ALTHOUGH CLINTON’S BUSINESS office was in Dubuque, he continued to make his home in Galena. He remained unmarried for some reason which he had never made plain, even to Richard, who rallied him about it occasionally, but he only laughed and said, “Time enough yet.” He frankly confessed his ambition to be a great lumberman. “I’m going to make a fortune — and I am going to do it without stealing from Uncle Sam.” He added this with a touch of bitterness, as though honesty imposed a handicap.

He was already part owner of a log-boom and mill at Onalaska, influenced, no doubt, by Richard’s partial agreement to come into the enterprise with him, and when Richard came down with his winter’s harvest of logs, he was met by Clinton with a request to take charge of a raft of lath and shingles, which he was sending down the river.

The pay was tempting and Richard consented, with the provision that he might have a few days to visit his farm and arrange for the sowing of his land.

In the course of their conversation, Clinton said, “I am seeing a good deal of that brother of yours and I like him. His store is a meeting-place for a lot of Abe Lincoln Republicans and I enjoy sitting in with them. A few weeks ago I met a soldier there whose talk gave me a sharp jolt.

“Addison and I were in the middle of a hot debate on the best way to handle the situation in Washington, when he was called upon to tend a customer, a man who came in leading a little boy by the hand. A few minutes later, as I started to go, Addison called me over and introduced the man to me as Captain Grant.

“The captain was about forty, a red-bearded chap, with pleasant blue eyes. He was civil enough, but not especially enthusiastic in meeting me. He stood quietly by while Addison explained that he had recently come to Galena. ‘Orville Grant of Grant & Perkins is the captain’s brother,’ Addison went on to explain, ‘and the captain is going to enter the firm. He has been living in St. Louis since his resignation from the army three or four years ago.’

“Grant was not a talkative man, I could see that, but Addison got him going, finally, by saying, ‘You know the South, captain. Will the Southerners fight?’

“‘Yes, they will fight,’ the captain said, and he spoke like a man who knew.

“‘What about Missouri?’ I put in; ‘will she go with the South?’

“He considered this for a moment, then said, ‘I think she will. Southern feeling is very strong in St. Louis.’

“‘It must have been a bit uncomfortable for you down there.’

“This made the captain smile. ‘It was, that’s why I came North.’ He was very fair to the Southerners. ‘They were my neighbours,’ he said. ‘I know their problems.’

Then he said something that had a big effect on me. ‘So long as slavery is confined to the states where it belongs I wouldn’t interfere with it, but if it is to be used as a means of disrupting the Union, I would destroy it.’ He meant this, I can tell you, and I warmed to him. He was reasonable, however, for he added, ‘Many Southerners are just as anxious to get rid of slavery as we are.’

“I was greatly interested in this soldier, and after he went out I asked Addison to tell me more about him. It seems that he’s the eldest son of old Jesse Grant who is a leather dealer back in Ohio. Grant & Perkins is a branch of his business. The captain’s wife is Southern — that’s how he came to go to St. Louis after his resignation from the army — her people all live there. The gossip in Galena is that old Jesse hates ‘the whole Dent tribe’ as he calls ’em, and so long as his son Ulysses lived among them, refused to help him or visit him. It was a hard position for the captain, but he struggled along on a farm till finally his wife consented to come North. He’s book-keeper and general factotum for Grant & Perkins and takes a hand at anything which needs to be done. As I came down the street the morning I left I saw him taking in a load of hides. He’s not above snaking a hide by the tail.

“A day or two after our meeting in Addison’s store, I dropped into his office in hopes of another chat with him. He was sitting on a stool before a high pine desk, smoking a pipe and posting accounts. His clothes were seedy and he looked discouraged, but I liked him. His eyes are fine, and little wrinkles come into their corners when he’s pleased. He never laughs, never raises his voice, and has no use for cuss-words. He doesn’t even use slang. Think of that for an ex-soldier and quartermaster! I never saw any one just like him. He won’t talk about himself and never complains of hard luck. His interests are all in the Mexican War, the settlement of the Western Coast, the slavery question — things like that. He’s a queer case. I’m told he’s only getting fifty dollars a month, and I guess that’s right, for he lives in a little house high on the hill. ‘By working my legs, I save rent,’ he said to me.

“He seemed interested in me and I told him all about our coming West and our first winter on the Wisconsin. It seems that lumbering of this kind is something he has never seen although he knows the states from Lake Ontario to Oregon. ‘My father thinks West Point spoiled one of his sons, and I guess that’s true,’ he confessed. ‘Education as a soldier don’t seem to help a man in making a living as a civilian.’

“He asked me to walk home with him, and it was surprising to find a man of his experience and ability living in such a place. He’s able, no question about that. I’ve developed a great liking for him, and I think he likes me, although he is not outspoken about it.”

Richard was interested in this ex-soldier, but sympathized with his father. “The captain should have settled in the North.”

“But he couldn’t force his wife to leave her people.”

“It was her duty to go with him.”

Clinton smiled. “I know another man whose plans are sometimes changed by his wife. In fact I’m not a bit sure he will take my raft down the river, if his wife objects.”

Richard acknowledged this but said, “I think Isabel will be won over by your offer.”

Isabel was bitterly disappointed but did not oppose his going. She knew he liked the job. After his intense activity in the woods and on the river, rafting below La Crosse was a delightful relaxation. He was only a half-way farmer, after all. He set off in cheerful mood, for David had taken charge of his seeding and for a day or two he luxuriated in the sunshine and rest.

The river was high and the going good and one morning, as the raft was swinging along in noble ease just above Dubuque, a man in a passing boat shouted, “Hey, men! Heard the news? The war’s begun! Lincoln has called for troops!”

For a few moments not a man on the raft uttered a word, then Richard remarked grimly, “They’ve done it now! They’ve started something that will make ’em sorry.”

He thought of his brother, and a desire to see him and learn more of the situation led him to a decision to visit him. As the raft reached a point opposite Galena he ordered the men to tie up for a day. “I want to see Addison, and find out what has happened. I’ll run over and get the latest news.”

It was about six o’clock in the afternoon when he arrived, and Addison, who was at supper, greeted him warmly but gravely. “You’ve heard the news?”

“Only a report. What’s the latest word?”

“Lincoln has asked for troops, and you are just in time to attend a mass-meeting in response to his call. We had a meeting the other day which came to nothing for the reason that our chairman was a politician. We’re going to have a soldier preside tonight and we intend to enroll a company of volunteers before we sleep. The whole town is up in arms, figuratively speaking, and we believe Captain Grant will put the shouting into something concrete.”

“Clinton’s been telling me of Captain Grant. Is Clinton here?”

“Yes, he’s here and full of fight, but why aren’t you on your farm? Isn’t this seeding-time?”

Richard was a bit nettled. “It is, but rafting pays better.”

“Does it? You’ve been on the river ten years; why haven’t you more to show for it.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. It’s because you’ve been somebody’s hired man all the time. You’ve used your muscles and not your brains.”

“I haven’t any brains to use.”

“Nonsense! You’ve been on the wrong track, that’s all. Either quit this lumbering business or go into it on your own hook.”

“I’ve been working on shares for Clinton this winter, and I hope to clear the mortgage off my land in two years.”

“I can’t understand, Dick, why you at the end of ten years in a new country should be carrying a mortgage on a hill-side farm. You don’t drink or gamble and no man has worked harder, and yet here you are, bossing a camp for Clinton who tells me that dozens of your chums have gone into lumbering for themselves and are getting rich while you are still running a raft. They flatter you, tell you what a trusty pilot you are, and keep you breaking the roads for them.”

Richard admitted all this. “I’m timid about managing a business. I feel my weakness when it comes to writing and figuring.”

“Now you’ve hit it! When you were young you wouldn’t learn to cipher and now you’ve got where you can’t. You’ll be handicapped all your life, just as Enoch Lawrence told you you would be.”

Richard began to smart under the lash. “You must remember,” he retorted, “that I’ve had father and mother on my hands for all these years.”

Addison’s clear gaze wavered a little. “That’s true, but you will recall I wanted them to come to Galena. Mother told me she preferred going to La Crosse County. It was her own choice.”

“I admit that, and I’m not complaining, but I want you to remember it when you’re giving me particular Gowdy for not getting ahead.”

There was not much more to be said on either side, and Addison ended by agreeing to help his father to run his little store. “In this way I can ease your burden, providing, of course, father makes a go of the grocery business. But, come! It’s time to go.”

Dropping personal matters they rose and together walked over to the County Court-House where a tense and quiet audience of men had gathered.

As they entered, Clinton, who was sitting on one of the back seats, waved a greeting and indicated a vacant place beside him. This Richard took, but before he had a chance to explain his presence, one of the leaders rose to call the house to order.

“Fellow-citizens,” he said with blunt candour, “some of you attended our first meeting and you all know how it fizzled out and all because our chairman was a sympathizer with secession. We are determined that this meeting shall have a different outcome. I rise to nominate a chairman who is not only loyal but competent for this particular job. I see in this room tonight a man who has had nine years’ experience as an officer in the regular army. His advice at this time should be invaluable. I move that Captain Ulysses Grant be made presiding officer of this meeting.”

A majority applauded the suggestion, not because they knew the soldier, but because of the chairman’s earnest commendation. The action carried, but the captain, taken by surprise, shook his head and said, “I can’t do that. It lies outside my training.”

His reluctance, his modesty only caused the audience to insist. Calls for “Grant!”

“Grant!” kept up. The speaker had struck the right note. The men wanted a soldier, a leader.

At last the captain rose, probably with intent to ask release, but as the urging continued, he slowly made his way up the aisle.

On reaching the open space in front of the judge’s desk, he turned and for the first time confronted his fellow-citizens in mass. Many of those present had never before taken note of him. Some had met him on the sidewalk or in the store. All were now minded to discover what sort of a man he really was. Richard’s eyes were fixed upon him with especial interest because of Clinton’s report.

A little above middle height and of powerful build, the soldier’s attitude expressed a quiet dignity. His face was square, his nose straight, and his brow broad and white. His beard, close-clipped and reddish brown in colour, covered his cheeks and chin. His general appearance was that of a fine, sincere, and earnest physician. There was nothing military in his dress or his bearing.

“Fellow-citizens,” he began in a clear voice which reached every ear in the hall. “Your chairman has stated the purpose of this meeting which is to enlist a company of volunteers. Before calling you to enroll, I think it only fair to state what will be required of you. First of all, obedience — unquestioning obedience — must be given to your superior officers. The army is not a pleasure-party. You are not entering upon an excursion. You are going to war. You will have hard fare. You will be obliged to sleep on the ground after long marches in the rain or snow. You will often go hungry. Many of the orders of your commanders will seem unjust and yet they must be borne. If an injustice is really done you, however, there are courts-martial where your wrongs can be investigated and the offending officers punished. If you put your name down on this roll it should be with full understanding of what the act means. In conclusion let me say that, so far as I can, I will aid the organization of this company and I intend to re-enlist in the service myself.”

The cheering at the end of the calm, concise, and honest speech was less in volume than that which followed the flights of oratory of other speakers, but it was applauded.

There was something in this serious, plain-spoken talk which brought the meeting down to realities. This soldier’s feet were on the earth. Quietly, authoritatively, without a useless word, he had let the wind of bombast out of the proceedings, and had put in its place a resolute, intelligent devotion to the Union.

In answer to questions concerning military regulations, he replied with masterly brevity. At last he said, “Now, men, here is the roll. Who of you will put his name down as a volunteer?” Nearly one-fourth of the young men rose, Clinton among them. He was indeed among the first to rise, and Richard, equally hot with patriotic fire, was about to follow when Addison laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Hold on, Richard. Let the unmarried men go first. You don’t belong here, anyway. You should enlist in a Wisconsin regiment.”

“But Clint is going in and I want to sign with him,” replied Richard.

Addison was firm. “Don’t be precipitate. Wait a while. Remember your wife and children,” he added. Richard, his mind filled with a vision of Isabel, his baby, his cabin, his farm, resumed his seat and waited.

 

 

Nearly half the requisite number signed that night. All agreed that Grant was the man to head the company, all were surprised when he feelingly declined the honour. “I am a West Point graduate,” he explained. “I held for several years a captain’s commission in the regular army. I can’t afford to go into the volunteer service as the head of a company.” He hesitated a moment and then modestly added, “The truth is, I believe I am fitted to command a regiment, and I intend to go at once to Springfield and ask the governor for a commission as colonel.”

“You are right,” said Addison, but others, who knew Grant only as an ill-paid clerk and book-keeper in a leather store, were outspoken in their belief that he was making a mistake. “You’d better take what’s offered. You may fail of getting a commission,” they said with well-intentioned bluntness.

At the close of the meeting, Clinton joined the Grahams and walked part way home with them. “Well, Dick, I’m in for it. For a year at least.”

“A year? You don’t suppose this war will last a year?”

“Captain Grant says it may last two,” interposed Addison. “The South has been preparing to fight for a long time. She will fight desperately to repel what she will call an ‘invasion’ of her territory, and in that action of repelling an invader they will have a great advantage.”

“But we have more money and more men than they.”

“Yes, we can call out more men, and we have more money, but they are united and they are prepared. Captain Grant says we should move quickly and strike hard. He says the South has the best leaders. She has sent many cadets to West Point. She will have many officers who served in the Mexican War, men of ability. If they go with their states, as they undoubtedly will, the South will have nearly all the skilled leaders at the start.”

Clinton turned from national affairs to personal. “By the way, Dick, how do you happen to be here? I thought you were bringing my raft down the river?”

“I was, but I tied up opposite here and came over to see Addison.”

“Well, you’ll have to go on and deliver that lumber. This war business has upset all my plans and calculations. We start right in drilling tomorrow. There’s talk of making me an officer. I don’t know a thing about war, but then nobody else does, except Captain Grant.”

“Good thing you aren’t married. It wouldn’t be so easy for you to step away,” said Addison.

Clinton made no reply to this, and Richard, who had often wondered at Clinton’s “single blessedness,” merely said, “I wish I could go with you, Clint, but I can’t just now.”

“No, you stay with Belle and the babies. That’s your job. I don’t know how I’m going to leave my business, but I’m off.”

He had been made a second lieutenant and was so deep in military tactics that he listened to his partner’s report with absent-minded gaze.

“We’re in luck to have a drill-master like Captain Grant,” he said. “He won’t take the captaincy, but he has given a lot of his time to whipping us into shape. He has helped us arm and clothe ourselves. He knows the business, that man! He ought to have command of a regiment. I’d like nothing better than to be on his staff.”

Meanwhile the raft was tied up to the bank, and on Clinton’s order, Richard waited over to see the “Jo Daviess County Guards” start on their way to Springfield. They marched down the street to the railway depot preceded by the city band with young Captain Chetlain striding at their head, whilst a crowd of cheering men, women, and children filled the sidewalks or moved along beside the column. Richard and Addison, standing on the corner, observed at the tail of the company, in the middle of the street, a civilian with a lank carpet bag in one hand, and carrying a faded military overcoat folded across his arm. It was Captain Grant on his way to Springfield, to see the governor and ask for a commission.

Addison, seeing him thus obscurely trailing in the dust of the company he had helped to form, voiced Richard’s, judgment as he said, “He belongs at the head and not at the tail of that procession.”

The situation was highly significant of the left-handed fashion in which the North went to war. Here was Captain Chetlain, a young civilian who knew nothing of arms or military discipline, leading a column with lofty confidence, while Grant, the trained soldier of many campaigns, modestly, soberly brought up the rear with only one or two of his friends, like Addison Graham, bestowing on him the honour of a second glance.