The First Assassin by John J. Miller Read Free Book Online

“We’ve known for years that preserving our institutions may require war. Better to strike a blow for our freedom and our culture now than to curl up and let Lincoln destroy them over time and on his terms.”
    Bennett shook his head. “That fight cannot be won against the Northerners, at least not in the way you imagine. They have men, money, and material on their side. They are manufacturers. They have a navy. We are an agricultural people. We have rice, sugar, and cotton. It is not enough to win a war. We must consider other options. I want to do something for South Carolina, Tucker—one last thing before my days are done. I want to strike one final blow for the whole South.”
    This is new, thought Hughes. Bennett had not hinted at a specific plan of action before. “You puzzle me,” said Hughes, stepping leisurely to the table. Bennett’s back was to him. “One moment you sound like a conciliator who wants to avoid war. The next you say you want to do something for the South. I hope that what you intend to do is something besides giving up.”
    “I will never surrender,” sputtered Bennett. “There can be no compromise on the slavery question. We cannot live under politicians whose idea of democracy is that when three people get together, the two shall rule the one. Our institutions must survive. It is our right that they do. And therefore, we must aim directly at the heart of Black Republican rule.”
    Hughes was struck by the old man’s passion, but his mind was on the table. “War must be considered,” he said, angling for a view of the papers. “If we show the North we are willing to fight, it may acquiesce.”
    Making sure Bennett could not see him, Hughes leaned over the table. A letter on top read, “ Su español es bueno, pero mi inglés es mejor . Your offer is generous. I would like to meet in person to discuss it. Expect me in Charleston by the middle part of April.” The letter was not signed.
    Hughes could not read the first part, but he knew it was written in Spanish. Did Bennett have some unmentioned relation in Cuba? The thought worried him.
    “But it may come to bloodshed,” said Bennett.
    “Yes, it may,” said Hughes, returning to his seat. “And if it does, we will have to fight. Even if we lose, we may preserve our honor. But I think we may very well win a war.”
    Bennett said nothing for a moment. He appeared to be collecting his thoughts. Then he stared directly at Hughes and narrowed his eyes. “Let’s talk of your inheritance, and how it may help us achieve our goals.”
    Hughes slanted forward. “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t want a war.”
    “I know that.”
    “I want a death. I want a murder.”
    Hughes sat up sharply. “What are you talking about, Langston?”
    “I’m talking about Abraham Lincoln.”
    In the darkened hallway outside, Lucius pulled his ear back from the door. The sound coming from within was muffled, but Lucius was certain of what he had heard. Without making a sound, he walked to the steps and crept downstairs. He was glad Nelly was not waiting for him.

FIVE
     
    FRIDAY, MARCH 15, 1861
     
    Rook’s head jerked up as his horse came to a halt outside the Winder Building on Seventeenth Street. The animal seemed to know instinctively where to stop. It had become used to the routine since the inauguration: a daily walk around Washington’s rutted roads and cratered streets so that Rook could inspect the bridges leading into the city and the pickets that guarded the roads to the north. Rook had become used to it as well, so much, in fact, that he had nodded off a couple of times between his last stop, at the Chain Bridge out past Georgetown, and his destination here.
    He hopped down from his mount and yawned. It was dusk when he had set out, and since then the sun had gone down completely. Lights glowed from inside the building in front of him. An attendant materialized to take the horse.
    “I expect to be here a little while,” said Rook.