The air of Washington reeked with deadly
hatred of the President. Every politician who could not control his big,
straightforward, honest mind was his enemy. The gloom which shrouded the
country over Grant's losses and the failure of his campaign had set
every hound yelping at his heels in full cry. He spent much of his time
in the hospitals visiting and cheering the wounded soldiers. These men
were his friends. They believed in his honesty, his gentleness and his
humanity, and yet so deadly had grown the passions of war and so bitter
the madness of political prejudice that the majority of the wounded men
were going to vote against him in the approaching election.
An informal vote taken in Carver Hospital had shown the amazing result
of three to one in favor of McClellan!
John Vaughan, in his fevered imagination, had felt that he was rendering
a heroic service to the people in removing the one obstacle to peace.
The President was the only man who could possibly defeat McClellan and
continue the war. He was denounced by the opposition as usurper, tyrant,
and dictator. He was denounced by thousands of men in his own party as
utterly unfit to wield the power he possessed.
And yet, as he heard the slow, heavy footfall approaching the door, a
moment of agonizing doubt gripped his will and weakened his arm.
Pages:
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531