by Homer Greene
CHAPTER IX
WITH ABRAHAM LINCOLN
So this was Lincoln--the man whom, lately, Rhett Bannister had hatedabove all other living men, at whose door he had laid all the woesand wounds and spilled blood of the nation. Awkward, indeed, he was,with gnarled features, ungainly limbs, and shambling gait. All thisBannister had expected to see. But where was the domineering air, thecrafty expression, the pride of power, the ingrained coarseness, forwhich he had also looked? In that ungraceful form he could see now onlythe human frame bending under the weight of a mighty responsibility.In the furrowed face, drawn and ashy, and eloquent with suffering andcare, in the deep-set, patient eyes, signals of a soul weighed downwith sorrow, he could read now only the story of a life untouched byselfishness, of a heart breaking with the burdens and pierced with thegriefs of a mighty and beloved nation.
And with the vision of this man before him, so intensely human, sopleadingly simple, Rhett Bannister felt slipping away from him the oldhate and scorn and enmity, and into their places came creeping pityfor the man, reverence for his sorrow, sympathy with him in the awfulburden he was bearing on his bent shoulders and in his mighty heart,the problems, griefs, and cares of his brothers, North and South,engaged in fratricidal strife. It was all in a moment. It followed onelook into that infinitely sad and tender face, but in that moment thetide of feeling in Rhett Bannister’s mind and heart had turned. AbrahamLincoln was no longer the hated monster of other days, but a man,instead, of like passions, cares, griefs, and hopes with himself; a manto whom it was no humiliation to speak; nay, a man to whom he woulddare to appeal in behalf of his son and himself, assured in advance ofan honest and sympathetic hearing.
And what was it that Captain Yohe had said?
Bannister uncovered his head, and moved to the side of the path to letthe Chief Magistrate by. And, even as he did so, there arose in hisheart, and issued from his lips, an appeal which, one week before, hewould have scorned to make.
“Mr. President,” he said, “this meeting is by chance, but I beg thatyou will grant me one moment to hear my case.”
The President stopped and cast a look of sad inquiry on the man whohad accosted him. Doubtless, he thought, here was another father cometo plead for the life of a son who had been sentenced to a disgracefuldeath. For what offense this time? Cowardice, desertion, sleepingat his post, or some other crime for which stern war demands sternpenalties? They were so common in those days, appeals from fathers,mothers, wives, sweethearts; and the tender heart of Lincoln was dailypierced with them.
“Well?” He braced himself mentally, to listen to some new and agonizingtale of trouble.
“I will be frank with you, Mr. President,” Bannister hurried on, “andbrief. I am a Pennsylvanian. I am what is called a copperhead. A fewweeks ago I was drafted. I refused to report for service. I have anonly son, just passed seventeen, who is as ardent a supporter of theUnion cause as I am a detractor of it. Without my knowledge he visitedthe provost-marshal of the district and asked to go as a substitute inmy place. His request being denied, he enlisted. That was four daysago. He is now in Meade’s army in Virginia. Yesterday I left my home,hoping to reach him where he is and induce the officer of his regimentto discharge him and take me in his place. Before I was twenty miles onmy journey I was arrested as a deserter. The provost-marshal sent mefor condemnation and sentence to the regiment to which, as a draftedman, I had been assigned. Less than an hour ago I reached Washington.My guards were drunk and asleep. I walked away from them and came here.It is by the merest chance that I now meet you. My boy is too youngto withstand the rigors and hardships of the service. He should beback home with his mother. I want to take his place in the ranks. Mr.President, I cannot hope to do this unless you will help me.”
For a moment the President stood, looking into the eyes of the speaker.Here was a new and novel case. It aroused his interest. It appealed tohis humanity.
“Come,” he said, “let’s go over to the telegraph office. It’s too coldto stand here. I was going there anyway. It’s all right,” he added totwo guards who had hurried up. “I want to talk to this man. He’s goingover to the telegraph office with me.”
So the lank, angular, shawl-clad figure moved on down the path,followed by the escaped conscript, while he in turn was followed bythe two guards, who watched his every movement. A suspicion enteredBannister’s mind as he walked, that the President was leading him intoambush to procure the more easily his re-arrest. The re-arrest did notmuch matter. But that any one, after looking into this man’s face,should think of charging him with duplicity, that did matter. And thenext moment the suspicion was effectually cast out.
They went up the steps leading to the War Department, and intothe telegraph office which was installed there. Lincoln asked fordispatches left for him by Major Eckert, and read them over carefully.Some of them he read twice. The inactivity of the Army of the Potomac,the apparent inability of Meade to strike a telling, if not a finalblow, weighed heavily on his mind. He had come over, as was his custom,in the early morning, to get and read, at first-hand, dispatches fromthe front. When he finally laid down the yellow slips he beckoned toBannister to follow him.
“We’ll go into Stanton’s room,” he said; “he won’t be here for an houryet.”
So they sat down together in the room ordinarily occupied by theSecretary of War. In the outer office the telegraph instrumentskept up a monotonous clicking. Through the open door between therooms messengers could be seen passing hurriedly in and out. Lincolnstretched his long legs out in front of him and ran his fingers throughhis carelessly combed hair.
“So you got away from your guards, did you?” he inquired. “Did you saythey were drunk?”
“Yes, Mr. President, very drunk. They procured whiskey and drank agreat deal on the train coming down to Washington. When I left the carthis morning they were sound asleep.”
“What are their names? To what command are they attached?”
“I do not know. My name is Rhett Bannister, and my home is at MountHermon in Pennsylvania.”
“I see.”
The President rose, went out into the telegraph office, and dictated amessage. When he returned and sat down again he said:--
“I’ve sent out orders to have those men hunted up, arrested, andremanded for trial. The soldier on duty who shows cowardice in the faceof the enemy may have some excuse for his conduct. But the soldier onduty who shows cowardice in the face of John Barleycorn must reap thefull reward of his cowardice.”
He set his lips tightly together, and let his clenched hand fall on thetable-top. After a moment he continued:--
“So you are what they call up in Pennsylvania a copperhead?”
“I have been so designated, Mr. President.”
“Yes. Well, now, I’ve been wanting to see some of you copperheads andtalk with you, and find out from you, if I can, why you oppose thewar, and seek opportunities to stab the administration in the back.I’ve been wanting to know. Maybe this meeting is providential. MaybeI can learn something from you that will help us all. I’ve never runacross one of you before, face to face, like this. Vallandigham’s theonly one I know much about, and he’s so fiery and oratorical I can’tquite get head or tail to what he says. What is your creed, anyway?”
“I can speak for myself only, Mr. President. I am of Southern birthand breeding. My sympathies lie entirely with the South. I feel thatthey were right on every issue between them and the abolitionistsand radicals of the North. I feel that they had just cause to secedefrom the compact formed by the states, and to set up a government oftheir own which should be in accord with their views and policies.I feel that the attempt to coerce them was unjust and tyrannical. Ifeel that the war, on the part of the North, has been and is an awfulmistake, criminal in many of its aspects. Feeling that way, I have doneall that lay in my power, from my home in the North, openly, and Ibelieve honorably, to oppose the war, and to weaken the power of youradministration. I speak frankly because you hav
e asked me for my views.”
“That’s right; that’s right. That’s what I want to know. We must behonest with each other. Now, don’t you think the Union, as it was, wasa splendid aggregation of states?”
“Yes, Mr. Lincoln, I do.”
“And don’t you think the Union, restored as it was, would be a stillmore splendid aggregation of states?”
“I do, if the causes of war were removed.”
“Exactly! We are trying to remove them. You and your friends of theSouth are trying to retain them. If their armies prevail in thisstruggle, the situation is hopeless. Nothing is settled. The Union isshattered. The future is black with trouble. If our armies prevail inthis struggle, all the issues that led to the war become dead issues.The Union will be restored as it was. The future will be large withpromise. I can see, so far as my vision reaches, but one end that willbring permanent peace and happiness. We must conquer the armies of theSouth; we _must_ do it. The life of the Union, for which our fathersfought, depends on it. There, I’ve said a good deal. I don’t know thatI’ve made myself clear. I don’t get a chance to talk to you copperheadsvery often. I take it when I can get it.”
There was nothing flippant or sarcastic in his tone or manner. He wasfrank and plain, but in deadly earnest. It required no brilliancy ofcomprehension to discover that. Rhett Bannister saw it and acknowledgedit. He saw more. He saw that this man grasped the situation as no manhad ever grasped it before. That in his heart the Union was the onething of prime importance, and that his mind and soul and body weretense with the desire and effort to save the Union. But was he right?Was he right? For, while Bannister could not now but acknowledge thesincerity and skill of the man who was talking to him, he was not yetready to yield his own judgment.
“I do not think you put yourself in the place of the men of the South,”he replied, “and look at the matter through their eyes. Consider fora moment. You deny them the right to live in new territory of theUnited States in the same manner in which they and their fathers, forgenerations back, have lived in their Southern homes. Is that just?They resent that as an indignity. You seek to compel them by force ofarms to accept this humiliating situation. They resist. Why shouldthey not? Finally, you yourself issue a proclamation depriving them,so far as lies in your power, of their right to own slaves. Then youdemand that they lay down their arms in order to save the Union. Do youthink they can greatly care whether such a Union as that is saved orbroken?”
Lincoln leaned over and laid his hand on Bannister’s knee.
LINCOLN LAID HIS HAND ON BANNISTER’S KNEE.]
“My friend,” he said, “you look at but one aspect of the case. Ibelieve I view it as a whole. You are sincere in your belief. I concedethat. The great body of your brethren in the South are sincere. We areboth fighting for what we believe to be the right. We both pray to thesame God for the success of our armies. We could not do that if we werenot honest with ourselves. But I believe I have the larger vision. Ibelieve I see more clearly what will bring about the largest measureof prosperity for all of us. I believe in the Union as it was. I wantto preserve it. I want to bring back into it all those states, allthose citizens who are willfully and mistakenly trying to leave it,and to destroy it. All that I have done, I have done with that end inview. All that I shall do, I shall do with that end in view. If I haveproclaimed emancipation for the slaves, that was the purpose of it.If we must prosecute this war until their last soldier, or ours, islying dead on the battle-field, that will be the purpose of it. I havedeclared amnesty to every man in rebellion, save the leaders of theinsurrection, who will come back to us and take the oath of allegiance.The purpose of the declaration is to save, to restore, to build up, tomake bigger and better and stronger the Union which has been and oughtto be more to us and dearer to us than any man or body of men that thenation can produce. That is my one mission, my one purpose, my onehope, and, under God, my one determination to the end.”
Into the gaunt, haggard, ashen face came, as he talked, the light ofthe high purpose that filled his soul. To Rhett Bannister, looking onhim, listening in breathless suspense, it seemed almost as though,like the angel at the sepulchre, “his countenance was like lightning,and his raiment white as snow.” The mighty and homely spirit that haddominated great minds in this tremendous conflict, and bent them toits will, had already laid its spell on the mind of this one-timehater of the nation’s chief. Abraham Lincoln stood revealed before himnow, not as the ambitious tyrant, the crafty plotter, the traitor tohis kind, but as the one man of greatest skill, of wisest thought, oftenderest heart, of largest soul, whom the troublous times had broughtforth.
In the silence that followed Lincoln’s words, as Bannister sat mute andthrilled, he felt that every heart-beat in his breast was hammeringdown the last barrier that stood between him and the personality of thegreat President. Henceforth, no matter how divergent their views, theirlogic, their ways to conclusions, in the essence of a large patriotismand a great humanity their souls had touched, and they were one.
At length Bannister spoke. It was his last word, his final protest, hisweak clutch at the floating, fading straw.
“But the pride of the South, Mr. President; the pride of the South!”
Lincoln sat back and crossed his legs, and over his face there came areminiscent smile.
“Up in Sangamon County,” he said, “when I lived there, I knew a man bythe name of Seth Mills. He owned a spring in common with his neighborSam Lewis. But they couldn’t agree on the amount of water each shouldhave, nor how much could be carried away by trough; and their quarrelover the spring led to a fight and a lawsuit. Well, when I went upto Springfield, the controversy was still on, but Seth was getting agood bit the worst of it. One day he came up to Springfield to see me,and when he came into my office I said to myself: ‘The spring war hasreached an acute stage.’ But Seth sat down and said: ‘Abe, I’ve decidedto be generous to Sam. He’s licked me in the courts of Sangamon County,but I _could_ take the case up to the Supreme Court of the UnitedStates and make him a lot o’ trouble and cost. But I ain’t goin’ to doit. I’m goin’ to swaller my pride an’ be liberal with him. Now I’veproposed to Sam that he chip in an’ we’ll build the spring bigger an’deeper, an’ wall it up, an’ put in a pipe big enough to run water toboth our houses. It’ll cost two or three dollars, but I believe it’swuth it. An’ Sam has yielded the p’int and accepted the offer.’”
Lincoln laughed softly and then continued:--
“It seems to me, my friend, that the South can afford to do as SethMills did, swallow her pride, be generous to us, get back with us intothe Union, and help us build it bigger and broader and deeper, and wallit up, and put in a pipe big enough to supply us all with prosperityand happiness and peace. Maybe it’ll cost two or three dollars, but Ibelieve it’s worth it.”
It was not until the story and its moral were nearly finished thatBannister realized that it was about his own old Seth Mills that thePresident was talking.
“I know that man, Mr. Lincoln,” he said. “I know Seth Mills, and I canwell believe and appreciate the story. He has been, for years, mynext and most valued neighbor, a good citizen, an honest man, and aworshiper at the shrine of Abraham Lincoln.”
“Well, now, I’m glad to hear from Seth; I’m glad to hear from him. Iknew he went East somewhere. You tell him, when you see him, if youever do, that Abe Lincoln sends him greeting and good wishes in memoryof the old days in Sangamon County.”
Then the light of reminiscent memory died out from the President’sface, and the old strained, haggard, weary look came back into it. Hestraightened up his long body and said:--
“Let’s see. You’re a fugitive, ain’t you? a deserter?”
“Something like that, I believe, Mr. Lincoln.”
The President rose and went out into the telegraph office and gave someorders. When he came back he said:--
“I’ve sent for Lieutenant Forsythe. I’ll turn you over to him. He’llsee that you get to the right p
lace. Tell me again about that boy ofyours, will you?”
So Bannister again told Bob’s story, and again expressed hiswillingness and eagerness to take the boy’s place in the ranks.
“I do not feel quite as I did when I came in here, Mr. Lincoln,” hesaid. “I am ready now to concede that the quickest way to permanentpeace is by the subjugation of the Southern armies. But, Mr. President,when the South is beaten, I am sure--I am sure you will be charitable.”
The President did not reply. He had turned to the table, taken a pen,and begun to write. When he had finished he again faced Bannister, andread to him what he had written. It was as follows:--
“WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, D. C., _October 26, 1863_.
“MAJOR-GENERAL MEADE, Army of Potomac:--
“This letter will be given to you by Lieut. J. B. Forsythe, who has in custody and will turn over to you one Rhett Bannister of Pennsylvania. Bannister was drafted, failed to respond, and was apprehended by the provost-guard. On his way to join the regiment to which he had been assigned he accidentally ran across me. It appears that he has a son, not yet eighteen years of age, who recently enlisted, without his father’s knowledge, and is now in your army, Col. Gordon’s regiment of Penn. Volunteers, Co. M. Bannister wants to take his son’s place, and have the boy discharged and sent home to his mother, who is back there alone. I can see no objection, if it would not be subversive of discipline in your army, to discharging the boy and taking the father in his place. If this meets with your views I would like it done.
“A. LINCOLN.”
He folded the letter, handed it to Bannister, and said:--
“There, you can give that to Forsythe when he comes, and he’ll takeyou to Meade; and whatever Meade says must be done must be done. Maybehe’ll take you and discharge the boy. Maybe he’ll keep you both. Maybehe’ll keep the boy and have you court-martialed and shot. Whatever hedoes you’ll have to be satisfied with it. Well, I guess that’s all.”
He rose to his feet, took his well-worn, high, black hat from thetable, and reached out his hand to Bannister, who gripped it, unablefor a moment to speak. When his voice did come to him he could onlysay:--
“Mr. President, I am deeply grateful to you. I came here distrustingand disliking you. I shall leave here--well--I--from to-day I am aLincoln conscript.”
In the telegraph office the President stopped for a few moments to lookover late dispatches, and then went out, back through the park andacross the lawn, to the treadmill of the White House, there to wear hisown life out that the nation which he loved might live.
While Bannister was waiting for his guard, Secretary of War Edwin M.Stanton, stern, spectacled, heavy-bearded, came bustling in.
“Well,” he said as he espied Bannister in his room, “what is it? Whatdo you want?”
“I am waiting for Lieutenant Forsythe,” replied Bannister, who at oncerecognized the great War Secretary. “Mr. Lincoln has given me thisorder.”
As he spoke, he handed the letter to the Secretary, who took it andread it carefully through.
“Another one of the President’s interferences!” he exclaimedimpatiently. “He has enough to do at the White House. I wish he wouldlet this department alone. His orders for suspension of sentence, andhonorable discharge, and all that, in defiance of the regulations, areabsolutely subversive of discipline. They are demoralizing the entirearmy.”
A young officer had entered while the testy Secretary was voicing hisannoyance, and now stood at attention in the doorway.
“Here’s another order of the President’s,” continued the Secretary,addressing the officer. “He wants you to take this man down to Meade. Idon’t know anything about the case. It ought to have gone through thisdepartment. I suppose I’ll have to back it.”
He sat down at the table, endorsed the letter on the back, and handedit to the officer, who took it and read it carefully.
“Why is it,” continued Stanton, still voicing his irritability, “thatthe President always chooses you to send on these irregular errands?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Secretary,” replied the lieutenant, “except that Mr.Lincoln and I trust each other.”
The great War Secretary looked at the officer for a moment, with aquizzical expression in his eyes, then, without another word, he turnedto his desk and took up again the herculean task which as a patriot,as an enthusiast, as a lover though a critic of Lincoln, he cheerfullyand splendidly performed.
So Bannister, accompanied by his guard, went out, along the street,across the Potomac, and down through war-ravaged Virginia, toward thecamping hosts of Meade, toward the son who, with a foresight clearerthan his own, had preceded him to war. And as he went a new fire ofpatriotism burned in his heart, a new light of comprehension illuminedhis mind, and to his list of the world’s great heroes was added a newgreat name.
