 The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the cavalcade of America. Tonight's star, Thomas Mitchell. Tonight's play, One Nation Indivisible. He was a great newspaper editor, maker of presidents, an indomitable crusader. He proclaimed that he feared no member of mankind and it was true. But equally true, though most often hidden, was the fact that he loved all mankind. He was Horace Greeley of the New York Tribune. The time, March, 1865. If you get back to the office, be sure the composer... A handsome cab hurries over New York's cobblestone streets. Horace Greeley gives last-minute instructions to his office boy as he races to catch a train. Mr Greeley, you mean that President Lincoln has asked you to come to see him before? And you've said no? Oh, for heaven's sake, boys, stop talking about Abe Lincoln as if he was some kind of a minor deity. A few years ago, don't interrupt, boy. A few years ago, he was an unknown Illinois politician. It was largely my doing that he got to be president in the first place. Your doing, sir? Read about the Republican Convention in 1860. Yes. I didn't really want to give Lincoln the nomination, but it was the only way I could stop Seward. But hasn't he made a good president, sir? Well, he's only human. I've had to point out his mistakes from time to time. But yes, yes, some the whole, I'd say, has been a good president. But then why have you refused his invitation, sir? Why to keep my independence, boy, my freedom to make up my own mind. Well, why did you accept this invitation, sir? Well, I... Huh? Yes, now that I give it a thought, I don't rightly know why I did say yes this time. That's peculiar. I don't rightly know why. Well, come in, Mr Greeley. Come in. Good to have you here at last. Good day, Mr Lincoln. How... Oh, how are you, sir? Have I changed so much, my friend? Well, it's been four years. I imagine we both changed a little. Yes, I imagine so. Greeley, I asked you down here for one reason. Yes? Soon this terrible war will be over and we'll be one nation once again. But what kind of a nation? I'm not sure I understand you, sir. We took up arms for one reason, to preserve the Union. With victory, it will have been restored, at least geographically and legally. But otherwise, I'm greatly afraid the breach will be wider than ever. Even before the last Confederate flags lowered, there'll be an outcry from the north for, well, it'll be called justice. In this case, the more proper term is revenge. And revenge can breed only bitterness and bitterness only more revenge. It's a frightful, endless process, Greeley. We've got to try to stop it before it begins. We, Mr President? I hope so, Greeley. Because I seem to remember a rhyme. What's Greeley's opinion on Monday is public opinion by Sunday. When you became an abolitionist, millions followed you. When you called for the hanging of Jeff Davis, well, it's said that 10,000 men enlisted the sooner to gratify your desire in the matter. And now, sir, you'd help me reverse myself, swallow my own words. They were words for war, and they helped us to win. But they are not words which will contribute to a fruitful peace. But what about Jeff Davis, sir? What will happen to him? Prioritly, I hope he never falls into our hands. Our good men in Northerners believe that he's a rebel. That he should be tried for treason. To what end, Greeley? So north and south can fight the war all over again in a courtroom. Jeff, for St. Davis should not be punished? No, let history judge him. For us, we have a peace to win. Help us, Horace, please. Use that tremendous power of yours for charity, for magnanimity and triumph. With all respect, sir, that which you call my power derives solely from my independence. And something else, Horace, your integrity. I thank heaven for it. There are already too few men in this world on whose integrity I'd stake my life. Thank you, sir, profoundly. And I shall consider what you've said to me before taking a stand. It's mid-April now. Lea has surrendered. Richmond has fallen. The Confederate capital changes almost from day to day, as the small party of officials, led by President Jefferson Davis, move southward. Today, in a small house in Charlotte, North Carolina, Jefferson Davis awakens to the knock of his private secretary. Mr. President, it's Harrison, sir. Oh, uh, come in. Good morning, Harrison. Morning, sir. What time is it? Well, it's only six, sir. But we have a dispatch from General Johnson marked urgent. I thought you'd wish to be awakened. Quite right, quite right, Harrison. Is this it? Yes, sir. Thank you. Oh, no. Good heavens. More terrible news, sir? Yes, yes. Here, read it. President Lincoln was shot by an unknown assassin at Ford's Theatre night of 14... No. Died morning of 50. I'm sorry, sir. Lincoln... murdered. You know what this means, sir? It means that we've lost our noblest and best friend in the court of the enemy. For the north, it's a tragedy. And for us, it's a disaster. It also means that you must start west immediately, sir, and try to get across the Mississippi. Why? It won't be safe now, sir. It's quite possible you'll be blamed for this terrible crime. What? Blame me for Lincoln's murder? Oh, no, no, surely not. Whatever the north thinks of me, they can't believe me capable of inspiring such a foul and frightful crime. No, Harrison. I don't believe it. $100,000 reward, said the poster, for the arrest of Jefferson Davis, wanted for complicity in the atrocious murder of Abraham Lincoln. A week later, Jefferson Davis was captured by federal troops. He was taken to Fortress Monroe, Virginia, and put in chains. Hang him, cried the northern newspapers. But really, his tribune remained strangely silent. And now in his office, the great editor sits impatiently, while his publisher quotes from one rival paper after another. And listen to this. In the name of justice, we call for the speedy trial and subsequent hanging of Jefferson Davis as an arch-rebel and murderer. And here... Yes, yes, I've read them, I've read them. But they're outselling us by tens of thousands, merely by parroting your words from the past. And you sit there and write nothing. You have all people. I never call Davis a murderer, Samuel. And there's not one bit of evidence to connect him with Lincoln's death. I never will be. But at least he's a rebel and thus a traitor. Why, you were the first to call for his hanging. Why are you so silent now, when at last he's in our hands? Our change, you mean? What is it, Greeley? What's troubling you? You haven't been your old self's nuts since... Well, come to think of it, not since you went down to Washington to see the president. You've never told me, Horace. What happened? Nothing. He just looked... He looked tired, terribly tired. Oh? Poor him. If he'd only lived... However, the old man he must have had other plans. Samuel... Could it be? Could it be? Could what be? What are you talking about? Could it be, Samuel, that I, Horace Greeley, am included in those other plans? I still don't know what to... Samuel, tell me. Why did I accept Lincoln's invitation last March after refusing him for years? Why? Tell me why. Well, if you didn't know... If I didn't know, and I did not, then only the Almighty knew. And the Almighty knew something else, Samuel. He knew that Abe Lincoln's time on Earth was brief. And if I hadn't gone to Washington when I did... Yes, of course. Oh, Samuel, what a fool I've been, not to have realized. John! John! Realized what, Horace? I don't... Cut your pencil and paper. Yes, sir. Good. Sit over there and take this down. Yes, sir. Editorial and title, let me see. Entitled... Magnanimity and triumph. Well, those are his words. No matter. He want me to use them. What are you up to, Horace? Don't distract me, Samuel. I'll take this down, John. Yes, sir. Earnestly, I speak out at this moment to plead against passions certain to be fierce and intolerant. I plead for humanity, for forgiveness of all who have trespassed against us. Horace, this from you, who wanted Davis hanged. What in the world? Samuel, I'll thank you either to be quieter to leave my office. Take this, John. Yes, Mr. Greeley. In a reunited nation, there can be no place for revenge, for malice, for injustice, born in anger. The time has come and charity must replace bitterness when the spirit of brotherhood must vanquish vindictiveness. And so, at last, I speak out to state that which I believe with all my heart. Jefferson Davis must be set free. We return to our cavalcade play, One Nation Indivisible, starring Thomas Mitchell as Horace Greeley. Nearly two years have passed since the beginning of Horace Greeley's editorial crusade for magnanimity and triumph. But Jefferson Davis, as yet untried by any court, still remains a prisoner in Fortress Monroe, an insurmountable obstacle to the friendly reunion of North and South. And in his New York office, the great editor is once again closeted with his publisher. Greeley, please, please, is there nothing else to write about? Do you think it's wrong to crusade for charity and forgiveness? No, of course not. But no one even reads you anymore, Horace. Why should they, when they've read it all a hundred times before? I don't know, Samuel. Perhaps you... You just isn't the time yet. The North isn't ready to forgive Davis and the others, and no amount of words will change their minds. You know, I hate to admit it, for once, Samuel, you may be right. Even I've grown weary of shouting at the death. If you keep it up any longer, you might as well say goodbye to your hope of being the next senator from New York. Or have you already given it up? No, no, in all honesty, I haven't. And I may be a fool, but I even think I have a chance for the presidency in 68. You have a good chance, and you know it. All right, Samuel, you win. Or does my ambition win? In any case, I will find something else, sir. Yes, yes, boy, what is it? There's a lady downstairs to see you, sir. Well, get her name. Have her come back later. I have her name, sir. It's Mrs. Jefferson Davis. It was good of you to receive me, Mr. Greeley. Very few gentlemen in New York will. And, uh, scarcely gentlemen, madam. In any case, the loss is theirs, not yours. Why, thank you, sir. Oh, Mr. Greeley, it's such a pleasure to meet you. To sit here in this office where so many brave and wonderful words have been written in behalf of my husband. Well, uh, yes, I... You're almost the only one you know. And certainly the most influential who continue to speak out for Mr. Davis's release. Madam, I... We can never hope to repay you, I know. But at least... Uh, madam, please. There's something I must tell you. Yes? What is it? Well, uh, that is... I've had to come to the reluctant conclusion that I've been fighting for a hopeless cause. Hopeless? Yes. Oh, no. No. Oh, Mr. Greeley, you can't... You can't give up. For the time being, I must. Not from cowardice, but from plain common sense. I've converted all I can. Every word I write now merely means I make another enemy. But, sir, I... Please, madam, please. When the time comes and people are ready to listen, I shall... Mr. Greeley. It's been two years now since my husband went to prison. Yes, I know, I know. And still, the government refuses to try him. Or to even let him speak or write in his own defense. I know that, madam, but I've done all I can. Only President Johnson can release your husband. I've seen the president, sir. Even he doesn't know when the trial will be. Of course he doesn't. The government will never try him. Because it knows it can't convict him. But is that right? Is that justice? I've asked that same question a hundred times, madam. Now, what more can I do? Mr. Greeley. I asked the president if my husband couldn't possibly be released on bail. He said he might allow it, but only if I could find a group of distinguished northerners who would be willing to go down to Richmond and sign Mr. Davis's bail bond. That would get the president nicely off the hook. And he said that you, Horace Greeley, would have to be one of them. And put me right on it, huh? Mr. Greeley, if only you could see my husband, you couldn't refuse me. You couldn't. It would break your heart to see him now. He's not even 60. But these last two terrible years in that frightful prison, he's an old man now, Mr. Greeley. An old man. His hair is white. And his hands are so thin and wrinkled. And he's sick, terribly sick. And he'll die, Mr. Greeley. Ah, Mrs. Davis, I think I should tell you that your husband's welfare doesn't greatly concern me. I never laid eyes on the man. He was my bitter enemy for four long years. How can you? I thought you were a kindly man. Well, that's the least of my weaknesses, madam. And the little I have does not send her on your husband, in or out of prison. Oh. I see. I'm extremely sorry, sir, for having taken up so much of your time. If you'll excuse me. Ah, madam, please sit down. If I've offended you, I'm sorry. I merely wish to make it perfectly clear to you that it's not from sentiment, madam, or soft-heartedness that I intend to sign your husband's barn. What? Oh, Mr. Greeley. It's solely and purely a matter of principle. As I've said and I believe that before this nation can be reunited, Jefferson Davis must be set free. And so believing I must sign his barn. Oh, I don't know how to thank you. I don't know what this will mean for us. Yes, I think I know. I even know what it will mean to me. In a few days, the news of Horace Greeley's intentions had swept the nation. And the frankest expression of Northern opinion came from those closest to Greeley. Greeley, we're your friends. And until now, you've been the principal power of our party. Ah, that is, I'd rather... A month ago, Horace, you told me privately that you were expected to defeat a general grant for the coming nomination for president. Do you care to deny it? Oh, ambition is hardly a shameful disease. You no longer care, is that it? Of course I care. Do you think I enjoy cutting my political throat? Well, then why? Why? Because I'm right. We say you're wrong. And not only wrong, but disloyal. Disloyal to our party. Disloyal to the north. And worst of all, disloyal to those thousands of boys who marched off to die with your words, your stirring words urging them out. I was right then and I'm right now. In whose judgment? Mine and Lincoln's. Lincoln's? You talk to him, do you? No, no, I only listen. He speaks quite clearly. Even now. I see. And what does he say? He says... He says, Horace, control yourself. Resist temptation. Either shoot these gentlemen, or kick them down the stairs, nor bother to reason with them, merely tell them what they are. These little men with little hearts and little minds, minds and hearts so tiny that there's no room in them for charity, for forgiveness, or for brotherhood. Remind them too that the war is over. The quarrel resolved. The tragedy finished. Explain to them. All right, all right, really. Go to Richmond. But you'll go alone. They'll find others, there must be others. But find them or not, I shall go to Richmond. Let the prisoner now be brought before this court. Crowded federal courtroom in Richmond, Virginia. All eyes turned from the judge into the door. Slowly a man enters. He looks old. His step is feeble. But he holds his head high, and his eyes are proud. Mr. Jefferson Davis? Yes. I am Jefferson Davis. Mr. Davis, motion has been made that you be admitted to bail. The motion has been found acceptable, provided a group of citizens are willing to sign your bond. Is Mr. Horace Greeley present in the courtroom? I am your honor. Will you step forward, please? Yes, your honor. Are you willing to sign the prisoner's bond? I am your honor. And are there any persons with you of similar willingness? There are, your honor. And their names? I'll give you this list, sir. You'll see there are twenty of them. How many you've got now, then? Are their qualifications suitable, your honor? Considering that they are some of the most distinguished men in America? Yes, I believe so, Mr. Greeley. The following gentlemen will please step to the desk of the clerk and there affix their names to the bail bond of the prisoner. Mr. Horace Greeley of New York, Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt of New York, Mr. Garrett Smith of New York, Mr. Aristides Welch of Pennsylvania, Mr. Horace Plarr, Mr. Benjamin Wood, Mr. Abraham Warrick. One by one, the distinguished gentlemen from the north step forward. Each one adds his signature to the bail bond. And when all have signed, the greatest barrier to friendly reunion has been removed. Jefferson Davis is free. Mr. Greeley? Yes, boy. Tell me, sir, is it true that in the courtroom you almost changed your mind about signing? Changed my mind, oh! A peculiar thing, though. Somehow I got the notion there was someone right behind me watching. Someone tall. But, sir. Yeah. I know. There was no one. Mines play tricks sometimes. It was just a notion, boy. Just a notion. Horace Greeley was to pay a high price for this defiance of public opinion. His dream of high public office was forever shattered. And as an editor, he would never again regain his former influence. But in time, all America was to follow his example. And Lincoln's dream and Greeley's hope would come true. Soon America would be once again for all time, one nation, indivisible. Thomas Mitchell and the Cavalcade players for tonight's story, one nation, indivisible. Tonight's DuPont Cavalcade was written by Warner Law. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Vorreys. The program was directed by John Zoller. With our star, Thomas Mitchell, you heard John Barclay as Lincoln, Alan Hewitt as Sinclair, Arnold Moss as Jefferson Davis, and Anne Seymour as Mrs. Davis. And this is Cy Harris, reminding you to be with us next week when the DuPont Cavalcade will present The Borders, the story of one of the most daring maneuvers of naval history. Our star, Wendell Corey. Ladies and gentlemen, for 18 years, the DuPont Cavalcade of America has brought to millions of radio listeners stories of the achievements of the men and women who have given us our American heritage. Now, the DuPont Company is bringing you Cavalcade on television. Wash the TV listings in your newspaper for Cavalcade of America TV in your locality. The DuPont Cavalcade of America came to you tonight in the Velasco Theater in New York City and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware. Makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Tonight, just for laughs, listen to Red Skelton on NBC.