"I'll tell you what you can _not_ do!"
The President gasped for breath and listened helplessly.
"You can't yield that fort to the conspirators who demand it. Dare to do
it, and I tell you, as the Attorney General of the United States, you
are guilty of high treason--and by the living God you should be hung!"
The venerable Secretary of the Navy, Isaac Toucey, lifted his hand in
protest. Stanton merely threw him a look of scorn, and shouted into the
President's face:
"Your act could no more be defended than Benedict Arnold's!"
"And what say you, Holt?" the President asked, turning to his
heavy-jawed Secretary of War.
"Send a ship to the relief of Sumter within twenty-four hours, and let
South Carolina take the consequences--"
"Good!" Stanton cried.
Holt's crooked mouth was drawn in grim lines, and the left-hand corner
was twisted into a still lower knot of ugly muscles. His furtive eyes
beneath their shaggy brows glanced quickly around the table to see the
effect of his patriotic stand.
The President turned to the white-haired Secretary of the Navy:
"And you, General Toucey?"
The venerable statesman from Connecticut bowed gravely to his Chief and
spoke with quiet dignity.
"I would order Anderson to return at once to Fort Moultrie--"
Stanton smashed the table with his big fist.
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