“Yes, sir.”
“Well he will be over here soon enough I imagine. Those poor boys at Plattsburgh. A terrible sacrifice.”
“They slowed the British down, Mr. President.”
“But not for long. Port Henry is taken and in flames and no word from General Halleck yet.”
“His last report said that he was forming a line of defense at Fort Ticonderoga.”
“Are we doomed to keep on repeating history? As I remember it, didn’t we run from the British there as well?”
“It was a strategic retreat that, rather unfortunately, began on the Fourth of July.”
“I pray that Halleck does not repeat that particular maneuver.”
“Grant’s divisions may have joined them by now. That’s a goodly force in the field when you put them together.”
“Well they are not together yet. The British are chewing us up piecemeal. And what about that mysterious telegram from General Sherman? Any elucidation?”
“None that we can find out. Some telegraph lines are down and I am told that we are trying to reroute our communications. All that we have is a garbled message, something about southwards movement, and some sort of reference to General Beauregard.”
“Keep trying, I don’t like mysteries. Not in wartime — not at any time. And cancel those visitations for today. I cannot face the job-seekers who are a pestilential menace to my health.”
“There’s quite a crowd of them. Some of them have been waiting since dawn.”
“I feel no sympathy. Inform them that matters of state must take priority, at least this once.”
“Will you make a single exception, sir? There is an English gentleman here who has just arrived aboard a French ship. He has letters of recommendation from some of the most eminent men in France.”
“English you say? A mystery and a most intriguing one. What is his name?”
“A Mr. Mill, John Stuart Mill. In his note that accompanied the introductions he writes that he has information that will aid in this war for American freedom.”
“If he is an English spy, why then Fox will certainly want to see him.”
“I doubt
if he is a spy. The introductions refer to him as a natural philosopher of great merit.”
The chair creaked as Lincoln leaned back and brought his long legs up before him. “I’ll see him. In these days of desperation we must clutch at any straw. Perhaps the distraction will help me forget our disasters for awhile. Are there any clues as to what his information is that will aid our war?”
“I am afraid not. A bit of a mystery.”
“Well — let us solve this mystery. Show the gentleman in.”
Mill was a middle-aged man, balding and smooth-skinned, neatly dressed and most affable. He introduced himself, bowed slightly as he shook the President’s hand. Then he placed the two books he carried on the desk and sat down, after first carefully tucking his coattails beneath him.
“Mr. Lincoln,” he said in a solemn yet excited voice. “I have been an admirer of the American experiment for many years. I have followed your election practices and the operation of the lower house and the Senate, the judiciary and the police. While not perfect by any means, I nevertheless feel that in many ways yours is the only free country in the world — the only democratic one. I believe the world has seen enough of kings and tyrants and must find its way onto the road to democracy. With your noble cause under attack from my own country, a tragedy not of my doing but one that I must still apologize for. But this tragedy has goaded me into unexpected action — which is why I am here. I thought that when my dear wife died and my daughter and I retired to France, that I would write my books and bide my time until I could join her. But that is not to be. Necessity has drawn me from the quiet of my study and back to the world scene. I am here, if you will permit me, to aid your infant democracy and, and again, with your permission, help to guide it on the path to a prosperous future.”
The President nodded in agreement. “Like you I feel that the American experiment is the last, best hope of Earth. You do indeed sound like a man inspired, Mr. Mill. But without intending any insult I am afraid at this time we need men that can fight more than those who can think. But, please elucidate and tell me how you will go about doing that.”
Mill leaned forward and tapped the two books with his finger. “If you search carefully you will find the answer to that question in here, my Principles of Political Economy. They are yours, a small gift.”
“You are very kind.” Lincoln pulled the books across the desk and opened the first volume, smiling at the pages of dense type. “I have always been a great reader in natural philosophy. I greatly admire the theories of Francis Wayland whose work you surely know. Mr. Wayland believes that Labor is the source from which human wants are mainly supplied, labor before capital, capital exists as fruit of labor. But I digress. I look forward to studying your books. The pressures of this war permitting.”
Mill raised his hand and smiled. “The war comes first, Mr. President. Put them aside for a quieter time. You will find that I and Francis Wayland are in agreement in many things. If you permit me, I can sum up my feelings and my theories most easily for you. Firstly, I have always supported your stance in this war since I recognize it as a struggle against slavery. But as an Englishman I have stood aside from this conflict feeling that I have no personal involvement. Now I feel that attitude has been wrong. I no longer can be a silent spectator. The invasion of your country by mine was a singularly wicked act and cannot be forgiven.”
“You will find none here to argue with that, I assure you.”