Yet, through it all, there was anxiety and apprehension. Wrought up by music and oratory and fireworks and news of victories, there was no telling what excesses the ultra-patriotic, irrepressible young people of the village might indulge in at the expense of a hated copperhead. Every noise from the direction of the town, every sound of hoofbeats on the highway, of footfalls on the side path, sent a thrill to the nerves and a chill to the heart of Mary Bannister. But, as the evening wore on without incident, she began to feel a measure of relief. Then the gate-latch clicked and some one entered the yard and started up the path toward the house. But the suspense of uncertainty lasted only for a moment, for the heavy strokes of the cane on the walk, and the uncertain footsteps, announced the approach of their next neighbor to the east, Seth Mills. He was cordially greeted and invited to a seat on the porch.
“I’ve just heard,” he explained, “what happened up-town to-day, an’ I thought I’d come over an’ tell ye—”
“Mary,” said Bannister, “don’t you think you had better take Louise up to bed? It’s getting quite late. You may stay, Robert, if you wish.”
And when the woman and child had said good-night and had gone, he turned to his visitor and continued: “Pardon me for interrupting you, Seth; but you see they don’t know, and I thought it was hardly worth while to have their feelings worked up over it.”
“Jest so! Jest so!” responded the old man. “Protect the women and children. That’s what I say. But they wasn’t much I wanted to tell ye, Rhett, only that, accordin’ to my views, they didn’t treat ye right, an’ I’m sorry for it. They ort to be ashamed of it themselves. Mebbe they will be when they’ve hed time to think it over. Me an’ you don’t agree in politics, Rhett, nor about the war, but that ain’t no reason why we shouldn’t treat each other decent. That’s what I say.”
“And you are right about it, Seth. But I believe that you and I are the only two men in this community who could discuss their political differences without passion. You are of Kentucky ancestry, I am of South Carolinian. These other people here are either of the domineering Yankee type, or else are descended from the stubborn Pennsylvania settlers. Perhaps that accounts for their lack of fairness and reason. I have often wondered how Abraham Lincoln, with his Virginia ancestry, his Kentucky birth, and his western training, could be so narrow, so illogical, so illiberal, so utterly heartless as he has shown himself to be.”
“I don’t think them are proper words, Rhett, to apply to Abraham Lincoln. I knowed him personally, you know, back in Illinois. I’ve told you that a hundred times. An’ I’ve studied him a good deal sence then, and I’ve come to the conclusion ’at they ain’t no man ever lived in this country who can see furder ahead, an’ know better how to git there’n Abe Lincoln. An’ I don’t believe no other president, or king, or emperor for that matter, has ever felt on his heart a personal responsibility for his country as Abe Lincoln has felt it, or has strove or struggled or strained or labored or prayed as Abe Lincoln hes, that his country might be saved an’ become great an’ happy. That’s what I say.”
“But, Seth, that’s mere sentiment. Take the facts. Why can’t he see, if he has such marvelous insight, that the South is demanding merely her rights? All she wants now is to be let alone, to take her property and go, to govern herself as she sees fit. And when she is assured that she may do so, this war will cease, peace will come, the horrible struggle will be at an end. Why does Abraham Lincoln persist in striving to compel this brave people, by force of arms, to pass again under the galling yoke of his hostile government?”
“I’ll tell ye why, Rhett. It’s becuz Abe Lincoln sees better’n they do what’s best fur ’em. He sees that ef the South was permitted to go an’ set up a separate govamint, an’ hev her own institutions an’ flag, an’ foreign ministers, an’ all that, ’at the next thing, by cracky! the Western states ’d want to jine up an’ do the same thing, with jest as good reason, an’ then the New England states ’d foller suit, an’ in less’n ten years they’d be a dozen different govamints, in place of the old United States, an’ they’d be everlastingly at each other’s throats, an’ they wouldn’t one of ’em amount to a hill o’ beans. It’d be rank folly; that’s what I say.”
“I know, but, Seth, it’s not necessary to borrow trouble for the future. If this man would only do what is right and just in the present, the future would take care of itself. It always does. He claims that he wants to save the Union. Very well. There’s a way open for him. The South is not anxious to leave the Union. If she were assured of the rights and consideration to which she is entitled, she would stay with us. Abraham Lincoln, by virtue of the power of his office, could secure those rights to her if he would. She must have such voice in the control of this government as she is entitled to have by reason of her ancestry, her intelligence, and her patriotism. And she must have protection for her property at home and abroad, whether that property consists of land, money, or slaves. Give her these things and she would be back with us at once. Oh, if Abraham Lincoln could only see this and act accordingly! If he would only cut loose from the radicals and the abolitionists, and the petty politicians who control him, and who even now treat him behind his back with ridicule and contempt; if he would only heed the counsels of such men as Vallandigham, Fernando Wood, Judge Woodward, and Judge Taney, patriots all of them; if he would even now sue for an honorable peace and strive for a united country, he would get it and get it abundantly. But, alas! your Lincoln, with his assumed simplicity, his high-sounding phrases, and his crafty logic, is, after all, but a coward and a time-server, bending the country to his own selfish ends, plunging her into destruction in order that the bloody zealots at Washington may be satisfied. Oh, the folly, the misery, the tragedy of it all!”