"They're saying it's Congress's fault for lowering the tariffs," Buchanan scoffed, watching as America fell into another fit of coughing. "True enough, I suppose. That along with the competition. But those Northerners are always looking to pin the blame on the South nowadays, and vice versa."
"It's not anyone's fault," America insisted, blowing his nose on a handkerchief. "I'm just sick…it happens to everyone."
"But you are not just anyone," Buchanan mused, returning to his work. A short silence passed, the only sounds his president's pen scratching on paper and the periodic cough or sneeze from the young Nation.
"I wonder how the debates are going," America wondered aloud, in a calm between fits. "I wanted to go along with Douglas, but then this happened…"
"You did the right thing, staying here," Buchanan assured, before his tone turned snide. "You don't need to be listening to the trash that comes out of that man's mouth anyway. Or anything from that nobody Lincoln. The whole affair is drawing such useless attention."
America frowned, rather put out by Buchanan's obvious show of distain. He opened his mouth, ready to make some form of retort, when another coughing fit made up his mind that it wasn't worth it. Douglas had promised to tell him all about it when he came back, anyway, so he would find out the details in good time. Besides that, Buchanan could be stubborn as anything when he wanted to be, and America really didn't feel up to arguing Douglas's good points with him of all people in his current state.
Instead, he merely lay back against the backrest, letting his eyes fall shut. He had been up all night, coughing and sneezing, one of the two always seeming to start up as soon as the other stopped. Within moments, he could feel his mind succumbing to sleep, his lungs pleasantly calm for the time being.
Buchanan didn't like having the young Nation sleep in the office. An office was a place of work, not rest, he had said on several different occasions. But America supposed he would make an exception this time: he was sick, after all. And Buchanan must have a heart capable of sympathy somewhere in there, despite his usual severity. Or so America hoped.
He's a lunatic, America reminded himself, watching the trial's proceedings with a heavy heart. A lunatic that tried to harm his own people, my people. But this wasn't the man America had been expecting. He had been expecting a deranged man, complete with evil laughter and a malicious aura. Not this sad human, calm and attentive as his inevitable fate was decided.
"If it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood with the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, and unjust enactments," Brown proclaimed, just before the judge announced his verdict. "I say, let it be done."
The judge hesitated for a moment at these words, before hitting his mallet with a sense of conviction. "Mr. Brown, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging for the crimes of treason, conspiracy, and murder."
And that had been it. America watched the man go, heart torn. How was it possible that he felt both pity and disgust for the man? So strongly he felt each, both sympathetic to and gladdened by the man's fate. Deep down, he knew how it was true. The sentiments of his people, influencing his own, just as strongly as they ever had. But he wouldn't admit this, wouldn't admit that his emotions were so completely subject to those of his people.
He was his own person, his own self, despite everything. And he could stay above this. He had to.
"I don't know what to do," America admitted to Douglas as elections proceeded, a new edge of panic to his voice. "I can feel myself…splitting. I—I…"
"You're afraid," Douglas interceded knowingly, placing his hand on the young Nation's shoulder. "And you have every right to be. I can see what's going to come out of this. Nothing good, not for you, not for anyone. I know I'm not going to win the election, so I do not have much say…"
"Mr. Douglas, I…" America swallowed the lump rising in his throat, suppressing a cough with the same stone. "What's going to happen to me? South Carolina's going to secede. This country…our country…is going to fall apart. What's going to happen to me?"
"I don't know, America," Douglas sighed, squeezing the boy's shoulder once more, before turning to go. "I really don't know. But I'll try my best to keep that from happening, if it's any consolation."
It's not, America cried in his mind, his heart racing with adrenaline. We both know it's not going to be enough…
Buchanan was as distant as ever. He didn't inquire after America's despondency, too concerned with wrapping up matters in office before surrendering his post to the newcomer. The election was drawing to a close, victory looking certain for Lincoln.
Worries ran rampant through the young Nation's mind, ceaselessly patrolling the empty halls. Would it hurt? part of him wondered, filling his mind with remembrance of the attack on Washington, the attacks on the Indians. Would it be worse? He didn't know. He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was that he didn't want it to happen, didn't want to have to find out.
Outside his window, it was dark, despite being midday. Clouds had been obscuring the sun for days now, dark and heavy, looking ready to pour forth sheets of rain at any moment. But they did not, had not, as if waiting for the perfect moment.
He felt more alone than he ever had before, despite being around others almost constantly. Alone in a crowd. No one could help him, no one would help him…
This isn't happening, another voice assured him, soothing and indignant. Have more faith in your people. They can get through this in one piece.
"I'm only speeding up the inevitable," England's voice was a sneer, mocking. "If such minimal strain is significantly harming your government, there surely must be something wrong with it."
That's not true, the same voice persisted, his own he realized, arguing against England in years long passed. I'm strong, strong enough to fight you…
"So you think," France's voice this time, laughing, deranged. "Your people are just as capable of such violen—"
"Not against themselves!" he heard his own voice from so long ago, yelling back...
He scrunched his eyes closed, willing these memories away. Where were they coming from? Why now?
"Au contraire, mon enfant," He could seen the mad grin on the Frenchman's face, the memory as clear as the day it happened. "You will see in time…"
"No…Nooo!" America shouted, screaming loud as his lungs would allow. The covers were tangled around his form, the sheets damp with sweat. How had he gotten here? He didn't remember leaving the office.
He didn't remember…he didn't—What was this pain, tearing at him, tearing him apart…
His eyes wouldn't focus on the clock face mounted on the wall. Blurred numbers, blurred hands. He fumbled for Texas, panic making his fingers clumsy. Sweat-coated…slipping, slippery…
Rain, wet, slippery. Guns, yelling, fighting…
"England!" he screamed, curling into a ball. His eyes wouldn't close tight enough; his hands couldn't press close enough to keep the thoughts and voices out of his head hard as they clamped over his ears. "England!" As soon as the Brit arrived, the nightmares would go away. It would all be better…
Why is he taking so long? I need help, England. Please…I'm afraid.
"America!" a voice shouted, breaking through his panic. He opened his eyes, daylight streaming in.
Blearily, he looked at the face above him: Douglas, his dark, graying hair swimming in and out of focus. "Texas," he mumbled incoherently, smiling a weak thanks when Douglas placed them into his hands.
"It's past noon...are you quite alright?" Douglas asked, knowing the answer.
"The election," America mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes before pushing the lenses on. "What are the results?"
"Lincoln…" Douglas's announcement was an apology. "Lincoln won."
And America felt his heart stop.
Historical Notes: Northerners blamed the Panic of 1857 on the south-dominated Congress's protective lowering of tariffs (lowest levels in nearly half a century). As prices plummeted and unemployment rose, they attributed the collapse to foreign competition (the Crimean War had ended, and so Russia was again selling grain to break up the American monopoly on the business) and accused the South of sacrificing the prosperity of the whole Nation for its own selfish interests. The South, relative unaffected by the panic, claimed this was due to the superiority of the slavery system.
Republicans, desperate to win against the very popular Douglas for Illinois senate, chose Abraham Lincoln as their candidate. He had little formal education, and was of humble origins. He was a decent lawyer, with a knack for telling tales and speaking concisely. Not an abolitionist, he believed slavery was wrong, but was also sympathetic to the South.
In 1858, Lincoln challenged Douglas to what became know as the Lincoln-Douglas Debates. Douglas was short stocky, flashy, and resplendent, as opposed to tall, lean, worn Lincoln in his ill-fitting clothes, using average transportation and walking. They modified slavery views to the area, neither wanting it abolished or in the new territories. Lincoln often pictured Douglas as proslavery and pro-Dred Scott, while Douglas portrayed Lincoln as an abolitionist. They exaggerated minor difference, as they shared many aspects of thinking.
The Freeport Doctrine was Douglas's statement that the people can not uphold territory legislature if the local police are against it. Saved him Illinois, but upset the South. Although Lincoln lost, he made people aware, and demonstrated his personality elsewhere Republican wins were heavy. When Congress reconvened, southerners dominated, blocking northern proposals. Extreme southerners spoke of secession.
October 1589, John Brown and is group of 18 mixed followers attacked Harpers Ferry, Virginia, planning to seize the federal arsenal to arm the slaves that would presumably "flock" to him. They captured several hostages, but Brown was captured after a two-day siege. Although insane, he was dignified in jail and truly believed in racial equality (he called blacks who worked for him "Mister" and had them eat with him and sit with his family at church). Northerners admired him as martyr for this attitude. Thoreau wrote an essay titled "Courage" in honor of Brown. Southerners viewed this sympathy as proof of Northern ruthlessness. Several Northerners in the south were beaten and arrested, for being "accomplices" to Brown and out of pure anger in other cases.
Extremism was more evident in the South; emotional release; cracked down on slaves. In the Election 1860, the Democrats, unable to decide on a single candidate, split: The Northerners chose Douglas, while the Southerners backed John C. Breckinridge. The Freeport Doctrine. Southerners felt the North was industrializing too fast, fearing their expansion. The Republicans chose Lincoln, supporting a high tariff, free land for settlers, internal improvements, and no restrictions on immigration. At first they bribed leaders for votes for Lincoln's nomination. He ran against Seward, who was too extreme.
Remnants of the American and Whig parties combined to formed the Constitutional Union party, running John Bell. They steered clear of divisive issues, and for this reason were supported by many of the Border States. Douglas, realizing Lincoln would win, asked southerners to stand by the Union, regardless of the election's outcome. He was the only candidate to do so. Lincoln won.
And so starts the Civil War. Almost, anyway. Sorry for the delay…I've been busy with schoolwork and stuff. But you get an extra long chapter, see? Too late too proofread…maybe tomorrow.