A Lincoln Conscript
Page 5
CHAPTER V
AN UNEXPECTED BREAKFAST
As Bob descended the stairs to open the hall-door in response tothe knocking, his mother stood on the upper landing, trembling withexcitement and fear. When the door was finally opened, she could see,dimly outlined in the doorway, a man dressed in the uniform of asergeant in the army of the United States.
“We have come,” he said to Bob, “by order of the provost-marshal, toarrest Rhett Bannister, who has been drafted and has failed to respond.”
The man was courteous in manner, but firm of speech.
“He is not here,” replied Bob.
“Pardon me,” said the man, “but we believe he is here. He was in thishouse last night. To the best of our knowledge he has not left it. Weshall be obliged to search the premises.”
“You may do so,” answered Bob, “but I assure you he is not here.”
Without waiting to discuss the matter, the sergeant stepped into thehall, followed by a private in uniform. Outside, the house-doors wereguarded by the two soldiers who remained.
If Rhett Bannister were within, there would be no chance for him toescape. The sergeant pushed his way into the parlor and sitting-room,threw open the blinds, and looked carefully about him. He went intothe dining-room, raised the shades, and examined the pantries and thekitchen. He procured a lantern, went into the cellar and searched everynook and corner of it.
“It is necessary for me,” he said when he came back up the cellar-stairs,“to ask permission to go into the second story. Who is up there?”
“My mother and my young sister,” replied Bob.
“Will you kindly go ahead and tell them that we are coming. I shallhave to examine every room.”
“You may go now,” said the boy. “My mother is dressed.”
So they went, all three, upstairs. The soldiers peered into the roomwhere Louise, undisturbed by the noise, still slept peacefully on. Inthe presence of Mrs. Bannister the sergeant removed his cap.
“I regret this necessity, madam,” he said, “but we are under orders toarrest Rhett Bannister, and it is our duty to make this search.”
The woman was too much frightened to reply, so the party went on intothe other rooms, up the ladder into the attic, into all the corners andclosets, everywhere. When the search was completed, the sergeant cameback to the head of the stairs and addressed Mrs. Bannister.
“You are Rhett Bannister’s wife?”
“Yes,” tremblingly, “yes, I am his wife.”
“I am sorry, but your husband is now classed as a deserter. If he isarrested he becomes subject to the death penalty. I believe that only aprompt surrender on his part will lead to a suspension or abatement ofhis sentence. If you know where he is I would advise you, for your ownsake, to urge him to give himself up at once.”
She turned to Bob, appealingly.
“Do I have to tell, Robbie? Do I? Do I have to? Would it be better?”
“No, mother, you don’t have to, and it wouldn’t be better. Father hasmade up his mind what he wants to do, and we have no right to interferewith his plans.”
The frightened woman was clinging to Bob’s arm and looking up tearfullyinto his face.
“I am sorry to be obliged to add,” said the sergeant, “that all personswho aid and abet a deserter in his efforts to escape arrest, areclassed as co-conspirators with him, and as traitors to their country,and are subject to punishment accordingly. So, if either of you haveany knowledge as to Rhett Bannister’s whereabouts, I--”
But at this point the terrified woman gave way completely; thesympathizing sergeant turned away from her, and Bob led her, sobbingconvulsively, back to her own room. When he was again able to leaveher and go downstairs, he found that the soldiers had made a thoroughsearch of the out-of-door premises, and were just returning from theshop, the lock on the door of which they had forced, and the interiorof which they had explored. Strangely enough, it had not occurred tothem to examine the tower of the windmill. There was nothing aboutit, either in the shop or on the outside, which would indicate to thecasual observer that it might become a hiding-place for a fugitive. Ifit had occurred to them, and they had proceeded with such a search, thetragedy which Bob feared would surely have come. For Rhett Bannister,standing in his cramped quarters within the tower, watching, throughhis port-hole, the movements of the soldiers about his house and yard,and their approach to the shop, listening to the breaking of the lockon the shop-door, and to the exploration going on beneath him, wasready, on the instant of discovery, from his point of advantage, toshoot to kill any person who attempted to force him from his place ofconcealment. Yet, for that morning at least, a merciful Providence soblinded the eyes and dulled the wits of those soldiers as to save RhettBannister from the disgrace and horror of shedding another’s blood.
When Bob came out on the kitchen porch and glanced involuntarilyand fearfully up at the windmill tower, he caught a glimpse of arifle-barrel through one of the small dark openings his father hadmade, and knew, on the instant, how narrowly the household had escapeda tragedy. For, even as he looked, the soldiers were coming back,by the garden-path, to the house. The young sergeant was plainlydisappointed and vexed over the result of his expedition. He had hopedand intended to have credit for bagging the most notorious copperheadin that section of the state. And now that his ambition was likely tofail of realization, he could not quite repress his deep feeling ofannoyance. He came back to the boy on the porch.
“I don’t want to be harsh,” he said, “but from either you or yourmother I must have definite information as to Rhett Bannister’swhereabouts. I believe both of you know where he is.”
“My mother is already so frightened by your raid,” replied Bob, “thatif she knew and was willing to tell, I doubt whether she would be ableto. But you may ask me any questions you like.”
“Very well. Do you know where your father is at this moment?”
“I believe I do.”
“Where is he?”
“I will not tell.”
The sergeant’s face flushed, and he bit his drooping moustache. He wasplainly angry.
“I have already told you,” he said, “that to shield deserters is anoffense hardly less treasonable than desertion itself. I don’t intendto be balked in this thing. Your father is somewhere about thesepremises. I know, for I have had the house watched. He could not haveescaped. You can point out his hiding-place to me, or I will put youunder arrest and take you before the provost-marshal.”
The boy’s face paled and his lip quivered, but he was still resolute.
“I’ll go,” he said, “but I’ll not tell.”
“Very well, come on!”
The sergeant spoke gruffly, and laid a rough hand on the lad’s shoulder.
“Let me go first and tell my mother.”
“No. It’s your choice to go--go now. March!”
Then a better thought came into the sergeant’s mind. Down on theDelaware a good and anxious mother was fearing and praying for him.The thought of her softened his anger.
“Well,” he said, “go and tell her. Tell her anything you like. Butsooner or later you will tell us what we want to know.”
Bob hurried upstairs to his mother’s room.
“Mother,” he said, “I’ve discovered a way to get rid of these men. I’veoffered to go up to Mount Hermon with them. When we are gone you canlet father know.”
“I’VE DISCOVERED A WAY TO GET RID OF THESE MEN.”]
“Oh, Robbie! they don’t mean any harm to you?”
“None at all, mother. But tell father--tell father not to go into thewindmill tower again. They might find out--somehow--that that’s hishiding-place, and come back here before I do, to get him. Tell him notto go into the tower again, _not for anything_.”
He kissed his mother good-by and hurried out into the hall. His littlesister stood there, clad in her nightdress, with flushed cheeks andrumpled hair and wondering eyes.
“Good-by, Dotty!” he called back to
her as he hurried down the stairs.“I’ve got to go up to town early this morning. I’m off now. You jumpback into bed and get your beauty sleep.”
In another minute he was out in the road with the sergeant and histhree men, and they went marching away toward Mount Hermon. Theyoung officer was inclined to be silent and severe at first, buthe soon thawed out, and then Bob found his conversation to be mostinteresting. He said, in answer to the boy’s inquiry, that he had beenin the service since almost the beginning of the war. He had beenwith McClellan all through the Peninsular Campaign. He had fought atAntietam and at Fredericksburg and Gettysburg. In that last greatbattle a bullet had pierced his thigh, severing a small artery, and hehad nearly bled to death before receiving surgical attention. But hewas almost well now, and ready again for active service.
And as they walked on, and the young man told of his battles and hismarches and his wounds, of the glory of fighting for the old flag, andof his ardent hope for ultimate victory and peace, and above all, ofhis reverence for the great and noble President at Washington, whomall the soldiers loved and honored, and for whom they would cheerfullyhave died, Bob felt the tides of patriotism rising high and higher inhis breast; and, notwithstanding the errand which the young soldier hadtried his best to perform, the boy could not help feeling in his heartthat here indeed was a hero worthy of his admiration.
Absorbed in the story, carried away by his enthusiasm for a cause whichcould command such fealty as this, he forgot, for the time, that hisfather, a despised copperhead, a fugitive from the execution of thedraft, with the penalty for desertion hanging over his head, was stillback at the old home, ready to shed the blood of any who might dareseek to apprehend him. He forgot that he himself was under arrest asa traitor, charged with aiding and abetting his father, on his way tothe office of the provost-marshal, where he must either purge himselffrom contempt, by answering the questions put to him, or suffer thepenalty of his disobedience. So, with glowing eyes and flushed cheeksand swiftly beating heart, he told of his own hopes and beliefs anddesires, of his own longing for the ascendency of the Union cause, ofhis faith in the great generals, Meade, Sheridan, Sherman, Grant, andof his absolute devotion to the one overmastering hero of the mightywar, Abraham Lincoln. And when he had told all these things, with anearnestness and enthusiasm that stamped them as unmistakably genuine,and his own patriotism as quite unsullied, it is small wonder that theheart of the young soldier warmed to him, and, before either of themwas aware of it, they were the best of friends.
At a turn in the road the perspective of the long straight streetthat led through the village lay before them. The leafage of October,red and yellow and glorious along the maple-bordered highway, grewbrilliant in the morning light. Back in the valley below them, asthey turned and looked, they saw the fog-banks, which had lain heavyand close to the earth, beginning to break and drift away under theinfluence of the morning sun. The young sergeant bared his head andgazed in admiration at the rolling landscape, as it broadened away tothe east.
“Beautiful!” he exclaimed. “Beautiful! I remember a morning down in theShenandoah Valley when the sun rose on a landscape much like this; and,even in the stress of the work on hand, I admired it and remember it.”
“What was the work, sergeant?” asked Bob.
“Covering the retreat of a beaten army, my boy; one of the gloomiesttasks of war: on every side the evidence of disaster and the wrecksof battle: abandoned cannon, broken wheels, carcasses of horses, thesuffering wounded, and the unburied dead. Oh! war is a terrible thingafter all--a terrible thing. To-morrow I go back to it. I report forduty to my regiment somewhere down on the Rappahannock.”
Bob spoke up eagerly:--
“Then you won’t be able to go back to--to--”
“To get Rhett Bannister? No. That duty will devolve on some one elsenow. I must report to the provost-marshal at Easton to-night. It’stoo bad I couldn’t have had the credit of capturing him, he’s such anotorious copperhead. Oh, I forgot! You’re his son, aren’t you? AndI have you under arrest, taking you to the provost-marshal. That’sstrange! Why, boy, you are no traitor. I never saw a man more loyalthan you are. Indeed, I have talked with few men who know more aboutthe war, the campaigns, and the generals. I never heard a man outsidethe ranks express more genuine devotion to his country. How is it? Whatdo you mean by having Rhett Bannister for a father?”
“I can’t explain it,” replied Bob, “except that I know he’s honestabout it, and truly believes he’s right. He’s of Southern ancestry, youknow. His father was a South Carolinian. I can’t blame him. I don’tblame him. I’ve tried to think the way he does about it, and not beagainst him, but I can’t, I simply can’t!”
“No, my boy, you can’t! But you can tell me where he is. It’s not yettoo late to get him and reach Carbon Creek for the noon train. Will youdo it?”
“No, sergeant, I won’t. I’m loyal to my country; but I’m loyal to myfather too, and I won’t betray him.”
“Well, I admire your pluck, but I’ll have to take you-- Will I,though?--is it my duty? Say, boys!” he called to the three privatesoldiers who had preceded them; “boys, halt!”
The men stopped and wheeled round to face their commander.
“Soldiers,” he said, “you know why I’m taking this boy. I consideredhis conduct treasonable in not disclosing his father’s hiding-place.But I find that in reality he is just as loyal as any one of us, exceptthat he knows his father’s secret and refuses to give it away. Now whatshall we do with him?”
They had reached a point in front of the dwelling-house of Sarah JaneStark. The men looked in on the smooth green lawn, and then away tothe eastern hill range. But before they had made up their minds how toreply to the officer’s question, a woman, coming down the walk from thehouse, reached the gate where they were standing. It was Sarah JaneStark herself.
“What’s all this about?” she inquired. “Bob Bannister, what are youdoing here with these soldiers?”
“I’ve been arrested, Miss Stark,” replied Bob modestly.
“You? Arrested? Fudge! What does the boy mean?” turning to the officer.
“It means, madam,” replied the sergeant courteously but firmly, “thatthis boy knows the whereabouts of Rhett Bannister, whom we have ordersto arrest, and will not disclose them. We are taking him to theprovost-marshal.”
“What for?”
“To compel him to tell where his father is, or punish him for hisdisobedience.”
“Oh, nonsense! The boy isn’t to blame. You’d do the same thing yourselfin his place. Besides there isn’t a more patriotic citizen in MountHermon township than this very boy. I know what I’m talking about.”
The sergeant doffed his cap.
“I believe you are more than half right, madam,” he said. “I myself aminclined to think that he may do us more good right here at his home,as a somewhat remarkable illustration of patriotism under difficulties,than he would lying in a guard-house living on bread and water.”
“Of course he will! Mind you, I’ve no excuses for his fool father. Thatman’s making the mistake of his life. But this boy is all right. Say,have you had breakfast, any of you?”
“My men and I have not, and I do not think young Bannister has. We willstop at the Bennett House in the village long enough for breakfast.”
“Oh, nonsense! The Bennett House! You come right up here to the SarahJane Stark house, and I’ll give you a better breakfast than you’ll getat all the Bennett Houses in the country, and it won’t cost you a pennyeither.”
She turned up the path as she spoke, and, after a moment of hesitation,the rest of the party followed her. The delay, however, gave theofficer an opportunity to make a whispered inquiry of Bob concerningher, and, being thus assured of her integrity and loyalty, he no longerhesitated to lead his little party to her house.
“Now, you go right into the kitchen,” she said, “all of you, and washyour hands, and by the time you’ve done that, breakfast’ll be ready.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Anderson,” he replied, “Stanley B. Anderson.”
“Well, Sergeant Anderson, you ask a blessing.”
The young fellow flushed to the tips of his ears.
“I have never done such a thing,” he said. “I beg you will excuse me.At my home my mother always says grace. Will you not say it here?”
“Very well, I will. And I want you all to say ‘amen,’ every one ofyou.”
So they bowed their heads, and Sarah Jane Stark said:--
“O Lord, make us thankful for this food; confound the enemies of ourcountry, and give us charity in our hearts for all men.”
And every one at the table responded heartily, “Amen!”
It was a delicious breakfast and a delightful occasion. They all saidso afterward, and many times afterward. In the hearts of these boysin uniform Sarah Jane Stark found a warm place at once. For they weremere boys--not one of them was over twenty-three, and this woman ofmiddle age, with her big heart, her bluff manner, her solicitude fortheir comfort, her interest in their stories of the war, her intensepatriotism, and withal her broad charity, came suddenly into theirlives, like a breath from some bigger, better, sweeter world thanthey had lived in, and they loved her. And one day, in the followingJune, after the battle and slaughter of Cold Harbor, one of thesepoor fellows, lying on a rough cot in a field hospital, dying from adreadful wound, dictated a last letter to his waiting mother at home,and another to Sarah Jane Stark at Mount Hermon. And when she was oldand wrinkled and gray, this dear woman, who never had a child of herown, would read over again that brief, pathetic letter from the dyingsoldier boy of Cold Harbor, and weep as she read.
So, after breakfast, they all went out into the beautiful Octobermorning, and down the footpath to the gate where she had first foundthem. And she shook hands with every one of the young soldiers,and wished them God-speed, and early and abundant victory, and theblessings of a long peace. Then she turned to Bob and said:--
“Now, you run along back home, and put an end to your mother’s anxiety,and tell your miserable father for me, that the Lord has delivered himthis once out of the hands of the Philistines, so that he may enter thearmies of Abraham Lincoln like a man, and fight for his country ashe ought to; and somehow--I can’t tell you why, but somehow I have anintuition that he’s going to do it.”
And the sergeant and the provost-guard stood by and heard her and saidnever a word.
So they parted. Sarah Jane Stark walked back up the footpath, acrossthe lawn, to her comfortable home. The young soldiers, refreshed,invigorated and high-spirited, went swinging up through the streets ofMount Hermon to their appointed rendezvous. And Bob Bannister, withnewer, bigger thoughts in his mind, with his soul filled with largerenthusiasms, with a determination in his heart to break in some way,any way, the galling bonds of disloyalty that girded and girdled hisown home, went back free down the road by which he had come an hourbefore, a prisoner of the United States.