...this post will contain something.
Go Namtla! Listening to the Steelers/Redskins game because if the Steelers win, then so will Obama. It's true: http://tinyurl.com/5lvvbq
Shall I copy and paste another excerpt? Okeydokey. I kinda like this one. One thing that's been cool is that when I've needed a character, I just mine the history and find one.... And sometimes they work out really well. Like John Bell might well have been like I write him.... But probably not. But really -- today I was writing about Lincoln "walking three doors down to his friend's house" and later I was looking for the name of a Lincoln friend. Turned out his buddy Jesse K. Dubois did live 3 doors away from Lincoln in Springfield. So convenient! ALSO, Lincoln snubbed Dubois for any political position after he was elected, making Dubois a great candidate for later nefariousnessity.
Springfield, Illinois
August 23rd, 1859
It had been unusually dry and hot that summer, across southern Illinois. Usually there was no lack of rain but this year, the spring rains hadn’t come, leaving the roads dusty, the creeks low, and farmers worried about their crops. Wells ran dry.
Lincoln left his office around one in the afternoon, intending to take his midday meal at an eatery near the State House. As he crossed the causeway, a carriage stopped suddenly before him, impeding his way. Lincoln stopped, staring at the side of the vehicle, uncharacteristic ire at the rudeness of the driver rising in his mind. It passed quickly, and he was turning to walk around the carriage when the door opened revealing the dark interior.
“Get in,” said a voice with a heavy German accent.
Lincoln squinted, trying to make out any details of the indistinct shapes within. He could see two people – two men – but the sun was at such an angle that it reflected off a building across the street, and contrasting with the dark interior of the carriage, it was impossible to glean anything more.
“I would rather not,” Lincoln said, turning to walk away again.
“I think you should,” said the voice. “Your country needs you, and I’m not a man who you want to refuse.”
Although Lincoln had an innate distrust of strangers, especially those who attempted to gather him into a dark coach, he was intrigued. His failed candidacies for both the Vice Presidential nomination in 1856 and for the House of Representatives just two years prior had left him without a means to pursue his political aspirations.
“Come, Mister Lincoln,” said another voice – a familiar voice. “We mean you no ill will. We just want to take a little ride.”
His curiosity getting the better of him, Lincoln pulled himself into the carriage and sat opposite the two men.
The carriage door closed behind him and with window curtains drawn, the interior was as dark as it had appeared from outside. As his eyes adjusted, Lincoln felt the plush velvet covered seat beneath him, smelled stale tobacco and whiskey, signs of opulence and comfortable living. He coughed involuntarily. The carriage began to move down the street.
“What’s all this about then?” he asked. His eyes had adjusted sufficiently to make out that he was seated across from two men, one younger than he, one older. The man on the right – the younger of the two – was smartly dressed in a European-cut suit, and had a slightly menacing air to him.
The man on the right, Lincoln recognized. It was John Bell, former Secretary of War, former Speaker of the House, and current Senator from Tennessee. Lincoln didn’t know the man well, but knew of him.
“Do you recognize me, son?” Bell asked, his southern drawl tempered by years of mingling with the Washington elite.
“You are John Bell,” Lincoln replied. “Yes, I recognize you. How do you do, sir?”
“I am well,” Bell said. He indicated the man to his left. “This is my man, Albert Konigmacher.”
“How do you do, Mr. Lincoln?” Konigmacher asked.
“How do you do?”
Bell continued. “I apologize that I was forced to implement such underhanded tactics. I assure you that under other circumstances, I would have called upon you as a gentleman would.”
“Under what circumstances do we find ourselves?” Lincoln asked.
“These are trying times, Mr. Lincoln. Our nation is at a crossroads. We stand divided, and we all know that a nation divided can not stand.”
“Things do look grave indeed,” Lincoln said.
“Grave!” Bell shouted. “A grave is what we shall all lie in if these troubles are not ended. The South speaks of secession but will not compromise. Those in the North can’t get their heads out of their asses – pardon my language, sir – can’t get their heads out of their asses for long enough to see it.” He paused a moment. “Excuse my outburst, sir.”
“Think nothing of it,” Lincoln said. “I understand and share your passion, Mr. Bell, but what would you have me do?”
“You debated Douglas well. I regret I did not personally witness the speeches, but my agents reported to me favorably on your efforts.”
“Little good they did me. I failed election,” Lincoln said glumly.
“Perhaps you failed in that so that you might claim a larger prize,” Bell said.
“Of what do you speak?”
“I’m talking about the Presidency, son,” Bell said. “The Presidency.”
Lincoln shook his head. “One doesn’t go from failure to failure to succeeding at the greatest office.”
“One can. You can. You will.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“There will be four candidates. You will be the Repubicans’ representative. The Southern Dems will choose Breck – who is an ass, by the way – and the Northerners will take Mr. Douglas.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I am quite adept at reading between the lines. And also at reading lines that others would rather I hadn’t access to.”
Lincoln considered this. “You said there would be four candidates.”
“Yes, that fourth is me.”
“You, sir?”
“Yes, me,” Bell replied. “The Whigs are desperate to stay relevant, and they will choose me to lead the charge. I have been around for long enough that they know that I know what I am doing. I have enough friends in Washington to make it happen.”
“Then why would you have me run against you? Why would you have me win?”
“Because he can’t,” Konigmacher interjected.
“Sir?” Lincoln asked, surprised at the blunt response.
“It’s true, Mr. Lincoln,” Bell said. “I simply won’t be able to carry enough of the country in order to win. Without a fourth candidate to split the vote, Douglas will win. Breckenridge will carry the South, have no doubt about that, but these days, that simply does not mean shit – pardon my language again. It is the North that elects presidents. It is Pennsylvania and New York and Ohio that chooses our leaders.”
“And Douglas would win those versus you?”
“Without question.”
Lincoln sat back, digesting this. He lifted the curtain slightly, letting a modicum of light into the carriage. He saw that their route had been a circuitous one and that they were scarcely as far from their origin as he might have walked in the same amount of time.
“Mr. Lincoln,” Konigmacher started. “Douglas can not win. He is a hypocrite and a liar. The worst kind of politician.”
“I thought that was the only kind of politician,” Lincoln replied.
Bell laughed. “You’re far too young to be so jaded, Mr. Lincoln. You are a good man, and you are a good politician. You know me to be the same, or so I hope.”
“I know that you were one of two Southern Senators to vote against Kansas-Nebraska.”
“And you know that Douglas supported the measure; that he wrote that measure. And you know that he cares not about the abolition of slavery, that he would put it to the people of each Territory to decide upon the future of slavery. He would have us be a country united in name only, but with thirty-three nation-states each left to their own devices, deciding upon slavery this week, the consumption of alcohol the next and the right to carry a pistol in public the week after that.” Bell took a deep breath and continued. “If a man was unhappy with the laws in his state, he could simply leave and move to his neighbor. I say, if they are unhappy with the laws in this nation, let them leave and move to another. What then, is the point of this country we have created, if nothing else but to awkwardly carry this bundle of disjointed states from one place to the next? We are too young, sir. We are too young – not yet one hundred now – and too weak to allow this division to continue.”
“You know me to be an abolitionist,” Lincoln said. “Does it not bother you as a Southern gentleman to put me forward as President?”
“I will be honest, sir: I do not care for abolitionists. Yet, it is more important to me that we decide this issue as a nation. Put forward the notion of abolishing slavery and let us all decide upon it. I shall not have the Independent Nation of Kansas, or of Nebraska, or Washington standing apart, spending their own currency and speaking their own damnable national language!” He pounded his fist on the sidewall of the carriage.
“And you believe me to be the one who can keep this nation from falling apart?”
Bell chuckled. “Not at all, son. But there’s not a man on this planet who could do that.”
“Then why?” Lincoln asked.
“Because I believe that you’re the one who can put the damn thing back together.”
Springfield, Illinois
August 23rd, 1859
It had been unusually dry and hot that summer, across southern Illinois. Usually there was no lack of rain but this year, the spring rains hadn’t come, leaving the roads dusty, the creeks low, and farmers worried about their crops. Wells ran dry.
Lincoln left his office around one in the afternoon, intending to take his midday meal at an eatery near the State House. As he crossed the causeway, a carriage stopped suddenly before him, impeding his way. Lincoln stopped, staring at the side of the vehicle, uncharacteristic ire at the rudeness of the driver rising in his mind. It passed quickly, and he was turning to walk around the carriage when the door opened revealing the dark interior.
“Get in,” said a voice with a heavy German accent.
Lincoln squinted, trying to make out any details of the indistinct shapes within. He could see two people – two men – but the sun was at such an angle that it reflected off a building across the street, and contrasting with the dark interior of the carriage, it was impossible to glean anything more.
“I would rather not,” Lincoln said, turning to walk away again.
“I think you should,” said the voice. “Your country needs you, and I’m not a man who you want to refuse.”
Although Lincoln had an innate distrust of strangers, especially those who attempted to gather him into a dark coach, he was intrigued. His failed candidacies for both the Vice Presidential nomination in 1856 and for the House of Representatives just two years prior had left him without a means to pursue his political aspirations.
“Come, Mister Lincoln,” said another voice – a familiar voice. “We mean you no ill will. We just want to take a little ride.”
His curiosity getting the better of him, Lincoln pulled himself into the carriage and sat opposite the two men.
The carriage door closed behind him and with window curtains drawn, the interior was as dark as it had appeared from outside. As his eyes adjusted, Lincoln felt the plush velvet covered seat beneath him, smelled stale tobacco and whiskey, signs of opulence and comfortable living. He coughed involuntarily. The carriage began to move down the street.
“What’s all this about then?” he asked. His eyes had adjusted sufficiently to make out that he was seated across from two men, one younger than he, one older. The man on the right – the younger of the two – was smartly dressed in a European-cut suit, and had a slightly menacing air to him.
The man on the right, Lincoln recognized. It was John Bell, former Secretary of War, former Speaker of the House, and current Senator from Tennessee. Lincoln didn’t know the man well, but knew of him.
“Do you recognize me, son?” Bell asked, his southern drawl tempered by years of mingling with the Washington elite.
“You are John Bell,” Lincoln replied. “Yes, I recognize you. How do you do, sir?”
“I am well,” Bell said. He indicated the man to his left. “This is my man, Albert Konigmacher.”
“How do you do, Mr. Lincoln?” Konigmacher asked.
“How do you do?”
Bell continued. “I apologize that I was forced to implement such underhanded tactics. I assure you that under other circumstances, I would have called upon you as a gentleman would.”
“Under what circumstances do we find ourselves?” Lincoln asked.
“These are trying times, Mr. Lincoln. Our nation is at a crossroads. We stand divided, and we all know that a nation divided can not stand.”
“Things do look grave indeed,” Lincoln said.
“Grave!” Bell shouted. “A grave is what we shall all lie in if these troubles are not ended. The South speaks of secession but will not compromise. Those in the North can’t get their heads out of their asses – pardon my language, sir – can’t get their heads out of their asses for long enough to see it.” He paused a moment. “Excuse my outburst, sir.”
“Think nothing of it,” Lincoln said. “I understand and share your passion, Mr. Bell, but what would you have me do?”
“You debated Douglas well. I regret I did not personally witness the speeches, but my agents reported to me favorably on your efforts.”
“Little good they did me. I failed election,” Lincoln said glumly.
“Perhaps you failed in that so that you might claim a larger prize,” Bell said.
“Of what do you speak?”
“I’m talking about the Presidency, son,” Bell said. “The Presidency.”
Lincoln shook his head. “One doesn’t go from failure to failure to succeeding at the greatest office.”
“One can. You can. You will.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“There will be four candidates. You will be the Repubicans’ representative. The Southern Dems will choose Breck – who is an ass, by the way – and the Northerners will take Mr. Douglas.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I am quite adept at reading between the lines. And also at reading lines that others would rather I hadn’t access to.”
Lincoln considered this. “You said there would be four candidates.”
“Yes, that fourth is me.”
“You, sir?”
“Yes, me,” Bell replied. “The Whigs are desperate to stay relevant, and they will choose me to lead the charge. I have been around for long enough that they know that I know what I am doing. I have enough friends in Washington to make it happen.”
“Then why would you have me run against you? Why would you have me win?”
“Because he can’t,” Konigmacher interjected.
“Sir?” Lincoln asked, surprised at the blunt response.
“It’s true, Mr. Lincoln,” Bell said. “I simply won’t be able to carry enough of the country in order to win. Without a fourth candidate to split the vote, Douglas will win. Breckenridge will carry the South, have no doubt about that, but these days, that simply does not mean shit – pardon my language again. It is the North that elects presidents. It is Pennsylvania and New York and Ohio that chooses our leaders.”
“And Douglas would win those versus you?”
“Without question.”
Lincoln sat back, digesting this. He lifted the curtain slightly, letting a modicum of light into the carriage. He saw that their route had been a circuitous one and that they were scarcely as far from their origin as he might have walked in the same amount of time.
“Mr. Lincoln,” Konigmacher started. “Douglas can not win. He is a hypocrite and a liar. The worst kind of politician.”
“I thought that was the only kind of politician,” Lincoln replied.
Bell laughed. “You’re far too young to be so jaded, Mr. Lincoln. You are a good man, and you are a good politician. You know me to be the same, or so I hope.”
“I know that you were one of two Southern Senators to vote against Kansas-Nebraska.”
“And you know that Douglas supported the measure; that he wrote that measure. And you know that he cares not about the abolition of slavery, that he would put it to the people of each Territory to decide upon the future of slavery. He would have us be a country united in name only, but with thirty-three nation-states each left to their own devices, deciding upon slavery this week, the consumption of alcohol the next and the right to carry a pistol in public the week after that.” Bell took a deep breath and continued. “If a man was unhappy with the laws in his state, he could simply leave and move to his neighbor. I say, if they are unhappy with the laws in this nation, let them leave and move to another. What then, is the point of this country we have created, if nothing else but to awkwardly carry this bundle of disjointed states from one place to the next? We are too young, sir. We are too young – not yet one hundred now – and too weak to allow this division to continue.”
“You know me to be an abolitionist,” Lincoln said. “Does it not bother you as a Southern gentleman to put me forward as President?”
“I will be honest, sir: I do not care for abolitionists. Yet, it is more important to me that we decide this issue as a nation. Put forward the notion of abolishing slavery and let us all decide upon it. I shall not have the Independent Nation of Kansas, or of Nebraska, or Washington standing apart, spending their own currency and speaking their own damnable national language!” He pounded his fist on the sidewall of the carriage.
“And you believe me to be the one who can keep this nation from falling apart?”
Bell chuckled. “Not at all, son. But there’s not a man on this planet who could do that.”
“Then why?” Lincoln asked.
“Because I believe that you’re the one who can put the damn thing back together.”
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