Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

TEN

A House Divided

“A house divided against itself cannot stand.” I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved—I do not expect the house to fall—but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other.

—Abraham Lincoln, accepting the Republican

Party’s nomination for senator

June 16th, 1858

I

In the predawn hours of February 23rd, 1861, a tall, cloaked figure was rushed onto the platform of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Depot before his train had even come to a stop, ten hours before anyone expected him to arrive. His feet seldom touched the ground as a mass of armed men hurried him into a waiting coach, which sped off as soon as its reinforced door had clicked shut. Inside, two bodyguards joined him behind the black curtains, their revolvers at the ready as if they expected the night to be shattered by gunfire at any moment. Outside, a third man sat next to the driver, his black eyes peering into the dark streets of Washington, D.C., looking for any sign of danger ahead. There were more of his kind waiting at the hotel, making sure no one entered without their knowledge and blessing; making sure their precious cargo was delivered safely to his bed. There was even a man stationed on the roof of the building across the way, looking for anyone who might try to crawl down the facade and enter through a window.

Henry Sturges had insisted on this unprecedented level of security—and his insistence had proven wise….

For President Elect Abraham Lincoln had just survived his first assassination attempt.

In late 1857, not long after his return from that fateful meeting in New York, Abe announced that he would run against Stephen Douglas for the Senate. Unbeknownst to his supporters, this announcement had been preceded by the arrival of a letter:

Abraham,

As you guessed in your letter of September 13th, we must ask you to oppose Mr. Douglas. The Senator, as you no doubt suspect, is one of the many living men who have fallen prey to our enemy’s influence. Do not concern yourself with the outcome of this election—rather, use your particular passion and oratory skill to combat slavery at every turn. We will see to it that the results are favorable to our cause. Trust in yourself, Abraham. Never forget that this is your purpose.

Ever,

—H

P.S. Matthew 12:25 ^*

Abe accepted the Republican Party’s nomination for Senate on June 16th, 1858, with what would be known as his “House Divided” speech. In it, he accused Senator Douglas of being part of the “machinery” designed to spread slavery to all of America. Without any mention of vampires, Abe alluded to the “strange, discordant, and even hostile elements” that had come together to fight a “proud and pampered enemy” to the south.

Between August 21st and October 15th, he and Douglas held a series of seven debates throughout Illinois, some attended by as many as 10,000 onlookers. They became an instant sensation, thrusting both men onto the national stage as transcripts of their battle appeared in newspapers throughout the country. For his part, Douglas tried to paint Abe as a radical abolitionist. He excelled at whipping the crowd into a frenzy with images of freed slaves flocking to Illinois; of black settlements springing up in white backyards; of black men marrying white women.

If you desire [blacks] to vote on an equality with yourselves, and to make them eligible to office, to serve on juries, and to adjudge your rights, then support Mr. Lincoln and the Black Republican party, who are in favor of the citizenship of the Negro!

Abe struck back at Douglas’s doom and gloom with a simple moral truth—one that he owed (whether he would admit it or not) to his father’s Baptist upbringing.

I agree with Judge Douglas—[the black man] is not my equal in many respects—certainly not in color, perhaps not in moral or intellectual endowment. But in the right to eat the bread, without the leave of anybody else, which his own hand earns, he is my equal and the equal of Judge Douglas, and the equal of every living man.

FIG. 29 - A MAN AND WOMAN (LIKELY VAMPIRES) POSE OUTSIDE A SLAVE AUCTION COMPANY IN ATLANTA, GEORGIA SHORTLY BEFORE THE CIVIL WAR.

Still, Abe was frustrated by his inability to get at the real issue—the fact that Douglas was the servant of creatures who would see all of mankind in chains. ^* Following a debate in Charleston, Illinois, Abe vented this frustration in his journal.

More signs in the crowd today. “Negro Equality Is Immoral!” “America for Whites!” I look out at these crowds… at these fools. These fools who haven’t the slightest idea how to live the morals they espouse. These fools who proclaim themselves men of God, yet show not the slightest reverence to His word. Christians preaching slavery! Slaveholders preaching morality! Is it any different from a drunkard preaching temperance? A whore preaching modesty? I look at these fools campaigning for their own doom, and I am tempted to tell them the whole truth of what they face. Imagine their reaction! Imagine their panic! Oh, if I could but say the word once! “Vampire!” Oh, if only I could point at that portly runt ^* and shame him before all of creation! Expose him for the traitor that he is! The traitor to his own kind! If only I could see men like Douglas and Buchanan in chains—victims of the very institution they champion!

His frustration (or his desire to throw Douglas off guard), led Abe to insert several thinly veiled references to the vampire threat during the final debate on October 15th.

That is the issue that will continue in this country when these poor tongues of Judge Douglas and myself shall be silent. It is the eternal struggle between these two principles—right and wrong—throughout the world. They are the two principles that have stood face-to-face from the beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. The one is the common right of humanity and the other the divine right of kings.

Abe had electrified antislavery forces across Illinois and the North. Unfortunately senators were still elected by their state legislatures in 1858. The Democratic majority (or more accurately, its vampire backers) in Springfield sent Stephen Douglas back to Washington for another six years. “Another six years,” as Abe wrote in his journal, “of doing the bidding of Southern vampires.” For the first time in years, he found himself struggling with a bout of depression.

I have failed the oppressed… the helpless faces crying out for justice. I have failed to meet the expectations of freedom-loving people everywhere. Is this the “purpose” which Henry so often speaks of? To fail?

His melancholy wouldn’t last long. Three days after his defeat, Abe received a letter from Henry consisting of three short sentences.

We are pleased to hear of your loss. Our plans continue unabated. Await further instructions.

II

The theater had become one of Abe’s favorite escapes over the years. Perhaps it was his love of storytelling that drew him in; the theatrical flourishes he added to his carefully scripted performances that allowed him to relate. Perhaps the nervous thrill he felt when speaking before thousands gave him an appreciation for the performers. Abe enjoyed musicals and operas, but he was particularly fond of plays (whether they were comedies or tragedies didn’t seem to matter). More than anything, he enjoyed seeing his beloved Shakespeare brought to life.

And so it was with particular delight that Mary and I took in a performance of Julius Caesar on a blustery February evening—the recent troubles of the election behind us at last. Our dear friend Mayor [William] Jayne had been kind enough to lend us his box and its four seats.

The Lincolns were joined that evening by Abe’s law partner Ward Hill Lamon and his thirty-four-year-old wife, Angelina. The production was, in Abe’s words, “a splendid spectacle of ancient dress and painted scenery”—with the exception of a misspoken line in the first act.

I nearly broke out laughing when the wretched soothsayer warned Caesar: “Beware the Ides of April.” ^* I thought it a miracle (and a relief) that no one in the audience had snickered or yelled out a correction. How could such an error be made by an actor? Had my ears deceived me?

In Act III, Scene 2, Marc Antony stood over Caesar’s slain, betrayed body and began the play’s most iconic speech:

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him;

The evil that men do lives after them,

The good is oft interred with their bones…

Abe’s eyes welled up at the young actor’s impassioned delivery.

I had read those words countless times; marveled at the genius of their construction. Only now, though, in the hands of this gifted young man did they ring true. Only now did I comprehend the whole of their meaning. “You all did love him once, not without cause,” he said. “What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him now?” Upon this, however, his speech came to a stop. He leapt from the stage and into the audience.

What strange interpretation was this? We watched him, bemused yet fascinated, as he bounded toward our side of the theater and disappeared through the door which led to our box. Apprehension suddenly filled the whole of my body, for I was sure that he meant to make a spectacle of my being in attendance. I had reason to worry, for this had happened several times in the past. Such exhibitions were one of the perils of being a public figure, and [they] always produced in me no small measure of embarrassment.

Just as Abe feared, the young actor entered the box with a flourish, drawing light laughter and applause from the audience. Every eye in the theater was trained on him as he stood behind the Lincolns and their guests. Abe smiled nervously, sure of what was coming next. But (to his surprise and relief) the actor simply continued his speech:

“Oh judgment!” he cried. “Thou art fled to brutish beasts and men have lost their reason!” Upon this, he produced a revolver from his costume, leveled it at the back of [Angelina’s] head, and fired. The noise quite frightened me, and I laughed, momentarily certain that this was all part of the play. But when I saw her dress covered with pieces of brain; when I saw her slump forward in her chair—the blood running not only from her wounds, but from her ears and nostrils as water from a well—I knew.

Mary’s screams set off a panic below, the audience trampling each other to reach the rear of the hall. I drew the knife from my coat (I had taken to carrying one since my meeting with the Union) and rose to meet the bastard as Lamon attended to his wife, lifting her head and calling to her in vain as her blood poured over his hands. I reached the actor just as he leveled his pistol at Mary. I brought my blade down on him, sinking the whole of it into the muscle where his neck and shoulder met, causing him to drop the gun before he fired. I pulled my blade out and made to bury it again. Before I could, the world turned on its side.

The young actor kicked Abe’s legs out from under him, sending him to the floor and sending the knife flying from his hands. Abe looked down the length of his body—toward the strange, pulsing pain coming from his left leg. It had been twisted at the knee so that it bent neither forward nor backward, but grotesquely to the side.

At once I felt terribly sick. Seeing me in this state, Lamon left his wife and joined the fight. He turned to meet the devil with his own revolver, but before he could level it, the actor drove a fist into his mouth with such force as to push his teeth inward and loose his jaw from its hinge.

A goddamned vampire…

Mary could bear the scene no longer and fainted dead away, falling to the ground near her chair. Lamon stumbled backward and steadied himself against the railing—clutching at his jaw, instinctively trying to force it back into place. The vampire retrieved his weapon, leveled it at Lamon’s head, and fired, sending pieces of skull flying over the railing and onto the empty seats below. He was gone. The vampire next turned the gun on Mary, and despite my screams of protest, shot her through the chest as she slept. She would never wake.

He came for me next, standing over me as I lay helpless. He aimed the barrel of his revolver at my head. Our eyes met.

They were Henry’s eyes.

“Sic semper tyrann—”

The last word was cut off by the sound of the shot.

Abe awoke with a start.

He sat straight up in his bed and shielded his face with his hands, just as he had all those years ago, on the night he saw his father dealing with the devil. The night Jack Barts had condemned his mother to death.

Mary slept peacefully by his side. His boys were safely in their beds. A thorough check of the house turned up no evidence of trespassers—living or otherwise. Still, Abe would sleep no more that February night. There’d been something so familiar about the dream. So real. He could see every detail of the theater in his mind; every detail of the costumes and scenery. He could feel the nauseating pain of his leg, and hear Angelina’s blood running onto the floor. But try as he might, Abe couldn’t remember those three damned words that his murderer uttered just before he woke. ^*

Shortly after Abe’s dream, William Seward, still the heavy favorite to be the Republican presidential nominee in 1860, made a strange tactical decision:

Seward has abruptly left for a tour of Europe, and shall be gone these next six months at least. What can it mean on the eve of so crucial an election? How can such an absence be to his advantage? There are many who have criticized [the trip] as proof of his arrogance; his aloofness. I, however, am reluctant to levy such condemnation—for I suspect that he has been sent at the Union’s behest.

Abe’s suspicion was confirmed by Henry’s next letter.

Abraham,

Our friend S has been sent on an errand—one which we hope will shore up support for our cause in the coming months and years. We now ask that you turn your whole heart toward that greatest of political contests.

—H

In Seward’s absence, Abe’s political allies worked to shore up support for a presidential run, while Abe worked on raising his national awareness. On the evening of February 27th, 1860, at New York’s Cooper Institute, he delivered what some historians consider to be the greatest political speech of all time to an audience of more than a thousand.

“Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us,” Abe shouted, “nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the Government nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.”

The full text ran in every major New York newspaper the next day, and within a couple of weeks, pamphlets containing “Lincoln’s Cooper Speech” were available throughout the North. Abe was emerging as the intellectual leader of the Republican Party, and its most gifted speaker.

The Democratic Party, meanwhile, had been split in two.

Northern Democrats nominated Abe’s old rival Stephen Douglas for president, while Southerners picked the incumbent vice president, John C. Breckenridge. The fracture was no accident. Rather, it was the result of a decades-long effort by the Union. Since the early nineteenth century, Henry and his allies had worked to undermine their enemies at every turn: ferrying slaves to the North on the Underground Railroad, dispatching spies across the South, and more recently, discouraging secessionist talk in state legislatures. But their greatest achievement came on May 18th, 1860, on the third ballot of the Republican National Convention in Chicago.

Abe was in Springfield when he learned that he, not Seward, had been nominated for president.

I can scarcely comprehend that such an honor has been bestowed upon me, and yet (and there is no hope of putting this modestly, so I shall not attempt to) it comes as no surprise. There is a war coming. It shall not be a war of man—but it is man who shall spill his blood fighting it—for it concerns his very right to be free. And I, of all men, must win it.

III

In 1860, presidential candidates weren’t expected to campaign on their own behalf. The speechmaking and handshaking were traditionally left to political allies and subordinates, while the candidates themselves remained behind the scenes, quietly writing letters and greeting well-wishers. Abe saw no reason to break with tradition. While his supporters (including Seward who, despite losing the nomination, threw his full weight behind Abe) tirelessly traveled the country on his behalf, candidate Lincoln remained with his family in Springfield. From an entry dated April 16th:

I walk to and from my office each morning, greeting friends as I pass; thanking strangers for their good wishes. When my business is concluded, I gambol about with my two youngest at home before seeing them off to bed, and when the weather is suitable, I join Mary for a [walk]. Life is much as it ever was, with three exceptions—those being the three vampires who have come to keep watch over us.

FIG. 13.2. - ABE POSES IN FRONT OF HIS FAMILY’S ABANDONED CABIN AT LITTLE PIGEON CREEK IN 1860 -- LEANING ON HIS TRUSTY OLD AXE. THE IMAGE WAS MEANT TO BOLSTER HIS REPUTATION AS A CANDIDATE WITH HUMBLE ROOTS, AND WAS CONCEIVED BY HENDRY STURGES HIMSELF.

Abe’s swift-footed assailants had been reassigned by Henry and the Union. They were now his personal bodyguards, sworn to protect him at all costs.

I suspect they are somewhat embittered for being thus assigned (though it is impossible to know, for they rarely speak). I have several times referred to them as my “unholy trinity” in jest, but this has yet to produce in them a single smile. They are a deadly serious lot. Which, I suppose, makes them well suited to the task of keeping me alive.

Mary and the children were told that the men were “campaign volunteers” who’d come to ward off “overeager supporters.” It was a plausible explanation. Abe had become quite famous, and the Lincolns’ home was beset by well-wishers and favor seekers at all hours. But vampire bodyguards were only one of the secrets “Honest Old Abe” kept from his wife and adoring public that summer.

He’d also scraped the rust off his ax.

And for the first time, his target was a living man.

Abraham,

I must ask one more errand of you. He is one of your kind—but is looked after by two of mine at all times. Take every caution.

Abe nearly gasped when he saw the name below…

Jefferson Davis.

There was hardly a more accomplished Southern politician in America. Davis had graduated from West Point, fought valiantly in the Mexican-American War, served as governor of Mississippi, served in Franklin Pierce’s cabinet, and been twice elected to the Senate. He was an outspoken proslavery advocate, and, as a former Secretary of War, the man best suited to lead the South against the better-armed, more populous North.

This time, Abe refused to go.

Henry,

I am an old man with three sons and a wife who has wept over too many graves already. I will cause her no further grief by getting myself killed. Surely there are a hundred, or a thousand among your kind better suited to the task. Why must you prevail upon me when I am years removed from my best?

Send someone else.

Yours,

—Abraham

Henry’s reply came by express a mere four days after Abe sent his refusal off to New York.

Abraham,

It is a difficult thing to know the future. We see it reflected as in ripples of water—distorted and ever moving. There are moments, however, when the ripples subside and the reflection becomes clear. The Union saw one of those moments in your future that night in New York: you are destined to defeat Jefferson Davis, Abraham. You alone. Further, I do not believe that it is your destiny to die on this errand. I feel this with my whole self. I would not send you otherwise. It must be you, Abraham. I beg you reconsider.

Ever,

—H

Abe was fifty-two years old. And while he remained remarkably agile for his age, he was a far cry from the young hunter who could split a log from fifty yards. He needed backup.

I have sent word to Speed to meet me in Springfield at once, and—after a great deal of consideration—I have brought Lamon to the truth, as well. He thought me either “round the bend or a damned, lying fool” when first I revealed the story of vampires and their evil designs on man, and very nearly lost his temper—until I prevailed upon one of the trinity to confirm my story—which he did in dramatic fashion. There are few men who can be trusted in this war, and though [Lamon] and I disagree on a great many things (slavery being not the least of them), he has proven himself a loyal friend. With Jack gone, enlisting a man of his size seems prudent—particularly when Speed is so slight, and I am getting on in years.

My God… I feel rather like [King] Henry at Harfleur. ^*

In July, the three hunters traveled by train to Bolivar County, Mississippi, where, Abe had been told, Jefferson Davis was recovering after undergoing eye surgery. Concealed in their luggage was a traveling armory of revolvers, knives, crossbows, and Abe’s ax—newly sharpened, glistening once again. Candidate Lincoln had spent days secretly whittling new stakes for his quiver and fashioning a new chest plate to wear beneath his coat. He’d retreated to the woods with his ax and practiced throwing it into tree trunks ten, then twenty yards distant. He’d even dusted off his old martyr recipe and prepared a new batch.

I insisted that the trinity remain in Springfield to look after my family. It was a simple errand, I told them. Our target was merely a living man, after all—one rendered infirm and half-blind by surgery. Speed, Lamon, and I were more than capable of dispensing with Davis and his vampire minders.

The hunters tied up their horses on the edge of Davis’s property just after one o’clock in the morning on Monday, July 30th. They kept their distance from the main house, lying in the surrounding woods for a watchful half hour, whispering occasionally, waiting in the faint light of a cloud-covered moon.

Abe had received a second letter from Henry before they’d departed Springfield, a letter bearing new intelligence. The Union’s spies had learned that Davis was confined to a bedroom on the west side of the second floor. Intent on giving him peace while he healed, his wife, Varina, had taken to sleeping in an adjacent room with their two infant sons and five-year-old daughter. At night, Davis’s two minders took turns patrolling the grounds while the other remained in the house.

I thought it strange, therefore, that we saw no sign of such patrols, or lights burning in any of the windows. Henry’s instructions, however, were precise, and we had traveled a long way. There could be no thoughts of turning back. Satisfied that we had waited long enough, we readied our weapons and crept into the clearing around the two-story house. It was white (or yellow, I could not tell in the dark), with a raised front porch and first story, as these parts were often deluged when the Mississippi swelled beyond its banks. I half expected to see a vampire waiting at the front door, long since alerted to our presence by the distant whinnying of our horses, the scent of the martyrs in my coat. But there was nothing. Only stillness. Doubts flooded my mind as we climbed the steps to the porch. Did I still possess the strength to best a vampire? Had I prepared Lamon to face an opponent of such speed and strength? Was Speed still equal to the task at hand? Indeed, the ax in my hands felt heavier than it had since I was a child.

Abe slowly nudged the front door as Lamon took aim, ready to shoot the vampire that was almost certainly going to leap out of the shadows the moment it was opened.

None did.

We entered—I with my ax held high; Speed looking down the barrel of his .44 caliber [rifle]; Lamon with a revolver in each hand. We searched the dark, sparsely furnished first floor, our every step announced by creaking floorboards as we went. If indeed there was a vampire guarding Davis above, he knew we were here now. Finding no sign of the dead (or living) below, we returned to the front of the house and its narrow staircase.

Abe led the way up. There were vampires here—he could feel it.

I could see the next several moments unfold in my mind as I climbed the stairs. Upon reaching the top, one of the vampires would spring from hiding and strike from my right side. I would turn my ax in his direction and lodge it in his chest as we met, but in doing so, I would be knocked backward—and the two of us would be sent tumbling down the stairs. As we wrestled, the second vampire would strike Speed and Lamon above. Lamon would panic (this being his first hunt) and empty his revolvers wildly, but his bullets would miss the mark. It would therefore fall to Speed and his rifle to silence the creature, which he would do by shooting it cleanly through the heart and head. The noise would rouse Mrs. Davis and the children from sleep, and they would scurry into the hall at precisely the moment I freed my ax from the first vampire’s chest and took his head at the base of the staircase. Their screams would bring the frail, half-blind Jefferson Davis stumbling out of his own bedroom, upon which Speed and Lamon would shoot him to death. With our sincere apologies to his family, we would then run off into the night.

But on reaching the top of the stairs, Abe found nothing. Every door was open. Every room empty.

Could we be in the wrong place? Could Davis have suddenly and inexplicably risen from his bed and departed for Washington? No—no, Henry’s instructions had been meticulous. This was the house. This was the intended date and time of our strike. It was all wrong.

There are vampires here… I can feel it.

The truth now formed in my mind. Oh, that I had ignored my instincts! That I had come at all! Damn Henry’s rippling water! How could I have been so reckless? How could I have ventured my life with three sons at home? A wife who was already fragile from grief? No… I would not die tonight. I refused.

“Out,” whispered Abe. “Out at once—and make ready your weapons… we are betrayed.”

We bounded down the stairs toward the front door, but on reaching it found it locked from the outside. The clapping of wood against wood now surrounded us as storm shutters were slammed shut over every window, and a chorus of hammers pounded nails into the house, ensuring they could not be opened. “Upstairs!” I cried. But here, too, the shutters had been closed and fastened.

“They’ve trapped us!” said Lamon.

“Yes,” said Speed. “However, all things being equal, I’d rather be in here with us than out there with them.”

Abe said nothing. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they smelled the smoke; before they felt the heat of the fire as it ate through the walls and floorboards. As if answering this thought, Lamon exclaimed, “Look!” and pointed to the flickering orange light coming through the crack beneath the front door.

They had no choice.

Whatever horrors waited outside, they couldn’t be worse than certain death by burning. The flames were now visible all around them through the slats in the storm shutters.

I had a plan. Once through the door, we would remain shoulder to shoulder, three across, and charge straight ahead until we reached the tree line. I would take the center, using my ax to cut down whatever came at us from the front. Speed and Lamon would be on my right and left, shooting whatever came at us from the sides. It was a plan almost certain to fail (based on how quickly the shutters had closed around us, there were at least a dozen men, vampires, or some combination of the two outside), but it was the only one we had. I lifted my ax and steadied myself. “Gentlemen,” I said.

The front door flew open with a single blow of Abe’s ax, sending smoke and hot ash flying away from the porch.

The heat was immediate. It drove us back at first, blistering our skin and very nearly setting our clothes alight. When my eyes adjusted to the flames on the front porch (by now fully engulfed), I saw that the fallen door had provided a narrow path across. I held my breath and led the way, hurrying over the door, down the front steps and onto the grass below. No sooner had my feet touched the ground than I realized the hopelessness of our effort. For in the light of the burning house behind us, I discerned no fewer than twenty figures ahead—some aiming rifles, others wearing dark glasses to shield their eyes from the flames. Living men and vampires—conspiring to cut off all hope of escape. One of the living, an older gentleman, stepped forward and stood but ten feet from me.

“Mr. Lincoln, I presume,” he said.

“Mr. Davis,” said Abe.

“I’d be much obliged,” said Davis, “if your companions would put those irons down. I’d hate for one of my men to startle and fill the three of you with holes.”

Abe turned to Speed and Lamon and gave a nod. Both dropped their guns.

“The big one is concealing another pistol,” said one of the vampires behind Davis. “He’s thinking about reaching for it right now.”

“Well, if he does,” said Davis, “then I suggest you kill him.” Davis turned back to Abe. “Your ax as well, if you please.”

“If it’s all the same, Mr. Davis,” said Abe, “I don’t expect to live but a few moments longer, and I would very much like to die holding the ax my daddy gave me as a boy. Surely one of your men will shoot me if I raise it in anger.”

Davis smiled. “I like you, Mr. Lincoln—I do. Kentucky born, same as me. Self-made. As fine an orator as ever lived—and dedicated, my Lord! Coming all the way down here just to kill a man! Leaving your family alone and unprotected in Springfield… no, sir, let no man speak ill of your convictions. I could sing your praises till morning, sir—but some of my associates are rather sensitive to sunlight, and… well, I’m afraid we just don’t have that long.

“Tell me,” said Davis, “with your many fine qualities and famous mind, how is it that you’ve arrived on the wrong side of this fight?”

“I?” asked Abe. “I must have misheard you, sir—for of the two of us, only one is conspiring against his fellow man.”

“Mr. Lincoln, vampires are superior to man, just as man is superior to the Negro. It’s the natural order of things, you see. Surely we agree on this much, at least?”

“I agree that some vampires are superior to some men.”

“Am I wrong, therefore, to recognize the inevitability of their rule? Am I wrong to side with the greater power in the coming war? Sir, it brings me no pleasure to think of white men in cages. But if it must come to pass—if vampires are to be the kings of men—then let us work with them while time remains. Let us regulate the thing—limit it to the Negro, and to the undesirables of our own race.”

“Ah,” said Abe. “And when the blood of Negroes is no longer sufficient; when the ‘undesirables’ of our race have been exhausted—tell me, Mr. Davis… who then shall your ‘kings’ feed upon?”

Davis said nothing.

“America,” Abe continued, “was forged in the blood of those who opposed tyranny. You and your allies… would you not see it delivered into the hands of tyrants?”

“America is thataway, Mr. Lincoln,” laughed Davis, pointing north. “You’re in Mississippi now.” He stepped forward, to the very edge of where Abe’s ax could reach if he chose to swing it. “And let us speak plainly, sir. We’re both the servants of vampires. But when these hostilities are at an end, I will be left to enjoy the peace of my remaining years in comfort and wealth, and you will be dead. And there it is.”

Davis paused a moment, offered a slight bow, and retreated. Three of the living men now stepped to the front of the group—each with a rifle aimed at us. Each waiting for Davis to give the order.

“Damn it, Abe,” said Lamon. “Are we just gonna stand here and do nothing?”

“I’m wearing a watch,” Speed told the executioners, his voice cracking. “It belonged to my grandfather, I—I ask only that someone see it back to my wife in Louisville.”

These are the last seconds of my life.

“Well, if I’m dying,” said Lamon, “I’m dying with a gun in my hand.” He reached for his coat.

“Boys,” said Abe to his friends, “I’m sorry for dragging you into th—”

The crack of rifles filled the night before he could finish.

In that instant I saw the faces of all those loved ones departed from this earth: my dear, sweet little boy; my sturdy Armstrong and beloved Ann. I saw my sister, and my angel mother. But when this instant passed, and my eyes remembered themselves, my executioners remained in the light of the burning house, shock on their faces. Speed and Lamon remained standing on either side of me.

We still lived. Our executioners, however, were not as fortunate. All three fell in unison, bullets having torn though their skulls.

It was a miracle.

That miracle was Henry Sturges.

He charged out of the dark with eleven Union vampires on his heels. Some held rifles, others revolvers, firing as they came. The Southern vampires nearest Davis hurried him off, while the others prepared to meet their Northern counterparts. One of them, however, remembered that the job of my execution remained unfinished. He leapt at me from twenty yards distant, fangs and claws extended, eyes black behind his dark glasses. I let my ax fly, and the blade found its target—but my strength not being what it once was, it failed to sink more than an inch or two into his middle. He fell back briefly and looked at the dark ribbons pouring from the gash in his belly. They were of no concern. He picked my ax off the ground and came at me again. I thrust a hand into my coat, looking for a knife that had not been there in twenty years… helpless. With the vampire not four feet from me, Lamon aimed over my shoulder and fired, forever diminishing the hearing in my left ear, but silencing the creature with a bullet through the face.

As the smoke from Lamon’s revolver hung in the air around his head, Abe became aware of a sharp pain coming from his chin.

I pressed my hand to it. [The vampire] had come close enough to open a gash with the tip of my ax. Blood dripped from the wound and down the front of my shirt as vampires clashed before us in the light of the flames—jumping impossible distances, crashing into each other with enough force to shake the ground beneath our feet.

Here, for the first time, I saw Henry Sturges in battle. I watched him run headlong into a Southern vampire and drive the devil into a tree—the result being that its trunk split in two. Yet Henry’s opponent was hardly affected, for he pushed back and began to swing wildly with his hands, as if holding a sword in each. Henry defended each of these strikes with his own clawed hands, until, being the better swordsman of the two, he saw an opportunity and ran his opponent through the middle—forcing five straightened fingers into the vampire’s belly and out his back, snapping his spine in the process. Henry withdrew his hand, and his opponent fell to the ground, unable to move. I watched him twist the vampire’s head backward and rip it from his shoulders.

The living men unfortunate enough to find themselves in the middle of this melee were torn apart, their limbs taken by errant claws, their bones crushed by the force of the vampires colliding around them. Realizing that the numbers were not in their favor, the remaining Southern vampires made a hasty retreat. Several Union vampires gave chase—the others, including Henry, hurried to meet us where we stood.

“Abraham,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you alive, old friend.”

“And I to see you dead.”

Henry smiled. He tore a sleeve from his shirt and held it to Abe’s chin to slow the bleeding, while his companions attended to Lamon and Speed (who were shaken up but otherwise unharmed).

The Union had been given false information by a traitorous spy—information meant to lure me to my death. Henry and his allies did not learn of this treachery until after we left Springfield. With no means of getting word to us (for we traveled under false names), they rode for two days and nights to head us off, while sending word to the trinity to have Mary and the boys placed in hiding.

“And you’re sure they’re safe?” asked Abe.

“I’m sure they’re in hiding, and protected by three of my most cunning, most vicious allies,” said Henry.

It would suffice. Abe knew that the trinity took their work seriously.

“Henry,” he said after a long pause, “I was certain that I was going to—”

“I told you, Abraham… it wasn’t your time.”

It would be the last hunt of Abe’s life.

On November 6th, 1860, Abe sat in a cramped telegraph office in Springfield.

The tide of well-wishers and appointment seekers had risen to unbearable levels as the election approached. When the 6th came at last, I declared that I wished to see no one until all the votes were in. My only company was to be the young [telegraph] operator. If the outcome was the one I and my supporters expected, there would be few peaceful days in the coming years.

He’d grown a beard for the first time in his life to conceal the scar on his chin. ^* It gave his face a fuller, healthier appearance. “More distinguished,” as Mary said. “A face befitting the next president.”

Mary was, at first, quite opposed to my running—having not enjoyed her previous time in Washington, and being all too aware of the time such an endeavor would require of me. As my campaign met with increasing success, however, her position began to change. I suspect that she rather enjoyed the well-wishers who came to our door at all hours; the wealthy couples who invited us to their homes for dinner; and the lavish events thrown in my honor. I suspect that she began to see the many social possibilities of being married to the president of the United States.

As the returns began to trickle in over the telegraph wires that Tuesday evening, it seemed more and more certain that Abe would be just that.

I admit it came as little surprise, for I believed that the Union would see to my victory—whether earned or not. ^**

I could therefore feel none of the honor that had accompanied my being elected captain by my fellow soldiers. The weight of the thing was immense. The challenges and miseries ahead unknowable and numerous.

Henry’s telegram had been one of the first to arrive that morning—long before a single vote had been counted.

CONGRATULATIONS MR PRESIDENT EVER H

IV

President Elect Abraham Lincoln’s journey to the White House began in Springfield on February 11th, 1861. A private train was ordered to shepherd Abe, his family, his close associates, and his private security detail to Washington, D.C.

It hadn’t been an easy transition.

Just over a month after the election, South Carolina’s legislature voted to secede from the Union. One by one, more Southern states followed—seven in all by Inauguration Day: Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, and Texas. Abe could only watch as President Buchanan did nothing to stem the crisis.

[Buchanan] continues to rest on his rump as the country comes apart. As the ships of our navy and forts are daily surrendered to the South, and the Union dissolves before our eyes. His weakness astonishes. It seems clear that he has decided to kick this crisis down the road. I, on the other hand, am very much looking forward to kicking him onto Pennsylvania Avenue.

Three days before Abe’s train left Springfield, the self-proclaimed “Leaders of the Southern People” met in Montgomery, Alabama, to formally adopt a constitution and announce the Confederate States of America.

They chose Jefferson Davis as their president.

Abe’s trinity patrolled the train day and night. Officially, they were “detectives” from Springfield who’d volunteered to look after the new president. His security detail also included a pair of humans—a detective named Allan Pinkerton and his old friend Ward Hill Lamon. Lamon had volunteered to be Abe’s bodyguard out of nothing more than friendly concern for his safety. He was one of the few around the new president who knew the gravity of the threats he faced. In the coming years, White House staff would grow used to seeing Lamon patrol the White House grounds after dark, or sleeping in front of the door to the president’s bedroom. He was big, tough, handy with a gun, and fiercely loyal—and his help was desperately needed.

Abe’s train was scheduled to stop in at least ten major cities on the way to Washington. In each one, thousands (if not tens of thousands) of locals came in hopes of seeing the new president with their own eyes. Abe would often make an impromptu speech from the rear car—sometimes only inches from those who’d packed in to hear him speak. He would then leave the stations by coach to meet with local leaders, attend banquets, or watch parades in his honor. It was a security nightmare.

It has been an overwhelming several days. The boys are in fine spirits, though—running about the train, watching the country roll by through its windows. Bob finds it “all so very exciting,” while Willie and Tad seem not the least bit affected by the crowds, or by the presence of so many new faces. Mary, too, seems to be taking it all in stride, though her head has been especially bothersome this trip. ^*

For all the excitement, there was a conspicuous tension hanging over the train. Everyone on board felt it, though no one spoke of it openly.

There are some who have sworn that I shall never live to see the White House. Such talk breeds grave concern (an appropriate kind given the subject) on the faces of my protectors. I, however, can honestly say that it costs me not one nickel of sleep—for I have known death my entire life, and have come to regard him as something of an old friend. Of course, Mary is roused to great anxiety by these rumors (but then, she is roused to great anxiety by a great many things). So long as our boys hear nothing of it, I am content.

The trip continued without incident for ten days, through Indiana, Ohio, New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania—and it began to seem that all the talk of assassination was just that. But on February 22nd in Philadelphia, Abe received an urgent visit from William Seward’s son, Frederick. He came bearing a sealed letter.

Dear Mr. President Elect,

Our mutual acquaintance wishes it known that a plot has been discovered in Baltimore. Four men will stab and shoot you to death when you change trains at the Calvert Street Station. He thought it best you should be aware of this, so that you may take every precaution against it.

Yours,

—Wm. Seward

It was decided that Abe, accompanied by Pinkerton and Lamon, and wearing a hat and cloak to conceal his identity from the other passengers, would take a separate train through Baltimore directly to Washington. Pinkerton and Lamon would be armed, Abe wouldn’t.

This caused quite a squabble, I recall. Lamon (who knew me to be proficient with such weapons) insisted I be given a revolver and a long knife. Pinkerton refused. “I will not have it said that the future president of the United States entered the capital armed!” The two nearly came to blows over the matter, until I offered a compromise: Lamon would carry two of each weapon, and would give them over only if we came under attack. It was agreed to, and we prepared to be off.

But their plans changed when Pinkerton realized that the trinity was gone.

[They] had simply vanished somewhere between Philadelphia and Harrisburg—giving no reason for their absence. As I refused to leave Mary and the boys without an armed escort, it was quickly decided that Pinkerton would stay behind and look after them while Lamon accompanied me on the other train. The telegraph lines between Pennsylvania and Maryland were then cut, so that any conspirators would be unable to relay word of our departure from Harrisburg.

Just after midnight on the 23rd, Abe’s “secret” train passed through Baltimore on its way to Washington.

There were anxious moments as we passed through the heart of the city (more slowly, it seemed, than any train I had ever ridden on). Could these assassins have discovered our trick? Were they, at this very moment, preparing to bombard our train with cannon fire?

Abe needn’t have worried. By the time his train rolled through the station, three of his would-be assassins were already dead—and the fourth was dying beneath his feet.

The partial bodies of four men were found near Calvert Street Station the next morning. From the February 23rd edition of the Baltimore Sun:

Two gentlemen have had [their] heads taken. Another has been viciously beaten, to the extent that police are as yet unable to determine his age or race. The fourth, it seems, was halved beneath the wheels of a passing locomotive. Incredibly, a witness claims that the gentleman survived for several minutes thereafter—his spine being severed in such a way that he was still able to move his head and arms. He was seen faintly crying out and attempting to drag his remaining body from the tracks before dying.

Though they never spoke a word about the incident, Abe never doubted that his three vampire protectors had been responsible for the carnage.

V

On March 4th, 1861, Abraham Lincoln—exceptional boy of Sinking Springs Farm, apple of his departed mother’s eye, survivor of the trials of Job, and one of the nation’s most accomplished vampire hunters—was sworn in as the sixteenth president of the United States.

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

Tens of thousands gathered in front of a covered wooden platform on the Capitol steps to hear him speak. Little did they know that they were witnessing the largest security operation in history. Troops were stationed around the city, ready to put down any violent protests or large-scale attacks. Police (both uniformed and not) stood guard beneath the podium where Abe spoke, keeping an eye out for anyone who might raise a revolver or long rifle. Closer to the president elect, Ward Hill Lamon hovered on the platform with two revolvers in his coat and a long knife on his belt. The vampires of the trinity were stationed at different points, but they were never far from Abe.

Only later would I learn that the hearts of two armed men had been discreetly run through during my speech. Unlike the assassins in Baltimore, these had been vampires.

Five weeks into Abe’s young presidency the country’s strained “bonds of affection” finally broke.

Fort Sumter, a federal stronghold in Charleston Harbor, South Carolina, had been under siege by Confederates since January. The Southerners demanded that the Union troops (commanded by Major Robert Anderson) surrender the fort, as it was in South Carolina, and therefore not the property of the federal government. Abe had done everything in his power to prevent hostilities from breaking out, but Anderson’s men were running desperately short of food, and the only way to resupply them was by sending warships into Confederate territory.

I am now forced to choose between two evils. Either I must allow a few soldiers to starve, or provoke a war that will undoubtedly kill scores of soldiers. Struggle as I might, I can see no third option.

Abe sent the ships.

The first of them reached Charleston Harbor on April 11th. The next morning, before sunrise, Confederate Colonel James Chestnut Jr. gave the order to fire on the fort.

It was the first shot of the Civil War.