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THE VICTIM

A Romance of the Real Jefferson Davis

by

THOMAS DIXON

Illustrated by J. N. Marchand






  BOOKS BY THOMAS DIXON

  The Victim
  The Southerner
  The Sins of the Father
  The Leopard's Spots
  The Clansman
  The Traitor
  The One Woman
  Comrades
  The Root of Evil
  The Life Worth Living




[Illustration: "The man in front gave a short laugh and advanced
on the girl" [Page 300]]




THE VICTIM



"_A majestic soul has passed_"--Charles A. Dana


[Illustration: Colophon]



New York and London
D. Appleton and Company
1914
Copyright, 1914, by
Thomas Dixon
All rights reserved, including that of translation into all
foreign languages, including the Scandinavian
Printed in the United States of America




  TO
  THE BRAVE WHO DIED
  FOR WHAT THEY BELIEVED
  TO BE RIGHT




  _Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns!
  Love rules. Her gentle purpose runs.
  A mighty mother turns in tears
  The pages of her battle years
  Lamenting all her fallen sons!_

  THOMPSON




TO THE READER


_In the historical romance which I have woven of the dramatic events of
the life of Jefferson Davis I have drawn his real character unobscured
by passion or prejudice. Forced by his people to lead their cause, his
genius created an engine of war so terrible in its power that through it
five million Southerners, without money, without a market, without
credit, withstood for four years the shock of twenty million men of
their own blood and of equal daring, backed by boundless resources._

_The achievement is without a parallel in history, and adds new glory to
the records of our race._

_The scenes have all been drawn from authentic records in my possession.
I have not at any point taken a liberty with an essential detail of
history._

Thomas Dixon.




CONTENTS




PROLOGUE


        I The Curtain Rises
       II The Parting
      III A Midnight Session
       IV A Friendly Warning
        V Boy and Girl
       VI God's Will
      VII The Best Man Wins
     VIII The Storm Center
       IX The Old Regime
        X The Gauge of Battle
       XI Jennie's Vision
      XII A Little Cloud
     XIII The Closing of the Ranks
      XIV Richmond in Gala Dress
       XV The House on Church Hill
      XVI The Flower-Decked Tent
     XVII The Fatal Victory
    XVIII The Aftermath
      XIX Socola's Problem
       XX The Anaconda
      XXI Gathering Clouds
     XXII Jennie's Recruit
    XXIII The Fatal Blunder
     XXIV The Sleeping Lioness
      XXV The Bombardment
     XXVI The Irreparable Loss
    XXVII The Light that Failed
   XXVIII The Snare of the Fowler
     XXIX The Panic in Richmond
      XXX The Deliverance
     XXXI Love and War
    XXXII The Path of Glory
   XXXIII The Accusation
    XXXIV The Turn of the Tide
     XXXV Suspicion
    XXXVI The Fatal Deed
   XXXVII The Raiders
  XXXVIII The Discovery
    XXXIX The Conspirators
       XL In Sight of Victory
      XLI The Fall of Richmond
     XLII The Capture
    XLIII The Victor
     XLIV Prison Bars
      XLV The Master Mind
     XLVI The Torture
    XLVII Vindication




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


"The man in front gave a short laugh and advanced on the girl"

"'You have given me new eyes--'"

"'We have won, sir!' was the short curt answer"

"Dick saluted and sprang into the saddle--'I understand, sir'"

"Jennie thrust her trembling little figure between the two men and
confronted Dick"

"'Do your duty--put them on him!'"




LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY


_The Prologue_

1814-1853

  Lt. Jefferson Davis, Of the U. S. Army.
  Joseph E. Davis, His Big Brother.
  Colonel Zachary Taylor, "Old Rough and Ready."
  Sarah Knox Taylor, His Daughter.
  James Pemberton, A Faithful Slave.


_The Story_

1860-1867

  Hon. Roger Barton, An Original Secessionist.
  Jennie, His Daughter.
  Dick Welford, A Confederate Soldier.
  Joseph Holt, A Renegade Southerner.
  Henrico Socola, A Soldier of Fortune.
  The President, Of the Confederacy.
  Mrs. Davis, His Wife.
  Burton Harrison, His Secretary.
  Joseph E. Johnston, A Master of Retreat.
  P. G. T. Beauregard, The First Hero.
  Stonewall Jackson, Of the "Foot Cavalry."
  Robert E. Lee, The Southern Commander.
  U. S. Grant, The Bull Dog Fighter.
  Nelson A. Miles, A Jailer.
  John C. Underwood, A Reconstruction Judge.




THE VICTIM

The Prologue




THE VICTIM


PROLOGUE




I

KIDNAPPED


The hot sun of the South was sinking in red glow through the giant
tree-tops of a Mississippi forest beyond the village of Woodville.
A slender girl stood in the pathway watching a boy of seven trudge
manfully away beside his stalwart brother.

Her lips trembled and eyes filled with tears.

"Wait--wait!" she cried.

With a sudden bound she snatched him to her heart.

"Don't, Polly--you hurt!" the little fellow faltered, looking at her
with a feeling of sudden fear. "Why did you squeeze me so hard?"

"You shouldn't have done that, honey," the big brother frowned.

"I know," the sister pleaded, "but I couldn't help it."

"What are you crying about?" the boy questioned.

Again the girl's arm stole around his neck.

"What's the matter with her, Big Brother?" he asked with a brave attempt
at scorn.

The man slowly loosened the sister's arms.

"I'm just going home with you, ain't I?" the child went on, with a
quiver in his voice.

The older brother led him to a fallen log, sat down, and held his hands.

"No, Boy," he said quietly. "I'd as well tell you the truth now. I'm
going to send you to Kentucky to a wonderful school, taught by learned
men from the Old World--wise monks who know everything. You want to go
to a real school, don't you?"

"But my Mamma don't know--"

"That's just it, Boy. We can't tell her. She wouldn't let you go."

"Why?"

"Well, she's a good Baptist, and it's a long, long way to the St. Thomas
monastery."

"How far?"

"A thousand miles, through these big woods--"

The blue eyes dimmed.

"I want to see my Mamma before I go--" his voice broke.

The man shook his head.

"No, Boy; it won't do. You're her baby--"

The dark head sank with a cry.

"I want to see her!"

"Come, come, Jeff Davis, you're going to be a soldier. Remember you're
the son of a soldier who fought under General Washington and won our
freedom. You're named after Thomas Jefferson, the great President. Your
three brothers have just come home from New Orleans. Under Old Hickory
we drove the British back into their ships and sent 'em flying home to
England. The son of a soldier--the brother of soldiers--can't cry--"

"I will if I want to!"

"All right!" the man laughed--"I'll hold my hat and you can cry it
full--"

He removed his hat and held it smilingly under the boy's firm little
chin. The childish lips tightened and the cheeks flushed with anger.
His bare toes began to dig holes in the soft rich earth. The appeal to
his soldier blood had struck into the pride of his heart and the insult
of a hat full of tears had hurt.

At last, he found his tongue:

"Does Pa know I'm goin'?"

"Yes. He thinks you're a very small boy to go so far, but knows it's for
the best."

"That's why he kissed me when I left?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was funny," he murmured with a half sob; "he never kissed
me before--"

"He's quiet and reserved, Boy, but he's wise and good and loves you.
He's had a hard time out here in the wilderness fighting his way with a
wife and ten children. He never had a chance to get an education and the
children didn't either. Some of us are too old now. There's time for
you. We're going to stand aside and let you pass. You're our baby
brother, and we love you."

The child's hand slowly stole into the rough one of the man.

"And I love you, Big Brother--" the little voice faltered, "and all the
others, too, and that's-why-I'm-not-goin'!"

"I'm so glad!" The girl clapped her hands and laughed.

"Polly!--"

"Well, I am, and I don't care what you say. He's too little to go so far
and you know he is--"

The man grasped her hand and whispered:

"Hush!"

The brother slipped his arm around the Boy and drew him on his knee. He
waited a moment until the hard lines at the corners of the firm mouth
had relaxed under the pressure of his caress, pushed the tangled hair
back from his forehead and looked into the fine blue-gray eyes. His
voice was tender and his speech slow.

"You must make up your mind to go, Boy. I don't want to force you. I
like to see your eyes flash when you say you _won't_ go. You've got the
stuff in you that real men are made of. That's why it's worth while to
send you. I've seen that since you could toddle about the house and
stamp your feet when things didn't suit you. Now, listen to me. I've
made a vow to God that you shall have as good a chance as any man to
make your way to the top. We're going to be the greatest nation in the
world. I saw it in the red flash of guns that day at New Orleans as I
lay there in the trench and watched the long lines of Red Coats go down
before us. Just a lot of raw recruits with old flintlocks! The men who
charged us, the picked veterans of England's grand army. But we cut 'em
to pieces, Boy! I fired a cannon loaded with grape shot that mowed a
lane straight through 'em. It must have killed two hundred men. They
burned our Capitol at Washington and the Federalist traitors at Hartford
were firin' on us in the rear, but Old Hickory showed the world that we
could lick England with one hand tied behind our back. And we did it. We
drove 'em like sheep--drove 'em into the sea.

"There's but one name on every lip in this country now, Boy, and that's
Old Hickory. He'd be President next time--but for