September 1, 1863

To give the victory to the right, not through b.l.o.o.d.y bullets but through peaceful ballots-this is essential.

Our const.i.tution proves that the ballot can rule. Right- thinking men shall go to the polls, without fear or prejudice.

I think these thoughts, I write these words, as men attack, counterattack, retreat, die. Hate and bitterness are in control. I raise my spygla.s.s and look through my window. A small sailboat moves along the Potomac. It is possible for a man to provision a boat, set sail, dis- appear. It is possible for a man to work with other men and achieve.

September 2, 1863

A drum corps pa.s.ses the White House.

I listen.

I must ask myself some questions this evening: must civilization be influenced by greedy politicians, connivers, self-promoters, toadies? Is there such a thing as common sense where the bulk of mankind is concerned?

Is Christianity a bulwark to be counted on, or is it cleverly concocted pretension? Must tragedy dog man's footsteps? Does a lie have a more lasting influence than the truth? Do the echoes of John Brown end? Is the Dred Scott case on trial, decade after decade?

These and other questions flog my mind.

Men say I am moody, they say I am a man of mystery. If I am mysterious at times it is because I seek answers. I demand answers. Only fools accept the face of things. Men weary of my tales and my humor as I hunt for enlightenment for this troubled country. It is my duty to care more than anyone, and humor and satire have an influence not to be scorned.

The White House

September 15, 1863

If I were home my fat Filibuster would shove his whiskers into my face and meow. He loved to be scratched...he was Robert's pet but when I lay on the floor of the parlor to read he would stretch out beside me. I'd scratch him and try to go on with my reading.

I would like to have supper tonight in my shirt sleeves, and answer the doorbell in my carpet slippers.

I would like to hear Mary scolding the iceman, as he tries, once more, to overcharge her.

How well she managed our house, penny-wise always. How well she attended the children. She found time to help the poor; was never too busy to chat with a neighbor.

"Let's see a play tonight. There's that new one, A For- tune to Share. Shall we go?"

I see myself puttering in the yard. There was time to prune the trees, to cut wood, plant flowers. The horse and cow were part of our lives. I was another man then.

I wonder what happened to my grey hat; it had a wide band inside, fine for stuffing letters and checks. Maybe Billy has it, hanging on the tree, at the back of our office.

The White House

Evening

Throughout that long, dry summer, Stephen Douglas and I battled our verbal battles. There was a n.o.ble pertinacity in the "Little Giant." I called him a "slanderer" and a "sneak." He dubbed me a "fraud," and alluded to pro- slavery conspiracies. He attacked my "house divided"

stand... I insisted that a nation could not endure half- free, half-slave.

Douglas had his private car, bannered and flagged. A handsome bra.s.s cannon boomed from a flatcar coupled to his train, boomed his entry into every town and city.

Often our debates were veritable picnics, fireworks, bands. I rode on a Conestoga drawn by six white horses...bunting... flowers...pretty girls. Sometimes a secretary recorded our speeches.

As the summer wore on, I began to stress the moral issues with great emphasis. I had little hope that I would win the senate seat; my voice, pitched higher than his, also lacked accomplished delivery. The silent artillery of time was firing at us. I heard the country's slaves crying out. I remembered that John Randolph said that slavery was "a volcano in full eruption."

Votes...but it is not altogether a matter of votes.

Yet the day of reckoning arrived.

Douglas 54.Lincoln 46.

So I lost.

It will be hard to die and leave the country no better than if I had never lived.

September 29th, 1863

My Desk

I may remark that having in my life heard many arguments-or strings of words meant to pa.s.s for arguments-intended to show that the negro ought to be a slave-if he shall now fight in the Confederate Army to keep himself a slave, it will be a far better argument why he should remain a slave than I have ever heard before.

Perhaps he ought to be a slave if he desires it ardently enough to fight for it. Or, if one out of four will, for his own freedom, fight to keep the other three in slavery, he ought to be a slaver for his selfish meanness.

I have always thought that all men should be free; but if any should be slaves, it should be first those who desire it for themselves, and secondly those who desire it for others. Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally.

Once again, we ask: what is freedom?

Individually, it is a chance to worship or not worship, it is a chance to earn a living, to raise a family, examine the past, improve one's intellect, guard one's health. It is also an opportunity to perfect national and international law. Certainly, freedom should not be a code but should emphasize, in every respect, human values. Millions in our land lack freedom. This condition must not continue. Education is the sure route toward freedom.

Thursday

My Desk

If A can prove, however conclusively, that he may, of right, enslave B, why may not B s.n.a.t.c.h the same argument and prove equally, that he may enslave A? You say A is white and B is black. It is color then; the lighter, having the right to enslave the darker? Take care. By this rule you are to be a slave to the first man you meet with a fairer skin than your own.

You do not mean color exactly? You mean the whites are intellectually the superiors of the blacks, and, therefore have the right to enslave them? Take care again. By this rule you are to be the slave to the first man you meet with an intellect superior to your own. But, say you, it is a question of interest; and if you can make it your interest, you have the right to enslave another. Very well. And if he can make it his interest, he has the right to enslave you.

I hear rifle fire in the night.