ed but a little more than 500,000 votes more than
he had. No use to say that the populace does not understand questions of
government or that they cannot rise to high justices and rewards.
Douglas' personal triumph had been great, but his remarkable popular
support shrunk to an insignificant twelve votes in the electoral
college. He was vanquished and I was more deeply depressed than I had
ever been in my life. Lincoln was elected!

And the South seceded.

CHAPTER LXII

It is war! Mars has descended. The irrepressible conflict has taken the
sword. The house divided against itself is in the last contest to see
whether there shall be two houses or one. The devils are now to be cast
out, not by Satan but by the Lord mighty in battle, great in anger.
Grapes of wrath are to be treaded now, and a furious wine drawn from the
broken flesh of men hitherto growing peacefully on peaceful stems, North
and South.

Douglas wishes without ostentation to make himself clear in his
friendship and support of Lincoln. No envy, no pique, no chagrin. He has
often prophesied this war. For years he has warned the country against
sectionalism. He does not now say, I told you so. The war has come. He
is for the North, as he told the South he would be if elected himself.
He is against disunion with all his heart. His health is broken; he has
no future on this earth except to work to bring peace, and to win the
South to save the Union. And he labors like a Titan to these ends.

I waver in my plans to go to Washington to see Lincoln inaugurated. In
any event I shall devour the report of the proceedings. I cannot keep my
mind off the event. I cannot wait to see Douglas to express to him my
great admiration, my deep affection. Yet I fear he is beyond the reach
of such things. What does he care whether I admire him or not, or
whether any one loves him or not? Such things cannot touch him now. But
I would see him again. And I would see Lincoln too.

On the morning I am to start I leave my house in Chicago; then I return
to my porch and think, holding my satchel. I start again, force myself
to go. I drag myself on to the train. Things are changed now. I can go
by rail all the way. No need of boats and canals in this late February
of 1861.

Washington is in a thrill. It is expected that the crack of a rifle from
a tree or a housetop will fell the tall Lincoln from Illinois, as he
faces the crowd to take the oath of office. But all was pea