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Abraham Lincoln's Clemency
A Prose Version of Francis De Haes Janiver's Famous Poem, 'The Sleeping Sentinel"
It was against the regulations, and only a few days before, the General had laid special stress upon the importance of obeying to the very letter the injunctions laid down, but habit breeds contempt for infraction. An all-day scouting trip had tired the men, and Will Scott felt that it would not matter if for a few moments he sat down to rest his tired limbs. He was almost at the end of his tour of duty, but it seemed to him that he could not remain standing until the relief came wrhen he could find rest in the guard tent.
He only meant to rest for a moment but almost on the very instant, his head sank forward, and forgetfulness from his weariness came in blessed sleep.
He was back again on the green Vermont hillsides, and presently he would go back to the old homestead, where a huge cut of apple pie and a draft of milk would assuage a hunger made the more keen by his tramp thro fields and woods. He was just in sight of the home, as he thought, when a shot was heard — perhaps Dick Hoe was shooting squirrels with the old long-bore rifle that had been his grandfather's before him. "Post number seven!"
That expression had no part in the Vermont picture. Post seven? Why that was his post: the beat he had been set to guard. He sprang to his feet, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes, and for a moment his heart seemed to cease its beating. Before him stood the sergeant and the relief patrol.
Will's own gun still smoked from its recent discharge, and far down the line he could hear repeated tne call: "Corporal of the Guard! Post number seven ! ' '
The camp, roused by the alarm shot, was quickly astir, and the redsashed officer of the day came hurrying to the scene. At command, Will stepped in between his comrades, and he marched off to the guard tent, not as a member of the relieved party, but as a prisoner, charged with being asleep on post.
Court martial convened in the morning. The Judge Advocate made his plea with a wealth of forensic eloquence, but he knew that he urged a hopeless cause. Will Scott had been caught asleep on post, and "Post seven" at that, which was the direct approach to Chain Bridge, the road to Washington from the Virginia shore. Just beyond the lines were encamped the Confederates, so close, indeed, that tobacco from the Southern ranks was daily exchanged for sugar, tea and flour from the North. The fraternizing of the outposts of the two armies was a thing before unheard of. Strong measures were needed to stamp it out before serious consequences resulted. For the good of the discipline of the entire army, Will Scott must die, and not even Will himself was surprised when sentence was pronounced. He was to die within the week.
There was time for the ministrations of the regimental Chaplain, time to get a letter to the dear old Mother
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