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with his presence and his words, the Donaldsonville Artillery owes much of the honor which this action added to its name.
After all, history and official reports to the contrary notwithstanding, we did not dislodge that enemy, who only hugged the ground more closely and stole away after dark.
If we did not succeed, we had the satisfaction of having tried.
[The following tribute to General Stuart appeared in the London Index soon after his death.
It is republished now in the County News, by request, from a copy of the original paper.]
Since the death of
Stonewall Jackson, the
Confederacy has sustained no heavier loss than has befallen her in the untimely close of the brilliant career of
Major-General James E. B. Stuart.
No two men could have been more opposite types of the soldier—Jackson, the earnest, devoted patriot, taking up arms as a last resort, clinging, even on the eve of the most terrible battles, to the hope of peace, struggling between the dictates of duty towards the land of his birth and the impulses of a nature averse to strife, but terrible in the field, and leading on his troops with that fiery zeal which made the soldiers of the
Commonwealth invincible;
Stuart, the gallant cavalier, a warrior by instinct, of that fine metal which made Prince Rupert's horsemen, who in their pride of loyalty made even
Cromwell's Ironsides recoil from their furious onslaught.
Both born leaders of men, and inspiring their followers with the same confidence and devotion, they trod the same path, fought the same fight, and have shared the same fate—struck down in the front of the battle at the moment of victory, with the cheers of triumph ringing in their ears a fitting requiem.
This terrible war demands cruel sacrifices.
The noblest and the best freely offer up their lives to it. Let us hope that as
Stonewall Jackson's memory is illustrated forever by the glorious victory of
Chancellorsville, so the death of this young Virginian hero will hereafter record another, and even a more decisive triumph, and that the final despair of the
North will date from the fierce struggle now disfiguring the valleys and the woodlands of
Spotsylvania.
