His
wrath was past the boiling point, in spite of the fact that his
handsome uniform was still wet from the night's wild ride.
He went straight to the point. He was a volunteer patriot of high
standing in his community. As a citizen of the Republic, wearing its
uniform, he represented its dignity and power. He had been grossly
insulted by a military martinet from West Point and he proposed to test
the question whether an American citizen had any rights such men must
respect.
The President lifted his calm, deep eyes to the flushed angry face,
glanced at the gold marks of his rank, and said:
"What can I do for you, Captain?"
"I've come to ask you, Mr. President," he began with subdued intensity,
"whether a volunteer officer of this country, a man of culture and
position, is to be treated as a dog or a human being?"
The quiet man at the desk slipped his glasses from his ears, polished
them with his handkerchief, readjusted them, and looked up again with
kindly interest:
"What's the trouble?"
"A discussion arose in our regiment on the day we were ordered into
battle over the expiration of our enlistment. I held, as a lawyer, sir,
that every day of rotten manual labor we had faithfully performed for
our country should be counted in our three months military service. Our
time had expired and I demanded that we be discharged then and
there----"
"On the eve of a battle?"
"Certainly, sir--what had that to do with our rights? We could have
reenlisted on the spot.
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