city, you will be back here to-morrow, demanding that none shall be marched around it."

The President was right. That afternoon, and again on Sunday and Monday, committees sought him, protesting that Maryland soil should not be "polluted" by the feet of soldiers marching against the South. The President had but one reply: "We must have troops; and as they can neither crawl under Maryland nor fly over it, they must come across it."

While the controversy with the Baltimoreans was going on, the condition of Washington had become hourly more alarming. In 1861 there was but one railroad running north from Washington. At Annapolis Junction this line connected with a branch to Chesapeake Bay; at the Relay House, with the Baltimore and Ohio to the west; at Baltimore, with the only two lines then entering that city from the North, one from Harrisburg, the other from Philadelphia. On Friday, April 19, after the attack on the Sixth Massachusetts, the Maryland authorities ordered that certain of the bridges on the railroads running from Baltimore to Harrisburg and Philadelphia be destroyed. This was done to prevent any more trains bearing troops entering the city. The telegraph lines were also partially destroyed at this time. Inspired by this example, the excited Marylanders, in the course of the next two or three days, tore up much of the track running north from Washington, as well as that of the Annapolis branch, and still further damaged the telegraph. Exit from Washington to the north, east, and west by rail was now impossible. On Sunday night matters were made still worse by the complete interruption of the telegraph to the north. The last wire had been cut. All the news which reached Washington now came by way of the south, and it was all of the most disturbing nature. From twelve to fifteen thou sand Confederates were reported near Alexandria, and an

army under Jefferson Davis was said to be ready to march from Richmond. The alarmed citizens, expecting hourly to be attacked, were constantly reporting that they heard cannon booming from this or that direction, or had seen scouts prowling around the outskirts of the town.

The activity of the War Department under these conditions was extraordinary. General Scott had only four or five thousand men under arms, but he proposed, if the town was attacked, to contest possession point by point, and he had every public building, including school-houses, barricaded. At the Capitol, barricades of cement barrels, sandbags, and iron plates such as were being used in the construction of the dome were erected ten feet high, at every entrance. In all his efforts the General was assisted by the loyal citizens. Even the men exempted from service by age formed a company called the "Silver Grays," and the soldiers of the War of 1812 offered themselves.

By Tuesday, April 23, a new terror was added to the situation that of famine. The country around had been scoured for provisions, and supplies were getting short. If Washington was to be besieged, as it looked, what was to be done about food? The government at once ordered that the flour at the Georgetown mills, some 25,000 barrels, be seized, and sold according to the discretion of the military authorities.

In its distress, it was to Mr. Lincoln that the city turned. The fiber of the man began to show at once. Bayard Taylor happened to be in Washington at the very beginning of the alarm, and called on the President. "His demeanor was thoroughly calm and collected," Taylor wrote to the New York "Tribune," "and he spoke of the present crisis with that solemn, earnest composure which is the sign of a soul not easily perturbed. I came away from his presence cheered and encouraged." However, the suspense of the

days when the Capital was isolated, the expected troops not arriving, an hourly attack feared, wore on Mr. Lincoln greatly. "I begin to believe," Mr. Hay heard him say bitterly, one day, to some Massachusetts soldiers, "that there is no North. The Seventh Regiment is a myth. Rhode Island is another. You are the only real thing." And again, after pacing the floor of his deserted office for a half hour, he was heard to exclaim to himself, in an anguished tone, "Why don't they come! Why don't they come!"

The delay of the troops to arrive was, perhaps, the most mysterious and terrifying element in the situation for Mr. Lincoln. He knew that several regiments had started, and that the Seventh New York was at Annapolis, having come down Chesapeake Bay. Why they did not make a way through he could not understand. The most disquieting rumors reached him-now that an army had been raised in Maryland to oppose their advance; now that they had attempted to come up the Potomac, and were aground on Virginia soil. At last, however, the long suspense was broken. About noon, on Thursday, the 25th, the whole city was thrown into excitement by the shrill whistle of a locomotive. A great crowd gathered at the station, where the Seventh New York was debarking. The regiment had worked its way from Annapolis to the city, building bridges and laying track as it went. Worn and dirty as the men were, they marched gaily up Pennsylvania avenue, through the crowds of cheering, weeping people, to the White House, where Mr. Lincoln received them. The next day, 1,200 Rhode Island troops and the Butler Brigade of 1,400 arrived. Before the end of the week, there were said to be 17,000 troops in the city, and it was believed that the number could easily be increased to 40,000. Mr. Lincoln had won his first point. He had soldiers to defend his Capital.

But it was evident by this time that something more was

From photograph in the collection of H. W. Fay of De Kalb, Illinois, taken probably in Springfield early in 1861. It is supposed to have been the first, or at least one of the first, portraits made of Mr. Lincoln after he began to wear a beard. As is well known, his face was smooth until about the end of 1860; when he first allowed his beard to grow, it became a topic of newspaper comment, and even of caricature.

days when the Capital was isolated, the expected troops not arriving, an hourly attack feared, wore on Mr. Lincoln greatly. "I begin to believe," Mr. Hay heard him say bitterly, one day, to some Massachusetts soldiers, "that there is no North. The Seventh Regiment is a myth. Rhode Island is another. You are the only real thing." And again, after pacing the floor of his deserted office for a half hour, he was heard to exclaim to himself, in an anguished tone, "Why don't they come! Why don't they come!

The delay of the troops to arrive was, perhaps, the most mysterious and terrifying element in the situation for Mr. Lincoln. He knew that several regiments had started, and that the Seventh New York was at Annapolis, having come down Chesapeake Bay. Why they did not make a way through he could not understand. The most disquieting rumors reached him-now that an army had been raised in Maryland to oppose their advance; now that they had attempted to come up the Potomac, and were aground on Virginia soil. At last, however, the long suspense was broken. About noon, on Thursday, the 25th, the whole city was thrown into excitement by the shrill whistle of a locomotive. A great crowd gathered at the station, where the Seventh New York was debarking. The regiment had worked its way from Annapolis to the city, building bridges and laying track as it went. Worn and dirty as the men were, they marched gaily up Pennsylvania avenue, through the crowds of cheering, weeping people, to the White House, where Mr. Lincoln received them. The next day, 1,200 Rhode Island troops and the Butler Brigade of 1,400 arrived. Before the end of the week, there were said to be 17,000 troops in the city, and it was believed that the number could easily be increased to 40,000. Mr. Lincoln had won his first point. He had soldiers to defend his Capital.

But it was evident by this time that something more was