The regulars surrendered by Twiggs in Texas, threatened to kill any man who attempted to disarm them and marched away with the stained and bullet-torn old flag of the Eighth Regiment streaming above them while their band played national airs. And against the hesitating disloyalty of such notabl leaders as Lee and the two Johnstons there shone brightly out the unwavering fidelity of others, also Southern born, to whom loyalty to the old flag and fealty to their plighted word were paramount to the fictitious claims of any rebellious State. "I am a Southern man," said Major Robert Anderson, the hero of Sumter, "but I have been assigned to the defense of Charleston Harbor, and I intend to defend it." And Winfield Scott, the general of the army, the veteran of many a fight, when urged to "follow his State" unhesitatingly declared: "Such a proposal is a mortal insult. I have served my country under the flag of the Union for more than fifty years, and as long as God permits me to live I will defend that flag with my sword, even if my own native State assails it." But if the regulars could not be made at once available their place was made good by those next to them in efficiency and discipline. The uniformed militia were quick to respond. Within forty-eight hours after the President had issued his call for troops the Sixth Regiment of Massachusetts was on its way to Washington, and, before another forty-eight hours had passed, had dyed the stones of Baltimore with the first blood of the civil war. Hard behind them pressed the New York Seventh and the Massachusetts Eighth. Other regiments followed fast. The beleaguered capital was saved. So surely can discipline conquer doubt. For it is said that as the New York Seventh marched up Pennsylvania Avenue on their way to the White House, "with their well-formed ranks, their exact military step, their soldierly bearing, their gayly floating flags, and the inspiring music of their splendid regimental band, they seemed to sweep all thought of danger and all taint of treason not only out of that great national thoroughfare, but out of every human heart in the Federal city. The presence of this single regi ment seemed to turn the scales of fate. Cheer upon cheer greeted them, windows were thrown up, houses opened, the population came forth upon the streets as for a holiday. It was an epoch in American history. For the first time, the combined spirit and power of Liberty entered the nation's capital." Recruiting went on rapidly. New regiments were commissioned with marvelous speed. Volunteers poured into Washington at the rate of four thousand a day. The whole loyal North was on fire. Such incidents as the first shot against Sumter, the attack on the Massachusetts Sixth in Baltimore, and the famous order of General Dix: "If any man attempt to haul down the American flag shoot him on the spot!" were the strongest incentives to patriotism. In teeming city, and bustling village, in gossipy cross-road store and in the quiet farmhouse on western prairie and eastern hillside, the stout young fellows who were not carried away with the hurrah of enthusiasm felt keenly, as one private expressed it, that he should have to go at last or forfeit his birthright as an American citizen. War was in the air. The labors of peaceful life were neglected. The citizen-soldier was awaking to a sense of his duty. A city of tents sprang up along the Potomac. Soldiers were everywhere. They came from every Northern State, their speech "bewraying" them, as it did the men of Galilee. Yankee and Hoosier, Knickerbocker and Buckeye, Green Mountain boy and men of the prairies and the lakes they were comrades. in camp, brothers in effort and duty. They were of all stages of greenness and all grades of efficiency from the raw recruit who scarcely knew the "right face!" from the "shoulder Nicolay & Hay: "Abraham Lincoln. A History." arms!" and the equally fresh captain who would command his company to "Gee around that hole!" to the crack militia-man or the veteran Indian fighter, the West Point graduate and the dignified general of division. Eternal drilling is the price of discipline. It must come before advance or victory but it is tedious work to the enthusiastic soldier whose one desire is a chance to display his valor. "There are some things," says Private Goss remembering those first days of preparation, "that take down even excess of patriotism. The musket after an hour's drill seemed heavier and less ornamental than it had looked to be. It takes a raw recruit some time to learn that he is not to think or suggest, but obey. Some never do learn. I doubt if my patriotism during my first three weeks' drill was quite knee-high." But true patriotism outlives the drudgery of drill even as it burns high and clear before the supreme act of enlistment. And how high and clear that flame did burn, the silent records of many a Northern home could well attest. The young blood of the nation was surging toward the field of action, too hot to be cooled by thought of drudgery, too rapid to be stayed by plea or threat or any home restriction. The opening months of that first war summer, when men were seeking the recruiting office or steadily pressing southward were among the most dramatic phases of the nation's stirring story. One of the noblest of the many noble war poems* has grandly caught and kept the inspiration: "The drum's wild roll awakes the land, the fife is calling shrill; led streets are throbbing with the soldiers' measured tramp; Jefferson Cutler read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College in 1861. The thunders of the rising war hush Labor's drowsy hum, "Oh! sad and slow the weeks went by each held his anxious breath, Like one who waits in helpless fear some sorrow great as death. Oh! scarcely was there faith in God, nor any trust in man, It veiled the stars one after one, it hushed the patriot's song, "That call was heard by Plymouth Rock, 'twas heard in Boston Bay; Till Kansas bent his arm, and laughed to find himself a man. "And wheresoe'er the summons came there rose an angry din, |