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THE SUNNY SOUTH*
After the Battle.
O’er the scene of recent conflict
Spread the raven wings of night,
And the cover of the darkness
Hid the crimson soil from sight,
Where reposed in gory lodgings
Victims of the wrong or right.
Pulsing with the last vibration
That had scattered death afar,
In the night-air cooled the throttles
Of the iron brutes of war;
But the slain no more remembered
Aught of battle’s shock or jar.
Ah, it mattered not whose banner
Waved in triumph o’er the storm,
And they thought not of the color
Of the mortal uniform,
When they met above the planets
In reunion deep and warm.
For the bruised and shattered members
There were bandages and balms;
For the peace of all the number
There were meekly folded palms,
And for passing souls, the music
Of low sweetly-chanted psalms.
Hushed the song, and hushed the whispered
Invocation deep and low;
And the footfalls of the nurses
Ceased their passing to and fro;
And a little silence lingered
In that hall of pain and woe.
Pale, as by an artist chiseled
In the fine and flawless stone,
Stretched upon the bunk assigned him,
By each waiter left alone,
Laya youth whose quiet slumber
Was like childhood’s very own.
THE GETTYSBURG BATTLE-FIELD.
The full period of a generation has passed
since the battle of Gettysburg was fought on
the first, second, and third days of July, 1863.
Not until a decade after that decisive conflict
did the State and country appreciate the im
portance of preserving this memorable field
and making it one of the historic places of
the world. It was not only the decisive battle
of the rebellion, but it certainly presents the
high water-mark of American heroism, alike
in the blue and in the gray, and there is every
incentive for the people of this country, re
gardless of section, to so arrange and adorn
the Gettysburg battle-field that its monuments
and its inscriptions will tell the whole story
of that desperate conflict to the visitor.
The Union heroes in that struggle have
been enduringly crystallized in the story of
Gettysburg by magnificent equestrian statues
of Meade, Reynolds, and Hancock. These
tributes to the three Pennsylvania heroes who
bore the brunt of that battle, one of whom
was a commander of the Army of the Poto
mac, have been delayed too long, but the fact
that, after a generation has passed away, the
State and nation, as with one voice, greeted
these monuments to the Pennsylvania chief
tains at Gettysburg, proves that long after the
passions of war have perished, the sober,
patriotic sentiment of the people is quite as
appreciative of the Gettysburg Union heroes
as were the people of the nation when the in
surgent army was driven back from Cemetery
Hill in defeat, and the decisive battle of the
conflict was settled in favor of the united Re
public.
We are now rapidly tending to the embel
lishment of the Gettysburg battle-field as a
great historic lesson of the most sanguinary
conflict fought for the maintenance of free
government. The lines of both armies are
now defined with mathematical accuracy.
Ever battery that burst forth warnage in that
conflict is reproduced from one end to the
other of the two lines on Seminary and Ceme
tery Hills, but there is no satue, no monu
ment, no record on all that field to tell the
story of the men who led the insurgent army,
and whose heroism made victory tremble in
the balance for three long days.
The time has come when the Gettysburg
battle-field should tell the story of American
heroism on both sides of that memorable
struggle ; and surely, after a generation has
passed away, there can be no sectional pas
sions to interpose objection to making the
monuments and statues of Gettysburg tell the
whole story of the matchless courage of
American soldiers, whether they fought under
the stars and stripes or under the stars and
bars.
The men who fought under Lee, at Gettys
burg, have shared many of the high honors
of the Republic. The soldiers of the gray
have sat in two Republican Cabinets and in
as many Democratic Cabinets. Lee’s first
lieutenant held two lucrative and responsible
commissions under Republican presidents,
and the warriors of Lee have been welcomed
to our National Senate and House by scores,
as law-makers for the nation.
Lee and his lieutenants should be preserved
in imposing statues on the Confederate lines
to complete the historic lesson of Gettys
burg. On Seminary Hill should stand an
equestrian statue of Robert E. Lee; on the
plain hard, by the statue of Reynolds, should
be the statue of Hill; and where Pickett’s
charge began should be marked by a statue of
Longstreet. It needs but the consent of the
authorities of the Gettysburg battle-field that
the South shall erect these statues, to assure
promptness in placing them there to complete
the group of heroes of that great conflict.
It should be remembered that Lee’s army
won two pitched battles at Gettysburg. The
first day’s conflict, in which Reynolds fell at
the front of his men, was won by Hill; the
second day’s battle in the peach orchard was
fought successfully against Sickles by Long-
street, and it will not be disputed by any that
the high water-mark of heroism on that
bloody field was where Armistead strode
through the Bloody Angle wearing his
Southern gray, and fell with the heroes in
blue of Cushing’s battery. Let us now in
vite the South to complete the historic lesson
of Gettysburg by placing the statues of her
chieftains corresponding with the statues of
the Union heroes, and let all stand to tell to
future generations the story of American
heroism.
Some of My War Experiences.
Editor “Sunny South” : The time of the
year and the temperature serve to remind me
of the past when I was a soldier-boy and
tempt me to write some of my experiences
for the page dedicated to the Gray ;and the
Blue. Thoughts and remembraKc.^ flash on
the kaleidoscope of memory, bringing back
the cavalry fights which began at Aldie and
ended at Upperville, thirty-three years ago.
You will remember that tne victorious
army of Northern Virginia, commanded by
the invincible Lee, was en route for Maryland
and Pennsylvania, beginning that evil-starred
campaign which decided the fate of the Con
federacy. Whose the responsibility it was
not to inquire. Then as now,
“Ours not to reason why;
Ours but to do and die!”
To make this moment successful it
was necessary that it should be masked from
the enemy so that he could have no hint of
our purpose. It was our duty as cavalry, the
eyes and ears of an army, to look up the ene
my and provoke a skirmish whenever found.
My brigade was led by the gallant Wade
Hampton. Our position was in the rear and
to the right of the infantry columns as they
marched. Stuart was ahead on the front and
right with Rosser’s, Fitz Lee’s, Robinson’s,
and W. K. L. Lee’s brigades. At Aldie they
found a Federal command composed of cav
alry under McCook and infantry under Han
cock. As a matter of course, this meant a
fight. The battle ebbed and flowed for two
days. Their foe was too strong for him, and
Stuart slowly, reluctantly, but surely, gave
way. The third day Hampton led his boys
into action, but fate was against us. I was
with the first line of skirmishers, deployed in
front, our backs to a deep mill-pond. We
had just taken position when the order to
countermarch was given. How I wished for
wings or seven-league-boots or anything that
would take me out of that tall clover that was
continually tripping me up by catching in
my long spurs. Reaching the old mill, I
crossed to a land of safety I hoped, but only
to meet with an obstacle still more formida
ble, for there before me was a perpendicular
height of nearly two hundred feet to climb
and only the mountain-laurel and other frail
shrubs to aid my ascent. We were seen by
the enemy as we spread ourselves over that
hill like squirrels in a big tree. I thought
my time had come, though I used both feet
and hands for all they were worth. Finally,
we reached the summit, to find a high stone
wall which I had neither strength to scale
nor to level, but the Yankee bullets with
their spiteful zip, zip, zip, had force enough
to rouse all my latent energy for a successful
effort. Once over the fence, I could see our
mounted command and battery away on our
front, and the Federal cavalry, artillery, and
infantry pouring over the bridge which
spanned this Goose Creek canon. They were
in front of me, but with instincts developed
by mv experience of hazardous soldier-life,
I gathered myself together and started to gain
Paris Gap by a detour. I succeeded beyond
my hopes and soon found myself in the rear
of my retiring regiment before it reached
Upperville. With delight I caught sight of
my horse as he was being led in the rear, and
mounting him, quickly resumed my place
in the ranks. I hoped the fracas was over,
but ah ! no, we only moved out of the way
that the dismounted guns could go to the
rear. Our command of one hundred and
twenty-six men was thrown into a column
of squadrons led by brave, old Hampton in
his impetuous fashion, with the order,
“Charge them ! charge them!” With loud
huzzas the command was obeyed; men pis
toled and sabred each other, and the enemy
soon put distance between their backs and
our sabres. You will know without telling,
how happy I felt when I saw the Yankees
run, as it also gave us a chance to get away;
but short lived was this feeling.
On our right was another wave of blue
flowing on to overwhelm us. Our gallant
chieftain, sitting his horse, centaurlike, in
perfect pose, with face aflame with desperate
resolve, and right arm extended, holding his
pistol in firm grasp, commanded, “Rally,
men! remember your reputation. Charge!”
Could we silently stand and behold a picture
like this ? No; far from it. Had the whole
Yankee army been there instead of a regi
ment, we would have rushed with our glori
ous Stuart to victory or the grave. Only
about twenty were in this charge, but so im
petuous was our onset it could not be checked
or turned aside. Hampton saw a regiment
coming down on us where we had first
charged, but soon we had these fellows giv
ing us respectful room. Three charges, three
victories in less than an hour, we thought,
would do for one day and we involuntarily
began a retreat, when both Stuart and Hamp
ton appeared at the head of our command,
ordering us to form in column of four to
repel a charge being made by the 2d U. S.
Regulars. Not a loaded pistol or carbine
did we have. We knew it must be blade to
blade, hilt to hilt. We knew the mettle of
the 2d U. S. Regulars, we had tried them
before and knew them to be free men worthy
of our steel. Before we could form, that
most welcome and inspiring of war-cries, the
“rebel yell,” was heard on our right and we
saw the Stars and Bars at the head of the gal
lant North Carolina regiment as it launched
itself in heroic ardor on the foe, and an
answering yell swelled the volume of sound
as uniting in the race for victory, the peerless
Wright led his Cobb’s Legion on the doomed
2d. U. S. Regulars. The field was blue with
unhorsed men, but, strange to say, very few
prisoners were taken, so little did our boys
care to take them. The color sergeant of the
Jeff Davis Legion captured a stand of colors
and let the bearer go. This capture was one
of the most exciting and thrilling scenes I
ever witnessed The Federal color-guard
with sabre at point, pursued hotly by the
Confederate, with sabre at front, cut, digging
his rowel deep in his horse’s flanks crimson
with gore. Like a flash of light his sabre
cleaved the air and dismounted the foe, who
rolled ingloriously in the dust while the tri
umphant Confederate, seizing his coveted
prize, the colors, tossed it in the face of
friends and foes, proudly and defiantly. Af
ter this I saw a major riding a gray charger
and looking around like one dazed, I did not
even think to offer him the courtesy of escort
ing him to the rear. The gallant Jeff Waring
gave him a thrust in the back which made
him spur his horse, leading the chase for one
hundred and fifty yards when he made good
h s escape.
Sitting here in these peaceful days of ’96,
the soft breezes cooling my brow, I ask my
self the “cui bono” of all this. Why did not
all the good and true escape as did the major
and myself? Then comes the thought of the
higher power which demands obedience and
overrules all things while we linger on this
side of the river.
Co. D, Jeff Davis Legion, A. N. Va.
The Story of the King’s Son.
Confederate Veterans and the dear “Sunny
South” ; I intended to talk of the heroism
and valor of the Southern women during the
war—those women, as a writer beautifully
expresses it: “Who endured privations and
sorrow with angelic fortitude and patience :
who inspired our soldiery with courage and
blessed them with prayers.” But, on second
thought, I think best not to eulogize “her
who girded the husband’s sword and sent
away to battle the darling boy who would
return no more,” but rather to tell you of the
brave Confederate soldier who followed the
fortunes of the South for four years, who lost
home and dear ones in a cause that’s lost,
and after reverses of every character—when
he became silver-haired and aged, skeptical
and heart-broken, was led by the King’s
Daughter back to the foot of the cross to be
come the King’s Son. This is his story:
“The night was strangely silent and the
moon’s pale face was veiled by clouds. A
mock-bird’s song rang out upon the air very
sweet and clear. In the home my comrades
wrapped in sleep. I was alone with some
thing mysterious swaying my every thought.
“Perhaps, I slept! Who knows but that the
gentle wooings of the angel we call sleep,
maybe the whisperings of a loving wife? the
fond caressing of mother-love? or yet, the
laughter of a little child? permitted to cross
the river and visit us again.
“Be this as it may, I was no longer old, no
longer poor, no longer friendless in a
soldier’s home, but young, with life that
thrilled with glad emotions of a holier
sphere.
“A door stood invitingly open, and I en
tered a room bright with sunshine and
redolent with bloom and fragrance from a
thousand flowers, the sweet, subtle breath of
tuberoses breaking my heart’s peace with a
strange intensity of pleasure and despair.
“Beside an open window, draped in fleecy
lace, stood an easel. Lifting the cloth which
veiled a picture, 1 started back infear and
reverence, for before me was a woman’s
lovely face, bearing the one name :
“SORROW.”
“I knew her well, though she had been my
guest for many a year, yet had not shown her
face. I fell upon my knees, my face all wet
with tears, and cried aloud :
“O, friend divinely fair, with
Radiant eyes, God’s messenger
From paradise thrice welcome here !
Life’s highway’s had been very
Dark and cold, and winter in
The garden of my soul, without
Thee, dear.’
“That I did complain before I knew
Thy worth and love I now acknowledge
With deep sense of contrition—
Come, take my hand and lead
Me through the shady vales
Of memory !
We met bright Joy with dimpled,
Laughing face, her hair entwined
With dewy fragrant flowers,
And happy children dancing
In her train.
She passed us by without a
Sign of recognition in her
Violet eyes. She had not known
Me since my mother died,
Not since my father fell asleep
In Christ; and she was gay,
Too gay and happy in her-
Childish mood to barter
Words with one whose heart
Was sad.
“Across a field of waving, golden
Grain, Hope came in shining
Garments, soft and white.
I dared not face the crimson lips,
The tender, loving eyes, and so
I turned aside for very shame.
She spoke to my companion gentle
Words.
“ ‘Poor boy!’ said she, ‘How swift
The blow that swept his wealth
Away! How light the bloom of
Pleasure in his life ! How frail
And brittle is the tie that binds
Him to this stern, sad mother
Earth !
Why shall we not pity him,
Sweet sister mine, and reach
His heart through gentle
Sympathy ?
“ ‘He has lost everything that
Made life beautiful, and grim
Despair has well-nigh broken
All his thoughts of God.
Go thou with him to-day and
I shall follow where thy footsteps
Lead to watch the future of
Our weeping charge.*
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