The idea of court-martialing the objectionable applicant for military privileges met with instant approval on the part of the company. Whereupon the captain at once made his appointments for the purpose.
“You, Brilly—Lieutenant Brill, you be judge-advocate general; you, Sergeant Davis and Corporal Guild, you be assistant judge-advocate general; you, Sam Powers, you be prosecuting attorney, and you, Private Grimstone, you defend the prisoner. All three of you sit down on the bench under this tree an’ hear the witnesses.”
“Aw, shucks!” exclaimed a disgusted youth, leaving the ranks and walking away. “You fellows are too smart. If you don’t want ’im, kick ’im out an’ done with it, an’ you’ll kick out the best soldier in the company. Court-martial snakes! Aw, shucks!”
“You, Bill Hinkle,” retorted the captain, “you’re discharged in disgrace for insubordination. Now, boys, come on. Oh, I forgot! Break ranks, march!”
But the ranks were already broken beyond immediate repair, and the crowd surged toward the bench on which the members of the military trial court were already seated. Witnesses were at once called to prove what every one knew, that Bob Bannister’s father was an open sympathizer with the South, that he had declared the war to be a mistake and a failure and Abraham Lincoln to be a fraud. Then Bob’s lawyer called for witnesses to come to Bob’s defense; but no one came. His cause was too unpopular. So the attorney called on Bob himself.
“Now you just stand up here,” he said, “before these judges, an’ make a clean breast o’ the whole business, an’ throw yourself on the mercy of this honorable court; an’ don’t you tell no lies because we won’t have it; do you hear?”
Thus commanded by his own counsel, Bob stood up to face his accusers. Although he was one of the oldest boys present, and capable, both by reason of his bigness and his mental ability, of being their leader, yet his natural diffidence and his unfortunate paternal connection had kept him in the background during the entire course of the war. In this mock trial he saw no humor. To him it was very real and of much moment. He felt that the time was come when he should either be vindicated as a loyal citizen, fit to associate with his fellows, or else shut out permanently from their companionship. His face was very pale as he began to speak, his dark eyes were suffused with emotion, and a stray lock of his black hair hung damp across his forehead.
[“I’m no traitor,”] he began. “It’s not right to call me a traitor. And I’m no copperhead either. I believe in the war. I believe in Abraham Lincoln, and I—I love the flag.”
