there is also much that is not horror. And there is nobility as well as
baseness. And the mind adapts itself, and the ocean is deeper than we
think. Somewhere, of course, lies the shore of Brotherhood, and beyond
that the shore of Oneness. It is not unlikely, I think, that we may
reinforce Johnston at Richmond."

"Then Miriam and I will make our way there also. How long will it last,
Richard--the war?"

"It may last one year and it may last ten. The probability is perhaps
five."

"Five years! All the country will be grey-haired."

"War is a forge, mother. Many things will be forged--more of iron
perhaps than of gold."

"You have no doubt of the final victory?"

"If I ever have I put it from me. I do not doubt the armies nor the
generals--and, God knows, I do not doubt the women at home! If I am not
so sure in all ways of the government, at least no man doubts its
integrity and its purpose. The President, if he is clear and narrow
rather than clear and broad, if he sometimes plays the bigot, if he is a
good field officer rather than the great man of affairs we need--yet he
is earnest, disinterested, able, a patriot. And Congress does its
best--is at least eloquent and fires the heart. Our crowding needs are
great and our resources small; it does what it can. The departments work
hard. Benjamin, Mallory, Randolph, Meminger--they are all good men. And
the railroad men and the engineers and the chemists and the
mechanics--all so wonderfully and pathetically ingenious, labouring day
and night, working miracles without material, making bricks without
straw. Arsenals, foundries, powder-mills, workshop, manufactories--all
in a night, out of the wheat fields! And the runners of blockades, and
the river steamer men, the special agents, the clerks, the workers of
all kind--a territory large as Europe and every man and woman in the
field in one aspect or another! If patriotism can save and ability,
fortitude, endurance, we are saved. And yet I think of my old
'Plutarch's Lives,' and of all the causes that have been lost. And
sometimes in the middle of the night, I see all our blocked ports--and
the Mississippi, slipping from our hands. I do not believe that England
will come to our help. There is a sentiment for us, undoubtedly, but
like the island mists it stays at home."

He rose from the table. "And yet the brave man fights and must hope.
Hope is the sky above him--and the skies have never really fallen. I do
not know