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business is booming. All because of Washington’s interference. Federal intransigence, the heavy hand of Washington, has nearly driven this county into open rebellion.”
    He rose, heavily, to his feet again. After all, he was a politician. Such men declaim when other men but speak. The vigor was drained out of him, though, the spunk gone. “If cooler heads had not prevailed, we might have had our own civil war right here in Schuylkill County, this very autumn. When hundreds of—nay, a thousand—miners stop work at their collieries to march to intercept a troop train and riot to set the recruits free, then I’d say we had come to the very brink of insurrection.”
    “And,” I put in, as he paused for breath, “I believe the cooler head that prevailed was Mr. Lincoln’s.”
    Mr. Gowen dismissed the thought, measuring the weight of his pocket watch yet again. “It was McClure. McClure and Andy Curtin. Pennsylvania men. They may be Republicans, but they know their constituencies. McClure knew what he was facing. I’m quite certain he gave Lincoln his marching orders.”
    It did not happen that way, for I was there for much of the desperate doings. Forgive me the sin of pride. Mr. McClure, who is a great political fellow of ours, explained the situation to Mr. Lincoln, how the miners had chased off the draft registrarsand destroyed the records, and how all Cass Township was up in arms and refused to go to the war. Hotheads had put it into their ears that, after they were packed off to die, freed slaves would be sent down the mines at starvation wages. Twas a great lie, but lies abound in wartime. They satisfy the ear displeased by truth.
    Mr. Lincoln hinted to Boss McClure and Governor Curtin that, if the law could not be satisfied, it might be enough should it appear that the law had been satisfied. And that had been sufficient for Mr. McClure, who called on the wisdom of Mr. Benjamin Bannon, Pottsville’s own newspaper editor and speculator, who had been made our commisioner of the draft in reward for his party services. Between Mr. Bannon and Mr. McClure, our county enlistment rolls were tallied in such a remarkable way that it proved our draft quota had been met and exceeded, collapsing the need to complete the registration in Cass Township, that bloody-minded, errant outpost of Ireland. Mr. Lincoln was determined to fight our war to the finish, but he never fought unnecessary battles.
    “What ever was he thinking?” Mr. Gowen grumbled on, “this rail-splitting hero of yours? Calling for a draft, then announcing that he intends to emancipate the nigger? What does he ex pect the Irish to think, for God’s sake? As it is, they can’t support their families, boom year or not. And, I might add, all because of the incompetence and mismanagement of colliery owners too blind to see the economies consolidation would bring them.” He shook his head in wonder at such foolishness. “Millions to be made. Mil lions, Jones. Yet, the skilled miner can’t be paid a living wage, and the colliery laborer lives a life of wretchedness. Then you tell him the nigger’s to be freed to come north and do his work for half a loaf.”
    “Mr. Lincoln did not tell that to anyone. I believe the telling was by the Democratic Party, in these last elections of ours.”
    “Let’s not make this a political discussion, Jones.”
    Now, I had gathered my temper back in and wanted no further fuss. “On that we are in accord, Mr. Gowen. Look you. Disagreewe may about certain matters, but we both wish to have peace here in our homes. It is best that we appear united, at least where the law is concerned. And I have told you what I found last evening. There is a murdered girl set in that coffin. And not Daniel Patrick Boland, who likely is in Canada by now.”
    “There’s no record of the murder of a young woman—or of any other woman—these last several months. Nor even of a disappearance. I’ve told you that.” He steeled himself to