So Bannister again told Bob’s story, and again expressed his willingness and eagerness to take the boy’s place in the ranks.
“I do not feel quite as I did when I came in here, Mr. Lincoln,” he said. “I am ready now to concede that the quickest way to permanent peace is by the subjugation of the Southern armies. But, Mr. President, when the South is beaten, I am sure—I am sure you will be charitable.”
The President did not reply. He had turned to the table, taken a pen, and begun to write. When he had finished he again faced Bannister, and read to him what he had written. It was as follows:—
“War Department, Washington, D. C.,
October 26, 1863.
“Major-General Meade,
Army of Potomac:—
“This letter will be given to you by Lieut. J. B. Forsythe, who has in custody and will turn over to you one Rhett Bannister of Pennsylvania. Bannister was drafted, failed to respond, and was apprehended by the provost-guard. On his way to join the regiment to which he had been assigned he accidentally ran across me. It appears that he has a son, not yet eighteen years of age, who recently enlisted, without his father’s knowledge, and is now in your army, Col. Gordon’s regiment of Penn. Volunteers, Co. M. Bannister wants to take his son’s place, and have the boy discharged and sent home to his mother, who is back there alone. I can see no objection, if it would not be subversive of discipline in your army, to discharging the boy and taking the father in his place. If this meets with your views I would like it done.
“A. Lincoln.”
He folded the letter, handed it to Bannister, and said:—
“There, you can give that to Forsythe when he comes, and he’ll take you to Meade; and whatever Meade says must be done must be done. Maybe he’ll take you and discharge the boy. Maybe he’ll keep you both. Maybe he’ll keep the boy and have you court-martialed and shot. Whatever he does you’ll have to be satisfied with it. Well, I guess that’s all.”
He rose to his feet, took his well-worn, high, black hat from the table, and reached out his hand to Bannister, who gripped it, unable for a moment to speak. When his voice did come to him he could only say:—