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?”