The scars of the great Civil War we know are healed. We have given ourdearest and best, and as one great and united people, we are marching onto a grander future than even the most hopeful could have foretold.
Peace had come to our land, but the man whose splendid generalship hadwon it for us, was seized with a painful affection of the throat, whichsoon developed into cancer. The heart of the nation went out to him insympathy, but human aid could avail nothing.
He was an agonized but patient and uncomplaining sufferer, and duringall his illness he worked laboriously at his "Memoirs," which he hadundertaken to write for publication, and finished them but four daysbefore he died. He had passed through a long year of pain and anguish,ended only by his death, which took place at Mt. McGregor, nearSaratoga, New York, July 23, 1885.
His funeral was probably the most imposing ever accorded to a{258}citizen of our great Republic. Although twice called to thePresidential chair as a tribute of the love of a grateful people, yethis highest title when death came was that he was a simple Americancitizen.
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{259}
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His admirers at once set to work to raise a fund to build a tomb worthyof the hero; it was completed, and General Grant's remains were removedto it, and the structure given up to the city {260}of New York, onthe 27th of April, 1897, with magnificent ceremonies. The celebrationoccurred on the recurrence of his birthday, he having been born at PointPleasant, Ohio, on April 27, 1822. His tomb stands on a height of landat the north end of Riverside Park, New York City, where a fine view ofthe beautiful Hudson is had, and is a just tribute to a truly great man.
Our dead are not forgotten. The custom of strewing flowers on the gravesof the dead soldiers, in the cemeteries of the North and South,has taken a deep hold upon the hearts of the people, and yearly thebeautiful ceremony is faithfully observed, Thousands wend their way tothe resting-places of the dead and cover the green mounds with thosesweet emblems of remembrance and love.
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It {261}is a blessed thought that, though they have gone hence, andtheir battle cry sweeps no more like a whirlwind in the faces of theenemy, yet the sacred anniversary brings back the memory of their heroicdeeds, and as the bands of music peal out in solemn strains, and thetongues of orators are heard, recounting the story that will never growold, the heart is stirred by a tender love for them, and goes out tothe dead of the army who wore the gray as well. They were dear to theirfriends, among their most precious possessions, who mourn them deeplyyet. The boys in gray laid down their lives with a complete renunciationof self, and their graves should be honored and remembered.
Memorial Day has become what its name signifies--a mingling of thefriends of the Blue and the Gray, and a cordial exchange of mutualcourtesies. The graves of both are decked in unison in many of theresting-places of the nation's soldier dead.
The thought of decorating the graves of their dead comrades originatedwith the Grand Army men, and they inaugurated the custom on May 30,1868.
Let this hallowed duty be observed in every graveyard of our land. Andwhen the blossoms of beauty are borne to their resting-places, scatterthem with lavish hands over the men who wore the Blue and the Gray,alike. They are slumbering peacefully under the green sward, and thesounds of conflict will disturb them no more. As we stand at theirgraves, let gentle thoughts of love and sympathy drive forever away allharsh or bitter memories. Let us think of them as having finished thebattle--it is over, and they have gone to their reward.
The sun shines kindly down upon them; may its beams brighten and blessevery living soul on whom they fall.
When the veil fell upon the drama of the Civil War, it was believed thatthe throes of battle would never again convulse' our land. Peace waswelcomed and hopes were indulged that it would be perpetual. Brothersmet brothers again in the walks of social and business life, the scarsof discord were healed and the rude sounds of dissension were banished.{262}
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TWO VOICES.
A {263}SOUTHERN VOLUNTEER.
``Yes, sir, I fought with Stonewall,
```And faced the fight with Lee;
``But if this here Union goes to war,
```Make one more gun for me!
``I didn't shrink from Sherman
```As he galloped to the sea;
``But if this here Union goes to war,
```Make one more gun for me!
``I was with 'em at Manassas--
```The bully boys in gray;
``I heard the thunderers roarin'
```Round Stonewall Jackson's way,
``And many a time this sword of mine
```Has blazed the route for Lee;
``But if this old nation goes to war.
```Make one more sword for me!
``I'm not so full o' fightin',
```Nor half so full o' fun,
``As I was back in the sixties
```When I shouldered my old gun;
``It may be that my hair is white--
```Sich things, you know, must be--
``But if this old Union's in for war,
```Make one more gun for me!
``I hain't forgot my raisin'--
```Nor how, in sixty-two
``Or thereabouts, with battle shouts
```I charged the boys in blue;
``And I say I fought with Stonewall.,
```And blazed the way for Lee;
``But if this old Union's in for war,
```Make one more gun for me!
HIS {264}NORTHERN BROTHER.
``Just make it two, old fellow!
```I want to stand once more
``Beneath the old flag with you,
```As in the days of yore
``Our fathers stood together,
```And fought on land and sea
``The battles fierce that made us
```A nation of the free.
``I whipped you down at Vicksburg,
```You licked me at Bull Run;
``On many a field we struggled,
```When neither victory won.
``You wore the gray of Southland,
```I wore the Northern blue;
``Like men we did our duty
```When screaming bullets flew.
``Four years we fought like devils,
```But when the war was done,
``Your hand met mine in friendly clasp
```Our two hearts beat as one.
``And now when danger threatens,
```No North, no South, we know;
``Once more we stand together
```To fight the common foe.
``My head, like yours, is frosty--
```Old age is creeping on;
``Life's sun is lower sinking,
```My day will soon be gone;
``But if our country's honor
```Needs once again her son,
``I'm ready, too, old fellow--
```So get another gun.
A REMINISCENCE.
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HE {265}night had fallen slowly and softly. The stars had stolen out,now dancing gaily in one corner of the heavens, and now a cluster ofthem marched forth in stately fashion. The air was quiet; even theleaves had quit whispering, the breeze had died away, and they noddedsleepily on their stems. Pretty Alice Whiting sat on the porch of theone-story, old style plantation house, and lazily wished the tea-table,whose disorder showed it had been attacked by hungry mouths, wouldvanish bodily. But it didn't, and she ruefully contemplated the prospectof clearing it up herself, with much chagrin, for such lovely nights,she declared, were not made to work in.
She had come to Memphis from the North with her husband and brother, whohad "settled" in that hospitable city. Frank and Will had gone to thelodge, and she had been dreaming of her far Northern home. As she satthere her head rested against the vines which covered the porch, turningit into a perfect bower of beauty. Her dark brown hair waved and curledaround a broad, full forehead; her fea
tures were far from regular, butthe piquant nose and smiling mouth redeemed them, and gave a saucy charmwhich was more pleasing than set beauty. And as the moon rose in thesky, until her pale beams lit up the darkened porch, flooding everycorner, she made as pretty a picture as one would wish to look upon.Something of this thought evidently passed through the mind of the manwho had stolen noiselessly through the garden until he stood by herside, for he looked earnestly upon her as if loth to disturb her,and then longingly at the table, which had abundance, even after theappetites of the household had been appeased.
With a start she sprang to her feet. Her heart beat loud and {266}rapidwith fear, as she looked at the stranger. Visions of burglars,guerrillas and all the clan, flitted through her brain, and held herdumb, unable to utter a sound, from pure terror.
Certainly the man before her was not one to reassure her, for he waswild-eyed and dirty, and his ragged clothes had fallen away from histhin frame.
"Don't be afraid, ma'am," he said, in a voice intended to be gentle andassuring; "all I ask is a bite to eat. I'd never hurt a woman."
She drew a quick breath of relief.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Hungry? Look at me, ma'am. Do you see any signs of the gourmand aboutme?" pointing to his pinched face.
"I'll give you something to eat--for Eddie's dear sake," she added, in afaint whisper.
Bringing clean dishes, she poured out a cup of coffee, and bade him sitdown and help himself.
"Can I have a wash fust?" he asked.
"Yes, and welcome." Bringing him a basin of clear cold water and atowel, she had the pleasure of seeing some of the tawny hue disappear,and he seated himself and began to eat most heartily.
It was just after the war, and the city was full of homeless men, whoroamed its streets, unable to find work, and actually living on charity.Some of them had no home to go to, and others could not raise the meansto take them there.
"Pears like we wus whipped bad," he said, between the mouthfuls.
She nodded an affirmative.
"I 'lowed General Forrest would help me to get back to Georgy. There'swhar I belong."
"Did you ask him?" The General was a resident of Memphis at that time.
"I went to see him about it, and he couldn't do nothing--said he had nomoney," which was a fact, no doubt.
"I {267}tell you, them cussed Yanks fit well. They had good pluck, afterall."
"I think they proved that," she said faintly, her terror returning,for she saw he thought her a Southerner as well as himself, and she hadmisty visions of being strangled, the silly girl. "Oh," she thought,"will Frank never come?"
The man ate as if he had not seen food for many a day, and all the timehis discourse was about the Yanks and what he'd like to do to' them.At last his hunger seemed satisfied, and rising, with his ragged, fadedsoldier cap in hand, he began to thank her profusely for her kindness.Something in her face arrested his attention, for he suddenly paused,and coming a step nearer to her, he said:
"I didn't like to beg, but I was nigh dead. If those Northern cusseshadn't beaten us into poverty, I'd have been home with my old mothernow. I don't 'low they'd ever give a crust to a dog to keep life in hisbody!"
Her face flushed, and a sudden courage came to her. She answered,defiantly--
"Indeed, you do not do us justice. You do not know us."
"Know you? Ain't you one of our people, ma'am?"
"I am one of those people you despise--a Yankee," she answered, lookinghim steadily in the face.
"A Yankee? And you have fed _me_. Fed a man who has been abusing youright along, and you must hate him?"
"I do not hate you. Oh, no, I could not hate a single human being. Youare one of God's children, and so am I." The scowl of doubt and distrustfled from the man's troubled face. He towered above her, tall, gaunt,but powerfully built.
"But it seems strange you'd be so willing to help me out, when you knewthat I was agin your kind. Why did you do it?"
"You were hungry, and asked me for food. I have a better reason thanthat, even. I am but a girl, but I had a little brother younger than I,the idol of our home, who went to war, as a bugler. He was so frail andboyish that they wouldn't enlist him as an able-bodied soldier, but hewould go. He was wounded {268}and taken prisoner in the Battle of theWilderness, carried to Andersonville, where he died. I made a solemnpromise to my own heart that never, while life lasted, would a humanbeing ask me for food in vain, even though I took the food from my ownlips to give him. I will keep my word. You are welcome to all I havegiven you. May you never want." The man looked down at her, and in achoked voice said: "Ma'am, may I take you by the hand?"
She held out both hands toward him, and as he grasped them andreverently bent over them, a tear dropped on their whiteness, and hewalked quickly away into the silence and darkness of the night.
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THE LITTLE BLACK COW.
AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR.
9278]
T {269}was the autumn of 1864, and the supplies for the boys in bluewere being hurried forward. The Government purchased cattle in the Northand West, and sent them to its soldiers, for they must be fed or theycould not fight. The Southern army had not fared so well--they weredestitute of nearly everything. Foraging had been kept up the troopson both sides, until the land was almost devastated. Families weresuffering from hunger, for most of the able-bodied men were at thefront, and only old men and pretended farmers remained to till the land.These latter belonged to the roving bands of guerrillas who pretended towork the farm lands. Want stared women and children in the face. Littleones who could not understand the dreadful fever of hate and blood thatwas abroad in the land looked into the faces of their elders, and askedfor food.
Thomas Grant was a young fellow of nineteen who had seen some service inthe Missouri militia, and was full of life and youth. His early days hadbeen spent on a farm in Northern New York, where his reckless courageand fine horsemanship had made him a leader among his boy comrades.When he entered the Government service it was for the purpose of drivingcattle to the army for its use.
The position was one of great danger. Their steps were watched byguerrillas by night and by day, and many a stray shot {270}picked offa cattle driver or one of the soldiers who accompanied them as guards.Hurrying them over hill and dale, now in dense woods, and now overcountry roads, sometimes struggling and sticking in the clayey beds, itwas a common event to have many of the tired animals, worn and footsore,fall down in their tracks, to be abandoned. These animals were a richharvest for the guerrillas who hovered in their wake, like birds ofprey, for they would capture the weary beasts, and convert them intofood. It was the pride of a cattle driver when he could bring thebulk of his drove to the destined point, and deliver them to thequartermaster.
It was sultry, and the dust lay in heaps along the highway. The newshad come that a large body of Confederate cavalry were about to attackStevenson, Alabama, which was held by the Union forces, and the cattlewere hurried out of the town as soon as the first beams of the morningsun lighted up the earth. The boom of cannon and the rattle of musketrylent wings to their going.
"The rebs are after us, and we'll lose every steer we have," the foremansaid to Tom Grant, who rode beside him.
The morning breeze brought the scent of the wild flowers on its wings,and as the soldiers guarding the train marched with easy, swinging step,it seemed more like a lively walk taken for pleasure than a dangerousundertaking. The hills ahead were clothed in a beautiful green,sprinkled thickly with the white clover so dear to the bovine tongue.
"We'll get away all right, Tom," said the foreman, Jim Morrison. "Butwe must make quicker time than this. Our usual twelve miles a day ain'tgoing to bring us out of the reach of the Johnnies, and before we getfar they'd overtake us, and then good-bye to the steers, and to our ownliberty as well."
"There's trouble ahead already," Tom replied. He was active and lithe,and ever on the alert, showing much skill in managing cattle.
"Blast that long-horned steer," Cleary, the assistant foreman, cried."They're on the stampede. Boys, go after them, lively."
A {271}score of drivers set spurs to their horses, while the frightenedanimals, with tremendous leaps, thundered across an open field, and madestraightway for a gully just beyond the field. The scene was one ofwild confusion. The shouts and oaths of the drivers, the trampling andcrowding of the maddened creatures, as they tore over the grassy field,and the sounds of the firing behind them, in the beleaguered town, wereindescribable.
John Morrison and Tom Grant spurred their horses toward the flyingcattle, intending to head them off, but Tom's horse was fleet, andcoming up to the leading steer, he threw the whole force of his horse'sbreast against the steer's neck, and vigorously plying the whip to itsnose, he checked its headlong career, and drew him into a circle. Atonce the remainder of the drove followed their leader, and quiet wasrestored. The unreasoning animals, governed only by instinct, were soonstarted on their original course.
The lieutenant in charge of the drove complimented young Tom in thewarmest terms, stating that he had accomplished more than any ten men.
The journey was finished without any further incident. They made suchgood time that they escaped capture at the hands of the Confederates,and on arriving at Chattanooga, Lieutenant Reed was promoted to thecharge of a drove of 3,000. This honor he knew was due principally tothe ability and quickness of manouver which Tom Grant had exhibited, andto show his gratitude he had the boy appointed to the superintendence ofthe drove, a position which many an older man coveted.
The Blue and the Gray; Or, The Civil War as Seen by a Boy Page 16
