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About The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870 | View Entire Issue (April 3, 1869)
8 Joist (Bflttse. VINDICATIONS OF CONFEDERATE CHARACTER-GEN. LONGSTREET AND HON DUDLY A. MANN- There is no one who would more reluctantly than ourselves publish anything reflecting unfavorably upon the character of any one who took part in the defence of Southern Independence, and no one who will more gladly and promptly vindicate such characters when the opportunity is offered. We therefore, take pleasure in publishing the follow ing communications in reference to two distinguished Confederates. The first is of Gen. Longstreet : Alexandria, Va., March 14th, 18C9. Father Ryan: Rear Sir :—I take pleasure in writ ing you a few lines this evening; I say pleasure, because I hope through you (the South’s champion,) to clear up and vindicate the character of one whom I and every other Confederate soldier has a right to care for, and love, I mean Gen. Longstreet. I heard to-day,he had declined the po sition tendered him a few day’s ago by President Grant,giving as his reasons,that the people of the South would think, that that was the object he had in view, when he wrote a certain letter a year or two ago. And now about that letter; and what I now say, 1 have direct, as spoken by Longstreet himself, when in an adjoining county to this last year visiting a valued friend. He says that after the war closed he was in New Orleans, also, many other Confederate Generals,and on a certain occasion, being in conversation with some of his brother officers, it was thought as they were looked upon with distrust and hate by the United States’ authorities, that a letter written by some one or more of those on the subject, would be a benefit to the South. Long street being the ranking General, was pitched upon to write the letter. Gen. L. says he thought that some ex pression from him or all of them accepting the situation would be of benefit to the South. Ho says the letter was written by himself, and after ward banded around among his brother officers for their consideration, some of whom approved altogether, some altered some of the expressions, and jthe letter was then returned to him for publication. It was published and you know the storm it raised; and now comes the dis graceful part of the proceeding. Those very Generals who approved of that letter slunk from our loved General, and ieft him alone to bear the brunt of the reproach, called up from the South by that letter. Not one has had the manliness to acknowledge that he knew anything of it; and General Longstreet with that doggedness of disposition which rendered his corps invincible, said he was able to bear it all, and would not murmur, that that letter had caused trouble enough, let it stop with him. Nor did he depart from this determina tion,except on oneoecasiou, just after the letter was published, he met one of the Generals referred to above on the street, who immediately crossed to the other side, not wishing to recognize him. A few days afterward,as Geu. Longstreet sat in the St. Charles Hotel in conversation with some friends, this General came in, hut did not recognize Gen. Longstreet; smarting under this insult, he called to the former, and said : “I wish to say to these gentlemen in your presence, that you were one of the men who proposed this letter, and the last one who read it before publication, and|as much in the mud as I in the mire.” That Geu.Longstreet made a mistake, there is no doubt, but that he is true to the cause for which he fought I truly be here. For the love of our cause, Father ltyan, let us set Longstreet right before the South if possible. I cannot and will not think as hardly of him as has been reported in the papers. I now leave the whole thing in your hands, knowing it could not be in better. Do what you think is right,and believe me, Dear Friend, Pickett’s Division. The second is of Hon. A. Dudly Mann and is in correction of an article pub lished in the Banner some few weeks since, and clipped from the Cincinnati Commercial , entitled “Confederate Ex iles. 1 ’ ihafc article was an extract from ti,c Washington correspondence of the latter journal, and reflected very serious ly on the public acts of the gentleman named. Any injury done on our part by the pul.icaticn refered to was certainly unintentional, and we hasten now 4 to re pair it by publishing the following facts, which we gather from a reliable source, and will place Mr. Mann in his true posi tion before his Southern fellow-citizens, whose good opinions are very dear to him : “A Virginian by birth, he negotiated in 1846, in Germany, several advantage ous as treaties to the interests of his native State and of the South. In 1849 he was appointed by Gen. Taylor with extra ordinary powers to recognize the revo lutionary government of Kossuth. (This fact is referred to in your issue, as an evidence of the alacrity always manifest ed by tlie United States to be the first to recognize de facto foreign Governments, even before those Governments had mani fested any ability to maintain them selves). “After a diplomatic mission to Switz erland, he returned home to devote him self to the establishment of dirict trade between the South and Europe as the only means of securing politic and inde pendence within the Union. The idea may have been an Utopian one, but he nevertheless cherished it and advocated it for yeais through tho press and other wise. “On the breaking out of our late war he was the first Commissioner who pro ceeded to Europe,where he arrived in ad vance of his colleagues, Messrs. Yancey and Rost,and where soon after his arrival, England and the other great Powers is sued their famous Proclamation of Neu trality, a Neutrality r that afterwards proved too hollow and one-sided. “But the diplomatic appointment of which he was most proud was his mission to His Holiness Pius IX in November 1863 ; an occasion that I can never for get for I was present when the Sovereign Pontiff, with that tender benevolence so characteristic of him, officially received the accredited representitave of the Con federate States, and with tears of pity aud sympathy listened to the eloquent let ter addressed to him by our President,de picting the woes and the sorrows of the South. You, doubtless, remember his beautiful reply so touching in its Chris tian love and charity, and which should embalm his name forever in the hearts of every true Southerner. Mr. Mann is now living in the most re tired manner in Paris. The loss of a cause which he considered dearer than life itself has made him an old man. A short extract from his last letter to me, giving a detailed account of a three-week’s visic just paid him by Mr. and Mrs. Davis will enable you to judge of his seutiments, somewhat similar to yours, in their im placable hatred to tho North. He says, “I have horror of everything American ‘which is under the rule of the Federal “Government. No good can come from “such counsels as are likely to prevail “there hereafter. Southerners who were “once pure, will, I fear, at least the “greater part, accept without a shudder “the monstrosities which emanate in the “evil minds at Washington.” “Pardon me for having dwelt upon this subject longer than I intended. You are too good a Catholic and too true a Southerner not to counteract by all the meaus in your power, the slanders put in circulation by vile and mendacious Yankee penny-a-liners for whom no pa triotism is pure,and no retreat sacred, and who now live by shedding their slime upon Southerners crushed by adversity.” A GREAT SERMON BY A LITTLE PREACHER PAPA GOES THERE. “Mayn’t I go with you, papa?— please say I may, won’t you?” The words were uttered in a plaintive and sadly entreative ton*-, the hands of the speaker clasping the knees of the listner. It was a boy of seven years who lisped them; a beautiful boy, with fair high brow, around which there clus tered a glorious wreath of auburn curls; with dark, flashing eyes; cheeks rosy with health, lips like tho cherries of sum mer, and a voice like the birds which taste them. There were tears in those eyes at this time, though, and the dimp led mouth was quivering. It was a man of some thirty-five who listened to this plea; a man who had been of noble looks and princely bear ing. Ay, had been! for the blighted truth was written over his form and face llis locks were matted, his forehead scowling, his eyes red, but not with tears; there were furrows on his cheeks, too, and a brutish look to the expression of liis lips. Twice did the little boy ad dress him ere lie answered. Then push ing the child rudely from him, lie said, in a stem voice, ‘No, no, It’s no place for you. ’ MBS® ©I EH mmE, Again those fair, -mall hands encircle the knees. *‘Y T ou go , papa. Why can’t Igo too? Do let me go,” For a moment the heart of the ine briate seemed to wake from its sleep. He shuddered as he thought of the character of the place his pure-souled ■boy would enter. He took the child tenderly in his arms, and kissed him as of old; then putting him down, he said kindly: “You must not ask rue again to take you there. It is no place for little boys,” .and seizing his hat hurried from the room, murmuring to himself, as he paced the way to the brilliant bar-room, “and no place for men, either. Would to God I had never gone.” For a long time Wilie stood just where his father had left him: then turning to the few embers that faintly glowed upon the hearth, he sat down in his little chair, and resting his head upon his mother’s lap, said earnestly: “Mamma, why isn’t that pretty store a good place for little boys?—Papa loves to go there.” It was a trying question to the poor, heart broken woman - She had so far kept flora her son the knowledge ofhis father’s sin. She could not bear that he should look with shame upon him or that his pure and gentle heart should thus commune with so intense a grief. Kindly she toyed with his long ringlets for a while, then said endearingly* “Papa knows better than y T ou what is best for his little boy.—When you grow older 3 r ou will learn why he does not wish to take you.” Then rising she carefulty put down her babe upon its little bed, and tied on her hood and cloak. “Mind the cradle, now, Willie; I’ll come hack soon, and then you shall have some supper, and a nice fire to sit by, too and taking a large basket of ironed clothes she went out. A wealthy mother would have been frightened at the thought only of leaving so young a boy at night fall all alone with an infant to care for, and an open fire to sit beside* But poor Mrs. M. knew well she could trust Willie with his sister, and as for burn ing up, there were not coals enough to thaw his fingers. No, she did not fear to leave him, for he had thus been left many a time, and always carefully obeyed her. And he meant to now; but poor little follow his thoughts would wander to that brilliant corner store, whither he knew his father always went at evening, and his brain v*as busy with eager wander ings. lie knew his father loved to go, and there must bo something that lie liked for he never came home again till long after Willie was asleep. What lay behind those scarlet curtains was a mys tery he sought in vain to unravel. At length he whispered eagerly, as if to encourage a longing wish, ‘Papa used to tell me if I wanted to know anything very bad to persevere and I out. Now I do want to know what makes him love to go there so—l know that there must be pretty things behind those windows - I should’t wonder’— and his cheeks were glowing—‘if it was like a fairy house. Why can’t I go?’ Poor Willie! Temptation to know was too strong to he resisted; so he hun ted through the closet for a candle, lor lie was a thoughtful little fellow, and would not leave his little sister to the only danger that could menace her. He found a bit of tallow dip, and lighting it, drew the stand close to her, that the flame might scare away the rats and mice should they sally out ere his return. ‘I won’t stay long, pretty dear,’ said ho pressing a tender kiss on her sleeping lids, and drawing the blanket close over her fair arms. ‘No I’il come back soon, hut I do want to take one peep.’ Swift ly his little feet bore him over the pave ment, and in a trice lie stood beside the courtained window. ‘llow light it is, and how they laugh and talk. It must he funny in there” A cold, November blast swept round the corner as he spoke, penetrating his thin summer clothes, and causing his tlesh to quiver, and His teeth to chatter. ,1 don’t believe they'd hurt me, if I should go in a while, I'm such a little hoy, and lam so cold out here,’ he said as he pushed the door carefully from him slipping in and closing it without a breath of noise. For a moment he was bewildered by the light and clatter, hut finding that no one seemed to notice him, he stole toward the glowing grate and spread out his purple palms before the blaze. The group of men that encircled the bar were drinking when he entered. Soon however they sat down their glasses and dispersed about the room. ‘Hallow,’ said oue in a loud tone as going to the lire he spied little Willie, ‘What are you doiug here, my little fellow? Who are you and what do you want?’ £ I don’t want anything only to see what you do here. My name is Willie M. My papa loves to come here, and it looked so pleasant through the win dow I thought I’d come too. But I must not stay long for I’ve left the baby alone.’ The man’s tones were softened as he spoke again to him. ‘And where is your mother, boy?’ ‘O, she’s gone to take home the wash, sir. Papa don’t get much work as he used to once and we’re very poor now, and she has to help him now.’ ‘And does it look as pleasant in here ay you thought it would my child?’ ‘6 yes, it does, sir. I don’t wonder papa loves to come here so much, it’s so cold and dark at home. But I should think he would bring mama and me and little sis. How she would laugh to see this fire and all these pretty bottles, and those flowers with light in them. Please, sir,’ said he earnestly and he seized the rough hands of the listner, ‘please,sir, tell me why little boys can’t come here with their fathers?’ ‘For God’s sake do not tell him Ban croft,’ said a deep anguished voice - ‘He deems me pure and holy. Heavens! What a wretch I am! My boy—my boy!’ and Willie was clasped in his father’s arms—’you saved me from earth’s vilest hell. Here, with my hands on thy sinless brow, I promise never again to touch the cup I’ve drank so deep. Aud my brothers in sin, as you value your soul’s salvation tempt me not to break my vow. Help me, heaven— help me men, so to live, hereafter, that papa may never blush to take his boy along—that if papa goes there, Willie may go too.’ Silently the door closed after them, and silence dwelt in the saloon behind them. The preacher had been there in cherub form, and crazy, loose, unholy thought, or light and ribald jest was hushed. One by one they stole away, and many a wife wore smiles that night; nor did the old bar-tender even, curse the little one that robbed him of so many dimes. Too deeply in his heart had sunk the voice of that cherub preacher. ‘Don’t you like me papa? Are you cross at me?’ asked little Willie, while they stood a few moments on the pave mont; for the scene in the bar-room was an enigma to the child, and he half feared a reproof. ‘I was thinking what mama would like best for supper,’ said the father. ‘Was you? was you?’ was the eager questiou iu a gladsome voice. ‘O, then I know you a ain’t cross. 0, get oys ters and crackers and tea, papa; and a candle, because there is only a piece. And please papa tell maina not to be cross at me’ cause I left the baby. I don’t believe she will though, ‘cause you wouldn’t perhaps have come home yet, and she does love to have you home so much. Oh, I feel just like crying, I feel so glad.’ ‘And I feel like crying too,’ said his father solemnly; and ere midnight he did cry and so did his wife, but they were holy tears, washing his heart of the dust that had gathered on its beauty, and hers of the sorrow that had draped it like a pall. LIFE IN CHICAGO. Some days since a young lady entered a police court in Chicago, quite unat tended, and apparently unfamiliar with the spot. She stood lor a moment at the door and then took a seat, and then moving towards the most inoffensive policeman in the place and pulling him quietly by the coet-sleeve, in order to gain his official ear, begged of him that tie would procure her speech of the Jus tice. She wanted to get a paper to make someone conic up there. A war rant, suggested the officer. Yes, it was that ; she had read of them in the papers, hut had forgotten the name. So she was escorted to his presence, and she looked up, and the Judge looked down, while she, with faltering tones, said she wanted a warrant. Os course, he asked her name, and she gave that of Emma Bittern. llis Honor expressed his sincere pleas ure at the intelligence, and suggested the advisability of her putting him iu possession of the facts in the case, which she finally consented to do. “ One day,” she said, “ I became ac quainted —how, I do not recollect”— “ It is not material, my dear,” said the Justice. “ With this young man. I think we met at the house of a friend. We talked ever so much, and I found him real nice. He said he read all the new poetry, and he was fond of dancing, and was quite certain that my dress was much more be coming than that of another lady who was present, and we talked of parties, and euchre, and driving, and the theatre, and the fashions, and performers, and everything. So I asked him to call and see me, which he did, and he said a]] sorts of funny things, especially after p a had given him a glass of punch. Since he was on a paper he used to get passes to one place and another. Then gradu ally he got to making love, and I did not like to be rude to my guest, and did not interrupt him; and just for fun would sometimes try to imitate his way of talk ing, and to see how it sounded to tell him that I thought more of him than of any other man.” “ Very polite, indeed,” said his Honor “ Now, I noticed said she, “ early i n the beginning of this thing, that he used to bring one of his little reporting books along with him, and when I began to talk tenderly, he would go to work making all sorts of crooked marks, look ing very much like croton bugs laid on their hacks. Os course I asked what he was doing, and he said that he wrote short-hand, and liked to use all possible opportunities of practising. I thought it was a very funny way to make love, but then he was on a newspaper, and there was no telling what he would do next, so I let him go on, only I noticed on those few occasions when I could get him to go to church—Episcopal pre ferred—he never took notes, iiis expla nation being that he did not think it was right, which seemed bo me a very strange excuse for a person of his pro fession. Not so long ago 1 met a very dear little fellow, and I really fell in love with him, and I did not want, of course, to have the other one around, because I had not the practice to keep two going at once. My reporter objected to this, aud claimed all iny time, and said fright ful things about wantiug Mr. Gilbert’s ear, a demand which was simply prepos terous. But when he found that all his promises and entreaties could not shake my fidelity to my adored, he began to threaten, and informed me that if I did not relent he should publish all my con versations, with my name heading them, and with what he called instructive com ments. I could not resist that, and I had to see my lover by stealth, while this man could come when he pleased. I have endured this for two weeks, and whenever I say anything which is not tender, or try to go out without him, or talk to any one else, he at once begins making gloomy insinuations about sensa tional articles and something startling for Sunday So I had to submit. “ Will you not, please, have him up here and get him to give me up all those things, and let me have some peace of my life ?” The Justice considered for a moment, and said : “ This Court is well acquainted with the young man in question, whose accursed accuracy in reporting a speech made by this Court at a political meet ing in this city nearly ruined the reputa tion of this Court for common sense and everything else. This Court never fails to raise its voice against the outrageous practice of printing speeches as they are spoken. A warrant will be at once issued for the arrest of the young man, and you, my dear, be sure to be here Monday morning, and we will dispose of this young man and restore you to the arms of your own true love, and at the same time satiate the revenge of this too accu rately reported Court. Policeman Kiem lief will escort this lady to her abode.” The young lady decliued the doubtful honor and departed alone. [Ch icago Trib u ne. ♦ .» ♦ In answer to one of the irreligious pa pers of Paris, which had the effrontery to assert that the “clerical party” wer duly convicted of having instigated the assassination of Burgos, the Univers de mands the production of proofs for so absurd and monstrous an assertion. ! n the mean time, it sav-', we ask of thi - writer, who, in the lirst instance, are responsible for this crime? They arc those who, in an entirely eathoiic nation, were the first to outrage the pubhc feel ing by persecuting in all sorts of wavs, plundering and expelling priests and nuns. Who closed the churches, y r levelled them to the ground? desecrated the sanctuaries, calumniate i tlie bishops, excited against the clei'-> the worst instincts of the dregs of t - populaticu? Who the other day, at having openly and publicly proclaim '■ his unbelief, went to the convent o Iluelges, the most celebrated in Spa - in order to take an inventory of what u possessed, and entering the church walx * with his hat on his head and a cigar in his mouth to the choir, where, seating himself in the abbatial stall, he cause t the affrighted nuns to appear before In and addressed them in terms the mo' L insulting? This man was the Civil tir\- ernor of Burgos, and he * n tu ' name of Prim, Serrano and Tope y Those men, by the provocation y hum they have given, are in reality gun ) the crime of Burgos. Westminster '<iaiette
