heart. Friends,
political compatriots and erstwhile enemies paid David Broderick a final
tribute as they passed; few without a twitching of the lips. Tears ran
down the faces of both men and women. The crowd murmured. Then the
splendid moving voice of Colonel Baker poured forth an oration like Mark
Anthony above the bier of Caesar:

"Citizens of California: A Senator lies dead.... It is not
fit that such a man should pass into the tomb unheralded;
that such a life should steal, unnoticed, to its close. It is
not fit that such a death should call forth no rebuke...."

His majestic voice rolled on, telling of Broderick's work, his
character, devotion to the people. He assailed the practice of duelling,
the bitter hatreds of a slave-impassioned South. His voice shook with
emotion as he ended:

"Thus, O brave heart! we bear thee to thy rest. As in life no
other voice so rung its trumpet blast upon the ear of
freemen, so in death its echoes will reverberate amid our
valleys and mountains until truth and valor cease to appeal
to the human heart.

"Good friend! True hero! Hail and farewell."

[Illustration: Terry, who had taken careful aim, now fired. Broderick
staggered, recovered himself. Slowly he sank to one knee.]

CHAPTER LV

THE SOUTHERN PLOT

America stood on war's threshold. Even in the West one felt its
imminence. The Republican victory had been like a slap in the face to
slave-holding democracy. Its strongholds were secretly arming,
mobilizing, drilling. And though Lincoln wisely held his peace--warned
all the States which hummed with wild secession talk that their
aggression alone could disrupt the Union--the wily Stanton, through the
machinery of the War Department, prepared with quiet grimness for the
coming struggle.

Herbert Waters, after Broderick's death, returned to Windham's office.
He was a full-fledged lawyer now, more of a partner than an employee.
Waters was of Southern antecedents, a native of Kentucky, a friend,
almost a protege, of General Albert Sydney Johnson, commanding the
military district of the Pacific.

One evening in January, 1861, he dined with the Windhams. Early in the
evening Benito was called out to the bedside of an ailing client, who
desired him to write a will. After he was gone, young Waters turned
to Alice.

"You were a friend of Mr. Broderick's," he said impulsively. "He often
spoke of you ... and once, not long