Free The Titans by John Jakes Page A

hoarse, whispery voice-a voice ruined by too many cigars-Secretary of State William Seward kept up a nonstop conversation. Seward was tall, stooped, and in his sixties. Lincoln had scored a coup by persuading his former opponent to join his cabinet. Some said Seward had already attempted to increase his personal power by offering to assume the burdens of presidential decision-making. Jephtha had never seen the provocative memorandum in which the offer had reportedly been made. But he understood Lincoln had thanked Seward and politely said no. Yet as far as Jephtha could learn, Seward and the Chief Executive still respected one another and were becoming close personal friends. Seward acknowledged Jephtha's presence with a reedy rasp. The actual words were indistinguishable as he rushed past with his entourage. Ten minutes later Jephtha emerged from State, having satisfied himself that his customary sources of rumor and half-truth were indeed no longer talking. His contact had been exceedingly nervous-r-and had twice referred to the small number of militia companies guarding Washington. Jephtha began to think the specter of Southern invasion might be more real than anyone wanted to admit. He neared several Treasury clerks who had paused to shoo a flock of clucking geese. As he passed, he heard one of the clerks growl: "comdamn fools to go after Sumter that way. If they try to fight us we'll have them whipped by the time Old Abe's ninety-day conscripts are due to go home." Jephtha left through the gate of President's Park and once more started across the traffic-thronged mire of 788An Oath Registered in Heaven" Pennsylvania Avenue. He didn't believe the clerk was right. He wasn't sure the President held the same opinion either. As he'd told Nicolay, the Southern people could never be accused of cowardice. That turned his thoughts back to his three sons. Gideon, the eldest, would be eighteen in June. Matthew was but a year younger. Jeremiah, thank heaven, was not yet fifteen. But what if the older boys decided to enlist in one of the militia units that had been drilling throughout the South for months? Damn! He wished-he knew where the boys were. He wished he and Fan hadn't parted so bitterly. But she was as loyal to her convictions as he was to his. Fan and the boys were seldom out of Jephtha's mind for more than a few hours. He always thought of his sons with longing-and of his former wife with anger. Her behavior over the past nine years occasionally drove him into violent rages that upset his relationship with Molly, the diswoman with whom he'd been living for better than twelve months. No use working himself into a fury now, he decided. He had a problem to solve. What sort of dispatch could he file to satisfy Theo Payne? As he dodged carriages on the avenue, he peered at his hastily written notes. He had nothing solid to send to New York. Much of what Lincoln had told him in private was already widely known. Jephtha's lack of copy would infuriate Payne on two counts. The editor wanted only fresh material. And preferably the kind in which Lincoln, or someone in the administration, fulminated against Southern "traitors." Long an abolitionist even more ardent than Jephtha himself, Payne considered the President not sufficiently hostile in his attitude toward the new-Confederacy. The gag order now in force in the government departments made further foraging there almost useless. But Payne would still expect a dispatch late today or early The Titans79 tomorrow. What the hell could he send except the news of the Douglas endorsement-which everyone else would have too? Feeling increasingly frustrated, he jostled his way along the crowded plank sidewalk on the north side of the avenue. His destination was Willard's Hotel, one of the cockpits for Washington gossip. There, with breakfast and a little liquid refreshment to inspire him, he might find a way out of his professional predicament. For the riddle of the whereabouts of his sons