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Fitzhugh (search for this): chapter 11
s diplomatic message to Napoleon that a French army cannot force an Austrian Emperor on the Mexican Republic. Crook, so familiar to our army, is not here, preferring an engagement elsewhere and otherwise; for love, too, bears honors to-day. Soldierly Merritt is at the head, well deserving of his place. Leading the divisions are Custer, Davies, and Devin, names known before and since in the lists of heroes. Following also, others whom we know: Gibbs, Wells, Pennington, Stagg of Michigan, Fitzhugh of New York, Brayton Ives of Connecticut. Dashing Kilpatrick is far away. Grand Gregg we do not see; nor level-headed Smith, nor indomitable Prin. Cilley, with his 1st Maine Cavalry; these now sent to complete the peace around Petersburg. Now rides the provost marshal general, gallant George Macy of the 20th Massachusetts, his right arm symbolized by an empty sleeve pinned across his breast. Here the 2d Pennsylvania Cavalry, and stout remnants of the 1st Massachusetts, reminding
Pleasanton (search for this): chapter 11
winter of 1862 and 1863, had redeemed from servitude as scattered orderlies and provost guards at headquarters and loose-governed cities, and transformed into a species of soldier not known since the flood-times of Persia, the Huns of Attila, or hordes of Tamerlane; cavalry whose manoeuvres have no place in the tactics of modern Europe; rough-rider, raiders, scouts-in-force, cutting communications, sweeping around armies and leagues of entrenched lines in an enemy's country,--Stoneman and Pleasanton and Wilson, Kilpatrick, Custer, and alas! Dahlgren. And when the solid front of pitched battle opposes, then terrible in edge and onset, as in the straight-drawn squadron charges at Brandy Station, the clattering sweep at Aldie, the heroic lone-hand in the lead at Gettysburg, holding back the battle till our splendid First Corps could surge forward to meet its crested wave, and John Buford and John Reynolds could shake hands! Through the dark campaign of 1864, everywhere giving accoun
Caldwell (search for this): chapter 11
nk Walker, capable of higher things, and Joe Smith, chief commissary, with a medal of honor for gallant service beyond duty,--a striking group, not less to the eye in color and composition, than to the mind in character. Above them is borne the corps badge, the cloverleaf,--peaceful token, but a triple mace to foes,dear to thousands among the insignia of our army, as the shamrock to Ireland or rose and thistle of the British Empire. Here comes the First Division, that of Richardson and Caldwell and Barlow and Miles; but at its head to-day we see not Miles, for he is just before ordered to Fortress Monroe to guard Jeff Davis and his friends,--President Andy Johnson declaring he wanted there a man who would not let his prisoners escape. So Ramsay of New Jersey is in command on this proud day. Its brigades are led by McDougal, Fraser, Nugent, and Mulholland-whereby you see the shamrock and thistle are not wanting even in our field. These are the men we saw at the sunken road at An
Lincoln (search for this): chapter 11
ong days and nights together through the delirium of mortal anguish,--steadfast, calm, and sweet as eternal love. We pass now quickly from each other's sight; but I know full well that where beyond these passing scenes you shall be, there will be heaven! But now we come opposite the reviewing stand. Here are the President, his Cabinet, ambassadors and ministers of foreign lands, generals, governors, judges, high officers of the nation and the states. But we miss the deep, sad eyes of Lincoln coming to review us after each sore trial. Something is lacking to our hearts now,--even in this supreme hour. Already the simple, plain, almost threadbare forms of the men of my division have come into view, and the President and his whole great company on the stand have risen and passed to the very front edge with gracious and generous recognition. I wheel my horse, lightly touching rein and spur to bring his proud head and battlescarred neck to share the deep salutation of the sword.
McDougal (search for this): chapter 11
mong the insignia of our army, as the shamrock to Ireland or rose and thistle of the British Empire. Here comes the First Division, that of Richardson and Caldwell and Barlow and Miles; but at its head to-day we see not Miles, for he is just before ordered to Fortress Monroe to guard Jeff Davis and his friends,--President Andy Johnson declaring he wanted there a man who would not let his prisoners escape. So Ramsay of New Jersey is in command on this proud day. Its brigades are led by McDougal, Fraser, Nugent, and Mulholland-whereby you see the shamrock and thistle are not wanting even in our field. These are the men we saw at the sunken road at Antietam, the stone wall at Fredericksburg, the wheat-field at Gettysburg, the bloody angle at Spottsylvania, the swirling fight at Farmville, and in the pressing pursuit along the Appomattox before which Lee was forced to face to the rear and answer Grant's first summons to surrender. We know them well. So it seems do these thousands
December, 1862 AD (search for this): chapter 11
Here come the engineers with their great unwieldy pontoons grotesque to the eye, grand to the thought! Had we not smiled at them — the huge dromedary caravans, struggling along the road, or sliding, leviathan-like, down the slopes of half-sheltered river-coves, launching out to their perilous, importunate calling? Did not the waters of all Virginia's rivers know of their bulk and burden? Had we not seen them — not smiling-time and time again, spanning the dark Rappahannock?-as in December, 1862, Sumner and Howard launched them from the exposed bank opposite Fredericksburg into the face of Lee's army — vainly opposing, --bridging the river of death, into the jaws of hell! Had we not a little later, a mile below, crowded over the hurriedly laid, still swaying, boat-bridge, raked and swept by the batteries on Marye's Heights, and rushed up the bloody, slippery slopes to the dead-line stone wall? And on the second midnight after, shall we forget that forlorn recrossing, in murk <
Spear (search for this): chapter 11
and Roman! And now it is the Fifth Corps. The signal sounds. Who is that mounting there? Do you see him? It is Charles Griffin. How lightly he springs to the saddle. How easy he sits, straight and slender, chin advanced, eyes to the front, pictured against the sky! Well we know him. Clear of vision, sharp of speech, true of heart, clean to the center. Around him group the staff, pure-souled Fred Locke at their head. My bugle calls. Our horses know it. The staff gather,--Colonel Spear, Major Fowler, Tom Chamberlain, my brave young brother, of the first. The flag of the First Division, the red cross on its battle-stained white, sways aloft; the hand of its young bearer trembling with his trust, more than on storm-swept fields. Now they move-all-ten thousand hearts knitted together. Up the avenue, into that vast arena, bright with color-flowers, garlands, ribbons, flags, and flecked with deeper tones. Windows, balconies, house-tops, high and far, thronged with rich-
Wells (search for this): chapter 11
an, getting ready to illustrate Seward's diplomatic message to Napoleon that a French army cannot force an Austrian Emperor on the Mexican Republic. Crook, so familiar to our army, is not here, preferring an engagement elsewhere and otherwise; for love, too, bears honors to-day. Soldierly Merritt is at the head, well deserving of his place. Leading the divisions are Custer, Davies, and Devin, names known before and since in the lists of heroes. Following also, others whom we know: Gibbs, Wells, Pennington, Stagg of Michigan, Fitzhugh of New York, Brayton Ives of Connecticut. Dashing Kilpatrick is far away. Grand Gregg we do not see; nor level-headed Smith, nor indomitable Prin. Cilley, with his 1st Maine Cavalry; these now sent to complete the peace around Petersburg. Now rides the provost marshal general, gallant George Macy of the 20th Massachusetts, his right arm symbolized by an empty sleeve pinned across his breast. Here the 2d Pennsylvania Cavalry, and stout remn
Cowan (search for this): chapter 11
Shenandoah and the weary windings of the Appomattox. Of the heart of the country, these men: Vermont, New York, New Jersey, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Maryland. These twelve regiments were to close that grand procession of muskets, tokens of a nation's mighty deliverance, now to be laid down; tokens also of consummate loyalty and the high manhood that seeks not self but the larger, deeper well-being which explains and justifies personal experience. Now follows the artillery brigade, under Major Cowan; eight batteries representing all the varieties of that field service, and the contributions of Rhode Island, Vermont, New York, and New Jersey, and the regulars. What story of splendors and of terrors do these grim guns enshrine! Now, last of all, led by Major van Brocklin, the little phalanx of the 50th New York Engineers, which had been left to help the Sixth Corps, pass once more the turbid rivers of Virginia. Here again, the train of uncouth pontoons, telling of the mastery ove
Joe Smith (search for this): chapter 11
ls, Pennington, Stagg of Michigan, Fitzhugh of New York, Brayton Ives of Connecticut. Dashing Kilpatrick is far away. Grand Gregg we do not see; nor level-headed Smith, nor indomitable Prin. Cilley, with his 1st Maine Cavalry; these now sent to complete the peace around Petersburg. Now rides the provost marshal general, galmodest man. He rides a snow-white horse, followed by his well-proved staff, like-mounted, chief of them the brilliant Frank Walker, capable of higher things, and Joe Smith, chief commissary, with a medal of honor for gallant service beyond duty,--a striking group, not less to the eye in color and composition, than to the mind in chnow of square fighting, square dealing, and loyalty to the flag of the union of freedom and law. These are survivors of the men in early days with Franklin and Smith and Slocum and Newton. Later, and as we know them best, the men of Sedgwick; but alas, Sedgwick leads no more, except in spirit! Unheeding self he fell smitten b
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