual, but when I went out after my dinner I found that Mr. Gallatin had already announced my resignation and my forthcoming Eastern tour for the purpose of broadening my mind with a knowledge of the great world.

“Is it really true, Phil,” asked Mercer, who sat in his usual seat beside me, “that you have resigned and are going East to improve your mind?”

“It’s a fact, Tom,” I replied.

“Perhaps you are not going wholly at your own expense,” he said, looking me squarely in the eye. “You have always been a lucky man, Phil; lucky in many things.”

A little sadness appeared in his tone as he spoke the last words, and I was silent.

Both Bidwell and Cyrus Pendleton congratulated me on my coming journey, and enlarged on the pleasures I would find in the Eastern cities, but neither was able to hide from me the sense of relief that he felt at my departure, though I gave no hint in reply that I understood.

I saw Marian the evening before I left, and I let her divine that my going from Washington at this time was not altogether of my own choice. Perhaps she needed no suggestion from me to tell her this.

“I hope,” I said, “that when I return I will find everything here unchanged.”

“Everything will be unchanged,” she said, meeting my gaze firmly.

Then she gave me the pressure of her hand, and I said good-bye, going away secure in the belief that one woman’s hopes would accompany me on my travels, something that every man should wish to have.

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