“Rodney Gray, I am ashamed of you; and if you were not my cousin, I should be tempted to thrash you within an inch of your life.”

“Never mind the relationship.  After listening to the sentiments you have been preaching in this academy for the last three months, I am more ashamed of it than you can possibly be.  You’re a Yankee at heart, and a traitor to your State.  Let go those halliards!”

“I’ll not do it.  Look here, Rodney.  Your ancestors and mine have fought under this flag ever since it has been a flag, and, if I can help it, you shall not be the first of our name to haul it down.  Let go yourself, and stand back, or I will throw you over the parapet.”

“But that flag doesn’t belong up there any longer, and I say, and we all say, that it shall not stay.  Here’s our banner; and if there’s a war coming, as some of you seem to think, it will lead us to victory on every battle-field.”

An exciting scene was being enacted in and around the belfry of the Barrington Military Institute on the morning of the 9th of March, 1861; and it was but one of many similar scenes which, for some time past, had been of almost daily occurrence in many parts of the South.  It had been brought about by the efforts of a band of young secessionists, headed by Rodney Gray, to haul down the academy flag, and to hoist in its place a strange banner-one that nobody had ever seen or heard of previous to the 4th of March, the day on which Mr. Lincoln was inaugurated President of the United States.  The students who were gathered on the top of the tower at the time our story begins were Southern boys without exception, but they did not all believe in secession and disunion.  Many of them were loyal to the old flag, and were not ready to see it hauled down, and a strange piece of bunting run up in its place.

Those were exciting times in our country’s history, you may be sure.  Rumors of war filled the air on every side.  Seven States had rebelled and defied the authority of the government, and for no other reason than because a man they did not like had been elected President.  A new government had been established at Montgomery, and formally inaugurated on the 18th of February.  Jefferson Davis, President of the seceded States, had been authorized to accept the services of one hundred thousand volunteers to serve for one year, unless sooner discharged, and they were to be mustered to “repel invasion, maintain the rightful possession of the Confederate States of America, and secure the public tranquillity against threatened assault.”  Every schoolboy who has paid any attention to his history knows that there was not the slightest excuse for calling this immense army into existence.  The disunion leaders repeatedly declared that Northern men would not fight, and they seemed to have good grounds for thinking so; for, although Fort Sumter was surrounded by hostile batteries, no attempt had been made to send supplies to Major Anderson and the gallant fellows who were shut up in the fort with him, and more than five weeks passed after the formation of the Confederate government before President Lincoln called for seventy-five thousand militia to “suppress unlawful combinations, and to cause the laws to be duly executed.”  But this unnecessary act of the Confederate Provisional Congress had just the effect it was intended to have.  It “fired the Southern heart,” and immediately every man, woman, and boy “took sides.”  The papers had just brought the glorious news to Barrington, and the students at the military academy were in a state of intense excitement over it.

Even at this late day there are boys-bright fellows, too-who believe that when the war broke out every one who lived in the South was a rebel; but this was by no means the case.  The South was divided against itself, and so was the North.  Horace Greeley, in his “Recollections of a Busy Life,” tells us that in the beginning there were not more than half a million “Simon-pure” secessionists to be found among the five millions and more of whites who lived south of Mason and Dixon’s line.  Of course subsequent events, like the War and Emancipation proclamations, added to this number; but even at the end there were Union-loving people scattered all through the seceded States, and they clung to their principles in spite of everything, fighting the conscript officers, and resisting all the efforts that were made to force them into the rebel army.  The Confederates called these plucky men and boys traitors, although they denied that they were traitors themselves.  They hated them with an undying hatred, and when they captured them with arms in their hands, as Forrest captured the garrison at Fort Pillow, they made short work with them.

If it is true that a majority of the Southern people believed that a State had the right to withdraw from the Union when things were not managed in a satisfactory way, it is equally true that there was a party in the North who held the same opinion.  They said, “Let the erring sisters go” if they want to, and declared that “Whenever any considerable section of our Union shall deliberately resolve to go out, we shall resist all coercive measures designed to keep it in.”  These were the rabid Abolitionists, who were perfectly willing that the nation should be destroyed rather than that it should continue to exist half-slave and half-free.  One of their leaders, who afterward became a Union general, declared, “If slavery is the condition of the perpetuity of the Union, let the Union slide,” for slavery must in no case be allowed to continue.  The Southern planters wanted that their “peculiar institution” should be taken into the territories, while the Abolitionists demanded that it should be blotted out altogether; and to these two parties we are indebted for our four years’ war.

There was still another secession party on both sides of the line, who thought the government had no power to keep the Southern States in the Union if they did not want to stay, and that if allowed to go in peace they would soon get tired of trying to manage their own affairs, and drift back into the Union of their own free will.  It was better that the Union should be peacefully sundered than that there should be a war about it.  But another party said that such talk was treason; that the Constitution was ordained to establish a “more perfect Union,” which was to be “perpetuated”; that no State, or combination of States, had any right to try to break up the government because they could no longer run things to suit themselves; and that there was not room enough for another flag on this Continent.  This was the good old Union party, and fortunately it was resolute enough and strong enough to run the starry banner up to the masthead and keep it there.  This was what Marcy Gray, a North Carolina boy, had done on this particular morning on the roof of the Barrington Military Institute, and he had done it, too, in spite of all the efforts his cousin, Rodney Gray, backed by nearly all the young rebels in the school, had made to prevent it.  Ever since the day on which the news came that South Carolina had passed the ordinance of secession, that flag, which up to this time had been raised and lowered only at certain hours, had been a bone of contention.  For long years it had floated over the academy, and no one had ever had a word to say against it; but the moment it became known that one of the Southern States had decided that she would not stay in the Union if Mr. Lincoln was to rule over it, there was a great change in the feelings of the students regarding that piece of bunting.  What an excitement there was on the morning of the 21st of December, when Rodney Gray rushed into the hall with his Charleston Mercury in his hand!

“Hurrah for plucky little South Carolina!” he shouted, striking up a war-dance and flourishing the paper over his head.  “Listen to this, fellows:  ’The Union is dissolved.  Passed at 1:15 P.M., December 20, 1860, an ordinance to dissolve the Union existing between the State of South Carolina and other States united with her under the compact entitled “The Constitution of the United States of America."’ There it is in black and white.  She’s out, and of course all the other Cotton States will go with her.  The Stars and Stripes have been pulled down in the city of Charleston, and the State flag is flying over all the public buildings.  Let’s follow their example, and haul that flag down from the tower.  Come on, Marcy.”

These two boys, Rodney and Marcy Gray, were very popular among their fellows, and had been looked up to as leaders ever since they arrived at the dignity of memberships in the first class and company.  They were cousins, and both were Southern born.  Marcy was a “Tarheel,” because he came from North Carolina, and Rodney was called a “Pelican,” Louisiana being his native State.

Rodney’s father was a rich sugar-planter who did not want to have anything to do with Northern men, some of whom would have taken his slaves from him if they had possessed the power, and thus deprived him of the means of working his fine plantation; and it was natural that his only son should follow in his lead.  Rodney believed in State Rights, and preached his doctrines as often as he could find any one willing to listen to him.  His Cousin Marcy had no father (he was lost at sea when the boy and his older brother, Jack, were quite young), and he believed as his mother did-that slavery was wrong, that the Union was right, and that those who wanted to destroy it were fanatics who did not know what they were about.  But Marcy was not a passive Unionist.  On the day South Carolina began threatening secession, he declared that she ought to be whipped into submission; and he had never ceased to proclaim his principles in spite of the lowering looks he saw and the threats he heard on every side.  The boys declared that they would send him to Coventry; that is, withdraw from all fellowship with him; but when they came to try it, they found to their surprise and disgust, that they would have to go back on more than half the school, for some of the best boys in it promptly sided with Marcy.  The latter had many friends, and the Union sentiment was strong in the academy; but on the morning that Rodney Gray read the extract from the Charleston Mercury, showing that South Carolina had made no idle threat when she threatened to secede if she could not have her own way, then the real test came.  Many of the boys were astonished and shocked, for they had never believed that things would come to such a pass.  The mail having just been distributed, they all had papers, but they did not stop to read them after listening to those ominous headlines.  They shoved them into their pockets and went slowly out of the building, while Rodney and his fellows, who were almost beside themselves with exultation and excitement, made a rush for the stairs that led to the tower.  On the way Rodney stopped to exchange a few words with his cousin.

“You didn’t think it would come, did you?” he exclaimed, walking up to Marcy and snatching away the paper on which the latter’s eyes were fastened.  “But you see it has, don’t you?  It seems that those furious threats about secession were not all talk, don’t it?  But seriously, Marcy, I know you stand where every other Southern boy stands, and that you are with us heart and soul.  All I ask of you is to say so.  Why don’t you speak?  Which side are you on, any way?”

But Marcy did not utter a word.  Although he looked straight at his cousin he did not appear to know that Rodney was talking to him, for his mind was busy with other matters.

“Tell him you’re neutral,” suggested Dick Graham, whose home was in Missouri, and whom we may meet again under different circumstances.  “That’s what I am going to be, for I don’t think my State will follow in South Carolina’s lead.”

“But I am not neutral.” replied Marcy, arousing himself at last.  “I am for the Union all over, and I’m sorry we haven’t a Jackson in Washington at this moment to say that it must and shall be preserved.  I hope Buchanan will send ships enough into Charleston harbor to blow that miserable State out of water.”

“Let him try it, and see how quickly the other Cotton States will arm to help her,” exclaimed Bob Cole, who was one of Rodney’s friends and followers.  “Coerce a sovereign State?  The President can’t do it.  The Constitution does not give him the power.”

Bob Cole did not know it, and neither did any of the other boys who were standing around listening to his fiery words, but that was the very argument the frightened chief magistrate was going to put forth in his next message to Congress.

“The President will only make a bad matter worse if he tries any fool thing like that,” continued Bob, who, like most of the boys of that section of the country, had heard these matters discussed so often that he had them at his tongue’s end.  “I tell you that the events of yesterday are an entering wedge.  We are tired of the company of those Yankees up North, and now we are going to get rid of them and have a government of our own; see if we don’t.  Why should we not?  The people up there do not belong to the same race we do.  They are régicides and Roundheads-plodding, stingy folks, in whose eyes a dollar looks as big as a cart-wheel.  The race who settled Virginia and scattered all over these Southern States, were cavaliers and money spenders, and their descendants are the same.  We’ve wanted to get rid of them ever since 1830, and now we are going to do it.  Patrick Henry warned us against forming a partnership with them in the first place.”

“Whom do you mean by us and we?” demanded Marcy, who had listened in silence to this speech, which was addressed to the boys gathered in the hall rather than to himself.  “You don’t live in South Carolina.”

“No, but I do,” said Ed Billings, elbowing his way to the foot of the stairs on which Bob had perched himself when he began his address.  “I go with my State, and you will have to go with yours or show yourself a traitor.”

“A traitor to what?” inquired Marcy.

“To your State,” Billings almost shouted.

“My State hasn’t seceded yet; but if she does, and I go with her, how will I stand in regard to the old flag-the one that waves over this academy?”

Billings tried to answer, but his voice was drowned in the wild shouts that arose from the assembled students.

“Haul the flag down!” they yelled, almost as one boy.

“No, no,” cried some of the more reasonable ones, after they had taken time to think twice.  “Let’s wait upon the colonel and request him to have it taken down.”

“There’s one thing I want you all to bear in mind,” added a tall fellow, who hearing the tumult in the hall had come back to see what it was all about.  “Those colors shall not come down without the colonel’s orders, and I’ll mix up promiscuous with any chap who lays an ugly hand upon them.”

So it seemed that the old flag had defenders even here; and although it may not have had a very sincere friend in the person of the head of the school, he positively refused to order it down, or to permit the students to pull it down.  It would be time enough to attend to that when they learned what the State was going to do.  The boys went away disappointed; but the most of them believed that the day would come when they could work their sweet will with that “emblem of tyranny,” as they had already begun to call it.

From that time forward there were none in all the length and breadth of the land who kept a closer watch upon passing events than did the three hundred students of the Barrington military academy; but it is a question whether they did not imbibe a great many false ideas along with the news they read.  The Southern press never did deal fairly with its readers.  All dispatches favorable to the secessionists and their cause were published, as a matter of course; but those that were not favorable were either suppressed entirely, or distorted out of all semblance to the truth.  They began this course in the early days of the Confederacy and kept it up to the end, one of their generals forging a telegraph dispatch, in which he announced that he had won a great battle, during which he killed and captured twenty thousand Federals, and destroyed four of Porter’s gunboats.

For three months the flag that floated over the academy held its place.  Persevering and daring attempts were made to steal it at night, but they were every one frustrated by the vigilance and courage of the boys who had not yet lost all love for it, and for the memory of those whose deeds it commemorated.  When the colonel announced that he would take charge of the bunting at night the Union boys thought it would be in safe hands; but it turned out afterward that they were mistaken.

The tension of brain and nerve to which the students were subjected during the next few weeks was something to wonder at, and every day added to their suspense and anxiety.  South Carolina sent commissioners to other States, urging them to join her in the secession movement, and one of them shouted to the citizens of Georgia:  “Buy arms, and throw the bloody spear into the den of the assassins and incendiaries, and God defend the right!” But Stephens said in reply:  “I tell you frankly that the election of a man constitutionally chosen president is not sufficient cause for any State to separate from the Union.”  And yet in a very few weeks this same Alexander H. Stephens was vice-president of the Confederacy.  Mississippi went out of the Union first, and others followed, until there were seven of them to organize a new government under a new flag.  Then it was that the first open attempt was made to haul the old banner down from the academy flag-staff; but it was promptly met, and although Rodney Gray and his followers had been reinforced by nearly all the students belonging to the seceded States, the Union boys were strong enough to drive them down stairs, through the hall, and out of the building.  They tried to be as good-natured as they could about it, but there were a few fights that took place before the peaceable ones could interfere, and the result was that Rodney Gray and some others found themselves in the guard-house.  But they were never brought to trial, for, after that, events came thick and fast, and the rigid discipline to which the students had hitherto been subjected was so greatly relaxed, that it was a wonder the school held together as long as it did.  Before the Confederate Congress adjourned it passed the act of which we have spoken, authorizing President Davis to accept the services of one hundred thousand one year’s men, and then the excitement was at fever heat.

This act was passed on the 7th of March, and on the evening of the next day the papers brought the news of it to Barrington.  There was also one other act of the Confederate Congress which excited some comment, but, with the exception of Rodney Gray, no one at the academy gave it a second thought.  When you hear what that act was, and what Rodney did about it, you will perhaps realize how very much in earnest the disunionists were, and how their unreasonable hostility toward those who did not believe as they did led them to forget their manhood, and do things they would not have dreamed of in their sane and sober moments.

The same mail that brought these papers brought also several mysterious packages, each of which contained an article that none of the Barrington people had ever seen before.  One of them was addressed to Rodney Gray.  He ran the guard and went to the post-office after it; or, rather, he climbed the fence in full view of the sentry, who turned his back and walked off without making any effort to stop him.  The thing he found in that package was what brought on the fight between him and Marcy, to which reference was made at the beginning of this chapter.