He hailed, indeed, from old
Puritan stock; had been a pillar in the village church in days before
the great war, and emulated Stonewall Jackson in his piety, if he did
not in martial prowess. Backed by local, and by no means secular,
influences he had risen in the course of the four years' war from a
junior lieutenancy to the grade of second in command of his far eastern
regiment; had rendered faithful services in command of convalescent
camps and the like, but developed none of that vain ambition which
prompts the seeking of "the bubble reputation" at the cannon's mouth.
All he ever knew of Southern men in ante-bellum days was what he heard
from the lips of inspired orators or read from the pens of very earnest
anti-slavery editors. Through lack of opportunity he had met no
Southerner before the war, and carried his stanch, Calvinistic
prejudices to such extent that he seemed to shrink from closer contact
even then. The war was holy. The hand of the Lord would surely smite the
slave-holding arch rebel, which was perhaps why the Covenanter thought
it work of supererogation to raise his own. He finished as he began the
war, in the unalterable conviction that the Southern President, his
cabinet and all his leading officers should be hung, and their lands
confiscated to the state--or its representatives.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210