A Lincoln Conscript Read online

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  By Homer Greene

  A LINCOLN CONSCRIPT. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.

  COAL AND THE COAL MINES. In Riverside Library for Young People. Illustrated. 16mo, 75 cents.

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

  Boston and New York

  A LINCOLN CONSCRIPT

  “MY BOY, OF SUCH STUFF ARE PATRIOTS AND HEROES MADE.”]

  A LINCOLN CONSCRIPT

  BY HOMER GREENE

  ILLUSTRATED BY T. DE THULSTRUP

 

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK : THE RIVERSIDE PRESS, CAMBRIDGE 1909

  COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY HOMER GREENE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  _Published April 1909_

  CONTENTS

  I. “THE SINS OF THE FATHERS” 1 II. NEWS FROM GETTYSBURG 27 III. A LOVER OF LINCOLN 52 IV. THE DRAFTED COPPERHEAD 77 V. AN UNEXPECTED BREAKFAST 100 VI. A DESPERATE DECISION 122 VII. OFF TO THE WAR 143 VIII. A LETTER FROM THE FRONT 166 IX. WITH ABRAHAM LINCOLN 191 X. FIGHTING FOR THE FLAG 215 XI. THE GREAT TRAGEDY 238 XII. THE WELCOME HOME 260

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  “_My boy, of such stuff are patriots and heroes made_” (_page 244_) Frontispiece

  “_I’m no traitor_” 12

  “_This isn’t fair play_” 54

  “_I’ve discovered a way to get rid of these men_” 108

  “_Well, what’s your case?_” 154

  _Lincoln laid his hand on Bannister’s knee_ 202

  “_Father, what does it mean?_” 218

  _He faced his fellow townsmen_ 274

  A LINCOLN CONSCRIPT

  CHAPTER I

  “THE SINS OF THE FATHERS”

  On the second day of July in the year 1863 the Civil War in Americawas at its height. Late in the preceding month Lee had turned hisface northward, and, with an army of a hundred thousand Confederatesoldiers at his back, had marched up into Pennsylvania. There waslittle to hinder his advance. Refraining, by reason of strict orders,from wanton destruction of property, his soldiers nevertheless lived onthe rich country through which they passed. York and Carlisle were intheir grasp. Harrisburg was but a day’s march away, and now, on thissecond day of July, flushed with fresh victories, they had turned andwere giving desperate battle, through the streets and on the hills ofGettysburg, to the Union armies that had followed them.

  The old commonwealth was stirred as she had not been stirred beforesince the fall of Sumter. Every town and village in the stateresponded quickly to the governor’s call for emergency troops todefend the capital city. Mount Hermon, already depleted by generousearly enlistments, and by the draft of 1862, gathered together thebulk of the able-bodied men left in the village and its surroundings,and sent them forth in defense of the commonwealth. Not that MountHermon was in especial danger from Lee’s invasion, far from it. Upin the northeastern corner of the state, on a plateau of one of thelow foot-hills of the Moosic range, sheltered by the mountains at itsback, it was well protected, both by reason of distance and location,from the advancing foe. But Mount Hermon was intensely patriotic. Inthe days preceding the Revolution the sturdy pioneers from Connecticuthad met the equally sturdy settlers from the domain of Penn, and onthis plateau they had fought out their contentions and settled theirdifferences; the son of the Pennamite had married the daughter of theYankee; and the new race, with love of country tingeing every dropof its blood a deeper red, had stayed on and possessed the land. So,on this July day, when the armies of North and South were strivingand struggling with each other in bloody combat back and forth acrossthe plain and up the hills of Gettysburg, Mount Hermon’s heart beatfast. But it was not for themselves that these people were anxious. Itwas for the fathers, husbands, sons, lovers in that army with whichMeade, untried and unproven, was endeavoring to match the strategy andstrength of Lee. News of the first day’s skirmishing had reached thevillage, and it was felt that a great battle was imminent. In the earlyevening, while the women were still busy at their household tasks,the men gathered at the post-office and the stores, eager for latenews, anxious to discuss the situation as they had learned it. In themeantime the boys of the town had congregated on the village green toresume the military drills which, with more or less frequency, theyhad carried on during the summer. These drills were not wholly withoutserious intent. It was play, indeed; but, out of the ranks of theseboys, three of the older ones had already gone to the front to fightreal battles; and it was felt, by the men of the town, that the boyscould not be too thoroughly imbued with the military spirit. So, onthis July evening, wakened into new ardor by the news from Gettysburg,they had gathered to resume their nightly work--and play.

  There were thirty-three of them, ranging in years all the way fromeight to eighteen. They were eager and enthusiastic. And the lightof the low sun, shining red on their faces, disclosed a spirit ofearnestness among them, as well as that appreciation of sport commonto all American boys. At the command to fall in there was much pushingand jostling, much striving for desirable places, and even the youngcaptain, with great show of authority, could not quite adjust alldifferences to the complete satisfaction of his men.

  Before the confusion had wholly ceased, and while there were stillawkward gaps in the ranks, a tall, straight, shy-mannered boy ofseventeen, who had remained hitherto on the outskirts of the group,quietly slipped into one of the vacant places.

  The ranks being finally formed, the orderly sergeant stepped out infront of the company to call the roll. By some inadvertence he had lostor mislaid his list of names, and for the moment he was at a loss whatto do. But his quick wit came to his rescue, and, beginning at theright of the line, he called the names of those who were under his eye.

  “Albright!”

  “Here.”

  “Valentine!”

  “Here.”

  “Bannister!”

  “Here.”

  It was the tall straight boy who had slipped quietly into the rankswho responded to this last name. Down the line there went a littlemurmur of surprise, and before the sergeant could call the next name,one of his soldiers stepped one pace to the front and struck his handviolently against his breast.

  The astonished sergeant ceased suddenly to call the roll.

  “What’s the matter with you, Sam?” he inquired.

  “I want to know,” said Sam, resentment ringing in his voice, “whatright Bob Bannister has to be in this company.”

  “Why ain’t he got a right?” responded the sergeant.

  “Because he’s a traitor,” replied the indignant Sam.

  “And his father’s a copperhead,” added another fledgeling soldier,stepping also one pace to the front. Then came from the ranks generallya chorus of protest against the admission of the tall straight youth tothe privileges of the drill.

  The sergeant, turning appealingly to the captain, who was standing withfolded arms at some little distance, said deprecatingly: “It’s none o’my business. All I got to do is to ca
ll the roll. I don’t muster ’emin.”

  Whereupon the captain, fifteen years of age, took the matter up.

  “Let private Bannister step to the front,” he commanded.

  The accused boy fell out of the rear rank, passed to the left of theline, and so on to the front.

  “Speak for yourself, Bob,” he said. “You’re charged with being atraitor.”

  “It’s not true,” replied the boy quietly but firmly, his face flushingand paling by turns.

  “Well, what about your father?” cried Sam. “Ain’t he said ’t thiswar’s a failure and ’t Abe Lincoln’s a fraud?”

  “An’ ain’t he the biggest copperhead in Mount Hermon township?” pipedup a small boy on the extreme left.

  Whereupon there was another chorus of denunciation, and a half-dozenboys shouted at once: “We don’t want any son of a copperhead in thiscompany!”

  “Shut up, you fellows!” exclaimed the captain, “or I’ll have everymother’s son of you arrested for breach of discipline, an’ shut you upin the guard-house on bread an’ water, every one of you. Now, let’s getat this thing orderly. We’ll give Bob a fair hearing an’ then decidewhether we want him or not.”

  “Yes,” added Sam, “le’s court-martial ’im. That’s the way to settle hishash.”

  The idea of court-martialing the objectionable applicant for militaryprivileges met with instant approval on the part of the company.Whereupon the captain at once made his appointments for the purpose.

  “You, Brilly--Lieutenant Brill, you be judge-advocate general; you,Sergeant Davis and Corporal Guild, you be assistant judge-advocategeneral; you, Sam Powers, you be prosecuting attorney, and you, PrivateGrimstone, you defend the prisoner. All three of you sit down on thebench under this tree an’ hear the witnesses.”

  “Aw, shucks!” exclaimed a disgusted youth, leaving the ranks andwalking away. “You fellows are too smart. If you don’t want ’im, kick’im out an’ done with it, an’ you’ll kick out the best soldier in thecompany. Court-martial snakes! Aw, shucks!”

  “You, Bill Hinkle,” retorted the captain, “you’re discharged indisgrace for insubordination. Now, boys, come on. Oh, I forgot! Breakranks, march!”

  But the ranks were already broken beyond immediate repair, and thecrowd surged toward the bench on which the members of the militarytrial court were already seated. Witnesses were at once called toprove what every one knew, that Bob Bannister’s father was an opensympathizer with the South, that he had declared the war to be amistake and a failure and Abraham Lincoln to be a fraud. Then Bob’slawyer called for witnesses to come to Bob’s defense; but no one came.His cause was too unpopular. So the attorney called on Bob himself.

  “Now you just stand up here,” he said, “before these judges, an’ make aclean breast o’ the whole business, an’ throw yourself on the mercy ofthis honorable court; an’ don’t you tell no lies because we won’t haveit; do you hear?”

  Thus commanded by his own counsel, Bob stood up to face his accusers.Although he was one of the oldest boys present, and capable, both byreason of his bigness and his mental ability, of being their leader,yet his natural diffidence and his unfortunate paternal connectionhad kept him in the background during the entire course of the war.In this mock trial he saw no humor. To him it was very real and ofmuch moment. He felt that the time was come when he should either bevindicated as a loyal citizen, fit to associate with his fellows, orelse shut out permanently from their companionship. His face was verypale as he began to speak, his dark eyes were suffused with emotion,and a stray lock of his black hair hung damp across his forehead.

  “I’m no traitor,” he began. “It’s not right to call me a traitor. AndI’m no copperhead either. I believe in the war. I believe in AbrahamLincoln, and I--I love the flag.”

  “I’M NO TRAITOR.”]

  He turned his eyes up toward the stars and stripes drooping lazily fromthe summit of the great pole planted on the village green.

  “Well, ain’t your father a copperhead?” asked the prosecutinglawyer savagely. “An’ ain’t he talked ag’inst Lincoln, an’ ag’instthe soldiers, an’ ag’inst the war, an’ ag’inst the govament, an’ag’inst--ag’inst the whole business? Ain’t he? An’ ain’t you his son,an’ ain’t you got to mind him? An’ don’t you believe he tells thetruth? Do you s’pose your father’d lie? Answer me that now. Do youthink he’d lie?”

  The prosecuting attorney turned toward his auditors with a smile and anod, as much as to say: “That’s a clincher, I’ve got him now.”

  But by this time Bob’s diffidence had disappeared. The under part ofhis nature was roused and ready to assert itself. He lifted his head,and his eyes sparkled as he looked around him.

  “My father is no liar,” he replied. “He says what he believes to betrue about the war. Maybe he’s mistaken. That’s not for me to say, norfor you. But so far as I’m concerned, I tell you again that I’m loyal.I stand by the President, and by the government, and by the flag; andsome day I’ll fight for it, and I’ll do things for it that you, SamPowers, and you, Jim Brill, and all the rest of you wouldn’t dare todo.”

  He stood erect, with flushed face and flashing eyes, and for a briefmoment his accusers were silent. Then, gently at first, but increasingsoon to a storm of protest, the voices of his companions were heard inreply. In the midst of the confusion the judge-advocate general held uphis hand for silence.

  “It appears to the court”--he began, but a voice interrupted him:--

  “Question! Put the question!”

  With little knowledge of parliamentary rules, and still less ofproceedings before a court-martial, the judge-advocate general and hisassociates looked a trifle dazed.

  “Question! I call for the question,” demanded the person with insistentvoice. “Shall Bob Bannister be allowed to be a member of this company?”

  The judge-advocate general pulled himself together and slowly repeatedthe question:--

  “Shall Bob Bannister be allowed to be a member of this company? All youthat want him say Yes.”

  Three feeble and uncertain voices responded in the affirmative.

  “And all you that don’t want him say No.”

  The chorus of noes was triumphantly loud.

  “The noes win,” declared the judge-advocate general; and the captainadded, “The court’s adjourned sign dee.”

  “Aw, shucks!” exclaimed Bill Hinkle, now in disgrace himself andtherefore more in sympathy with Bob. “You fellows know a lot, don’tyou! You’re smart, ain’t you! W’y, Bob Bannister’s the best man yougot. I’ll back him to lick any three of you, with one hand tied behind’is back, by jimminy! You’ve made regular nincompoops o’ yourselves,you have. Aw, shucks!”

  And the deeply and doubly disgusted one walked away.

  So did Bob Bannister walk away. He went with bent head and breakingheart. To be denied the right to join with his companions in anydemonstration looking to his country’s glory or welfare was, to him,a tragedy. His was one of those natures endowed at birth with a spiritof patriotism. From the time when he could first read he had absorbedthe history of his country and her heroes. No colors had ever shonebefore his eyes more brilliant and beautiful than the red, white, andblue of his country’s flag. With an intuition far beyond his years, hehad grasped the meaning and foreseen the consequences of a dissolutionof the compact that bound the states together. And when, at last,the storm broke, when Sumter fell, when Bull Run came, an awakeningcalamity, he threw his whole heart and soul into the cause of theNorth, and from that time on he lived in spirit, and would have diedin body, with the Union armies, fighting, that the old flag and allthat it symbolized might prevail. Yet, strange as it may seem, hisfather, with whom he lived, of whom he was proud and fond, to whom hewas loyally obedient, was an outspoken sympathizer with the SouthernConfederacy. Perhaps it was the strain of Southern blood in his veins,perhaps it was the underlying aristocracy of feeling of those whoseancestors have owned slaves, perhaps it was the clear logic
of hismind running in the narrow grooves that genius so often hollows out,that led Rhett Bannister into his passionate sympathy with the South.Be that as it may, he was no coward. What he was, what he felt, whathe thought, was known of all men. Opposition could not conquer him,opprobrious epithets could not cow him, nor could ostracism silence hiseloquent tongue.

  Notwithstanding the general and fervent loyalty of the community inwhich Bannister lived, there were, nevertheless, among the people,those who felt that the war was a mistake and a failure, that the issuehad been tried out at an awful sacrifice with but indifferent success,and that now peace should be had on any reasonable terms. These werethe conservatives, the locofocos. Then there were those who, deeplysympathizing with the South from the beginning of the trouble, wereready to make any legal opposition to a further prosecution of the warby the Federal government, using politics and public speech as theirstrongest weapons. These were classed in the North as copperheads. Thenthere were still others who, saying little and clothing their conductwith secrecy, gave what aid, comfort, and active coöperation they couldto the enemies of the Federal government. These were plainly spoken ofas traitors. Indeed, secret organizations sprang up in the North andWest, with their lodges, officers, grips, and passwords, having fortheir object a concentrated effort to undermine the patriotic effortsof the citizens of the North and the administration at Washington,and to aid indirectly in the defeat of the Union armies in the field.Perhaps the most deeply rooted organization of the kind in the loyalstates was known as the Knights of the Golden Circle. But RhettBannister was not one of their members. He despised the stab in thedark, and all secret and unfair methods of warfare. Frank, eloquent,and outspoken, he never hesitated to say and to do freely and openlythat which he deemed to be right, regardless of the opinions, thecondemnation, or even the hate of his neighbors.

  It was to this father and to his home that the boy, refused admissioninto the patriotic ranks of his comrades, now started on his way. Atthe edge of the village he met Sarah Jane Stark. There are some peoplewho are always known, not only to their friends but to the public also,by their full names. Sarah Jane Stark was one of them. She had livedin Mount Hermon all her life. How long that was it would be ungallantto say, had not Miss Stark herself declared boastfully that she hadcome within fifteen years of living in two centuries. With no childrenof her own, she was a mother to all the children in the village.Kind-hearted, sharp-tongued, a terror to evil-doers, “a very presenthelp in trouble” to all the worthy who needed her assistance, thesocial arbiter of the town, she was the most loved as well as the mostfeared woman in the community. When she met Bob in the footpath at theroadside, she looked at him sharply.

  “Look here, Bob Bannister,” she said, “you’ve been crying. Or if youhaven’t, you’ve been so close to it there wasn’t any fun in it. Now youjust go ahead and tell me what the matter is.”

  Bob knew from previous experience, on many occasions, that it wasabsolutely useless to attempt evasion with Sarah Jane Stark. Much ashis sensitive nature rebelled against complaining of any slight thathis fellows had put upon him, he felt that he must make a clean breastof it to his questioner.

  “Why, they put me out of the company, Miss Stark,” he said. “I wantedto drill in the company with the other fellows and they wouldn’t letme. That’s all. I s’pose they had a right to do it; of course they hada right.”

  “Put you out of the company, did they? And what did they put you outfor, I’d like to know? Aren’t you as good a soldier as any of them?”

  “Well, that wasn’t exactly it, Miss Stark. They seemed to think thatbecause--well, they thought I wasn’t loyal.”

  “Thought you weren’t loyal! Well, that is a note! Why, you--oh, I see!On account of your father, eh? Yes, I see.”

  Miss Stark tapped her foot impatiently on the hard soil of theside-path, and looked off toward the blue sky-line of the Moosic range,behind which the sun had already gone down.

  “‘The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children,’” shesaid musingly. Then she turned again to Bob.

  “You’re no copperhead yourself, are you?” she inquired. “You’re noteven a locofoco, are you?”

  “No, indeed, Miss Stark! There isn’t one of those boys that believesin putting down the rebellion more than I do, that loves the old flagmore than I do, or would fight for it, or for the government, or forAbraham Lincoln, quicker than I would if I had the chance--Miss Stark,I’m loyal, I’m loyal!”

  He stood erect, eyes flashing, the color back in his cheeks, the soulwithin him speaking. Sarah Jane Stark went up to him and put her armabout his shoulders.

  “Good!” she cried. “You’re the right sort. I wish Abe Lincoln had ahundred thousand at the front just like you. Now you leave that matterabout the company to me. I’ll see those boys, the little brats, and ifthey don’t take you in I’ll--”

  “No, Miss Stark, please don’t! I couldn’t go back in now. I couldn’tever go in after this. But if the war lasts till I get old enough, Ishall be a real soldier in a real company some day.”

  “Bully for you!”

  It was not a very dignified nor refined expression; but Sarah JaneStark was noted for expressing herself forcibly when the occasiondemanded it, and she felt that this was one of the occasions thatdemanded it.

  “And,” she added, “you go tell Rhett Bannister for me, that if he hadone thousandth part of the natural patriotism and horse-sense of hisson-- No, you needn’t tell him; I’ll tell him myself. I can do itbetter. You just trot along home and don’t let the conduct of thosefool boys trouble you. You’re right and they’re wrong, and that’s allthere is to it.”

  So Bob went on his way. The Bannister home lay on the old North andSouth turnpike road, a full mile from the centre of the village. A verycomfortable home it was, too, neat and prosperous in appearance, witha small and fertile farm behind the commodious house, and a well-keptlawn in front. For Rhett Bannister, theorist though he was, was no meredreamer of dreams, he was a worker as well; both the fruit of his brainand the labor of his hands being evident in the comforts by which hewas surrounded.

  When Bob went up the path to the porch he found his father and motherand his six-year-old sister all there, enjoying the coolness of theevening. It was already too dark for either of his parents to discoverin Bob’s face any sign of distress, and he did not mention to them hisexperiences of the evening. But the quick ear of his mother caught thetroubled cadence in his voice, and she went over and sat by him andbegan smoothing the hair back from his forehead.

  “You’re tired, Robbie,” she said, “and it’s been such a warm day.”

  “Did you hear anything new up town about the Pennsylvania raid?”inquired his father.

  “Nothing much,” replied the boy. “I believe there’s been some fightingaround Gettysburg, and they’re expecting a big battle there to-day.”

  “Yes,” replied the man, “I suppose the two armies are facing eachother there, very likely the slaughter has already begun. Perhapsthere’ll be another holocaust like Fredericksburg. Doubtless thousandsof lives will be sacrificed and millions of money squandered atGettysburg, when ten words from the stiff-necked incompetents atWashington would have stopped the horrible conflict and brought peaceto the country months ago.”

  Bob said nothing, he knew it was useless. He had, on two or threeoccasions, attempted in a feeble way to argue with his father questionspertaining to the war, but he had been fairly swept off his feet by aflood of logic and eloquence, and he had found silence on these mattersto be the better part for him to take in the presence of his father.

  After a few minutes the man added: “If, even now, Lincoln would concedeone half of what the South demands as a plain right--”

  Bannister paused. Somewhere in the darkness up the road there was aconfused sound of voices. Then, from a score of lusty young throatsthere came in on the still air of the summer night the familiar wordsof a patriotic song.

  “My country, ’tis of
thee, Sweet land of liberty--”

  “It sounds good, Robert,” said Rhett Bannister. “But what’s it allabout? What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know, father,” said Bob; “I--I guess it’s just the boysa-marching.”

  The voices and the words of the song grew clearer and more distinct.Now the steady tramp of marching feet could be distinguished. Thenanother song broke in upon the night.

  “John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave; John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave; John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave; But his soul goes marching on.”

  Loud, clear, and musical came the “Glory, glory, hallelujah!” chorus;and, indistinctly in the darkness, the figures of the marching companycould be discerned, coming down the road in front of the lawn.

  The expression on Rhett Bannister’s face could not be seen, but hisvoice was heavy with indignation as he muttered:--

  “And that same John Brown was a fanatic, a fool, and a murderer, andrichly deserved his fate.”

  “They don’t know, father,” said Bob apologetically. “They sing itbecause it sounds good.”

  Down by the gate there was, for a moment, an ominous silence, then,full-volumed and vigorous, a new parody on “John Brown’s Body” washurled across the darkness toward the house of the copperhead.

  “We’ll hang Rhett Ban’ster on a sour-apple tree; We’ll hang Rhett Ban’ster on a sour-apple tree; We’ll hang Rhett Ban’ster on a sour-apple tree; As we go marching on.”