



Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
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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




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




                               A LINCOLN
                               CONSCRIPT

                            BY HOMER GREENE

                    ILLUSTRATED BY T. DE THULSTRUP


                            [Illustration]


                       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 America
was at its height. Late in the preceding month Lee had turned his
face northward, and, with an army of a hundred thousand Confederate
soldiers at his back, had marched up into Pennsylvania. There was
little to hinder his advance. Refraining, by reason of strict orders,
from wanton destruction of property, his soldiers nevertheless lived on
the rich country through which they passed. York and Carlisle were in
their grasp. Harrisburg was but a day’s march away, and now, on this
second day of July, flushed with fresh victories, they had turned and
were giving desperate battle, through the streets and on the hills of
Gettysburg, to the Union armies that had followed them.

The old commonwealth was stirred as she had not been stirred before
since the fall of Sumter. Every town and village in the state
responded quickly to the governor’s call for emergency troops to
defend the capital city. Mount Hermon, already depleted by generous
early enlistments, and by the draft of 1862, gathered together the
bulk of the able-bodied men left in the village and its surroundings,
and sent them forth in defense of the commonwealth. Not that Mount
Hermon was in especial danger from Lee’s invasion, far from it. Up
in the northeastern corner of the state, on a plateau of one of the
low foot-hills of the Moosic range, sheltered by the mountains at its
back, it was well protected, both by reason of distance and location,
from the advancing foe. But Mount Hermon was intensely patriotic. In
the days preceding the Revolution the sturdy pioneers from Connecticut
had met the equally sturdy settlers from the domain of Penn, and on
this plateau they had fought out their contentions and settled their
differences; the son of the Pennamite had married the daughter of the
Yankee; and the new race, with love of country tingeing every drop
of 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 striving
and struggling with each other in bloody combat back and forth across
the plain and up the hills of Gettysburg, Mount Hermon’s heart beat
fast. But it was not for themselves that these people were anxious. It
was for the fathers, husbands, sons, lovers in that army with which
Meade, untried and unproven, was endeavoring to match the strategy and
strength of Lee. News of the first day’s skirmishing had reached the
village, and it was felt that a great battle was imminent. In the early
evening, while the women were still busy at their household tasks,
the men gathered at the post-office and the stores, eager for late
news, anxious to discuss the situation as they had learned it. In the
meantime the boys of the town had congregated on the village green to
resume the military drills which, with more or less frequency, they
had carried on during the summer. These drills were not wholly without
serious intent. It was play, indeed; but, out of the ranks of these
boys, three of the older ones had already gone to the front to fight
real battles; and it was felt, by the men of the town, that the boys
could not be too thoroughly imbued with the military spirit. So, on
this 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 from
eight to eighteen. They were eager and enthusiastic. And the light
of the low sun, shining red on their faces, disclosed a spirit of
earnestness among them, as well as that appreciation of sport common
to all American boys. At the command to fall in there was much pushing
and jostling, much striving for desirable places, and even the young
captain, with great show of authority, could not quite adjust all
differences to the complete satisfaction of his men.

Before the confusion had wholly ceased, and while there were still
awkward gaps in the ranks, a tall, straight, shy-mannered boy of
seventeen, 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 in
front of the company to call the roll. By some inadvertence he had lost
or mislaid his list of names, and for the moment he was at a loss what
to do. But his quick wit came to his rescue, and, beginning at the
right 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 ranks
who responded to this last name. Down the line there went a little
murmur of surprise, and before the sergeant could call the next name,
one of his soldiers stepped one pace to the front and struck his hand
violently 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, “what
right 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 generally
a chorus of protest against the admission of the tall straight youth to
the privileges of the drill.

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

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 the
line, and so on to the front.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The idea of court-martialing the objectionable applicant for military
privileges 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-advocate
general; you, Sam Powers, you be prosecuting attorney, and you, Private
Grimstone, you defend the prisoner. All three of you sit down on the
bench under this tree an’ hear the witnesses.”

“Aw, shucks!” exclaimed a disgusted youth, leaving the ranks and
walking 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 the
company. Court-martial snakes! Aw, shucks!”

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

But the ranks were already broken beyond immediate repair, and the
crowd surged toward the bench on which the members of the military
trial court were already seated. Witnesses were at once called to
prove what every one knew, that Bob Bannister’s father was an open
sympathizer with the South, that he had declared the war to be a
mistake and a failure and Abraham Lincoln to be a fraud. Then Bob’s
lawyer 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 a
clean breast o’ the whole business, an’ throw yourself on the mercy of
this honorable court; an’ don’t you tell no lies because we won’t have
it; 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 by
reason of his bigness and his mental ability, of being their leader,
yet his natural diffidence and his unfortunate paternal connection
had 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 of
much moment. He felt that the time was come when he should either be
vindicated as a loyal citizen, fit to associate with his fellows, or
else shut out permanently from their companionship. His face was very
pale 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. And
I’m no copperhead either. I believe in the war. I believe in Abraham
Lincoln, and I--I love the flag.”

[Illustration: “I’M NO TRAITOR.”]

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

“Well, ain’t your father a copperhead?” asked the prosecuting
lawyer savagely. “An’ ain’t he talked ag’inst Lincoln, an’ ag’inst
the 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 the
truth? Do you s’pose your father’d lie? Answer me that now. Do you
think he’d lie?”

The prosecuting attorney turned toward his auditors with a smile and a
nod, 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 of
his 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 be
true about the war. Maybe he’s mistaken. That’s not for me to say, nor
for 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; and
some day I’ll fight for it, and I’ll do things for it that you, Sam
Powers, and you, Jim Brill, and all the rest of you wouldn’t dare to
do.”

He stood erect, with flushed face and flashing eyes, and for a brief
moment his accusers were silent. Then, gently at first, but increasing
soon to a storm of protest, the voices of his companions were heard in
reply. In the midst of the confusion the judge-advocate general held up
his 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 of
proceedings before a court-martial, the judge-advocate general and his
associates looked a trifle dazed.

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

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

“Shall Bob Bannister be allowed to be a member of this company? All you
that 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 captain
added, “The court’s adjourned sign dee.”

“Aw, shucks!” exclaimed Bill Hinkle, now in disgrace himself and
therefore more in sympathy with Bob. “You fellows know a lot, don’t
you! You’re smart, ain’t you! W’y, Bob Bannister’s the best man you
got. 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 breaking
heart. To be denied the right to join with his companions in any
demonstration looking to his country’s glory or welfare was, to him,
a tragedy. His was one of those natures endowed at birth with a spirit
of patriotism. From the time when he could first read he had absorbed
the history of his country and her heroes. No colors had ever shone
before his eyes more brilliant and beautiful than the red, white, and
blue of his country’s flag. With an intuition far beyond his years, he
had grasped the meaning and foreseen the consequences of a dissolution
of the compact that bound the states together. And when, at last,
the storm broke, when Sumter fell, when Bull Run came, an awakening
calamity, he threw his whole heart and soul into the cause of the
North, and from that time on he lived in spirit, and would have died
in body, with the Union armies, fighting, that the old flag and all
that it symbolized might prevail. Yet, strange as it may seem, his
father, with whom he lived, of whom he was proud and fond, to whom he
was loyally obedient, was an outspoken sympathizer with the Southern
Confederacy. Perhaps it was the strain of Southern blood in his veins,
perhaps it was the underlying aristocracy of feeling of those whose
ancestors have owned slaves, perhaps it was the clear logic of his
mind 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, what
he thought, was known of all men. Opposition could not conquer him,
opprobrious epithets could not cow him, nor could ostracism silence his
eloquent tongue.

Notwithstanding the general and fervent loyalty of the community in
which Bannister lived, there were, nevertheless, among the people,
those who felt that the war was a mistake and a failure, that the issue
had been tried out at an awful sacrifice with but indifferent success,
and that now peace should be had on any reasonable terms. These were
the conservatives, the locofocos. Then there were those who, deeply
sympathizing with the South from the beginning of the trouble, were
ready to make any legal opposition to a further prosecution