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alry force of 1800 men and four pieces of horse-artillery, under command of Brig.-Gen. Hampton and Cols. W. H. F. Lee and Jones. This force rendezvoused at Darkesville at 12 o'clock, and marched thence to the vicinity of Hedgesville, where it campearge number of horses of citizens were seized and brought along. The wires were cut and the railroad obstructed, and Colonel Jones's command was sent up the railroad towards Harrisburg to destroy a trestlework a few miles off. He, however, reportedest praise. A few individual cases only were exceptions in this particular. Brigadier-General Hampton and Colonels Lee, Jones, Wickham, and Butler, and the officers and men under their commands, are entitled to my lasting gratitude for their cooln after a ride of four miles towards their supposed quarter of approach. Late in the evening I received a report from Colonel Jones, now commanding Robertson's brigade, that the hostile forces were retreating again towards Harper's Ferry, and that h
Heros von Borcke, Memoirs of the Confederate War for Independence, Chapter 23: (search)
General Robertson had joined us with his splendid brigade from North Carolina, as also had General Jones, with his command from the valley of Virginia; and nearly all the men of Hampton's division river in strong force at several points, and pressed forward so rapidly that they had come upon Jones's brigade before the greater part of the men had had time to saddle their horses. It was fortunies in position upon an eminence which I had just passed, and was reaching a patch of wood where Jones's men were engaged in a sharp skirmish with the Federals, when in overwhelming numbers they mades pursuers. This splendid command could just be seen emerging from the woods on our left, where Jones's brigade was drawn up to support it, when Stuart, thinking the time had come for an aggressive ide, and in a few minutes was, without further accident, at the point of destination. Lee's and Jones's men received the order to charge with loud cheers-the former moving forward to the attack in s
rsity of opinion-had its birth and perfection in the navy. It was a service of science and perseverance; frequently of exposure to every peril. It required culture, nerve and administrative ability; and it was managed in the main with success. Still the results were hardly commensurate with the outlay involved; for though James river, some of the western streams, and Charleston harbor were literally sown with torpedoes, yet only in rare and isolated instances-such as the De Kalb and Commodore Jones --did the results equal the expectation. Thousands of tons of valuable powder, much good metal and more valuable time at the work-shops were expended on torpedoes; and, on the whole, it is very doubtful if the amount destroyed was not more than balanced by the amount expended. Thus, with varying fortunes-but with unceasing endeavor and unfailing courage — the navy worked on. That hue and cry against itwhich a brilliant success would partially paralyze-soon gathered force in its int
ndefended Petersburg, as the case might seem best to warrant. The land forces disembarked at Bermuda Hundred and, after fortifying heavily on the line of Howlett's House, made serious demonstrations direct on Drewry's Bluff. Butler supposed that, the defenses being entirely uncovered by the drain of men for Lee's army, he could carry them with ease. In this hope he relied much upon the powerful aid of the fleet; but Admiral Lee, ascending in a double-ender, lost his pioneer-boat, the Commodore Jones and very nearly his own flag-ship, by a torpedo, opposite Signal Station. This stopped the advance of the fleet, as the river was supposed to be sown with torpedoes. Nowise daunted, General Butler-like the true knight and chivalrous leader his entire career proves him to be-drew his line closer round the coveted stronghold. But on the 16th of May, Beauregard sallied out and struck the hero of New Orleans so suddenly and so sharply that he drove him, with heavy loss and utter demo
Francis B. Carpenter, Six Months at the White House, Xii. (search)
-He has an idea of painting a picture of us all together. This, of course, started conversation on the topic of art. Presently a reference was made by some one to Jones, the sculptor, whose bust of Mr. Lincoln was in the crimson parlor below. The President, I think, was writing at this instant. Looking up, he said, Jones tells aJones tells a good story of General Scott, of whom he once made a bust. Having a fine subject to start with, he succeeded in giving great satisfaction. At the closing sitting he attempted to define and elaborate the lines and markings of the face. The General sat patiently; but when he came to see the result, his countenance indicated decided displeasure. Why, Jones, what have you been doing? he asked. Oh, rejoined the sculptor, not much, I confess, General; I have been working out the details of the face a little more, this morning. Details? exclaimed the General, warmly; the details! Why, my man, you are spoiling the bust! At three o'clock the President
Francis B. Carpenter, Six Months at the White House, Lxviii. (search)
ral architects failed, and at last Brown said he had a friend named Jones, who had built several bridges and undoubtedly could build that one. So Mr. Jones was called in. Can you build this bridge? inquired the committee. Yes, replied Jones, or any other. I could build a bridgeJones, or any other. I could build a bridge to the infernal regions, if necessary! The committee were shocked, and Brown felt called upon to defend his friend. I know Jones so well, Jones so well, said he, and he is so honest a man and so good an architect, that if he states soberly and positively that he can build a bridge to — to--, wr. Lincoln, I feel about that a good deal as a man whom I will call Jones, whom I once knew, did about his wife. He was one of your meek men. A day or two afterward a friend met him in the street, and said: Jones, I have always stood up for you, as you know; but I am not going ty and take a switching from his wife, deserves to be horsewhipped. Jones looked up with a wink, patting his friend on the back. Now don't,
Francis B. Carpenter, Six Months at the White House, Index. (search)
233. Hospitals, 107. Hubbard, Hon. Mr., (Ct.,) 253. I. Independent, New York, 88, 230, 287. Ingenious Nonsense, 158. Inman, (Artist,) 69. J. Jackson, Stonewall, 234, 268. Johnson, Hon., Andrew, 102. Johnson, Oliver, 77. Jones, (Sculptor,) 34. K. Kelly, Hon., Wm., 92, 165, 294 King, Starr, 228. Knox, William, (Poet,) 60. L. Lincoln, Hon. G. B., of Brooklyn, 110, 113, 234. Lincoln, Mrs. 165, 293, 301. Lincoln, President, account of Emancipation Proc; final criticism of the painting, 353; farewell words, 354. Lincoln, Robert, 45, 300. Lincoln, Tad, 44, 91, 92, 293, 300. Lincoln, Willie, 44, 116. Lovejoy, Hon. Owen, 14, 17, 18, 20, 47, 57, 157. Lincoln's Stories. General Scott and Jones the sculptor, 34; great men, 37; Daniel Webster, 37, 131; Thad. Stevens, 38; a little more light and a little less noise, 49; tax on state banks, 53; Andy Johnson and Colonel Moody, 102; chin fly, 129; Secretary Cameron's retirement, 138; Wade an
never brought to mind, May Jackson be our president, And Adams left behind. A mournful and distressing ballad, John Anderson's Lamentation, as rendered by Abe, was written out for me by Mrs. Crawford, but the first lines, Oh, sinners, poor sinners, take warning by me, The fruits of transgression behold now and see, will suffice to indicate how mournful the rest of it was. The centre of wit and wisdom in the village of Gentryville was at the store. This place was in charge of one Jones, who soon after embarking in business seemed to take quite a fancy to Abe. He took the only newspaper sent from Louisviilleand at his place of business gathered Abe, Dennis Hanks, Baldwin, the blacksmith, and other kindred spirits to discuss such topics as are the exclusive property of the store lounger. Abe's original and ridiculous stories not only amused the crowd, but the display of his unique faculties made him many friends. One who saw him at this time says: Lincoln would fre
pleased at their cheerfulness. They look sunburnt and soldierly. I returned to Winchester to see my dear S. S. R. C. was sitting with her, looking well and happy. Camp-life agrees with him. These poor boys expect to be ordered to Romney; but wherever they go, they hope, by God's help, to repel the invaders. November 15th, 1861. This was fast-day — a national fast proclaimed by our President. I trust that every church in the Confederacy was well filled with heart-worshippers. The Rev. Mr. Jones preached for us at Millwood. This whole household was there-indeed, the whole neighbourhood turned out. We have been anxiously awaiting the result of an anticipated fight between Price and Fremont; but Fremont was superseded while almost in the act of making the attack. We await further developments. Winchester, December 9, 1861. Mr.---- and myself have been here for three weeks, with Dr. S. and our dear niece. Jackson's Brigade still near, which gives these warm-hearted
uneasy. The conductor came by; I questioned him, thinking he might be in another car. He replied, No, madam, there is no such gentleman on the train. At this moment the Methodist minister, who had been in the stage, introduced himself as the Rev. Mr. Jones; he knew Mr.--; he offered me his purse and his protection. I can never forget his kindness. He thought Mr.-- had not attempted to get on the train; there was so much baggage from the stage that there was some difficulty in arranging it ;Lord, O my soul! June 28th, 1862. The casualties among our friends, so far, not very numerous. My dear R. T. C. is here, slightly wounded; he hopes to return to his command in a few days. Colonel Allen, of the Second Virginia, killed. Major Jones, of the same regiment, desperately wounded. Wood McDonald killed. But what touches me most nearly is the death of my young friend, Clarence Warwick, of this city. Dearly have I loved that warm-hearted, high-minded, brave boy, since his earl
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