More smiles and confidence in the best Washington hotels.
The third day of the battle was a butchering contest. The whole people watched, listened. The news flamed north and south. Millions, terrified, read the dead roll.
But the broadcloth gentlemen wept not. They waited—patriotically.
The fourth day was a storm of blood and iron.
But the eminent business men, bankers, statesmen, promoters and other patriotic looters, safe in Washington—far from the firing line—waited, drank fine wine and very confidently waited—waited as lions wait—to spring to the throats of their victims.
Mr. Lincoln held back his signature from that “certain Bill.” He was doing his best for the boys in the trenches, and was justly suspicious of the promoter-banker patriotism in Washington.
The fifth day millions looked toward Virginia—and were sickened with grief.
But certain prominent gentlemen in Washington cheerfully jested, ate the best food on earth, lolled in easy chairs, gracefully reclined on elegantly upholstered sofas, craftily plotted—and waited, in calm confidence waited.
The sixth day of the battle was “Death’s feast.” The nation, North and South, was stupefied with the horror of the war.
But certain “highly respected leading citizens,” Christian business men—flag-waving patriots all of them—quaffed their wine, chatted gaily, plotted, and, like reptiles, coiled to strike—waited, confident.