Lincoln [antikvár]

Elihu B. Washburne opened his gold watch. The spidery hands showed five minutes to six."Wait here," he said to the driver, who said, "How do I know you're coming back, sir?"At the best of times Congressman Washburne's temper was a most unstable affair, and his sudden outbursts of ragehe could roar like a preacher anticipating hellwere much admired in his adopted state of Illinois, where constituents proudly claimed that he was the only militant teetotaller who behaved exactly like a normal person at five minutes to six, say, in the early morning of an icy winter dayof the twenty-third of February, 1861, to be exact."Why, you black!" As the cry in Washburne's throat began to go to its terrible maximum, caution, the politician's ever-present angel, cut short the statesman's breath. A puff of unresonated cold steam filled the space between the congressman and the Negro driver on his high seat.Heart beating rapidly with unslaked fury, Washburne gave the driver some coins. "You are to stay here until I return, you hear me?""I hear you, sir." White teeth were quickly bared and unbared in the black, cold-puckered face.Washburne buttoned up his overcoat and stepped carefully onto the fi:ozen mud that was supposed to be the pavement of a stately avenue leading to the squalid train depot of Washinrfon City, capital of thirty-four United States that were now in the process of disuniting. He fluffed up his beard, hoping to better warm his face.Washburne entered the depot as the cars from Baltimore were rattling to a halt. Negro porters were slouched along the sidings. Huge carts stood ready to be filled with Northern merchandise to he exchanged for Southern tobacco, raw cotton, food. Currentiy, the Southerners were saying that Washington City was the natural capital of the South. But they did not say it, if they were wise, in Washburne's irritable Western presence.Just past the locomotive, the representative of Illinois's first District stationed himself in front of an empty gilded wagon whose3I'r