“To whom are you speaking, Rhett Bannister?”
And the reply came, hot and swift:—
“To the coward who sent me this work of art; to you who aided and abetted him, and to all of you who take your cue from the Federal government at Washington, and persecute in every mean and malicious way those who do not believe in wholesale murder in the South and who are not afraid to say so in the North.”
“I don’t know anything about your letter and picture, Bannister,” said the sergeant, “but we who are doing the fighting believe in the Federal government at Washington, we believe that we are carrying on a just war, and we believe that if it were not for you and the rest of your backbiting, disloyal, copperhead crew here in the North, who are giving aid and sympathy to the rebels of the South, we would have had this war ended a year ago.”
“Give it to him, sergeant!” cried an enthusiastic listener; “let him understand that it ain’t healthy for traitors around here.”
“I’m no traitor,” responded Bannister hotly. “I think as much of my country as you do of yours. I’ll give more to-day, in proportion to my means, to secure an honorable peace between North and South than any other man in this room.”
“Hon’able peace!” shouted a gray-haired man indignantly. “Dishon’able surrender you mean. You want the govament to back down, don’t ye, an’ acknowledge the corn, an’ let Jeff Davis hev his own way, an’ make a present to ’em o’ the hull South an’ half the North to boot, don’t ye? An’ tell ’em they done right to shoot down the ol’ flag on Fort Sumter, an’ tell ’em ’at Abe Lincoln’s a fool an’ a fraud an’ a murderer, don’t ye? don’t ye?”
“That estimate of Abraham Lincoln is not far from right, my friend,” replied Bannister. “For it is only a fool and a knave, and a man with the spirit of Cain in his heart, that would plunge his country into ruin and keep her there; that would send you, Sergeant Goodman, and you, Henry Bradbury, and all of us who may be drawn in the accursed conscription that is coming, down to slaughter, without cause, our brothers of the South.”
“Look here, Rhett Bannister!”
This was the voice of Henry Bradbury. He stood against the wall with an empty sleeve hanging at his side, telling mutely of Antietam and Libby. “You can’t talk that way about Abe Lincoln here. We don’t want to hurt you, but there’s some of us who’ve been in the army, an’ who love old Abe, an’ who won’t stand an’ hear him slandered; do you hear!”