Colonel William Preston Johnston, The Life of General Albert Sidney Johnston : His Service in the Armies of the United States, the Republic of Texas, and the Confederate States.

[695] was originally intended that he should be buried in our midst, and as it was only by the fall of New Orleans that his remains were stopped in that city, on their way to Texas, it is now but a just tribute to his memory that the objects of these resolutions be carried into effect.

Mr. President, when the conflict became inevitable, and when all hope of accommodation had fled, and when the earthquake-throes of civil war began to shake the foundation of the republic, General Johnston, at that time afar off upon the shores of the Pacific, hearing the din of the approaching struggle, immediately began his journey across the howling wilderness and trackless desert that separated him from Texas, resolving to offer his sword to a cause which already had the sanction of his affections. I will not weary the Senate, sir, with a recital of his journey to the seat of government, and his final assumption of the command of the Army of the Tennessee. Nor will I attempt to follow, step by step, the disastrous events over which he had no control, and which resulted in the final retreat of the Confederate army from Bowling Green. Nor shall I advert to the detailed events which marked the progress of that army, as it swung slowly over the hills of Kentucky, and through the forests of Tennessee, amid the inclemency of wintry weather, to the memorable encampment at Corinth. But, sir, during those weeks of gloom, a burden of obloquy was heaped upon the gallant leader of the retreating army, which must have stung his proud spirit nigh unto death. No words of reproval were thought too vile with which to-bring him into odium. The newspapers and the orators everywhere throughout the South denounced him as a failure, and a military empiric — a sworded and belted quack, whose movements were bringing our cause to ruin. Miserable newspaper scribblers, who never saw a “squadron set in the field,” dared to brand the greatest soldier in the West with incompetency, if not with cowardice. Without comprehending or dreaming of the greatness of his plans, which only his death prevented from culminating in the magnificence of a crowning victory, ignorant critics imputed the retreat of our army, and all the disasters which preceded it, to his want of courage and capacity — an unjust verdict, which will excite posterity with surprise, and which an indignant sense of returning justice has already reversed.

No marvel, sir, when our army halted amid the historic hills of Corinth, that the proud spirit of our hero chafed within him, and that he eagerly turned the heads of his columns toward the memorable field of Shiloh. I will not repeat the details of that glorious battle: how that, hour after hour, amid the shouts of advancing thousands, the eagle of the Confederacy soared to victory; how that banner after banner fluttered through smoke and storm as the foe receded; how that, while the hurrahs of victory were still ringing in his ears, Johnston died a soldier's death. Yes, sir, in the saddle, with the harness of a warrior on, the chieftain met the inevitable messenger of Fate. The pitiless musket-ball that pierced him spilled the noblest blood of the South. When he fell, all was from that moment lost I Victory no longer perched upon our flag. Less competent hands guided the strife, and a genius of lesser might ruled in his stead. What was assured success when the sun was wheeling to his zenith, became a fruitless and barren struggle ere the evening shades descended; and the shadows of night but covered the disposition for the morrow's retrograde movement. Then, sirs, was for the first time felt the priceless and inestimable loss we had sustained. Then, for the first time, men began to see, when the fruits of victory were so near being seized, the vast, gigantic, comprehensive strategy, which might have