But to Rhett Bannister this draft was the crowning act of infamy perpetrated by a tyrannical government. His whole nature rebelled against the idea of being compelled, on pain of death, to bear arms against his brothers of the South whom he believed to be absolutely in the right. It was not until September, however, that the drawing for the Congressional district in which he resided, the Eleventh of Pennsylvania, took place at Easton under the supervision of the provost-marshal, Captain Samuel Yohe.
It happened that on the afternoon of the last day of the drawing Bob went up to the village to make some purchases and do some errands for his father. Since his unfortunate experience on Independence Day Rhett Bannister had not often been seen among his neighbors. Aside from a few of the more radical sympathizers with the Southern cause, not many people sought him socially, and by the entire Union element he was practically ostracized.
The condemnation visited on his father Bob could not wholly escape. While there were few who knew of his own loyalty, there were many who knew only that he was the son of Rhett Bannister the despised copperhead. So, in these days, when Bob went up to the village he spent no time in loitering, or visiting, or playing with his former schoolfellows. His errands done, he started without delay on his way toward home.
But, on this September afternoon, there was excitement at the village. For two successive days the names drawn from the wheel at Easton had included but a bare half-dozen from Mount Hermon. And these were the names of men who could well afford to pay the three hundred dollars demanded by the government as the price of their release from service. But to-day, the last day of the drawing, it was more than probable that the number of men drafted from Mount Hermon would be at least doubled.
So, as the day wore on, the crowd about the door of the post-office increased. At five o’clock a special messenger would arrive from Carbon Creek with a list of the men that day drafted from Mount Hermon township, the list having been sent by telegraph from Easton to that station.
When finally the messenger arrived, Bob was listening with breathless interest to a discussion concerning the Emancipation Proclamation, and it was only when he heard some one shout, “Here’s the list!” that he realized what had happened.
“Let Adam Johns read it,” demanded a man in the crowd.
Whereupon the young schoolmaster, mounting a chair, and unfolding the paper placed in his hands, began to read. And the very first name that he read was his own. He looked out calmly over the group of men before him, his face paling somewhat with the shock of the news.
“I will go,” he said. “I ought to have gone before. I am ashamed to have waited for—for this—but—”
“You’re all right, Adam!” interrupted some one in the crowd, who knew how the schoolmaster’s widowed mother leaned on him for comfort and support, “you’re all right. There’s a dozen of us here that’ll be sons to her when you go.”