54-40 or Fight | Page 4

are you mad?" cried his friend. "Would you plunge this
country into war? Would you pit two peoples, like cocks on a floor?
And would you use women in our diplomacy?"
Calhoun now was no longer the friend, the humanitarian. He was the
relentless machine; the idea; the single purpose, which to the world at
large he had been all his life in Congress, in cabinets, on this or the
other side of the throne of American power. He spoke coldly as he went
on:

"In these matters it is not a question of means, but of results. If war
comes, let it come; although I hope it will not come. As to the use of
women--tell me, why not women? Why anything else but women? It is
only playing life against life; one variant against another. That is
politics, my friend. I want Pakenham. So, I must learn what Pakenham
wants! Does he want Texas for England, or the Baroness von Ritz _for
himself?_"
Ward still sat and looked at him. "My God!" said he at last, softly; but
Calhoun went on:
"Why, who has made the maps of the world, and who has written pages
in its history? Who makes and unmakes cities and empires and
republics to-day? Woman, and not man! Are you so ignorant--and you a
physician, who know them both? Gad, man, you do not understand
your own profession, and yet you seek to counsel me in mine!"
"Strange words from you, John," commented his friend, shaking his
head; "not seemly for a man who stands where you stand to-day."
"Strange weapons--yes. If I could always use my old weapons of
tongue and brain, I would not need these, perhaps. Now you tell me my
time is short. I must fight now to win. I have never fought to lose. I can
not be too nice in agents and instruments."
The old doctor rose and took a turn up and down the little room, one of
Calhoun's modest ménage at the nation's capital, which then was not
the city it is to-day. Calhoun followed him with even steps.
"Changes of maps, my friend? Listen to me. The geography of America
for the next fifty years rests under a little roof over in M Street
to-night--a roof which Sir Richard secretly maintains. The map of the
United States, I tell you, is covered with a down counterpane à deux,
to-night. You ask me to go on with my fight. I answer, first I must find
the woman. Now, I say, I have found her, as you know. Also, I have
told you where I have found her. Under a counterpane! Texas, Oregon,
these United States under a counterpane!"

Doctor Ward sighed, as he shook his head. "I don't pretend to know
now all you mean."
Calhoun whirled on him fiercely, with a vigor which his wasted frame
did not indicate as possible.
"Listen, then, and I will tell you what John Calhoun means--John
Calhoun, who has loved his own state, who has hated those who hated
him, who has never prayed for those who despitefully used him, who
has fought and will fight, since all insist on that. It is true Tyler has
offered me again to-day the portfolio of secretary of state. Shall I take it?
If I do, it means that I am employed by this administration to secure the
admission of Texas. Can you believe me when I tell you that my
ambition is for it all--all, every foot of new land, west to the Pacific,
that we can get, slave or free? Can you believe John Calhoun,
pro-slavery advocate and orator all his life, when he says that he
believes he is an humble instrument destined, with God's aid, and
through the use of such instruments as our human society affords, to
build, not a wider slave country, but a wider America?"
"It would be worth the fight of a few years more, Calhoun," gravely
answered his old friend. "I admit I had not dreamed this of you."
"History will not write it of me, perhaps," went on my chief. "But you
tell me to fight, and now I shall fight, and in my own way. I tell you,
that answer shall go to Pakenham. And I tell you, Pakenham shall not
dare take offense at me. War with Mexico we possibly, indeed
certainly, shall have. War on the Northwest, too, we yet may have
unless--" He paused; and Doctor Ward prompted him some moments
later, as he still remained in thought.
"Unless what, John? What do you mean--still hearing the rustle of
skirts?"
"Yes!--unless the celebrated Baroness Helena von Ritz says
otherwise!" replied he grimly.
"How dignified a diplomacy have we here! You plan war between two

embassies on the distaff side!" smiled Doctor