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This page is part of The Georgia GenWeb Project a AHGP Project and is hosted by USGENNET |
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Confederate Veteran Misc The following article is from the Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., April, 1901. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE DEVIL'S DEN Gen. W. F. Perry - Bowling Green, Ky. Three or four miles south of Gettysburg, Pa., is a wild, rocky labyrinth, which, from its weird, uncanny features, has long been called by the people of the vicinity the "Devil's Den." The fierce conflict which was waged within and around it on the evening of July 2, 1863, has rendered it historic. Large rocks from six to fifteen feet high are thrown together in confusion over a considerable area, and yet so disposed as to leave everywhere among them winding passages carpeted with moss. Many of its recesses are never visited by the sunshine, and a cavernous coolness pervades the air within it. A short distance to the east the frowning bastions of Little Round Top rise two hundred feet above the level of the plain. An abrupt elevation, thirty or forty feet high, itself buttressed with rocks, constitutes the western boundary of this strange formation. On the south of the Den is an open space less than a hundred yards wide; and then begins a forest, which extends to and covers a larger hill known as Big Round Top. Toward the west, a narrow valley of cultivated land lying between, is Seminary Ridge, on which the Confederate army was drawn up. Upon the position I have described rested the left of the Federal line when the battle of the 2nd of July began. The rocks were filled with infantry, and on the adjacent elevation were three pieces of artillery. The storming and capture of this formidable position by the Southern troops was the opening act of the second day's battle of Gettysburg. Three bodies of troops have laid claim to the honor of the achievement: Benning's Brigade of Georgians, the Fourth Texas Regiment of Robertson's Brigade, and the Forty-Fourth Alabama Regiment of Law's Brigade. The commissioners of the Gettysburg National Military Park, unable or unwilling to discriminate, seem to have settled the dispute by dividing the honor among the claimants. As to the commander of the body of troops last named, even at the risk of incurring the charge of egotism, I propose to state precisely what occurred, as I saw and understood it at the time, and remember it now. I do so for the sake of the truth of history, and as an act of justice to a body of men that, in all the qualities of true soldiership, had few, if any, superiors in the Army of Northern Virginia. Law's Brigade arrived on the battlefield during the afternoon of July 2, after a forced march of twenty-two miles. It then made with the corps a tedious march of three or four miles in a circuit to gain the point on the extreme right from which the attack was to be delivered. About four o'clock in the evening it was thrown into line of battle on the crest of Seminary Ridge, facing due east, and fronting the two Round Top hills. It constituted the extreme right of the Confederate army. The view was imposing. Little Round Top, crowned with artillery, resembled a volcano in eruption; while the hillock near the Devil's Den, the distance between them being diminished by the view in perspective, appeared as a secondary crater near its base. It was evident that a formidable task was before us. The regimental commanders were ordered to go in on foot. This proved a misfortune. They should have remained mounted, at least until the rugged ground beyond the valley was reached. Three out of five, I believe, were prostrated before the battle closed. The brigade, as soon as its formation was completed, moved steadily down the slope into the valley. When near the middle of the valley, I received an order to capture the battery at the Devil's Den. Of course the name and the nature of the place were then unknown. It was perhaps three hundred yards to the left of the line on which we were advancing. To execute the order, it was necessary to swing loose from the brigade, change direction, and move upon the position without support on either flank. I at once resolved to make the attack from the woods south of the battery. My regiment, which was near the center, having been disengaged from the advancing line by a short halt, was thrown to the left of the brigade by an oblique march. It then moved directly forward until the edge of the woods was reached. Here it wheeled so as to face to the north, and at once moved upon the point of attack. The enemy were as invisible to us as we were to them. The presence of a battery of artillery of course implied the presence of a strong supporting force of infantry. Of its strength, its position, and the nature of its defenses, we were in total ignorance. We were soon to learn. As the line emerged from the woods into the open space mentioned above, a sheet of flame burst from the rocks less than a hundred yards away. A few scattering shots in the beginning gave warning in time for my men to fall flat, and thus largely to escape the effect of the main volley. They doubtless seemed to the enemy to be all dead; but the volume of the fire which they immediately returned proved that they were very much alive. No language can express the intensity of the solicitude with which I surveyed the strange, wild situation which suddenly burst upon my view. Upon the decision of a moment depended the honor of my command, and perhaps the lives of many brave men. I knew that, if called upon, they would follow me, and felt confident that the place could be carried by an impetuous charge. But then what? There were no supporting troops in sight. A heavy force of the enemy might envelop and overpower us. It was certain that we should be exposed to a plunging, enfilading fire from Little Round Top. And yet, the demoralization and shame of a retreat, and an exposure to be shot in the back, were not to be thought of. Before the enemy had time to reload their guns a decision was made. Leaping over my prostrate line, I shouted the order "Forward!" and started for the rocks. The response was a bound, a yell, and a rush, and in less than a minute the right wing of the regiment was pouring into the Den---the enemy escaping from the opposite side---and the left was scaling the rugged eminence on which the artillery was planted. It was led by Maj. George W. Cary, who, flag in hand, bounded up the cliff, and landed on the crest ahead of the line. The gunners, stationed where they could see what was coming, made their escape; while the infantry support of the battery, apparently taken by surprise, surrendered without resistance. They constituted the right wing of the Fourth Maine Regiment. I soon afterwards met one of the surrendered officers, who complimented, in the highest terms, the gallantry of Maj. Gary and his men. A few minutes later the Major found me among the rocks near the foot of the hill, prostrated by heat and excessive exertion. He exhibited an armful of swords as trophies of his victory, and complained that cannon from both sides were playing on his position. This I knew to be true as to the Federal side. At the very entrance of the labyrinth a spherical case shot from Round Top had exploded very near my head, and thrown its deadly contents against a rock almost within my reach. He was ordered to hurry back and withdraw the men from the crest, so that they could find shelter on the sides of the hill. In a very short time he came back in great haste, and informed me that a force of the enemy large enough to envelop our position was moving down upon us. I sprang to my feet with the intention of climbing the hill to see the situation and determine what to do, but found myself unable to stand without support. While we were anxiously discussing the situation, Benning's Brigade, moving in splendid style, swept in from Seminary Ridge on our left, and met the threatening force. One of us remarked: "There is Benning; we are all right now." His march was so directed that his right lapped upon my left, and poured over the hill upon which were the abandoned guns. A furious battle now began along his entire line, as well as my own, which had pressed through to the north side of the rocks. Other troops, also, are spoken of by the Gettysburg Park Commissioners as engaged in the struggle for the possession of the Devil's Den. In a most interesting work recently published by them, entitled "New York at Gettysburg," a copy of which was kindly sent me, I find it stated that four brigades of Southern troops were engaged in its capture. If by that name is meant the peculiar rocky formation above described, a very good picture of which is given in their work, I know that a single regiment of three hundred and forty men stormed and carried it in less than five minutes after the first gun was fired. Their reference must have been to the number engaged in repelling the counter attack which the capture provoked. It has always been to me a source of sincere regret that my disability, which continued until after nightfall, prevented me from seeing anything that occurred after the arrival of Benning's line. Buried in the recesses of the rocks, I could only hear. It is seldom that a soldier in the midst of a great battle, in comparative security and perfect composure, can enjoy the privilege of listening. The incessant roar of small arms, the deadly hiss of Minie balls, the shouts of the combatants, the booming of cannon, the explosion of shells, and the crash of their fragments among the rocks, all blended in one dread chorus whose sublimity and terror no power of expression could compass. The conflict raged at intervals until dark. My loss was comparatively light, considering the desperate character of the fighting. This was due to three causes: the happy dodge given the first volley of the enemy; the rush made upon them before they had time to reload; the protection afterwards afforded by the rocks. The killed and wounded numbered ninety-two, a little over one-fourth of those who went into action. Soon after dark the enemy extended their line southward, so as to cover Big Round Top. Law's Brigade made a corresponding movement to confront them, and the Forty-Fourth was withdrawn from the Devil's Den, and rejoined the command. The captured guns were removed during the night by Benning's Brigade, or by the Fourth Texas, which was engaged at the same point. I would not be understood as expressing or entertaining a suspicion that any false claim to the capture of the position was intentionally made. It was perfectly natural that, coming on the abandoned guns, and no other troops being in sight, they should regard themselves as the first captors. I heard soon after the battle that the claim was made, but was too indifferent to give the matter any attention. Stunned and dazed by the result of the campaign, a result which cast ominous conjecture on the whole Southern cause, I could not realize that the next generation would feel the keenest desire to know, even down to the minutest particulars, everything that occurred in that epoch-making conflict. Though not strictly within, the scope of this paper, it is, nevertheless, in order to speak briefly of the other regiments of Law's Brigade: the Fourth, the Fifteenth, the Forty-Seventh, and Forty-Eighth Alabama. After the Forty-Fourth parted company and headed northward to the Devil's Den, they pressed on into the woods, clambered over a rugged spur between the two Round Top hills, furiously assailed. Little Round Top, scaled its steeps, and fought more than twice their number on its rocky terraces, until night ended the struggle. All this, after a forced march of twenty-six miles in the heat of a sultry July day. It would be hard to find in the annals of war a parallel to that day's work of Law's Brigade. Gen. W. F. Perry entered the Confederate service in May, 1862, as major of the Forty-Fourth Alabama Regiment. He joined the Army of Northern Virginia the last of June, while the battles around Richmond were in progress. Having been assigned to Longstreet's Corps, he afterwards took part in every important battle of that famous body of troops. He was promoted to the command of his regiment on the field of Sharpsburg. On the first day of the battle of Chickamauga, he led his regiment in an independent charge, which broke the Federal line in his front, and on the second day, at the head of Law's Brigade, he took a prominent part in the capture of sixteen pieces of artillery on Snodgrass Hill. In January, 1864, Gen. Longstreet recommended him for promotion for gallantry in battle. In 1864, as senior officer present, he led his brigade in all the desperate battles between Grant and Lee, and was subsequently promoted to its permanent command. During the last days of the retreat to Appomattox, Perry's brigade, on account of its fine tone and discipline, was made the rear guard of the army; and at the surrender it constituted about one-tenth of Gen. Lee's effective force. Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., May, 1901. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BATTLE OF SHARPSBURG OR ANTIETAM R. H. Daniels, Company K, 4th Georgia Regiment Our brigade was composed of the Fourth and Forty-Fourth Georgia Regiments and the First and Third North Carolina, Gen. George Doles commanding. On September 16, 1862, we covered the retreat from Boonsboro Gap, and that evening we took our position on the extreme left of the army to the left of the town of Sharpsburg, facing the enemy; but just as we took our place a portion of Col. Cutt's Artillery came very near being captured, and the Fourth Georgia was sent to the rescue. Just before we reached them Lieut. Spivey, always equal to the occasion, unlimbered two of his guns, double charged them with grape, and opened on the enemy at close range and cleared the pike. As we came up he laughed and said: "Boys, you are just too late. I cleared them up. It was a cavalry charge." On the morning of the 17th, about two hours before daylight, our brigade was advanced over the hill in front of Cal. Cutt's battery of artillery, and just in front of a large two-story dwelling with six or eight haystacks in front of the house. The Union forces opened fire with their artillery two hours before day, and lying on the ground we could see the fuses on the shells burning as they passed over us. Just after daylight Gen. Jackson passed in front of our line, and then rode to the left. He ordered ten men to burn the house and haystacks in double-quick order. As he was sitting on his horse looking over the field, the Yankees spied him and opened a piece of artillery on him. The first shell passed over him, the second just to the rear and a little above him, and the third shell struck his horse just back of the saddle. As his horse went down Gen. Jackson jumped to the ground, and, one of his aids dismounting, he vaulted into the saddle and immediately ordered us to "attention" and to "left wheel." As we rose from the ground the Yankees sent a deadly volley into our line. To our left was a staked and ridered rail fence; just across the road was a graveyard, and the Yankees had taken advantage of this. We had to cross this fence to get to them, and many of our boys were killed or wounded as we formed on the other side. Here we struck the famous "Fighting Joe Hooker's" command, twenty thousand strong, with only our little brigade of four regiments. We drove them before us for quite a distance nevertheless. Our ammunition becoming exhausted, our officers pillaged the cartridge boxes of the dead and wounded, handing us one or two cartridges at a time so we could keep up the firing. In or last charge the First and Third North Carolina had to give way, and this caused the Forty-Fourth Georgia also to break, but the Fourth Georgia held her own, and we gained the day. Gen. Jackson rode along our line, telling us to hold our own for just a little while, and he would give us help, as other troops were coming from Harper's Ferry. Here we held the whole Union forces, for Hooker's command had been reinforced by Gen. McDowell's twenty thousand. As Jackson's men came in sight he told us to look, and we could see the boys coming from Harper's Ferry. As they came in sight we gave a yell, and they re plied, coming over the hill at a double-quick. We were nearly a mile to the left of the army, with no support when the troops from Harper's Ferry came up, and Gen. Jackson then ordered us to fall back to a high hill just to the left of Sharpsburg, and there clean up our guns and get fresh ammunition. That evening, with the troops from Harper's Ferry, we whipped Gen. McDowell's command of twenty thousand fresh troops that had been sent to reenforce Gen. Hooker. There were that day, on the left of the army, to the left of the bridge across Antietam Creek, about seven thousand five hundred men, who defeated forty thousand. Here is where Gen. R. E. Lee complimented our regiment so highly, saying that Col. Cook's regiment held the enemy in check without any support. According to Capt. Gunns, of a Virginia battery of artillery, the fight of our brigade in the morning lasted five hours and a half to the time we fell back to get ready for the afternoon fight. We were in line of battle all next day waiting for an attack, but Gen. McClellan did not make it. I suppose we had struck him too heavy a blow, and he needed reinforcements. Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1901. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CALVIN CROZIER Bill Arp Bill Arp, in the Atlanta Constitution, calls attention to the killing of the brave Confederate soldier by the order of Col. Trowbridge, at Newberry, S. C., September 8, 1865. Many requests have been made through the press of the South since the publication of this letter that some one conversant with the facts of that inhuman butchery give them to the public. "Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, Dear as the blood ye gave; No impious footsteps here shall tread The herbage of your grave; Nor shall your glory be forgot While fame her record keeps, Or honor points the hallowed spot Where valor proudly sleeps." This is one of the verses on a beautiful monument I looked upon with tearful reverence while walking through Rosemont Cemetery at Newberry. Such acts as the murdering of Crozier are some of the things that keep a man from forgetting the war. Does history record any nobler sacrifice? Damon was the friend of Pythias, but this man Bowers was a stranger to Crozier. Much more of this pathetic story is recorded in the annals of Newberry. W. M. Fenton writes of it: "I was then a youth of fifteen years, and was living at Newberry when the brave Crozier yielded up æhis life that another might not suffer. The memory of that day is of a tragedy never to be forgotten. The war had ended, and the soldiers of the disbanded Confederate army and paroled prisoners were passing through South Carolina to their homes in the West. Among them was Calvin Crozier, a Texan, who arrived at Newberry on September 7, 1865, and was delayed there overnight. He had some ladies under his care; and, as hotel accommodations were very meager, they decided it would be best to pass the night in the car on which they had traveled. Late in the night æsome negro soldiers, under the command of Col. Trowbridge, who had arrived at Newberry that day, entered the car where Crozier and the ladies under his care were quietly reposing, and made themselves very offensive to the ladies. Crozier requested them to leave, but they refused to do so, and a difficulty arose. In the scuffle which followed one of the negroes was slightly cut by Crozier with his knife. The regiment to which they belonged was encamped in a graveyard near the depot, and very soon after the difficulty occurred a number of them appeared at the depot bent on avenging the one who had been dealt with by Crozier. In their madness they seized Mr. Jacob S. Bowers, who was then General Superintendent of the Greenville and Columbia Railroad, and, despite his many protestations, were about to lynch him. When Crozier learned What they were about, without a moment's hesitation he presented himself and acknowledged that he had wounded the negro soldier. He was at once tied and taken to the camp mentioned above, and was shot to death by the fiend's. His body was thrown in a shallow grave, and they danced in ghonlish glee upon his new-made grave. The officers of the negro regiment, principally white, were appealed to in behalf of Crozier but in vain. Trowbridge, the colonel of this regiment, was heard to declare that he took upon himself all the responsibility of the act. Prince Rivers, a negro who was then an officer in this same regiment, wishing to save the life of Crozier, went to him and begged him to deny that he was the man who had the difficult: with the negro soldier, but he refused. Seldom in deed do we find such heroic æself-sacrifice as is recorded of this noble Texan. He might have gone free to his far Western home had he permitted an innocent man to suffer. However fondly he may have dreamed of his arrival at his Texan home, Galveston, and the greeting of loved ones there, he gave it all up and laid down his life that another might live. No ignoble spirit could have acted as he did. Such a death must work forgiveness for many misdeeds and short comings, and where he now sleeps must be holy ground. His body remained where he was buried by the Negro soldiers until 1891, when the people of Newberry had him buried in Rosemont Cemetery, and erected an enduring monument to his memory. In erecting this monument they have honored themselves." Mrs. Mary S. Rogers, of Blum, Tex., a sister of Crozier, writes of the family: "I read in the January VETERAN the account of the killing of my brother Calvin Crozier, September 8, 1865, by order of Col. Trowbridge, commanding the Thirty-Third Colored Regiment of Federal troops. My brother was born in Brandon, Miss. He enlisted in Goode's Battery at Dallas in 1861. Our father was too old and feeble to go to the war, but he had five sons and two sons-in-law who served through the war. My husband was private in Gen. Gano's command three and a half years. My brothers setved in Texas regiments, and all went safely through the war except one brother who was wounded in the battle of Pleasant Hill. I am the only one of my family left. Exposure during the war caused the death of three of my brothers. My husband, R. C. Donalson, lived through the war and died ten years ago. I was married again six yean ago to an ex-Confederate, W. L. Rogers, from Tennessee, who served in Maj. Gunter's battalion. My only sister, May E. M. Stackhouse, widow, was lost in the Galveston flood with eleven others of our family. That flood occurred on the thirty-fifth anniversary of my brother Calvin's brutal murder. I have the names of all the people that subscribed to the monument."
Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., July, 1901. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE WESTERN ARMY Gen. Bennett H. Young Address by Gen. Bennett H. Young to the United Confederate Veterans at the Memphis Reunion. As one of the chosen orators at the Memphis reunion, Col. Young, of Louisville, took as his theme the Western Army, and dealt with it in a way that must be satisfactory to all parties. After pleasant words about the Bluff City, which was the home of "that wonderful man, Nathan Bedford Forrest," Col. Young said: I yield to no man in admiration of what the Army of Northern Virginia accomplished, it was led by Lee, Jackson, J. E. Johnston, the Hills, Stuart, and by Gordon, and won a renown that is as deserved as it is imperishable. Its operations were confined within narrow limits, no navigable streams pierced its borders, and two hundred miles square witnessed its operations, its magnificent successes, and its unsurpassed gallantry. He must be a traitor to the glorious memories of the Confederacy who utters a single word in depreciation of its splendid worth and its superb work. The achievements of the Army of Northern Virginia have rendered illustrious its officers and its men, and they met every requirement that purest patriotism, heroic self-denial, and undaunted courage could either demand or accomplish. Gathered in defense of the capital of the Confederacy, the preservation of which was held to be its very life, it suffered losses and evinced a valor which are among the most priceless treasures of the bravest and most chivalrous army which ever battled for human rights or defended the sacredness of native land. The very position it held, the very purpose it was marshaled to accomplish, gave it a prominence which had a tendency to overshadow the other armies of the South and to eclipse by its splendor the performances of other portions of the Confederate hosts. The conflicts in the West were long delayed. Before lines could be formed, or plans prepared, the Army of Northern Virginia had already won resplendent fame. Although the war began in the summer of 1861, no really great battle was fought in the West until Shiloh came, in April, 1862, and in its terrible loss of life gave augury of the awful holocaust that was demanded of the South and her people in their efforts to be free. The Federal loss in killed, wounded, and missing of over 13,000, and the Confederate loss of nearly 11,000, were the most appalling military figures the American mind had ever contemplated; and on this field, where for the first time in real array the dashing soldier of the South met the hardy warrior of the West in stubborn conflict, both sides measurably apprehended the magnitude of the contest upon which they had entered. The 2,000 losses at Donelson, the record of 1,500 killed and wounded at Bull Run now appeared insignificant when there broke upon American minds the terrible casualties of 25,000 in a single combat. In amazement, this dreadful calamity forced itself into the hearts and homes of the men and women on both sides; and this, the greatest battle up to that time ever fought in America, with its mighty death list and its terrible destruction, painted in strongest colors the horrors of a civil war, where freemen met freemen in defense of what each esteemed a great principle, backed by convictions in support of which they were willing, if need be, to die. Missouri so far had borne the brunt of the fiercest storms, Carthage and Wilson's Creek and Springfield had demanded sacrifice, and the gallant men under Price had freely met all the requirements, and had willingly shed their blood to save their State from Federal rule. Alabama had to her record no engagements on land; Arkansas had felt battle's touch only at Elkhorn; Florida had so far been practically immune; no heavy hand had yet been laid on Georgia; Kentucky had seen a few skirmishes and caught a glimpse of conflict at Wildcat; Louisiana's soil was free, but cruisers had sailed along her coast, harbingers of the woes yet to come; Mississippi had within her borders no hostile forces ; the battle of Newburn, with its small list, was all North Carolina had experienced of the awful decimation yet to fall upon her sons; South Carolina had heard but a few guns in between pickets; Tennessee had then nothing but Donelson; while Virginia could only place to her score Big Bethel, Bull Run, Dranesville, Kernstown, and Winchester, none of which gave any omen of the immeasurable treasure of blood to be shed on her soil for Southern independence. The record of one Confederate redounds to the glory of all ; the silent grave on the hillside, the lone mound in the forest, the dash over the breastworks, the heroic stand before a heavy cannonade, the long trenches of slain on the battlefield, the lingering death in the hospital, the sudden end on the picket line, the isolated fall of the sharpshooter, the patient marcher in the storm or the weary ride of the grim trooper, all go to make up war; and each in its way is the act of a hero; and these all complete the superb record which stamps the Confederate soldier as the equal of any one who ever fought or died for truth. Western soldiers make no claim of being better than the men who fought in the East. All these men who marched or died along the Mississippi, the Arkansas, the Red river, the Ohio, the Cumberland, the Tennessee, the Black, and the Yazoo ask is to have it known that they exhibited the same heroism, the same gallantry, the same readiness to suffer and die, the same unselfish patriotism, as the men whose blood crimsoned the soil of Virginia or poured out life's tide at Gettysburg or made red the Potomac at Antietam with their heart's offering. The Army of Tennessee, though often beaten, never despaired; though many times defeated, it never doubted; no misfortune could destroy its courage, and no adversity could quench its spirit. Far removed from the center of operations, its equipment was not the best the Confederate quartermaster had, but this aroused no murmur in the manly breasts of its soldiers. It was too loyal not to sympathize in the mighty effort of the government to beat back the Federal hordes that pushed down upon Richmond, the national capital, and the apparent neglect of its comfort and its actual needs aroused no complaint among the brave men who composed its legions. The enemy in front was its most reliable quartermaster, and Forrest, Wheeler, and Morgan were its most bountiful commissaries. The commanders placed over them were not always the ones they loved best or trusted most, but neither on the march nor in conflict with their enemy did they allow these opinions to lessen their zeal or abate their courage; pleased or displeased, they fought with unsurpassed courage, declined no service, and hesitated at no sacrifice; one single, earnest thought dominated every soul, and one desire nerved every arm---the defense of the Confederacy and the defeat of their foes was the great absorbing principle which made them such magnificent soldiers and splendid heroes in battles like Shiloh, Chickamauga, Brice's Crossroads Kennesaw Mountain, Resaca, Jonesboro, Perryville, Stone's River, Baton Rouge, Corinth, luka, Harrisburg, and Franklin. Briefly, comrades, allow me to call your attention, in a comparative way, to some battles in the West which are fearful in mortality, and all of which in a high degree show not only the genius but the courage of the men of the west. History and song alike magnify Gettysburg as one of the greatest battles of modern times. Its effect on the Confederacy was marked and conspicuous, and from the hour when Pickett and others withdrew their shattered and broken but heroic columns from the heights at Cemetery Ridge, it was apparent that the fortunes of the Confederacy had reached flood tide, and they must ebb and ebb and ebb until they should leave the Army of Northern Virginia stranded amid the gloom, distress, and sorrow of Appomattox. As the men under the eye of Lee, greatest soldier and man, comrades, the world ever produced, crossed the valley and wrote in their lifeblood on the pitiless rocks of Gettysburg heights the ineffaceable glory of Southern gallantry and, daring, the world's heart quickened with admiration and wonder at the splendid display of human heroism and nobility, and mankind gave those illustrious men unstinted praise for their superb conduct in the awful and terrible scenes of that dreadful sacrifice. The coming and going of years will brighten, not dim, the grandeur and sublimity of that spectacle, and imagination has yet been found glowing enough to describe in fitting terms the courage and intrepidity of those who joined in that fateful but valiant work. All the blood shed was not poured out on the Potomac. In 1863 two mighty armies met in fiercest conflict on a stream near the Georgia and Tennessee line, called Chickamauga, a name antedating history, and called by the red man "Stream of Death." It may be that prophetic ken revealed to the red man, as he drank of its cooling waters or rested in its grateful shade that the white men who were to drive him from his home and possess his land would on its banks and amid its waters meet in fiercest array and stain its current with the flow of blood. On the 19th day of September, 1863, 55,000 Federal troops and 40,000 Confederates were to engage in deadliest encounter. No fiercer fight had ever been witnessed on the American continent. On these two days a dreadful casualty list was to be audited. Reserves were out of the question, and every man was needed. All were to go to the front and face the foe. Some of the men who had achieved distinction on the battlefields of Virginia were to assault side by side with the men who had won renown at Shiloh and luka, Corinth and Stone River, and in friendly and generous rivalry seek glory and victory in this terrible battle. These magnificent veterans soon learned that the Western men were their equals in all that makes soldiers. Their chivalry and superb gallantry lost nothing in comparison with the men who at Antietam, Malvern Hill, Second Manassas, Kernstown, Port Republic, or Seven Pines had written in the book of fame the story of Southern courage. As these men of the East and of the West went across the valleys and over the ridges and swept before them the Federal foe, they found all alike ready to do all that men could or dared do in the oly cause of freedom. The 16,000 dead, wounded, and missing on the Federal side and 11,500 on the Confederate side presented war in its most frightful form, and was a new manifestation of the tremendous earnestness of both sides and an omen of the ceaseless onslaught against the South until she should be crushed by sheer destruction of men and resources. Waiving all questions of Bragg's capacity as a general, he never possessed the implicit confidence of his army. Inwardly the men he commanded mistrusted his ability; but, while without faith in his leadership, their conduct at Perryville, Stone's River, Chickamauga, and many other engagements challenges human admiration, and gives them high rank amongst the world's heroes, for they fought oftentimes without hope, and yet without fear. Of the seventy regiments in the Confederate service holding the highest percentage of mortality in a single battle, the men of the West have to their credit seventeen of these immortal titles at Chickamauga alone. Of the eighteen Confederate brigades suffering the greatest losses in single battles, Chickamauga had four and Gettysburg four; and if the records of Franklin could be written out, the West would be entitled to eleven out of the twenty-one thus reported. On the 16th of September, 1862, one of the bloodiest battles of the war was fought near the Potomac, at Antietam, Md. Lee had 35,000 men, badly clad, illy fed, to face 87,000 well-fed and well-kept men under McClellan. Sixty thousand of these McClellan carried into conflict, while 27,000 more were held in reserve, ready to enter the contest when called. Antietam was as brave a fight as had ever been witnessed. The terrible loss on both sides told with indisputable proof how sanguinary was the struggle. Of the Southern men, 8,000 were left on the field; brigades and regiments were almost annihilated. Lee had seen, with keenest and deepest emotion, the noblest brigades of his great lieutenants, Longstreet, Hill, and Ewell, melt away under the withering fire. Along the ridges and down through the valleys the unequal struggle was long maintained. It was the fate of the South always to be outnumbered, but it was to its glory that it never succumbed to such numbers. There was never a æbattle fought during the war, under equal conditions, where the forces were at all evenly divided, that the Confederates were not victorious. The casualties at Antietam played æhavoc with the best troops Robert E. Lee ever commanded; and now their pertinacity, courage, and intrepidity find their noblest commentary and their worthiest praise in the dead and wounded which cov~red the field over which this murderous conflict was carried on. It was long remembered by both Federals and Confederates as one of the most terrible battles of the war. McClellan was an able general, and in this battle was backed by some of the best subordinates that ever followed a Federal leader; while Lee, with Jackson, Hill, Longstreet, and Stuart, with as valiant soldiers as ever aligned, faced the awful war storm that broke in such violence and vehemence along those Maryland ridges. No braver men, no more furious conflict marked the history of any war, and in this the soldiers of the Army of Northern Virginia showed they were a worthy and fit match for any soldiers that ever made battle: and no soldier, be he from the Army of Northern Virginia, from the Army of Tennessee, or from the Trans-Mississippi Department, does not feel his heart quicken and his cheek glow with pride when he remembers the scenes of that combat. The men of the West recognize the desperate valor and the inexhaustible courage which distinguished this great struggle. They have only to speak in praise and commendation of all that was done by their comrades of the East on that fearful occasion: but away in the West, on the bloody field of Franklin, there was a more than counterpart of the destruction and horrors of Antietam. In the battle of Franklin it was reserved for the Army of Tennessee to make its last great struggle, and in that struggle to suffer practical annihilation, but in its death to leave a monument of noble manhood and patriotic courage which will stand coterminons with time itself. Sherman had gone upon his march to the sea; Hood had comimenced his campaign through Tennessee and Alabama, and had reached Franklin, Tenn., on the 3oth of November, 1864, where he formed his 20,000 men to assault the Federal soldiers under Gen. Schofield. This small remnant of those hosts who so earnestly and so gallantly had defended Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia for three years past alone remained. As the Confederate army on the ridge looked down and across the valley at the other side, some two miles away, where the Federals were intrenched, these 20,000 dismayed and gallant patriots presented one of the most imposing and thrilling scenes that had marked the conduct of the great war. One of the assaulting columns was led by the impetuous and chivalrous Cleburne. No troops ever passed through more tremendous discharges of artillery and small arms than these men from Tennessee, Mississippi, Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, Alabama, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Kentucky on that terrible day. By their valor they found a resting place in part behind the works of their enemies, but it was only the rest of death. Of the Confederates engaged in this conflict, the loss reached the enormous figures of thirty-three per cent. Pickett, in his world-renowned charge, lost twenty-one per cent, while the infantry engaged at Franklin lost thirty-three per cent. Thirteen regimental commanders were killed, thirty-two wounded, and nine captured. Of the four brigadier generals in Brown's Division, Carter, Gist, and Strahl were killed and Gordon captured, and the major general was so severely wounded that his division was commanded by a colonel the next day. Maj. Gen. Cleburne, Gen. Granbury, and Gen. John Adams lay dead; while Gen. Cockrell, Gen. Manigault, Gen. Quarles, and Gen. Scott were wounded. In proportion to the number of men engaged, the battle of Franklin was the bloodiest of modern times, and in proportion to the number of officers who entered this conflict no other battle presents more terrible losses. For daring and desperate courage and mortality the battle of Franklin stands out as one of the most memorable conflicts of any war. Time fails for the details of this awful and wonderful battle. The men of the West answer back to the men of the East that, whatever may have occurred at Antietam, worse occurred at Franklin, and the conduct and the courage of these Southern and South-western men at Franklin entitle them to a full share in the enduring record of that immortality which Confederate soldiers purchased with their lifeblood. The Army of Tennessee had been called upon during its entire existence to endure peculiar and unusual privations, and to meet extraordinary reverses. The topographical conditions, its wide separations from the Confederate capital, its liability to be flanked by forces transported along thousands of miles of navigable streams render its location uncertain, and after all its defeats it was a sad fate in a last noble response to the call of duty to meet practical annihilation. Malvern Hill was a great test of the pluck and courage of the Army of Northern Virginia. It was at the end of the seven daysÆ fighting so prolific of casualties and exacting a degree of patriotism and bravery and suffering rarely witnessed in the annals of war, and when the great commander, at the end of weary marching and a weekÆs fearful mortality and mental and physical suffering, made another demand upon his gallant heroes for one last effort to drive McClellan into the James river, his call met with a ready response; and through the thickets, over the meadows, and up the cannon-crowned hill these noble legions moved with fearless hearts to complete the great work now about accomplished, of saving the Confederate capital from assault. It saddens the heart to read the accounts of that fearful day and its apparently useless sacrifice. No words can aptly tell the story of the splendid heroism of those tired but fearless men as they cheerfully essayed the most hopeless task of forcing the army of McClellan from its last stronghold. Doomed to failure, it again wrote in letters of blood a brilliant chapter in its magnificent history, and illumined its glorious career with another page of brightest hue. Five thousand slain and wounded of the 28,000 who were engaged declare the valor of those who, in this conflict, but renewed the brilliant reputation the Army of Northern Virginia had already won in the great struggle for Southern independence. A few weeks later, on the soil of Kentucky, the men of the West were to fight the battle of Perryville, which, for numbers engaged and length of time consumed in fighting, takes probably second rank amongst the conflicts of the war. On the 8th day of October, 1862, on the Chaplin Hills, which extend from the valley of Salt river, the Federal forces under Gen. Buell, and the Confederates under Gen. Bragg, met in battle. The conflict came sooner than either party had intended, but was none the less fierce and bitter for that. The long march from Tennessee into Kentucky, the avoidance of a decisive battle, the beauty of Kentucky and its abundant resources, made Gen. Bragg's army anxious to remain in a country so full of all that made soldier life comfortable and tolerable. The Confederates, hardened by marching and satisfied by full rations and always confident of victory, where at all equally matched, were eager for the fray and anxious to measure strength with those who were seeking to expel them from Kentucky. In the afternoon 15,000 Confederates assailed 28,000 Federals. The Confederates were the very best troops in the West. Brave and high-spirited, they had now the discipline, experience, and confidence required to make them veterans in every sense of the word, and when the command to assault Sheridan's Corps was promulgated it met with the heartiest respbnse. For a brief while the Confederates drove the Federal left wing before them with resistless force. Men worthy of any steel resisted the advance, and every inch that was gained was purchased at tremendous cost and great sacrifice. The fighting was at close range, and at one time and in one part of the fray only a rail fence divided those who were thus contesting in deadliest combat. Across the valleys and over the hills the struggle was carrled on; and when night came the Confederates had won and held the battlefield, but at terrific cost. Of the 15,000 who at two o'clock had gone forth in panoplied array, 3,400 had felt war's harsh touch, and in this brief space a Federal loss of 4,400 told how terribly earnest was the purpose and unfailing the spirit of the men who opposed the Confederate charges. Those who had fought at Shilòoh and afterwards at Chickamauga declared that in many parts Perryville was the most dreadful battlefield they had ever seen. Its list of gallant dead and glorious slain tells how fierce the conflict and how unfaltering the courage of the contestants. So, comrades, when Malvern Hill, with its magnificent memories of intrepid deeds and knightly daring, is held up, the men of the West answer back that on the bloody field of Perryville they exhibited the same heroic virtues and noble sacrifices, and that the roll of dead and wounded there is assurance that they are entitled to a share in the glorious record which fame has kept of the deeds of the armies oF the Confederacy. The battle of Trevilian's Station, in Virginia, on the 11th and 12th days of June, 1864, was fought exclusively by cavalry, and is generally conceded to be the most sanguinary conflict in that line of the Army of Northern Virginia. The Federal forces numbered over 9,000 and the Confederates 5,000. In command of the Federals was Sheridan, with such lieutenants as Gregg, Merritt, and Custer; while Wade Hampton, who is as unpurchasable in peace and poverty as he was patriotic and brave in war, led th. Confederates with lieutenants such as Butler, Rosser, Young, Fitzhugh Lee, and Lcmax. It was of the highest importance that a raid which had been inaugurated by Sheridan for the purpose of cutting the Confederate lines should be prevented or obstructed, and to this difficult work Hampton and his cavalry were assigned with absolute confidence by the great leader, Robert E. Lee. The conmmander in chief had often trusted and tried these cavalrymen, and they had never been found wanting. There was no danger which could appall them, and there was no force which could disturb their faith in their ability to cope with every foe. Outnumbered, poorly clad, and illy armed, in comparison with the equipment of their enemy, Hampton did not hesitate bravely and courageously to throw himself in advance of the raiding forces, resolved either to check or drive them back. So, near this little railroad station, he measured swords and forces with the Federal cavalry. Neither side seemed to know the exact location or position of the forces of the other, but they soon warmed up to the fiercest work. At the end of the first day the advantage, apparently, was with the Federals; but at the close of the second day, after seven separate, desperate assaults, Sheridan and his men were worsted, their contemplated raid was prevented, and with his flanks imperiled, he was compelled to seek the protection of his infantry to save him from the avenging hand of Hampton and his men. In view of all the circumstances, the result was a victory for the Confederate cavalry. While the losses on either side were not very large, yet, relatively, they were indicative not only of a high order of strategy but of unqualified bravery. The day before the battle of Trevilian's Station, on the 10th of June, 1864, Forrest, with his Western men behind him, had fought not only the greatest cavalry battle of the war, but the greatest cavalry battle of the world. Forrest and his men were the most formidable enemies with which the Federal armies contended. Gen. Sherman said of him, "Forrest is the very devil, and I think he has got some of our troops under cover;" and he declared that Forrest must be killed if it took ten thousand lives and broke the treasury, adding, "There never will be peace in Tennessee until Forrest is dead." He offered $10,000 reward for his death or capture, and a major generalship to him who would destroy this foe. But the question most serious of all to the Federal commanders was who should undertake this task. A great many Federal sdldiers had gone against Forrest, only to find their plans anticipated and the objects for which they had set out defeated. At last the choice fell on Samuel D. Sturgis, brigadier general, who had achieved recent success in his battles in East Tennessee, and was regarded as a real fighter. Three thousand four hundred cavalry, formed into two brigades, commanded by two of the best Federal officers in the West, composed the Federal advance. while 4,800 infantry, divided into three brigades, commanded by Gen. Sturgis, made up what Gen. Washburn said was a force "consisting of some of our best troops." After a march of some seventy-five miles from Memphis, on June 9, Gen. Sturgis concentrated his entire command near Brice's Crossroads, in Mississippi, with 8,ioo men and twenty-two pieces of artillery. Forrest conceived the design of crushing the cavalry before the infantry, which was some eight miles away, could be brought into action. When he opened the fight he had less than 1,800 available men. At no time during the battle was Forrest able to carry into action more than 3,300 troops. With these he defeated an army composed of 3,400 cavalry and 4,800 infantry of unquestionably the best men of the West. His artillery was fourteen miles away from him when the conflict started. From ten o'clock until four, in the face of a fierce sun, these cavalrymen from Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, and Mississippi engaged in desperate hand-to-hand conflict with the soldiers of Indiana, Illinois, Minnesota, Iowa, and New Jersey. Sherman himself was compelled to admit that Forrest whipped Sturgis in a fair fight. He had not only whipped Sturgis, but had routed his forces; he wounded or killed or captured 2,612 men, amounting to about thirty per cent of his entire force; captured two hundred and fifty wagons and ambulances, all but four pieces of Sturgis's artillery, and made the Federal army a fleeing, panic-stricken mob. Sheridan said, "Forrest has only his cavalry. I cannot understand how he could defeat Sturgis with 8,ooo men;" and yet he did. His men fought with a gallantry, a desperation, and a chivalry that may have been equaled, but never surpassed in any battle of the war. Sturgis claimed that Forrest had fought him with fifteen or twenty thousand men, and that he had two divisions of infantry behind the cavalry, and thus had been able to accomplish his defeat and inflict such unusual humiliation. The battle of Brice's Crossroads, thus won by Forrest, is entitled to go down through the ages as one of the most brilliant engagements ever fought. For military genius, for boldness of conception, for intrepidity of action, for reckless courage, and all that inspires men, it can have no superior while men shall live. And while the cavalry of Northern Virginia in a large part won their fame by Trevilian's Station and Hawes's Shop, two of the fiercest battles in which their cavalry participated, no man in the West envies them a single laurel, or would take from them one ray in that luminous glory which gathers round their heads; but thd Western Confederate soldier holds up this conflict at Brice's Crossroads to the Army of Northern Virginia and to the world, and says: "We too bear the Confederate name, and we too have risked dangers and won triumphs that render us not unworthy an equal share in that splendid record which illumines the career of the Confederate armies." With 1,700 of his men, Forrest whipped Grierson's 3,400 cavalry, and when re~nforced by as many more, with one-half his force already worn by fierce and protracted battle, led 3,300 cavalry against 4,800 infantry, backed by the defeated Federal cavalry, and in two hours drove them in frenzied fear and confusion from the scene of conflict. The historian will search in vain amongst military archives for a parallel to such magnificent fighting and such splendid results. The war very soon produced a new type of military procedure. The pent-up army in the field could be fed only by railway transportation. One hundred thousand men camped in any locality quickly destroyed its food supply, and army forages became as destructive as Egypt's locusts. Men and beasts alike demanded constant and enormous commissary stores, and, to secure these, the lines of communication in the rear must be kept well protected. To destroy these provision arteries became a special aim of opposing generals. The Southern forces, as they receded from the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, drew the Federals farther and farther from their base of supplies, and thus rendered a large force always necessary to defend the roads over \vhich food and munitions were carried to the front. Stuart, Ashby, Hampton, Morgan, Forrest, and Wheeler soon taught the Union generals lessons in this great department of military science, and thousands of men were kept along the lines of transportation to guard bridges, railways, and military depots. The Confederates gave them no rest. Operating over a wide scope of territory, they came by night and day to torment or capture these men left to defend the rear. They rode like a pestilence in the darkness, and came like the destruction at noonday. They appeared to spring up as if by magic, and to haunt the waking and sleeping dreams of their opposers. It cannot be justly denied that the Confederate cavalry in the West not only equaled but surpassed all similar operations in the history of war. The raids into Missouri and Kentucky and through Tennessee exhibited a degree of endurance in the men, and a quality of genius in their leaders, which stamped all who engaged in them as soldiers of greatest darmg, wonderful endurance, and incalculable resources. The Confederate cavalry early became masters in this new method of war, and it was months before the Federals fully comprehended the effectiveness of such work, or developed the resources and the talent which enabled them to retaliate in kind. As the man in the West, under Forrest, Morgan, and Wheeler, unfolded the enormous possibilities in this system of fighting, they became its most distinguished exponents, and made marches and fought battles, destroyed railroads, steamboats, military stores, captured garrisons, and terrorized their enemies to a degree that gave them splendid renown and world-wide fame. They quickly learned how to anticipate similar movements on the part of their enemies, and were enabled to mete out prompt and ample punishment to the Federals who undertook like enterprises. Tn the East the only successful capture of those engaged in this work was that of Dahlgren, who had conceived the plan of capturing, sacking, and burning Richmond. With his life he paid forfeit for failure. He himself being killed, his force, numbering less than 500 men, was scattered and a large part captured. Gen. Hampton, by his night attack, drove back Dahlgren's colleague, Kilpatrick, and by his gallant conduct and skillful pursuit saved Richmond from the hands of its foes. He could find his enemies only by the light of their camp fires, but in the darkness and gloom of the night, animated by a noble and unfailing courage, fearlessly he and his brave troopers rode down upon the sleeping foe, and with flashing saber and demon like yell struck terror into the ranks, and drove them in confusion back upon their infantry support. Gen. HamptonÆs movements, brave in execution and brilliant in plan, won for him the gratitude of the Confederate capital, but his marches were brief and the hardships of the campaign limited to a few hours. Gen. Streight, with a splendidly equipped force, was sent, in April, 1863, to cur the railway communications of Gen. Bragg's army, and to destroy the arsenal at Rome, Ga. Hardly had the Federal cavalryman emerged from his supports when Cen. Forrest, prepared to destroy or capture him, was close at his heels. The moment Streight felt the first stroke of Forrest's hand, he realized that a tireless, skilled foe was on his track, and for ninety-six hours, never by day or night, was the Federal column at rest. Like some insatiate monster, Forrest followed the Federal column, and whenever and wherever found there was a vigilant and aggressive attack. In one hundred and sixty-four miles he fought eight battles by day and three by night, and in two of the latter, where artillery was drawn by his men to within one hundred feet of the enemy's line, the only guide or light was the flash of rifles and the blaze of cannon. Streight was himself a man of nerve and resource. Skillfully arranged ambuscades, fierce charges, and stubborn resistance met Forrest, and in a fair proportion of the conflicts the Federals held their own; but they greatly outnumbered the men of the gray. The fierce onslaughts of Forrest, his impetuous attacks, his unyielding tenacity and fiery assaults, combined with his rapid movements, were enough to paralyze the stoutest heart and make the bravest soul question the outcome. Like a tireless bloodhound following his prey, this "wizard of the saddle" pursued the swift-marching Federals, and never for a single instant in those days and nights was there other thought or plan but to destroy the invaders. Streight found friendly guides and helping hands amongst the Union men and women of Northern Alabama; but these could not bide him from the eagle eyes or the smiting arms of those following the trail, or stay the avenging hand that was uplifted in his rear. With horses dropping dead in the roads, with men falling in the unconsciousness of sleep from their steeds, and with their guns sliding from their paralyzed grasps Forrest still pressed the foe. One-half of his command on the third (lay was killed, wounded, or broken down; but still, with only five hundred soldiers, he pursued the Federal raiders, and on May 3, within twenty miles of Rome, the objective point of his expedition, Streight and his 1,500 men laid down their arms and surrendered to the Confederate general, who could then, after his terrible pursuit, muster less than five hundred followers. Every mile of the one hundred and sixty-four was covered with war's wrecks. Dead soldiers, mutilated animals, wounded men and stricken beasts, broken wagons, abandoned trains, and scattered supplies, told the story of the relentless and pitiless assault. Near the end, in forty-eight hours, four battles and ninety miles marching and four hours sleeping. Surely these deeds of the cavalry of the Army of Tennessee are not unworthy of Confederate valor. No war has a more wonderful example of genius, courage, endurance than this pursuit and capture of Streight. If Forrest had done nothing else, this one exploit would have won for him enduring fame. On the 7th of December, 1862, Gen. John H. Morgan was given permission to take four regiments of Kentucky cavalry and two regiments of infantry and attack Hartsville, Tenn. It was required for the infantry to march thirty-five miles through the snow and over sloppy roads, and at all times to be subjected to great cold. In seven miles of Hartsville there were encamped 6,000 Federal troops; in the town itself 2,500. It was necessary to cross the Cumberland river without a bridge, and for tile cavalry in one place to swim part of the way over. The cavalry and infantry walked and rode by turns. Day and night they kept a record-breaking gait. Cold nor storm had no terrors for these Kentucky Confederates. They were engaged in brilliant and hazardous work. They knew its perils, but glory and duty called, and that was enough for them. In twenty-two hours this extraordinary march was accomplished, and at break of day, on the 8th of December, the enemy's camp was assailed. An hour's fierce fighting ended the contest; 2,000 Federals surrendered to the 1,200 Confederates, and 400 of the enemy were killed and wounded. The prisoners, with a large amount of stores, were brought off safely and forced to ford the Cumberland river, and when the Confederate guns were planted on the south shore the Federal batteries were shelling them from the opposite side, supported by several thousand Federal cavalry and infantry, three times as strong as that which Morgan commanded. Gen. Bragg, by appropriate order, complimented the command for this valiant feat, and ordered the name "Hartsville" to be inscribed on the banners of all regiments participating. Gen. Morgan won his commission as a brigadier, and also won for himself and men the credit of one of the most brilliant exploits of the war. History is valuable only as it is true. Opinions concerning acts are not history; acts themselves alone are historic. The true story of the conflicts of the Army of Tennessee has never been written. This occasion does not call for a discussion of the reasons producing this omission. The West does appreciate the glorious and heroic work of the Army of Northern Virginia, but it is also true that the East has not been fully informed, and therefore does not mete out justice to the Confederates who maintained the mighty struggle in the vast West. æfime must rectify and adjust this condition. As the East speaks with pride of the glory won by the Southern hosts at Gettysburg, the West answers back, "And here is Chickamauga." As the East catches the echoes of heroism that rise in such splendid notes from the hills at Antietam, the West answers back with consciousness of duty well done and points to the blood-stained field of Shiloh as its contribution to the renown of Confederate armies. As the East lifts to view the gory form of Malvern Hill, the West responds, "We have Perryville;" and when Second Manassas is named, the mention of which touches the deepest emotions of every man who wore the gray, the West answers back with the requiem of its slain and the heroism of its dead who sleep at Franklin. When the East so justly sings the praises of Stuart and Hampton and their valiant hosts, the West says: "We gave Forrest and Morgan and their knightly riders." And from the regions beyond the "Father of Waters" comes the refrain of the fearless deeds of our brothers at Wilson's Creek, Elkhorn, Mansfield, Pleasant Hill, and Sabine Pass, and the world listens in rapturous wonder and admiration, as from all sections of our Southland comes the same story of illustrious courage and splendid patriotism and unselfish consecration to the cause of liberty. In ages to come there will be no page of human history with brighter or fairer record than was written by the people of the Confederate States in the four years of their struggle for freedom. The courage, patience, and gallantry of its men, the devotion, constancy and sublime sacrifices of its women, contributed to the world's history priceless treasure. As we call from the roll of the world's record the immortal names of our martyrs---Jackson, Stuart, the Garnetts, A. P. Hill, Pegram, Ashby, and Armistead, from Virginia; Strahl, Zollicofer, Adams, Hatton, Carter, Rains, and Smith, from Tennessee; Cleburne, from Arkansas; Walker, Cobb, Semmes, Deshler, and Doles, from Georgia; Rhodes, Garrott, Tracey, Saunders, Kelly, Gracey, from Alabama; Little, Slack, and Green, from Missouri; Bee, Dunovant, Gist, Jenkins, and Gregg, from South Carolina; Pender, Gordon, Ramseur, Branch, and Pettigrew, from North Carolina; McCullough, Randall, Scurry, Granbury, and Gregg, from Texas; Polk, Morton, Stark, and Gladden, from Louisiana; Barksdale, Benton, Griffith, and Posey, from Mississippi; McIntosh, from Florida; Winder, from Maryland; Albert Sidney Johnston, Hanson. Morgan, Helm, and Tilghman, from Kentucky---and say, "These and two hundred thousand others are our offering on the battelfield for freedom; tell us, 0 Time, thou keeper of all human history, tell us if in the corridors where are kept the records of ages there has been nobler sacrifice or richer offering on liberty's altar?" Time answers back: "Amongst those who have answered the call of duty and stood for all mankind among all nations, kingdoms, and people, I find none who brought more glorious contribution to freedom, or who made greater sacrifice for truth, than these men you have named, who went down to death at their country's call, 'Nor braver bled for brighter land, Nor brighter land had cause so grand.'"
Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., September, 1901. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I cherish with especial pride; and had I to write his epitaph, I would put upon the marble slab: "Here sleeps a Christian gentleman and a Confederate soldier." ISSUES OF THE WAR W. W. Farabaugh Address by Hon. W. W. Farabaugh, of Paris, Tenn., to the Stonewall Jackson Bivouac: I thank you for the opportunity to speak upon this occasion of a Confederate reunion. In that wonderful production of "Lochiel's Warning," Thomas Campbell wrote these words:"'Tis the sunset of life that gives me mystical lore." And after twenty years he finished the verse when he added: "Coming events cast their shadows before." The great conflict of 1861, that shook a continent and made a nation to tremble as the aspen leaf, cast its lengthening shadow almost a century before---back to the very hall in which our Federal Constitution was framed. There the conflicting ideas clashed which continued to grow and be intensified until hostile cannons boomed and gleaming sabers flashed and fraternal blood ran like water. The conflict was over the reserved rights of the States and as to what rights and powers were ceded to the general government upon a State becoming a member of the Federal compact. There was one man in particular in a convention in Virginia, called to ratify tile constitution, Patrick Henry, who saw that shadow almost as distinctly as did Stonewall Jackson see the substance when he said at the first Manassas: "Sirs, we will give them the bayonet." Mr. Henry wanted it placed in the constitution of his country in black and white, so that there could be no controversy about it, that all the rights, powers, and prerogatives not expressly cede to the general government were reserved by the respective States. His argument and contention were met with the statements that of course the powers and prerogatives not expressly granted were reserved. Then it was that the old orator and statesman, the very father of our independence, whose eloquence had electrified the colonies and made liberty certain and the constitution a possibility, stood there upon the floor of the hail with the shadow of inevitable conflict falling full upon his mind and heart, tears coursing down his wrinkled cheeks, his prophetic vision sweeping the span of a coming century, when he said: "I see it, I feel it. I see the beings of a higher order anxious concerning our decision. When I see beyond the horizon that bounds human eyes and look at the final consummation of all human things, and see those intelligent beings, which inhabit ethereal mansions, reviewing the political decisions and revolutions, which in the progress of time will happen in America, and the consequent happiness or misery of mankind, I am led to believe that much of the account on one side or the other will happen on what we now decide. Our own happiness alone is not affected by the event; all nations are interested in it." While Mr. Henry was thus speaking the heavens suddenly blackened with a gathering tempest, which burst with such terrible fury that he could proceed no further, and it was the last speech that he made in the convention. What a prophecy were those words! How significant was the bursting storm, typical of the storm of the great civil war, which gathered for almost a century and burst in its terrible fury on the 12th of April, 1861! Here this statesman and orator seemed to have something of the spirit of the ancient prophets, enabling him to see far into the distant future and to predict with certainty a conflict fiercer than any of modern times, a conflict that drenched the country in its best blood. And thus the question was left unsettled by the constitution. It was left unsettled by the fierce debates in Congress, by the Mason and Dixon line, by the nullification act of South Carolina, by Mr. Clay's omnibus bill. It was left unsettled by the Dred Scott decision by the Supreme Court, and it was left unsettled until at Appomattox Courthouse Gen. Robert E. Lee, that grand old leader, grander in defeat than most men in victory, said to Gen. Grant: "My brave army is destroyed, the remnant is exhausted, I surrender." Thus it became the unwritten law of our constitution that the rights and prerogatives not expressly reserved by the States are granted upon the State becoming a member of the Federal compact, yet at what a fearful cost in human blood and in human woe did this become an unwritten part of our constitution In contemplating this cost in human blood and treasure, my mind goes back to the bloody fields of Bull Run, Shiloh, Chickamauga, Antietam, Cold Harbor, Brice's Cross Roads, Kennesaw Mountain, Franklin, and Bentonville, where men fell like leaves in autumn, where the pride and chivalry of the nation rushed willingly into the very jaws of death, yielding up their lives for what each thought to be right; and I thought of how many happy homes were made desolate, how many mothers' hearts were broken, and how many fathers trembled the wind-shaken reed when the reports came from these bloody fields, and then that this and all of this death and human desolation might and doubtless would have been averted had thirteen words contended for by Mr. Henry been added to the Federal Constitution, only one word for each of the thirteen original colonies---viz.: "Rights not expressly ceded to the general government are reserved by the States." But the war is long since over. Every man that fought in that fearful conflict is now getting somewhat gray. His hair is to the silver turning, the evening shades are creeping upon him, and you sometimes hear the questions asked: "Why do you have Confederate Camps, build and unveil Confederate monuments, and have published the CONFEDERATE VETERAN, and hold Confederate reunions, which but cherish and keep alive the bitterness, prejudices, and feeling engendered by the war?" Ah, a man that asks this question mistakes the objects and purposes of these things; he mistakes the character of the Confederate soldier and his children. These things commemorate the glories that are the common heritage, not only of our Southland, but of all mankind, wherever liberty is loved, where virtue and patriotism are revered. Without cherishing one ignoble prejudice, without one spark of sectional hate, these organizations are kept up, monuments built, that splendid periodical, the CONEEDERATE VETERAN, is maintained, and Confederate reunions are held. There is a social feature in these things, when you meet and talk over or when you write of the stirring scenes of other days, when privations and common dangers made you kindred indeed. You talk and write of the camp fire incident of fun, the weary march, the especial feat of daring of some brave soul, of where this man fell and that one lost a limb; but above and beyond this social feature they have a deeper and more significant meaning. They do and will see to it that the history of that great struggle which is to be taught to the youth of our country shall be fair and impartial. They will see to it that the history of that conflict, while giving due meed of praise to the Federal armies, will not and must not class the Confederate soldier as a conspirator or traitor, or the cause that he fought for as treasonable, unholy, and wrong. Some histories, written in some parts of the country, have intimated that this was so, but even a casual glance at certain well-known historical facts shows this to be both malicious and untrue. At the close of the war, after a long confinement in prison, Mr. President Davis, of the Confederacy, was put under bond to appear and answer the government on a charge of treason. He did appear according to the tenor and effect of that bond, but the prosecution was abandoned and the case was never tried. Was it because they feared hostile armies? It could not have been, for every Confederate flag had been furled. Was it because they feared political revolution? No; the Confederate soldiers had been handcuffed with ignominious shackles of disfranchisement. Was it magnanimity? They did not claim that. I am constrained to the opinion that the thoughtful student of history will readily conclude that it was because the prosecution knew full well the charge could not be legally, truthfully, and constitutionally sustained ; and that an investigation and trial, bringing out all the facts under the law and constitution, would have placed the prosecution in an unfavorable light before the gaze of the civilized world. Then again, in less than a third of a century from the termination of the war, one of the conspicuous actors on the Confederate side, Mr. Herbert, of Alabama, was placed by the President of these United States in charge of all her navies upon all her seas, a strange place for a conspirator guilty of treason. Incident after incident and many facts might be mentioned to show that the men on the other side---the men who fought you---did not believe you were traitors, did not believe you were guilty of treason to your government; and does any man among you feel so, or believe the cause you fought for as unholy and wrong? Is any man among you sorry or ashamed that he was a Confederate soldier? Have you ever seen or heard tell of a Confederate soldier that was ashamed of the fact that he had worn æthe gray? No, you have not and never will. This teaches a lesson; this points a fact---the fact that you were sustained at the time by a consciousness of right, and that consciousness has been your consolation in all the years that have followed: and no soldier in the world ever went to do battle for his country with more patriotic heart, wth more unselfish devotion to his country, with loftier or purer aims and purposes, with less promise or prospect of reward save and except the reward of duty done, than did the Confederate soldier from 1861 to 1865. There was no promise or prospect of conquest or empire; there was no promise or prospect that at the end of the struggle he would revel in the abundance of his enemy's country or be indemnified for losses sustained. None of these questions passed through the mind of the men who put on the gray in answer to the bugle call to arms in 1861. And no soldier ever set about a more hopeless task with such alacrity and cheerfulness. His government had but recently sprung into existence without a ship, a soldier, or a gun; without financial credit at home or commercial standing abroad. Yet with a full knowledge of all these disadvantages and difficulties the Confederate soldier left his wife or mother, brushing the tear of love from his manly cheek, and stepped from his home of comfort into the firing line of death, with the sunlight of a high-born courage falling full in his face, humming the words of that now world-renowned song: "In Dixie's land I'll take my stand, to live and die in Dixie." And thus, not counting the cost nor the consequences, hut putting his trust in his God, he marched and fought like a hero by day, and watched and slept out in the storms by night. Can you find his parallel in all the history of all the ages? Every six men in the Confederacy fighting twenty-eight men of the enemy, much better armed and equipped, gaining practically every battle until completely exhausted and worn out, not conquered, for that word is not in the lexicon of chivalric Southern manhood. He returned to his desolate home, his former slaves free, his plantations laid waste, with the very sky hungry above him, and the earth, as it were, parched beneath his feet. He did not give up in despair, hut took up his new task, making the most orderly and law-abiding of citizens---for four years of battle, strife, and bloodshed could not corrupt his incorruptible heart, could not make a ruffian out of the Southern gentleman---taking his rightful place at the head of the civic procession, encouraging every enterprise for the uphuilding of his blackened and ruined country, and how well he has succeeded is a matter of common knowledge known to all. "Thus from the crosses of war came heroes to wear the civic crowns." Confederate soldier, I take off my hat and stand with uncovered head in your presence, for I recognize your worth and acknowledge your merit; but, having been reared in the old Southland, I do not wonder at your being heroes and patriots, for the old South was a land of story and song, a land of soul and of sentiment, a land of right and religion, a land of mirth and magnolias, of precious memories and purest patriotism, a land of homes and hospitality, of fairest sweethearts and best and tenderest mothers, a land whose music like her history has thrilled the world. These characteristics of sentiment, soul, and song belong to the South as to no other part of the republic. "0 carry me back to my old Virginia home" strikes a responsive chord in the human heart: but do you think you would ever sing, Carry me back to my home in Saginaw, Mich., or Chicago, Ill.? I am sure you would never sing, "Let me live and die in Rock Island or Camp Douglas." This, to von, is not especially euphonious or sentimental, and has not the same melody to you as "Way down on the Suwanee River, far, far away." But, Confederate soldiers, while you played well your part and acted nobly the role of the hero, the uncrowned heroines of that great struggle were the pure and noble women of the old South, whose devotion and self-sacrifice have had no equals in the annals of all the ages. Now I have detained you too long already, but permit me to say that the imperishable glory that you achieved and the undying fame that you won, I in some small way by inheritance share, for I am the son of a Confederate soldier, and this, next after my father's good name and Christian character, I cherish with especial pride; and had I to write his epitaph, I would put upon the marble slab: "Here sleeps a Christian gentleman and a Confederate soldier." Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., October, 1901. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ADDRESS BY JUDGE CUNNINGHAM Maj. R. H. Cunningham Maj. R. H. Cunningham, of Ed Rankin Camp, Henderson, who had been selected to make the speech of the session in favor of the establishment of a Confederate Home, was introduced by Commander Poyntz, and spoke in part as follows: I have been honored by a request from Gen. Poyntz to speak in behalf of those of our indigent comrades for whom a liberal provision has been made by one of the well-known and generous citizens of this city, with the ultimate object of securing from the Legislature a yearly appropriation for the maintenance of a home for them, our brethren in as noble a cause as any foi- which men ever laid down their lives. To this end, I am asked to make appeal to the manhood and womanhood of Kentucky. That manhood and womanhood I know too well to appeal to on any but the loftiest grounds of true chivalry and patriotism. Who, then, are those for whose comfort we are concerned? Who are these old men, with tottering steps, nearing the last tattoo? Who are these grizzled want-pinched sentinels, awaiting the last "relief" before "taps" sound for eternity? Let the question be answered in a few words of history. From the War of the Roses we trace to this Western world two thoughts in many respects alike, in many irreconcilable. At, Jamestown, with hands unused to toil, but strengthened by hearts full of a passion for freedom the cavaliers plant the standard of the king, and by it the standard of the cross. There, through storm and tempest, against treacherous and truculent savages, by their stainless swords and dauntless courage they maintained them, and taught their sons and daughters that the noblest death to die is that for right and country . By liberty alone can they be served. And when in the lapse of years their rights were invaded, and of their country, their home, tribute was demanded and its rights denied; when the king, their guardian, became the tyrant and oppressor, that passion for freedom refused the tribute, maintained the right, and defied the throne. Time fails me so much as to remind you of the lofty principles bred into and taught the children of these men, but chief among them was that liberty was worthy of achievement at all cost and by eternal vigilance. On bleak Plymouth Rock had landed the embodiment of the other thought---kindred, yet so unlike---where rugged hands and sturdy hearts hewed out a home wherein God might be served according to their own consciences. So far alike. Puritans also prized freedom for themselves, as did the Cavaliers. But alas! not content to serve God as they chose, they wished to force others to accept their ideas. How, then, could their liberty, so prized, be preserved for themselves and transmitted as the best heritage to their children? While the Puritan, it seems, could never comprehend the Cavalier's idea of liberty, the two formed a union, the object of which was to secure the rights and liberties of all. We have become in great measure like the Chinese, worshipers of our ancestors, and through the halo of more than a century they seem to us beyond the tongue of criticism. But many as were their virtues, and marvelous as were their sagacity and statesmanship, they left unsettled a question even then threatening, and which grew apace until there was no arbiter to decide it but the sword. The Jeffersonian idea of a Confederacy of sovereign States, wherein all powers not expressly delegated to the Federal government were reserved to the States was inherited by us of the South, while the Hamiltonian idea of a centralized power, with the States mere particles of a nation, was bequeathed to the people of the North. As all know, these variant creeds were most often brought into conflict as applied to the Negro; but he was merely the fuse that constantly ignited the magazine of difference, fast ripening into discord and developing into hate between the sections. At last there came what to the South seemed organized war fare on its rights and institutions, and then secession of the several States, and then the deluge of war. The Union had its well-organized and equipped army and navy as a nucleus, with every branch of government in perfect order and system, with unlimited material resources, and the wide world to draw from. We were denounced to all that world as rebels and traitors, seeking to destroy the government which boasted that it was an asylum for the oppressed of all nations. Call followed call, and from Maine to California the tramp of soldiers responded. Why did they come? Can we not after all these years accord to them, with few exceptions, the honesty of purpose which actuated us? It was to preserve the Union, which they believed we intended to wreck or destroy. It was for this that the American manhood of the North took up arms, but in a short time "every kindred, every tongue on this terrestrial ball" had its representatives in the ranks of the Union, many with no thought nor comprehension of the principles at stake. To beat back this horde, to defend our homes and firesides, and to preserve the rights for which our fathers had devoted their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, the manhood of the South sprang to arms. Here at the beginning, and prolonged from Sumter to Appomattox, was the disparity that would have appalled all hearts and quenched all ardor not born of principle. With no army nor navy, with no credit in the world's markets, with no resource except the voluntary personal sacrifice of the men and women of the South, God's very best creation in all the cycles of time, misunderstood by all the world, and without sympathy from any foreign powers, but fully realizing the fearful odds against them, these men hastened to offer themselves, their lives, and their fortunes. What had they to gain and what to lose? Did any dream of conquest or of empire enter their minds? Did any hope of personal fortune or acquisition prompt them? Did an ambition to win the world's applause, or to gratify hate, impel them? Did the money value of every slave in all the Southland weigh as the dust in the balance against the life of one young stripling who kissed his mother a fond farewell, then waved adieu and walked beyond the stars? No, in God's great name, a thousand times no. With naught to gain, with all to lose, they bared their breast to the storm for four long years; they exchanged ease and luxury for toil and starvation. Ragged, unshod, and weak from hunger, they marched and watched and fought with no repining and no weakening of purpose, but with dauntless souls they went into the jaws of death, their only inspiration the sense of duty and devotion to right. What but this nerved the hearts of Pickett's division to immolation on the heights of Gettysburg, where my old schoolmate, Col. Harry Burgwin, fell with six hundred and sixty men of his one regiment, the Twenty-Sixth North Carolina? What was it, ye men of Kentucky's glorious Orphan Brigade, that made heroes of you all at Chickamauga, Missionary Ridge, Murfreesboro, Nashville, and Franklin? Why did ye bear the hardships and privations of all those tedious marches and the peril of all those conflicts as you resisted the tidal wave of Sherman's march to the sea? And you who followed the plumes of Morgan and Duke and rode with the wizard of the saddle, Bedford Forrest, in those countless glories you achieved What was it that gave you power to set at naught the laws of nature and without sleep or food to gallop over counties and States like young Lochinvar? And you who are on the eastern slope of the mountains, first kissed by the god of day, followed Stonewall Jackson in the meteoric glory of the Valley campaign, or charged with Stuart and Hampton, or with hearts of oak under Longstreet, Hill, and Gordon, pressed back the mongrel hordes with your bayonets at Cold Harbor, Malvern Hill the Wilderness, and Petersburg, what God did ye then serve? And you, ruddy striplings of the Cadet Corps, the "seed corn" battalion, who, led by Kentucky's prince among men, the magnificent Breckinridge, at New Market, fulfilled the grim old veteran's prediction that when ordered to hell you would go straight ahead till the last one of you was strangled by the fumes of sulphur---what was it then that made you, fresh from the drill ground of the Virginia Military Institute, bear yourselves at the first smell of powder like Napoleon's Old Guard at Waterloo? But why recall the matchless deeds of valor and the nobler sufferings in silence which ye bore? For one and all the answer is the same. It was your stern sense of duty and your devotion to right. Painters have pictured, and poets have sung the fame and the glory of our leaders; of Lee, that demigod, so pure in life and soul, so self-poised and calm, so lion-hearted, "a blended image of Caesar and Paul, a model of glory and grace;" of Sidney Johnston and Joseph Johnston, of Beauregard and Breckinridge, of Jackson and Stuart, of Longstreet and Hill, of Hampton and Forrest, of Morgan and Wheeler, of Kirby Smith and Price, of Polk and Hardee, of Buckner and Helm and Lewis, and all that galaxy of glory wherein Kentucky shines resplendent. So splendid their story, so many their names that memory wearies in recalling them. But splendid and glorious as all most truly are, they owe it to him who sleeps perchance in a nameless grave, whose very name is remembered only by the few surviving comrades and the widow, who through all these weary years has waited to join him in a better land, the private soldier, the man behind the gun. It is a blot on national legislation, but the pension system of the government has been prostituted by politicians for their own self-seeking, aided and prompted by the swarm of bummers and frauds, until thousands of those who were soldiers of the Union, and should in their age and incapacity be provided for are ashamed to ask it, lest they be catalogued with the frauds. To be pensioned by the government for distinguished or faithful service should be an honor more prized than the coin which is a token, but for the reason just named it is rare to find a pensioner who with no blush upon his face will look you in the eye and declare himself a pensioner. Under the pension system of the country, while we feel the burden, we do not realize its weight. But there are to-day, more than a lifetime since the last gun was fired, more men living on pensions than were on the muster rolls of the Confederacy from first to last. This takes no account of widows and children, but it means that to pay these pensions every voter in the land pays upon an average about twelve dollars every year. Should this be raised by direct taxation, how long do you think the system would continue without reform? All the States of the South, or nearly all, have already made provision for their old soldiers, either by a pension or the building and maintenance of homes, which are supported by annual appropriations from the State rexenues. In them. our comrades, left otherwise desolate, find a refuge and rest. Why should not Kentucky do likewise? Is she not rich enough? Glance at her fertile fields of grass and grain, hemp and tobacco, her cattle upon a thousand hills, her mills and factories, and her inexhaustible mines, and let them answer. Whence come the State's revenue? Our soldiers and their children pay a very large proportion of it. What will be the cost? I venture that the cost of a ten-day session of her Legislature would provide most liberally. The only question then remains: Does the suggestion meet the sympathy and moral sense of Kentuckians? For one, with all confidence, I believe it does. No man, I think, can be found who will stand in her legislative halls and declare his belief that it does not. I believe I know enough of sentiment among Kentucky Federal soldiers to say they would approve it and gladly bear any part of the small burden which may fall to them. They are no longer enemies, and in many instances have made generous gifts to the Confederate homes. The first $1,500 for the one in Virginia was given by one who is known as "Corporal Tanner," who being told that a Yankee soldier was not safe anywhere in Dixie replied that he would carry the stars and stripes throughout its borders and meet no violence, insult, or affront, and added that half of him, both legs, lay buried at Malvern Hill, and it would be a hard case if a man could not visit his own graveyard. There will be no obstacle in any real Union soldier, and I here pledge myself to do what I ask of each of you: to use your utmost influence with your Senators and Representatives to secure such provision by the State, and for such time as circumstances require. Shall we, men of Kentucky, wait till the hands that once wielded swords in the defense of our homes and rights, are folded forever on manly breasts in death's cold clasp, and then from year to year go deck their graves with garlands and strew them with the flowers of spring. That is a tribute of love to courage, and I hope will be perpetuated while time shall last. But let us show that love while they live by doing all that in us lies to mellow the rays of their setting sun, and give them a home where ease and comfort will be theirs. If we do our part in this, the noble women, the Daughters of the Confederacy, will see that they do not lack for ministering angels. It will not be for long, for our heads are all fast showing the frosts of winter, and ere many years have passed we shall all be marshaled on the plains of paradise for the last and grand review by the God of hosts, the God of Lee and Sidney Johnston, and as the roll is called, and our names follow theirs, may all of us answer "Here," and receive the sentence of "Well done!" And Time shall yet decide, In Truth's clear, far-off light. That the men who wore the gray and died With Lee were in the right. And men, by time made wise, Shall in the future see No name bath risen or ever shall rise Like the name of Robert Lee. From his men, with scarce a word, Silence: when great hearts part; But we know he sheathed his stainless sword In the wound of a broken heart. He fled from Fame, but Fame Sought him in his retreat, Demanding for the world one name Made deathless by defeat. He needs not the cannon's boom, Nor the drum, nor the funeral kell; The world's great heart is this hero's tomb, And Fame is the sentinel.
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