The Patriots' Club

PAST

A warm wind blew off the East River, gathering dust, dander, and droppings off the street and swirling the noxious mix into the air. The two men turned their faces from the gust, before resuming their conversation.

“As always, you exaggerate,” the general was saying. “Really, you must calm down. Your temper will be the end of you.”

“I hardly think so,” replied his colleague, shorter by a head. “Look around you. The country’s being torn apart. Gangs of ruffians storming courthouses in the West. Farmers in Pennsylvania lobbying day and night to cut taxes, and King Cotton in the South wanting nothing to do with us at all. We’re being drawn and quartered.”

“With time, we’ll sort out their grievances.”

“With time, the republic will cease to exist! The country’s already grown so large, so diverse. Walk up Broadway and all you hear are foreign tongues-German, Russian, Spanish. Everywhere you look, there’s another immigrant. I’ll give you a dollar for every native English speaker you can find.”

“I do recall something about your being from abroad.”

The shorter man had long ago learned to ignore the ugly facts of his parentage. He was a lawyer by trade, trim and compact with a Roman senator’s nose and pale blue eyes. “We’ve lost our sense of purpose. The war brought us together. These days, it’s every man for himself. I won’t stand for it. Not after all we’ve sacrificed. We need a firm hand to set things right. One voice. One vision.”

“We have the people’s voice to guide us.”

“Precisely the problem! The vox populi cannot be trusted. They’re a rabble.”

“They are Americans!” protested the general.

“My point exactly,” came the disgusted reply. “Have you ever known a more quarrelsome bunch?”

The general began to pace, his gaze fleeing down Wall Street and landing on the busy docks. Every day more ships arrived. More new souls treaded down the gangway to populate this boundless land, each with his own customs, his own prejudices, his own traditions. Each with his own priorities; priorities that were, by nature, selfish. What could they bring but discord? “And so?”

The lawyer beckoned him closer. “I have an idea,” he whispered. “Something to help you.”

“To help me?”

“The Executive. The country.” He laid a hand on the general’s arm. “A way to get around the vox populi. To maintain order. To see your will be done.”

The general gazed down on his associate. They had been friends for nearly twenty years. The younger man had served as his aide during the war. He had shown himself to be courageous under fire; his counsel wise. He was to be trusted. “And what might that be?”

“A club, sir.”

“What kind of club?”

The lawyer’s eyes flickered. “A patriots club.”