The President grasped his hand and held it in a vice-like grip. "What—do—I—want—you—to—do?" he asked, with a deliberation strangely at variance with the passion of his words a moment ago. He looked down searchingly, kindly, pityingly into the troubled eyes before him. "What do I want you to do? I—want—you—to—follow— your—conscience——for—the—benefit—of—your—country—instead—of— for—your—own—personal—comfort,—until—that—conscience—tells—you— your—country—needs—you—no—longer; that you have, in deed and in truth, done your share fully! I want you to go with an advance guard down through that very country"—his long finger pointed to the disfigured map on the table—"and show our commander the real topography of that land. I want you to make him as familiar with it as you are yourself. I want you to show him where the passes and fords are, where supplies can be carried across, where water is plenty, and where both advance and retreat are possible without useless and horrible slaughter. I want you—" He was still holding Griffith's right hand. He placed his left on his shoulder, again. "No man has done his duty in a crisis like this until he has done all that he can to hasten the dawn of peace;" he lowered his voice, "and he that is not with us is against us," he said solemnly, the scriptural language falling from his lips as if their professions were reversed.
"How far do you want me to go?" asked Griffith, looking up with an appeal in every tense muscle of his miserable face. "It is my native State! They are my people! I love every foot of ground—I love those—" He was breathing so hard he stopped for a moment. "That we do not think alike—that they are what you call rebels to our common country—does not change my love. I—Mr. Lincoln——"
The President seemed to tower up to a greater height than even his former gigantic altitude. He threw both arms out in a sudden passion: "Forget your love! Forget your native State! Forget yourself! Forget everything except that this Union must and shall be saved, and that you can hasten the end of this awful carnage!" The storm had swept over. He lowered his voice again, and with both hands on the preacher's shoulders: "I will agree to this. When you have gone so far that you can come back here to me and say, 'I know now that I have done enough. My conscience is clear. My whole duty is done.' When you can come back here and say that to me—when you can say (if you and I had changed places) that you could ask no more of me—then I will agree to ask no more of you." Then, suddenly, "When will you start? To-night?"
"Yes," said Griffith, almost inaudibly, and sank into a chair.
Mr. Lincoln strode to the table and pushed aside the disfigured map. "I will write your instructions and make necessary plans," he said. "There is not much to do. The General and the engineer corps are ready. I hoped and believed you would go." His pen flew over the paper. Then he paused and looked at his visitor. "We must fix your rank. Will you volunteer, or shall I——?"
"Is that necessary, Mr. Lincoln? I am a preacher, you know. I—— Can't I go just as I am—just—as——?"
The President had turned again to the table, and was writing. Griffith stepped to his side.
"Do you realize, Mr. Lincoln, that every man, woman and child in that whole country will recognize me—and—?"
"Yes, yes, I know, I know. We must do everything we can to protect you from all danger—against assassination or——"
"It is not that," said Griffith, hoarsely. "Do you care nothing for the good-will—for the confidence—of your old neighbors hack in Illinois?"