Part 19 (1/2)
Frank made no further attempts to draw him into conversation, and, just as the sun was rising, the major gave the order to halt. He also had noticed the sorrowful look of the young stranger, and, attributing it to a depression of spirits, which any one would feel at finding himself in such circ.u.mstances, addressed him, as he came up, with:
”My friend, you appear to be sorely troubled about something. Cheer up; it does no good to be despondent. I know our case is desperate, but it is not altogether hopeless. We do not intend to be recaptured, as long as one of us has strength to draw a trigger.”
”I am not troubled about that, sir,” answered the youth, throwing himself wearily on the ground. ”The cause of my sorrow dates further back than my capture and confinement in prison. I know that I am not the only one who has suffered during this rebellion; but mine is a peculiar case. I have not known a happy day since the war commenced. Every tie that bound me to earth was severed when the first gun was fired on Fort Sumter.”
”Ah!” exclaimed Frank, guessing the truth at once. ”Then your relatives are rebels.”
”Yes, they are; and the most bitter kind of rebels, too. I have kept my secret until I can no longer endure it. I have become completely discouraged, and am greatly in need of what I at first shunned-sympathy. If you will bear with me, I will tell you my circ.u.mstances. It will serve to relieve me, and may interest you, and prove that I am really what I profess to be, an escaped prisoner.”
”Certainly, let us hear it. Go on,” said the major.
Thus encouraged, the youth proceeded:
”My name is George Le Dell; and I am the youngest son of General Le Dell, of the Confederate army. My home is, or rather was, on the Was.h.i.+ta River, about ten miles from this very place. When I was seventeen years of age, I was sent North to complete my education, at Yale College, and was just about commencing my senior year, when I received this letter from my father.”
Here George paused, and drew from his pocket a bundle of papers, carefully tied up, and, producing a letter, from which the writing was almost obliterated, he handed it to Frank, who read aloud as follows:
CATAHOOLA PARISH, February 12, 1861.
MY DEAR GEORGE:
Your letter of the 2d ult. was duly received.
Although your ideas of the civil war, to which you seem to look forward with such anxiety, are rather crude, you are, in the main, correct in your conjectures as to our intentions. Secession is a fixed fact. You know it has often been discussed by our leading men, and the election of Mr. Lincoln has only served to precipitate our action. Had he been defeated, it might have been put off four years longer; but it would be certain to come then. For years the heaven-sanctioned inst.i.tution of slavery has been subjected to all the attacks that the fiendish imaginations of the Yankee abolitionists could suggest, and we are determined to bear with them no longer. We intend to establish a confederacy of our own, whose corner-stone shall be slavery.
I wish you to come home immediately, as I have secured you a first lieutenant's commission in a cavalry company, which is to be mustered into my regiment. Your brothers have already accepted theirs, and are drilling their companies twice every week. Of course, we do not expect a war, for we have kept the cowardly Yankees under our thumbs so long that they will not dare to oppose us. However, we consider it best to be on the safe side.
Inclosed I send you a check for two hundred dollars, which, I think, will be sufficient to pay all your bills, and to defray your expenses home.
Your mother and sisters send their love.
Hoping to see you soon, and to join hands with you in destroying every vestige of the old Union, I remain,
Yours, affectionately, EDWARD LE DELL.
While Frank was reading this letter, George had sat with his face buried in his hands, not once moving or giving a sign of life: but, as soon as the letter was finished, he raised his pale face, and inquired, in a husky voice:
”What do you think of that? It does not seem possible that a father, who had the least spark of affection for his son, could advise him to follow such a course, does it? Turn the letter over, and you will see a copy of my answer written on the back.”
It ran as follows:
YALE COLLEGE, March 20, 1861.
MY DEAR FATHER:
You can not imagine with what feelings of astonishment and sorrow I read your letter of the 12th ult., which was received nearly three weeks since. The reason for my delay in replying you can easily divine. Has it, then, come to this? Is it possible that, in order to do my duty to my country, I must be willing to incur the displeasure of my father? What would you have me do? a.s.sist in pulling down the old flag, and in breaking up the best government the world over saw? Why, father, this is downright madness. I can not ”join hands” with you in so unholy a cause. On the contrary, as long as that flag needs defenders, you will find me among them. You are deceiving yourself when you say the ”cowardly Yankees” will not fight. They are a people ”slow to wrath,” but they are not cowards, father; and you will find, to your sorrow, that they will resist, to the death, ”any and every attempt to alienate any portion of this Union from the rest.”
Living in the South, as I have, I have long seen this war brewing, but was unwilling to confess it, even to myself; and I had hoped, that if it did come, my father would not countenance it. Why will you do it? You never, never can succeed. The very first attempt you make to withdraw from your allegiance to the United States will be the signal for a war, the like of which the world has never witnessed, and the blood of thousands of men, who will be sacrificed to glut your ambition, will be upon your own heads.
Inclosed, I respectfully return the check, with many thanks for your kindness. I can not use it for the purpose you wish.