"I beg your pardon, sir," says Colonel Desperade, twirling his mustache in a warlike manner; "do I understand you to call in question the nerve of our brave soldiers, or the generalship of our great commander?"

"I do, sir," says Mr. Croker, staring haughtily at the speaker. "I am not of those enthusiasts who consider General Lee a great soldier. He has succeeded in defensive campaigns, but is deficient in genius--and I will add, sir, as you seem to be surprised at my remarks, sir, that in my opinion the Southern Confederacy will be overwhelmed, sir, and the South compelled to return to the Union, sir!"

"Upon what do you ground that extraordinary a.s.sumption, may I ask, sir?"

"On common sense and experience, sir," returns Mr. Croker, severely; "look at the currency--debased until the dollar is merely a piece of paper. Look at prices--coffee, twenty dollars a pound, and sugar the same. Look at the army starving--the people losing heart--and strong, able-bodied men," adds Mr. Croker, looking at Colonel Desperade, "lurking about the cities, and keeping out of the way of bullets."

The mustached warrior looks ferocious--his eyes dart flame.

"And who causes the high prices, sir? Who makes the money a rag? I answer--the forestallers and engrossers--do you know any, sir?"

"I do not, sir!"

"That is singular!" And Colonel Desperade twirls his mustache satirically--looking at the pompous Mr. Croker in a manner which makes that worthy turn scarlet.

I was laughing to myself quietly, and listening for the expected outbreak, when Mr. Blocque interposed with his winning voice.

"What are you discussing, gentlemen?" he said, with his charming smile.

"But first tell me your opinion of this Madeira and those cigars. My agent writes me word that he used every exertion to procure the best.

Still, I am not entirely pleased with either the wine or brand of cigars, and hope you will excuse them. Were you speaking of our great President, Mr. Torpedo? And you, Mr. Croker--I think you were referring to the present state of affairs. They appear to me more hopeful than at any previous time, and his Excellency, President Davis, is guiding the helm of state with extraordinary courage and good judgment. I know some of you differ with me in these views, my friends. But let us not be censorious--let us look on the bright side. The troubles of the country are great, and we of the South are suffering every privation--but we must bear up, gentlemen; we must keep brave hearts, and endure all things. Let us live on dry bread if it comes to that, and bravely fight to the last! Let us cheerfully endure hardships, and oppose the enemy at all points. Our present troubles and privations will soon come to an end--we shall again be surrounded by the comforts and luxuries of life--and generations now unborn will bless our names, and pity our sufferings in these days that try men's souls!"

Mr. Blocque ceased, and smoothing down his snowy shirt bosom, pushed the wine. At the same moment, an alabaster clock on the marble mantelpiece struck seven.

"So late?" said Colonel Desperade. "I have an appointment at the war office!"

Mr. Blocque drew out a magnificent gold watch.

"The clock is fast," he said, "keep your seats, gentlemen,--unless you fancy going to the theatre. My private box is at your disposal, and carriages will be ready in a few minutes."

As the charming little gentleman spoke, he led the way back to the drawing-room--the folding doors flanked by silent and respectful servants as the guests pa.s.sed in.

In five minutes, coffee and liqueurs were served; both were superb, the white sugar sparkled like crystal in the silver dish, and the cream in the solid jug was yellow and as thick as a syrup.

"Shall it be the theatre, gentlemen?" said Mr. Blocque, with winning smiles. "We can amuse ourselves with cards for an hour, as the curtain does not rise before eight."

And he pointed to a silver basket on the centre table of carved walnut, surmounted by a slab of variegated marble. I looked, and saw the crowning wonder. The silver basket contained piles of gold coin and greenbacks! Not a trace of a Confederate note was visible in the ma.s.s!

Packs of fresh cards were brought quickly by a servant, on a silver waiter; the guests helped themselves to the coin and bank notes; in ten minutes they were playing furiously.

As I do not play, I rose and took my leave. Mr. Blocque accompanied me to the door, smiling sweetly to the last.

"Come again very soon, my dear colonel," he said, squeezing my hand, "my poor house, and all in it, is at your service at all times!"

I thanked my host, shook hands, and went out into the darkness,--determined never to return.

I had had an excellent dinner, and, physically, had never felt better.

Morally, I must say, I felt contaminated, for, unfortunately, I had begun to think of Lee's hungry soldiers, lying in rags, in the Petersburg trenches.

"Eight o'clock! All is well!" came from the sentinel, as I pa.s.sed by the capitol.

IV.

JOHN M. DANIEL.

On the day after this scene, a trifling matter of business led me to call on John M. Daniel, editor of the _Examiner_.

The career of this singular personage had been as remarkable as his character. He was not a stranger to me. I had known him in 1849 or '50, when I accompanied my father on a visit to Richmond, and I still recall the striking appearance of the individual at that time. He had come, a poor boy of gentle birth, from the bleak hills of Stafford, to the city of Richmond, to seek his fortune, and, finding nothing better to do, had accepted the position of librarian to the Richmond library, waiting for something to "turn up," and ready to grasp it. About the same time, that experienced journalist, the late B.M. De Witt, had founded the _Examiner_. He, no doubt, saw the eminent talents of the youth from Stafford, and the result had been an invitation to a.s.sist in the editorial department of the journal.

Going to the Richmond library, to procure for my father some volume for reference, I had made the acquaintance of the youthful journalist. At the first glance, I felt that I was in the presence of an original character. His labors on the _Examiner_ had just commenced. He was seated, half-reclining, in an arm-chair, surrounded by "exchanges,"

from which he clipped paragraphs, throwing the papers, as soon as he had done so, in a pile upon the floor. His black eyes, long black hair, brushed behind the ears, and thin, sallow cheeks, were not agreeable; but they made up a striking physiognomy. The black eyes glittered with a sullen fire; the thin lips were wreathed with a sardonic smile; and I was informed that the youth lived the life of a _solitaire_, voluntarily absenting himself from society, to give his days and nights to exhausting study.

He read every thing, it was said--history, poetry, political economy, and theology. Swift was said to be his literary divinity, and Rabelais was at his elbow always. Poor, uneducated, ignorant of nearly every thing, he was educating himself for the future--sharpening, by attrition with the strongest minds in all literatures, ancient and modern, that trenchant weapon which afterward flashed its superb lightnings in the heated atmosphere of the great epoch in which he figured.

Bitter, misanthropic, solitary; burning the midnight lamp, instead of moving among his fellows in the sunshine, he yet possessed hardy virtues and a high pride of gentleman. He hated the world at large, it was said, but loved his few friends with an ardor which shrank at nothing. One of them owed a sum of money--and Daniel went on foot, twenty-two miles, to Petersburg, paid it, and returned in the same manner. Afterward he went in person to Charlottesville, to purchase a house for the use of another friend of limited means. For his friends he was thus willing to sacrifice his convenience and his means, without thought of return. All who were not his friends, he is said to have hated or despised. An acquaintance was in his room one day, and showed him a valuable pen-knife. Daniel admired it, and the gentleman said "You may have it, if you like it." Daniel turned upon him, scowled at him, his lip curled, and he replied, "What do you expect me to do for you?"

His other virtues were self-denial, and a proud independence. At the library, he lived on bread and tea--often making the tea himself. Too poor to possess a chamber, he slept on a lounge in the public room. He would owe no man any thing, asked no favors, and fawned on n.o.body. He would fight his own fight, make his own way; with the intellect heaven had sent him, carve out his own future, una.s.sisted. The sallow youth, groaning under dyspepsia, with scarce a friend, and nothing but his brain, promised himself that he would one day rise from his low estate, and wield the thunderbolts of power, as one born to grasp and hurl them.

He was not mistaken, and did not overestimate his powers. When I saw him in 1849 or '50, he was obscurest of the obscure. Two or three years afterward he had made the _Examiner_ one of the great powers of the political world, and was living in a palace at Turin, minister to Sardinia. He had achieved this success in life by the sheer force of his character; by the vigor and recklessness of his pen, and the intensity of his invective. Commencing his editorial career, apparently, with the theory that, in order to rise into notice, he must spare nothing and no one, he had entered the arena of partisan politics like a full armed gladiator; and soon the whole country resounded with the blows which he struck. Bitter personality is a feeble phrase to describe the animus of the writer in those days. There was something incredibly exasperating in his comments on political opponents. He flayed and roasted them alive. It was like thrusting a blazing torch into the raw flesh of his victims. Nor was it simple "abuse." The satirist was too intelligent to rely upon that. It was his scorching wit which made opponents shrink. His scalpel divided the arteries, and touched the vitals of the living subject. Personal peculiarities were satirized with unfailing ac.u.men. The readers of the _Examiner_, in those days, will still recall the tremendous flaying which he administered to his adversaries. It may almost be said, that when the remorseless editor had finished with these gentlemen, there was "nothing of them left"--what lay before him was a bleeding and mortally wounded victim. And what was worse, all the world was laughing. Those who looked with utter disapproval upon his ferocious course, were still unable to resist the influence of his mordant humor. They denounced the _Examiner_ without stint, but they subscribed to it, and read it every morning. "Have you seen the _Examiner_ to-day?" asked the friend whom you met on the street. "John M. Daniel is down on Blank!" said A to B, rubbing his hands and laughing. Blank may have been the personal acquaintance and friend of Mr. A, but there was no resisting the cartoon of him, traced by the pen of the satirist! The portrait might be a caricature, but it was a terrible likeness! The long nose was very long; the round shoulders, very round; the cast in the eye, a frightful squint; but the individual was unmistakable. The bitter humor of the artist had caught and embodied every weakness. Thenceforth, the unfortunate adversary went on his way before all eyes, the mark of suppressed ridicule and laughing whispers. Whether you approved or disapproved, you read those tremendous satires. Not to see the _Examiner_ in those days was to miss a part of the history of the times. The whole political world felt the presence of a _power_ in journalism. Into all the recesses of the body politic, those shafts of ridicule or denunciation penetrated. That venomous invective pierced the hardest panoply. For the first time in American journalism, the world saw the full force of ridicule; and tasted a bitterness of invective unknown since the days of Swift.

Out of these personal attacks grew numerous duels. The b.u.t.ts of the editor's ridicule sent him defiances, and he was engaged in several affairs, which, however, resulted in nothing, or nearly nothing, as I believe he was wounded only once. They did not induce him to change his course. He seemed to have marked out his career in cold blood, and was plainly resolved to adhere to his programme--to write himself into power. In this he fully succeeded. By dint of slashing and flaying, he attracted the attention of all. Then his vigorous and masculine intellect riveted the spell. Hated, feared, admired, publicly stigmatized as one who "ruled Virginia with a rod of iron," he had reached his aim; and soon the material results of success came. The director of that great political engine, the Richmond _Examiner_, found no difficulty in securing the position which he desired; and he received the appointment of minister to Sardinia, which he accepted, selling his newspaper, but reserving the right to resume editorial control of it on his return.

His ambition was thus gratified--for the moment at least. The unknown youth, living once on bread and tea, and too poor to possess a bed, was now a foreign minister; had an Italian count for his _chef de cuisine_; and drew a salary which enabled him to return, some years afterward, to the United States with savings amounting to $30,000.

It was a contrast to his past. The sallow youth was _M. le ministre_!

The garret in Richmond had been turned into a marble palace in Turin.

He had a n.o.bleman for a cook, instead of making his own tea. And the _Examiner_ had done all that for him!

When war became imminent, he returned to Virginia, and resumed control of the _Examiner_. With the exception of brief military service with General Floyd, and on the staff of A.P. Hill, in the battles around Richmond, when he was slightly wounded in the right arm, he remained in editorial harness until his death.

As soon as he grasped the helm of the _Examiner_ again, that great battleship trembled and obeyed him. It had been powerful before, it was now a mighty engine, dragging every thing in its wake. Commencing by supporting the Government, it soon became bitterly inimical to President Davis and the whole administration. The invective in which it indulged was not so violent as in the past, but it was even more powerful and dangerous. Every department was lashed, in those brief, terse sentences which all will remember--sentences summing up volumes in a paragraph, condensing oceans of gall into a drop of ink. Under these mortal stabs, delivered coolly and deliberately, the authors of public abuses shrank, recoiled, and sought safety in silence. They writhed, but knew the power of their adversary too well to reply to him. When once or twice they did so, his rejoinder was more mortal than his first attack. The whole country read the _Examiner_, from the chief officers of the administration to the humblest soldier in the trenches.

It shaped the opinions of thousands, and this great influence was not due to trick or chance. It was not because it denounced the Executive in terms of the bitterest invective; because it descended like a wild boar on the abuses or inefficiency of the departments; but because this journal, more, perhaps, than any other in the South, spoke the public sentiment, uttered its views with fearless candor, and conveyed those views in words so terse, pointed, and trenchant--in such forcible and excellent English--that the thought of the writer was driven home, and remained fixed in the dullest apprehension.

The _Examiner_, in one word, had become the controlling power, almost, of the epoch. Its views had become those even of men who bitterly stigmatized its course. You might disapprove of its editorials often, and regret their appearance--as I did--but it was impossible not to be carried onward by the hardy logic of the writer: impossible not to admire the Swift-like pith and vigor of this man, who seemed to have re-discovered the lost well of undefiled English.

When I went to see John M. Daniel, thus, in this summer of 1864, it was not a mere journalist whom I visited, but a historic character. For it was given to him, invisible behind the scenes, to shape, in no small degree, the destiny of the country, by moulding the views and opinions of the actors who contended on the public arena.

Was that influence for good or for evil? Let others answer. To-day this man is dead, and the cause for which he fought with his pen has failed.

I reproduce his figure and some scenes of that great cause--make your own comments, reader.

V.