His rise to power

BOOK I A Voice in the Wilderness CHAPTER FAG*

I Mists of the Morning i

II Mirage in the Desert 2

III Sunset 31

IV The Nazarite 49

V Explorations 68

VI The Call 88

VII The Wilderness Road 104

VIII Across the Border 117

IX The Crusader 126

XI The Picket 148

XIII The Prime Minister 178

XIV With a Great Price 192

BOOK II Figs and Thistles XV Locusts and Wild Honey 205

XVI The Forerunner . 222

XVII The Fork of the Road 237

XVIII History 250

XIX A Deserted Jordan ...... 269

MM

XX Shadows 282

XXI Golden Fleece 293

XXII The Honey Pot 306

XXIV Who Fays ? 330

XXV The Big Life 344

XXVI Silenced 363

XXVII The Price 372

Chapter I Mists Of The Morning

IT was twilight still in the valley, but over the hills to the east the sky was whitening. A young man sitting by his window turned to see the birth of another day. Throughout the night he had been staring at a vision. But weariness had set no mark upon him. His vision he did not understand, save that for him it spelled Opportunity — a chance to put into a drifting, rather ordinary existence, purposeful action, to stretch his muscles, rack his brain and tear his soul in the struggle that is the life of men. He was thirty years old, imaginative and enthusiastic ; the fascination of the unknown caught him. With the prodigal courage of youth he burned to begin the struggle, to test his untried strength. His fine face, sensitive to the play of inner emotion, lighted up eagerly. A premonitory thrill passed over him. He had the feeling that in this new day something big, portentous, transforming, awaited him. He watched until the vague black mass looming before him took form as the blue-green hills that he knew.

I

" Like order coming out of chaos."

He caught up a rough towel and stealing quietly out of the house walked rapidly down the street. When the straggling town lay behind him, he broke into a slow trot, padding along over the road with its velvety layer of mist-laid dust, until he was breathing heavily and the sweat had started. At a place where many feet had worn a path across a clover meadow he turned from the road. The path ended at a clump of bushes on the river bank where the shallow Weehannock, suddenly deepening, had formed a swimming-hole for generations of youths.

Hastily undressing, he plunged into the green depths from which June had not quite taken the chill of spring. His lithe, strong body responded to the shock; the nerves, harried by the long night watch, relaxed; he shouted lustily. For a few minutes he swam vigorously, diving and turning somersaults, frolicsome as a school-boy, reveling in his strength and skill; then he turned on his back and floated with the lazy current until little shivers began to ripple over him. Reaching the shore, he took the towel and rubbed himself into a glow. He tingled with a sense of well-being.

When he was dressed again, refreshed and eager for his day, he took the path back to the highway. The sun was climbing over the hills. He stopped and watched it while it swung clear in the sky, gleaming a fiery red through the mists of the valley. A gentle breeze sprang up and sent the gray vapor streaming and billowing away into nothingness. The red of the sun became the hot, white blaze of molten iron. The glory of the morning was complete.

MISTS OF THE MORNING 3

He was about to resume his tramp homeward when he beheld a strange procession advancing along the road, a young woman leading a limping horse. As she came nearer, he chuckled aloud. The handsome pigskin saddle, the ivory-handled crop, the modish riding-suit and boots were not the equipment with which young ladies of New Chelsea were wont to ride; the hat was of the sort seen thereabouts only as the crowning glory of the circus equestrienne. But for the matter of that, feminine New Chelsea had not the habit of matutinal exercise.

She heard him and looked up coldly; the chuckle died instantly.

" Good morning/' he said. " What's the matter with your horse ? Can I help you ? "

She stopped. " He has picked up a stone," she answered, " and I can't get it out. If you will be so good — "

He vaulted lightly over the fence that bounded the meadow and tried to remove the offending stone with his fingers. This method proving ineffective, he went to a near-by tree and broke off a branch, the thick end of which he whittled into a rude sort of wedge. With this primitive implement he quickly abstracted the stone. The horse, a splendid chestnut, pawed the ground gingerly with the hurt foot.

" Thank you," the young woman said.

" You're quite welcome," he answered. " I'm always glad to help beauty in distress. He is a beautiful animal, isn't he ? " he added hastily.

"Are you chaffing me?" she asked coldly.

He repressed a smile. " By no means ! Better not ride him -for a little bit, until we see how he walks."

She resumed her walk, leading the horse, which still limped slightly. The young man kept pace with her.

" You ride early," he ventured.

" No earlier than you — swim," she replied briefly, glancing at his wet hair and towel. He at once became uncomfortably conscious of his rather unkempt appearance.

" Are you staying in New Chelsea ? "

" Yes."

"Surely not at the hotel!"

" Shall you stay long? "

" Are you in the habit of cross-examining strangers on the road ? " she inquired frigidly.

He reddened. " I beg your pardon," he said, and slackened his pace to let her draw ahead.

A hundred yards farther on she stopped and waited for him to overtake her. He thought he detected an amused gleam in her eyes and the red deepened. But the twinkle died instantly.

" I think I'll ride now," she said, " if you will help me up. Crusader has stopped limping."

He held out his hand, she placed a foot in it and was lifted to the saddle. She murmured her thanks. But, although she gathered in the reins, she did not start away. For a moment she sat looking at the hills, apparently oblivious of the young man's presence. He wondered who she was, this well-tailored, well-cared for, well-poised young lady who had so suddenly appeared out of the mists of the morning, exuding amid the place and hour an air of artificial

MISTS OE THE MORNING $\

luxury — and yet, oddly enough, without seeming wholly incongruous.

" If it weren't for that absurd hat! " he sighed inwardly.

He ventured again. "Why do you call him Crusader?"

She looked down at him. "Another question? You are incorrigible."

"I beg your pardon," he said again stiffly. And marched up the road.

" I have named him that," she called after him, " because he has plenty of fire and spirit, but at critical times seems to lack common sense." She laughed, a free, musical laugh that somehow recalled the blood to his cheeks. He made no reply.

She watched him as he swung along, frankly admiring the tall, cleanly-built figure whose lines the loose coat he wore did not conceal. She remembered the end of the big game eight years before, when a laughing, mud-stained young athlete tore himself away from his idolatrous companions to lay his triumph at the feet of the day's sweetheart. She remembered also, with a smile, the stabbing childish jealousy with which a freckle-faced, short-skirted girl had witnessed his devotion.

" And you're still here, buried alive in this out-ofthe-way corner of the world," she said softly. " O, John Dunmeade ! John Dunmeade ! "

Suddenly she touched her horse with the crop. He bounded forward and clattered along until the young man was overtaken. She pulled Crusader down to a walk, at which the young man looked up astonished.

" You left in quite a hurry," she said demurely. "I suppose you're getting hungry, aren't you?"

" I never care to be snubbed more than twice before breakfast," he answered dryly.

"Oh! Did I snub you?"

" I was under that impression."

" But confess," she urged, " you were about to comment on the beauty of the morning."

" Do you think you are the only one who can really enjoy the sunrise?" he retorted. Then he laughed, "But I was rather — banal, wasn't I?"

She nodded. " It's a horrid word — but I'm afraid you were."

Curious as to her identity, but fearing another reproof, he cautiously refrained from further speech.

They went along in silence, until they reached a point where the undulating road rose to command a view of the valley to the south and the town to the north. She reined in her horse.

" What a pity one can't find words for such a morning! And the wonder of it is that it has recurred we don't know how many millions of times, always glorious."

" It makes one feel a bit — reverent — "

" — and at the same time uplifted — "

" — and small," he concluded. " What a jumble of emotions ! "

" I hate to feel small, but it's true. One realizes as at no other time that the great fundamental forces are eternally at work. One feels as helpless as — " She paused for lack of a comparison.

" As helpless as some chick will soon feel, unless the fanner's dog scares off that hawk," he completed

MISTS OF THE MORNING 7

the sentence for her, pointing. Over a barnyard in the valley the big bird was soaring in narrowing, lowering circles. From beneath came faintly the cries of frightened fowls. Suddenly the hawk swooped low to the earth. Scarcely pausing, it soared aloft once more, leaving panic in the barnyard and one chick the less.

The young woman laughed. " There's an illustration of one fundamental law."

"The supremacy of the strong? That's an old theory, I know. A very pretty one — from the point of view of the hawk. But how about the chick? "

"O, if one is born a chick — " She concluded the sentence with a shrug of her shoulders.

He looked up at her curiously. " You are frank."

"Isn't that what the hawk's strength is for?" she demanded.

" I suppose it is."

" Strength," she declared sagely, " is the most splendid thing in life."

" That depends on how it is used, doesn't it ? "

" It doesn't depend. Strength is its own law. Hasn't the world always been conquered and ruled by its strong ? "

" I'm afraid that is true," he said soberly.

" Afraid ! I should think you would be glad, since — I have it from the New Chelsea Globe — you are a strong man."

He looked his astonishment. " You know who I am!"

" Of course ! Did you think, Mr. Dunmeade," she laughed, " did you think your charms outweighed the conventions? I am not a barbarian, in the habit of philosophizing with strange young men on the road before seven o'clock in the morning."

"What did you read in the Globe?" '

" The vanity of men! I read, ' Mr. Dunmeade will undoubtedly make a strong candidate. The entire county wants him. It will have him.' It reads like a patent medicine advertisement, doesn't it? How does it feel to be wanted by an entire county, Mr. Dunmeade? "

" It is," he confessed, " rather pleasant — if true. Who are you ? "

And suddenly, with a laugh, she was gone, amid a clatter of hoofs. He followed her admiringly with his eyes, as her horse sped with its burden along the road, until at the edge of the town they disappeared under the arching trees of the street.

"Well, now, if that isn't funny!" he exclaimed. He laughed, for no particular reason, from sheer exuberance of spirits.

He resumed his tramp, head high, drinking in the glory of the morning, thrilling with the joy of life and the vigor of body which a sleepless night could not impair.

Once, aloud, he addressed the morning. " She said I am strong. I wonder, am I strong — strong enough? "

And, searching his soul for the answer, he heard no negative.

Chapter II

THIS chronicle, we neglected to state, begins at the beginning of the end of an epoch. The epoch has been variously styled a golden age, a period of prosperity, an era of expansion. It was all of that — to a few. For others — though they did not see it — it was a recession, a truce in the struggle, old as life itself, between the many and the strong.

But at that time no one, perhaps least of all William Murchell, dreamed that the historic period, in the shaping of which he had had a more than casual hand, was drawing to a close. Certain gentlemen, it is true, were secretly trying to destroy his power; but they entertained no wish to disturb the serene course of history.

William Murchell was a distinguished member of a class whose climbing proclivities are not subdued by the incident of a lowly start. He was born in the obscure hill town of New Chelsea, soon after Andrew Jackson and his contemporaries promulgated and illustrated the immortal doctrine, " To the victor belong the spoils." Left an orphan at the tender age of fourteen, he became a grocery clerk; perhaps here he developed the talent for trading, afterward so marked in his political rise. In the fashion made popular by Abraham Lincoln and other great men he secured an io HIS RISE TO POWER

education and on the day he attained his majority, was admitted to the practice of law in Benton County.

About the same time he entered the broader profession of politics, being then a. lukewarm Whig. But in 1856 we find him an interested spectator at the birth of a new party; doubtless no one who saw the awkward, countrified youth so closely watchful of the proceedings could have believed that he and the new party would prove a combination that would later dominate the state, even create some stir in the nation. What he believed is not on record, save that on the return trip to New Chelsea he remarked solemnly to the Honorable Robert Dunmeade (Congressman), "Within four years the Republican party will carry this state, and within eight years it will elect a president." To which that gentleman, who had already received evidence of the young man's political astuteness, listened with some respect. The prophecy was fulfilled even earlier than the date fixed by the youthful politician, which caused a serious unpleasantness between North and South. William Murchell had by that time taken the preliminary steps toward effecting the alliance just mentioned.

His military services are perhaps best dismissed with the mention of a certain gold medal struck in his honor, by special act of Congress, for gallant conduct on the field of battle. The invidious have made much of this decoration. However, it probably required a finer courage to resign from the colonelcy of his Home Guard regiment on the eve of Gettysburg — this indeed was the fact — to accept the less exposed office of aide to the governor at the capital, than to face the hail of rebel bullets. There are many ways of ex-

MIRAGE IN THE DESERT n

pressing one's patriotism. Later he served his country as Prothonotary for Benton County. Afterward he passed through many gradations of political preferment, as representative in the general assembly of his state, as state senator, as state treasurer and finally as United States senator, which exalted office he held until — but we anticipate our history. He became in addition leader of the Republican organization, an euphemism employed by those who objected to the term " boss."

William Murchell's credo was that of a respectable but practical man. He was a teetotaler and a Presbyterian elder and believed in the doctrine of foreordination and in a literal scriptural hell for those not numbered among the elect. He was a Republican and believed devoutly in the avowed and tacit principles of that party (although he was not bigoted and would on occasion take a secret hand in the affairs of the opposition). As a sub-article of this tenet he held that only those were Republicans who were loyal to the regular organization ; he had more than once read out of the party foolhardy young men who ventured to oppose his leadership. He believed, moreover, that the Almighty had predestined and equipped some men for leadership and that lesser folk ought frankly to yield obedience to this decree of an all-wise Providence. He was, as has been intimated, a practical man, and he followed unquestioningly certain timeworn but useful maxims, such as, " The end justifies the means." He clung especially to that theory of practical politics immortalized in Andrew Jackson's time. Yet he had read history and was not without a sense of humor.

He lived during at least two months of every year in the town of his birth, either in the square, white frame house on Maple Street or at the farm, three miles west, which he let " on shares." Change of dynasties has removed New Chelsea from the political map. But time was when the fashion was to speak humorously of it as the " capital de facto" This was during the period of the Murchell ascendancy, when gentlemen interested in the political affairs of the commonwealth were wont to make pilgrimages to the Maple Street house.

New Chelsea was a quaint, old-fashioned town lying at the head of the Weehannock Valley, quite content with its population of five thousand and with the honor of being the county seat, which Murchell's influence had prevented from being moved to Plumville, When citizens of that thriving little factory city — fifteen miles away — casually mentioned the latest census, New Chelseans would smile a superior smile; they knew that the importance of a community is determined by the character rather than the numbers of its population. To prove this, they cited the case of Murchell; out of Bethlehem, not from Jerusalem, the king had been chosen.

Down Main Street, one fine June afternoon, he was walking with that air of abstraction which sits so well on the great.

" He has big possibilities." Unconsciously the senator spoke aloud.

His companion seemed to understand the reference. " He's all right," he answered State Senator Jim Sheehan was a big, fat gentleman with furtive, twinkling eyes, a modicum of coarse good looks and a rolling, cock-sure gait bred of no misfortune. He was a son of power. Fifteen years before he had gone to Plumville to work in the mills, an uncouth, unlettered Irishman who could tell a good story, hold unlimited quantities of liquor and was not unwilling to work when money could not be had otherwise.

But not long for him had been the grime and roar and muscle- racking of the mills; money could be had more easily. Plumville was booming. There were streets to be graded and paved, public buildings to be constructed. Jim went into politics and, because he was a good " vote-getter " and had a certain rough talent for the game, acquired power. He opened a saloon and acquired more power. He became a contractor and secured many contracts. One day the city awoke to the fact that Jim Sheehan owned its government. The citizens cried out in protest — and, with the habit of American cities, little and big, submitted. He became, by virtue of his alliance with Murchell, state senator from Benton County and leader — we cling to the euphemism — of the county organization.

" He's all right," he repeated, and chuckled.

"Eh?" said Murchell. "Who's all right?"

"Why, Johnny Dunmeade, of course. Didn't tell you how I happen to be goin' to see him, 'stead of the other way 'round. It's a horse on me, all right." He threw back his head and the chuckle became a loud guffaw. " Sent word for him to come to my office last Tuesday at two o'clock sharp. Guess he knew what for. He came, all right. I thought it'd do him good to cool his heels a while — keep him from gettin' too chesty, see? So I let him stay in the r4 HIS RISE TO POWER

front office while I read the newspaper inside. Guess he waited about half an hour and then got up. ' Present my compliments to Senator Sheehan,' <he says to the boy, ' and tell him to go to the devil and learn how to keep his appointments/ And left. 'Long about three o'clock I strolled out — and gets his message." Sheehan paused long enough to slap his thigh resoundingly. " He's all right. Ain't any one told me to go to the devil for some time."

" Good many think it, though." Murchell smiled. " You're not a very popular citizen, Jim."

" Huh ! " Sheehan grunted. " I don't need to be popular, so long as the organization sticks. But say," he reverted to his *opic, " it'll be a ten-strike, puttin' Dunmeade on the ticket. I'm glad we — I mean, you — thought of it. I've had my feelers out and he'll be worth five hundred extry majority — to the whole ticket."

" If he'll take the nomination."

"Take it? Of course, he'll take it. Ain't there fifteen hundred a year in it for him? And mebby, when his term's ended, he might go to the legislature as representative."

"Or state senator?"

Sheehan grinned. " Say, do I look like I was on my way to the boneyard ? "

He became serious. " What's the matter with the people, anyhow? Raisin' hell all over the state — just because," he added complainingly, " one trust company went up and the cashier shot itself. Ain't business good? Ain't the organization given them good government ? " he demanded.

" It has." Senator Murchell spoke with conviction.

"What do they want, then?"

" I don't know. They don't know. And as long as they don't know," Murchell said dryly, " you and I, Jim, needn't be afraid."

" I guess that's right. — Here we are."

They had reached and turned the corner of the street that bounds the court-house square on the north. They stopped at a frame, two-room shack, by the door of which hung a battered tin sign, " John Dunmeade, Attorney -at-Law." Sheehan led the way inside. Through the door of the inner room came the muffled drone of voices. The two men seated themselves in the anteroom and waited. Ten minutes passed.

Sheehan chuckled again. " I bet," he said, " he's seen us and is goin' to keep us waitin'. That's what I like about him — he's got nerve to make grandstand plays. A grandstand player makes a good candidate."

" Sheehan," Senator Murchell exclaimed impatiently, " for a smart man you talk a lot of foolishness."

Sheehan relapsed into a serene silence, staring ruminatively at a steel engraving of Daniel Webster. After a few minutes the door opened and John Dunmeade emerged, ushering out a big, bearded farmer. When the client had left, the young lawyer turned to his callers and shook hands, warmly with Murchell and hastily with Sheehan.

"Will you step inside, gentlemen ?"

They took seats around the old, time-stained mahogany table. Sheehan drew forth from his waistcoat pocket a handful of fat, black cigars.

"Smoke?"

Murchell shook his head. John also declined.

" If you don't mind, I'll stick to my pipe." He filled and lighted it, then leaned back, surveying his callers expectantly.

" Well? " His look addressed the remark to Senator Murchell.

The senator smiled slightly. " I'm here only as an honorary vice-president. Ask Sheehan. He likes to talk."

" Sure," Sheehan grinned. " I ain't one of them that believes the feller that don't talk is deep and wise. He gener'ly ain't talkin' because he can't think of nothing to say." He paused, and continued, " Well, Mr. District Attorney — "

" Isn't that a little premature ? " John interrupted.

For answer the Honorable Jim drew forth from another pocket a folded newspaper, which he spread out on his knees. Solemnly he began to read : " We should not dignify the present rather unsettled political conditions with the name crisis. But it is unquestionably a time when the Republican party must inspect its path carefully. At such a time it behooves it to choose as candidates only men whose fearlessness and honesty are not open to question. Benton County has this fall to fill the important office of district attorney. Of all those mentioned for this post we know of none who so well fills the bill as John Dunmeade, the popular and brilliant young lawyer of New Chelsea. His name," Sheehan's voice rose to a triumphant climax ; " his name has brought forth enthusiasm wherever mentioned. The entire county wants him. It will have him." He looked up. " What do you think of that, eh? "

" Which of you," John asked, " inspired that editorial?"

" I did," answered Sheehan. " I didn't write it, though," he confessed.

" Don't you think," John demanded, a little sharply, " you might have asked my consent before using my name as a candidate? "

" What the — " Then Sheehan recollected Senator Murchell's aversion to profanity. He stared in amazement. " Say, when I'm tryin' to do you a favor—"

" Not at all. You're doing yourself the favor of using me in a tight place. Do I understand you've come here to — to give me your consent to run? "

Murchell smiled. The sarcasm was lost on Sheehan.

" We came to say we'd support you."

" Then let me state the case to you as it is. The state is pretty much worked up over that trust company affair back east — I'm not sure it oughtn't to be worked up, either. The farmers in this county and a good many people in Plumville aren't very friendly to you personally at best. In short," he laughed, " you need some new timber to patch up the old ship of state. And you think I'll do."

Sheehan turned to Senator Murchell. " Senator, let's me and you go right out and resign and let Johnny here run things. Don't you want the job ? " he demanded of John.

" I don't know yet. I'm thinking it over. But if I take it, it will be on condition — "

"On condition!"

" — that there are no conditions. I'd want to run my campaign and the office according to my own notions. I'd run it straight."

" Sure," agreed Sheehan.

" I really mean it, you know," John insisted. " I might even have to get after you, Sheehan."

This, to Sheehan, was humorous matter. " That's all right," he agreed again, grinning, " if you can catch me. You think it over, Johnny, and let me know to-morrow."

He rose. " Well, I guess I must be goin'. Are you comin' along, Senator?"

" Not just now, Sheehan," Senator Murchell answered.

" I'll be say in' good day, then." Sheehan shook hands with Senator Murchell and John and moved toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he stopped.

" You don't open the door for me the way you did for your rube friend, Johnny!" He laughed.

" Pardon me." John took a step toward him. But Sheehan opened the door himself.

" Don't mind. I'm able-bodied yet." And went out.

John went to the window, where he watched the politician until the swaggering figure disappeared around the corner. Murchell, with a faint twinge at his heart, saw the distaste plainly written on the young man's face. The twinge was because the time had come to grind his young friend through the mills of the organization. He could not understand the sharp little pain. Surely any man in his senses would be glad to be converted into fine, useful meal. And the senator, who set a low value upon gratuitous services, proposed to make the grinding process worth while to the man who was to be ground. He was already forming vague plans of setting him on the road to high political station; perhaps John might even prove to be an Elisha, some day to assume a fallen mantle. The senator would have rejoiced in such a consummation, and for a reason that would have astounded those who looked upon him only as a crafty old fox, that might have astonished even himself had he analyzed it with the close care he usually gave to his mental processes.

To the portrait with which this chapter opened we may add that William Murchell was a bachelor — a matter for which he is not to be censured too severely, since he once made an earnest effort to repair the condition. His had been a very simple romance. He had loved, had laid himself and his aspirations at the lady's feet and had been rejected. A short time afterward he stood with his best friend as the latter took the same lady in holy wedlock. It is probable that he had his period of suffering; but, as became a man of ambition, he quickly put an end to it and gave himself to the climb to power. In time his romance was almost forgotten.