Sunday morning the preacher gave them "faith, hope, and charity," and felt victory his, as seen in the increasing numbers and interest of the meetings.
General M. was his personal and accepted friend, and a Union man at heart, and accepted the garb of a brigadier-general of State militia to hold his political popularity in the State, for he had aspirations toward the gubernatorial chair, and hoped some day to do his State better service in a civil capacity.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CONSCRIPT LAW AND HOW THE WRITER BEAT IT.
Three years and more of war had now passed, and we had succeeded in flanking all movements to get us into the army. The conscript law had been in force a year or two, sweeping all ages from eighteen to forty-five, and all classes except ministers of religion in regular discharge of ministerial duties, State and county officers, and slaveholders owning a certain number of slaves, fifteen being the minimum. Of course, it being the slaveholder's war, and the slaveholder never having been obliged to work for his rights in human chattels and things, but others made to produce and maintain them for him, his aristocratic leisure must be consulted and favored still, in the conduct of the war. It was the slaveholder's war, but the poor man's fight. And nothing pleased them better than to force a Northern man, described in their parlance—"a d—d Yankee, and a d—d abolitionist"—into the army, and get him killed off.
The writer has been asked a hundred and one times: "How did you escape the army?" The question is easily answered. After the first volunteering wild-fire had swept over the land and died out, he saw what would be the next step in the war programme, conscription. "The wise man seeth the evil and fleeth," says the prince of wise men. And though he did not flee in the literal sense, yet he did in the legal sense of the coming conscript law, by changing his "base" from that of a simple private citizen to that of a minister of religion; and had his regular congregation, to whom he ministered over two years. By this dernier resort, he bridged over a bad place in the road—for "Jordan was a hard road to travel"—and he was on the hardest part of the road in those days.
But as late as February, 1865, a new exemption law was reported to the Confederate Congress, and on the eve of being passed, containing this clause: "All ministers of religion, who have, at any time during the war, bought and sold for profit, shall go into the army." This law was reported to Congress by Mr. Miles, of South Carolina, Chairman of the Military Committee. But we were credibly informed the Hon. Williamson S. Oldham, representative from our Congressional District, drafted it, and inserted the clause relating to ministers of religion, with particular reference to the writer's case. The Hon. gentleman had spent two hours or more in our store, the day before leaving the last time for Richmond, Virginia, to dance attendance upon the last and forlorn session of the Confederate Congress. And having posted himself in our case, he concluded that business clergymen were the forlorn hope of the Confederacy. The animus of the law was that ministerial drones only, who would not work, but preferred starvation, or living off their broken-down congregations, were entitled to exemption from military duty. But the more enterprising class of ministers, who were willing to divide financial burdens with their congregations, by seeking business pursuits, for supporting themselves and families, and yet giving them the same amount of pulpit service, with the drones, were damaged by the virtue of business enterprise, and held to the performance of military duty.
This looked like the impassable gulf which we could neither cross nor flank. But Solomon's forlorn hope of "fleeing" was left us, and we made a hasty and masterly retreat out of Texas into Mexico. The retreat, however, like all hasty retreats, was expensive and financially disastrous. We had no time to strike tent, gather up family and material interests, and take with us. It was the occasion of finally losing thousands of dollars. But when safe on the sunset side of the Rio Grande, in Matamoras, the Confederate asthma left us, and we breathed freer. But not long after, we found that though we had escaped the Confederate "frying pan," we had jumped into the Mexican "fire," for the demon of war was after us there. The city was under the personal command of General Mejia, the favorite General of the Emperor Maximilian, and who, the reader will remember, perished with his imperial master at the tragic close of the quasi Empire. And at the time we speak of, the city was beleagured by Generals Canales and Cortinas, of the Liberal party, on the outside. The report was put in circulation that the foreign residents must help defend the city. This was the most dangerous ground yet, for in case of the capture of the city, the foreigners in arms, just at sunrise some fine Sunday morning, would have been filed out on "Boro Plaza," and shot to death without "benefit of clergy." The public shooting of one or more on this plaza was generally the opening entertainment of each Sunday. From shooting all went to High Mass, then to carrying the host through the streets; thence to the cockfights, beer-garden dances, theaters and other amusements the balance of the day.