pped. I reckon they're whipped already in spite of Lee.
I've heard of a turtle that an old nigger man decapitated. Next day
he was amusing himself poking sticks at it and the turtle was snapping
back. His master comes along and says to him, 'Why, Pomp, I thought
that turtle was dead.' 'Well, he am dead, massa,' says Pompey, 'but
the critter don't know enough ter be sensible ob it.' I reckon the
Confederacy's dead, but Jeff Davis don't know enough to be sensible of
it."

A young man in uniform came hurriedly through the private secretary's
door and handed the Secretary for War a telegram. He stood at attention,
and the President observed that his face was pale. Stanton read the
message, but gave no sign of its contents. He turned to the map behind
him and traced a line on it with his forefinger.

"Any more news?" he asked the messenger.

"Nothing official, sir," was the answer. "But there is a report that
General Jackson has been killed in the moment of victory."

The officer withdrew and Stanton turned to the President. Lincoln's face
was terrible in its strain, for the words "in the moment of victory" had
rung the knell of his hopes.

When Stanton spoke his voice was controlled and level. "Unlike your
turtle," he said, "the Confederacy is suddenly and terribly alive. Lee
has whipped Hooker to blazes. We have lost more than fifteen thousand
men. To-day we are back on the north side of the Rappahannock."

Lincoln was on his feet and for a moment the bronze mask of his face was
distorted by suffering.

"My God!" he cried. "What will the country say? What will the country
say?"

"It matters little what the country says. The point is what will the
country suffer. In a fortnight Lee will be in Maryland and Pennsylvania.
Your quadrilateral will not shrink, it will extend. In a month we shall
be fighting to hold Washington and Baltimore, aye, and Philadelphia."

The bitterness of the words seemed to calm Lincoln. He was walking up
and down the floor, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his
expression was once again one of patient humility.

"I take all the blame," he said. "You have done nobly, Mr. Stanton, and
all the mistakes are mine. I reckon I am about the poorest effigy of a
War President that ever cursed an unhappy country."

The other did not reply. He was an honest man who did not deal in smooth
phrases.

"I'd resign to-morrow," Lincoln went on. "No railsplitter ever laid
down his axe at the end