Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 23.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

Hampton and Butler. [from the State Columbia, S. C., Sept. 10, 1895.]

Some pages of heretofore Unwritten history.

That brilliancy called history is pitiless; it has this strange and divine thing about it, that all light as it is, and because it is light, it often throws shadows over spots before luminous, it makes of the same man two different phantoms, and one attacks the other, and the darkness of the despot struggles with the lustre of the captain.“

In the language of Wendell Phillips: ‘If I stood here to-night to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take it from your hearts—you who think no marble white enough on which to carve the name of the father of his country.’ I am about to tell you of one of the many battles which was planned, fought and won by our illustrious lieutenant-general, Wade Hampton, on the 10th day of March, 1865—the charge on Kilpatrick's camp, twelve miles this side of Fayetteville, N. C. Hampton's plan of action was a masterpiece.

No historian will ever say of him what has been said of Wellington, that ‘Waterloo is a battle of the first class, won by a captain of the second.’ Hampton's brave men who dared to follow where he dared to lead saw no Waterloo, because that expressive word of defect was not written in their vocabulary.

Napoleon said that ‘detail facts belong rather to the biography [26] of regiments than to the history of the army.’ I will, therefore, try to deal in facts as I remember them.

In January, 1865, General Lee ordered Lieutenant-General Hampton, with General M. C. Butler and two of his brigades (Young's and Dunovant's) from the A. N. V. to meet Sherman at Columbia, where General Wheeler was to report to General Hampton upon his arrival. Each general had a squad of scouts, who were brave and courageous men. I will give their names as I remember them: General Hampton's scouts were G. D. Shadbourn, sergeant commanding; Bob Shiver, W. W. Miller, D. F. Tanner, Phil Hutchinson, Jim Doolin, Jim Guffin, Lem Guffin, Walker Russell, David Smith, Jack Shoolbred,——Simons, Jim Sloan, Shake Harris, and R. B. Merchant.

General Butler's scouts were Dick Hogan, sergeant commanding; Hugh K. Scott, Bernard King, Joel Adams, Jim Niblet,——Black, ——Ashley——, Callins——, Hodges, Bill Burness, Bill Turner, Pem Guffin, and a brave young lad from Virginia named Colvin, and also the fearless Captain James Butler. Colvin was killed just before Johnston surrendered.

General Wheeler's scouts were commanded by Captain Shannon. The gallant General Butler commanded the rear guard. On the morning of the 17th of February, 1865, when the rear guard was leaving Columbia, and while the remnant of the Second squadron of the Fifth South Carolina Cavalry was reluctantly leaving our beautiful city, Sergeant Hill Winn was killed in the college campus, when withdrawing the picket line, by Black Jack Logan's advance guard. This gallant young soldier belonged to Company B, which, with Company F (the cadet company), formed the Second squadron——than whom no braver squadron ever crossed the James.

The hero of Sherman's army was Lieutenant John A. McQueen, of the Fifteenth Illinois Cavalry, who saved several houses in Columbia, at the peril of his life, and in the language of Dr. A. Toomer Porter: ‘He was one of the finest men I have ever known — a brave soldier, chivalrous enemy, a devoted friend and a devout and honest Christian gentleman.’ So much pleased was Dr. Porter with him that he wrote this letter:

Bummers were men who were ordered by Sherman to go from house to house along the march, and rob our women and children of every morsel of bread and meat they possessed to feed his 70,000 hungry men, who, with few exceptions, acted like savages more than soldiers. Some of our women were forced to rake up grains of corn from where these men had fed their horses in order to prepare it for food as best they could. Every horse, mule, cow, turkey, chicken, and all that could be eaten, had been stolen. The day after leaving Columbia, General Butler, with a few men, charged some ‘bummers,’ and they ran in every direction from the house they were then pillaging, and in a chase of about 200 yards through the woods, I caught one of them, who begged hard for his life, and offered me a beautiful riding whip not to kill him, which he evidently had stolen from some lady, and, as he had thrown his gun away, all that I could do was to accept the whip and him too. I turned him over to General Butler, and left him answering questions. The next day some one presented General Butler with a large map of the State, which was put in my charge until we could get a smaller one, which was procured I think the next day. About sundown of the first day I carried it. General Butler called for the map, which, to my disgust, I had left five miles away, in a house where some ladies had given me a piece of bread. The order had to be obeyed, and when I mounted my faithful horse, something, I know not what, seemed to tell him that quick work was all that could save us both. The smoke from the houses all around showed that we were gradually being surrounded, and I expected every moment [28] to be bushwhacked, or, perhaps, meet a column in the road, and be shot to death; but I swore I would have that map or die, and when I reached the house, with my horse white with sweat, a lady met me at the gate with the map, and said: ‘Fly, for they are here.’ It is useless to state that the map was soon in General Butler's hands. This same faithful horse, like Tam O'Shanter's Meg, ‘good as ever lifted leg,’ was killed at Campbell's Mill, on the Juniper creek, in Chesterfied county, when his rider, and a private soldier belonging to the Phillips' Legion, named McDaniel, being possessed with more pluck than judgment, charged fourteen Yankees in the Campbell house.

Well do I remember how poor Mrs. Campbell looked when she ran out of the house and said: ‘My gracious alives, men, if you don't stop that shooten somebody is gwine to get hurt.’ I soon discovered that she was right; my horse was shot and so was I, but the poor horse had strength enough to take me to the swamp, where McDaniel and I held a council of war and decided to separate at once. Poor fellow, I hope he is doing well; I have not heard of him since. I wandered about in the woods, dodging blue coats until dark, when I met an old citizen who gave me his hat and said: ‘Here is a good negro who will conduct you through the woods to Society Hill to Dr. Pressley's house, and he will let you have a horse.’ Upon our safe arrival, I gave this faithful negro all I possessed, which was a five dollar Confederate bill. Our scouts took the bummers in at Campbell's Mill, and ate the dinner which they made old Mrs. Campbell prepare for them. At Dr. Pressley's hospitable home I fortunately met Colonel Zimmerman Davis, and the next morning I was mounted on Dr. Pressley's horse, and with Colonel Davis crossed the Great Pee Dee, and went in the direction of Bennettsville, and after travelling a few miles I returned Dr. Pressley's horse, having procured a wild, young horse, which could run like a deer. We spent the night at Bennettsville, and early next morning met our men at Cheraw, where a hot skirmish was going on. A battery was placed in position to shell the town, and while Generals Hampton and Butler were consulting in the street a shell killed the horse of Sergeant Wells, of the Charleston Light Dragoons. This gallant company had been so badly cut to pieces in Virginia that only fifteen or twenty men were left, and, while at Columbia, General Butler detailed these brave boys as his escort, and the first shell fired into Cheraw killed the horse just mentioned. Just before reaching Lynch's river we stopped at a house where a [29] deserter lived. He told us that he belonged to Nelson's Battalion, Hagood's Brigade, and took us for Kilpatrick's men, opened his corn-crib, fed our horses, and assured us that he was with us, and would do what he could to crush the rebellion. I never can forget how this unfortunate man looked next morning when he found, to his utter disgust, that he had been entertaining ‘gray coats.’

I take the following from a letter written by Colonel Zimmerman Davis: ‘Among many similar brilliant exploits of our MajorGene-ral, M. C. Butler, was a morning attack upon one of Sherman's wagon trains on the west side of Little Lynch's creek, in Kershaw county, on February 22d or 23d. The night before was cold, dark and rainy, when he boldly marched his command into the very midst of Sherman's army, and about 11 o'clock went into camp in sight of and between camp fires of two army corps. His men were in the saddle again before dawn, drawn up in column of fours, in close proximity to an encampment of wagon trains, anxiously awaiting the opportune moment to charge. Just as the wagons were being hitched up and had driven into the road for the purpose of beginning the day's march, their escort in front, the shrill blasts of our bugles sounding the charge, awoke echoes in the forests around, and away we went shouting, shooting and hewing with sabre. It was but the work of a few seconds, and in an incredible short space of time about 200 prisoners and nineteen splendid army wagons, each drawn by six fine mules, clad in such harness as our Confederate teamsters had not seen for many a day, we put across the stream formed by Little and Big Lynch's creek, where they were safe from rescue.’

This wagon train was coming after the very corn that our horses had just eaten, and in this charge that took them in, one of General Hampton's bravest scouts, Jim Doolin, was severely wounded in the thigh, and the best we could do for him was to put him in a little hut near the river, in Darlington county. Jim Doolin was as brave as Julius Caesar, and was detailed to scout for General Hampton from a Virginia regiment in Rosser's brigade. I have never seen him since telling him good-bye in the hut, but I hear he is living up in the valley now at his old home. Colonel Davis continues: ‘After the charge, while waiting in the road in columns of fours, prepared to resist a counter charge from the enemy's main body, should one be attempted while the captured train was crossing the creek, I observed a horse running through the woods without a rider, and dispatched Private McElroy of my old company, the South Carolina Rangers, to capture and bring him in. He did so, and the [30] horse was equipped with a perfectly new English bridle and martingales of soft, yellow leather; I lost no time in transferring them to my own horse. I swapped saddle pouches, too, as the captured one was also new. One side of the pouch was empty, the other side contained nothing but a book, which, upon examination proved to be the diary of Lieutenant John A. McQueen. The diary was frequently referred to and discussed by General Butler and Colonel Aiken and myself during the next day, as we had opportunity on the march. These words were written in the diary: “It was heartrending to see the wanton destruction of property and the insults visited upon the defenseless women and children of Columbia by our Union soldiers. I did all I could to prevent it, but was powerless.” ’

Butler's old brigade was commanded by Colonel Hugh K. Aiken, and on the morning of the 24th of February, 1865, General Butler, being then at Kellytown, directed Colonel Aiken to take a regiment and proceed down the east bank of the creek and ascertain if any portion of Sherman's army had crossed into Darlington county. Colonel Aiken selected the Fifth South Carolina Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Davis. This gallant old regiment had been cut to pieces, so that only about 300 men answered to roll-call. On the road to DuBose bridge Colonel Aiken met a picket body of men commanded by Lieutenant John A. McQueen, and led the charge with Colonel Davis by his side, and it being dark the men got into close quarters, and Colonel Aiken was captured with Sergeant Heighler, but jerked the reins out of the hand of the Yankee who held them, escaped, rode up to Colonel Davis and dismounted, but was hit immediately by one of the parting shots of the enemy, and cried out: ‘Davis, I am dying, catch me.’ His nephew and courier, young Willie Aiken, caught him as he fell, and his death was instantaneous. Thus ended the career of the gallant Hugh K. Aiken, colonel of the Sixth South Carolina Cavalry. In this night charge, as Colonel Zimmerman Davis drew near the enemy, he saw that the two men in the road ahead of him were officers and both firing pistols, their last shot passing through his hair at less than five paces. He fired at them once as they approached, and again as he went rushing by; he struck the one nearest to him a severe blow with the muzzle of his pistol and pulled the trigger at the same instant, severely wounding Lieutenant John A. McQueen, who was taken by the Confederates to the house of Mr. DuBose, here he showed Dr. Porter's letter and was treated with the utmost kindness. As soon as Dr. Porter heard of it he was at once by his side, and could not have been more tender [31] to his own son. From the DuBose house Lieutenant McQueen was sent to Camden, and there it was that Dr. Porter nursed him. After leaving Cheraw we had a pretty hot skirmish at Rockingham, N. C., and the next day charged a regiment of cavalry, just after they had opened a barrel of wine. I led this charge, simply because I lost control of my horse—he being young and afraid of a gun—fortunately our men, making as much noise as they did, created a panic among the Yankees and they stampeded, thereby saving me from death or capture. While our command was in Chesterfield county, Pink Brantley, General Butler's orderly, got permission to visit the house of a friend, where the Yankees captured General Butler's satchel, containing among other things his comb and brush, and old Pink, too. While we felt sorry for Pink we could not refrain from laughing when we heard of it, because when Pink left us he said no ten or fifteen Yankees could catch him, he knew the country too well, he was raised there. Little did he think that he would be raised again so soon by the Yankees.

The gallant Colonel L. P. Miller commanded the Sixth cavalry from the date of General Dunovant's death, October 1st, 1864. Colonel Miller was one of the best disciplinarians in the army, and is now the only surviving field officer of that historic regiment. Major Fergusson was wounded on the 10th of March, 1865, and a few years ago went to his reward full of honors, both as soldier and citizen.

On the 9th day of March, 1865, General Hampton rode ahead of the command all day by himself, and the men would look at each other and say: ‘Look out, boys, Old Wade is fixing a trap for them; we will be into it to-night,’ while others would say: ‘We will give it to them to-morrow,’ which forcibly reminded me of what General Mart Gary said to a Yankee general in Virginia one day after they had arranged some matter, under a flag of truce, and had separated, but before the general in blue was fifty yards away, the ‘Old Bald Eagle’ called to him and said: ‘am coming over tomorrow and give you hell,’ and sure enough he did.

About sundown of this black, cheerless, drizzling day, we caught up with General Hampton, who consulted with General Butler, and just at dark General Butler paralyzed the pickets of the Fifth Ohio, United States Cavalry, not by shooting at them, but by simply commanding them to surrender—not a shot was fired. It was the coolest thing I ever witnessed, and within ten minutes more, he had captured fifteen or twenty bummers, in the same cool and deliberate [32] way, thus leaving Hampton at Kilpatrick's picket post, with the key to the lock of the situation well in hand. A council of war was held with General Wheeler, and in a short time Hampton and Wheeler were walking through and around Kilpatrick's camp, where all was still as death, save across the road, where the provost guard kept a close watch over some twenty-five of our men, who had been captured along the route from Columbia, and were all barefooted and bareheaded and almost naked. Mr. Flynn Davis, a brother of Colonel Zimmerman Davis, and Mr. Frank Niernsee, with his brother, Reuben Niernsee, now of Washington, D. C., were among the prisoners recaptured. Just at the break of day, a few minutes after the formation of the line, and in the midst of that profound silence which precedes the storm of a battle, General Butler ordered Colonel Gid. Wright and Hugh Scott by his side, with the gallant old Cobb Legion, to lead the charge, followed by the rest of Butler's ‘Spartan band.’ No charge was ever made with more determination. The charge of the ‘Scotch Greys’ at Waterloo was not equal to it. General Wheeler was ordered to support us on the right, but unfortunately his horse bogged up in the miry woods, and, like Moses of old and the promised land, they could see us and hear of us, but could not get to us at once. Oh, that I had the power to depict this hand-to-hand fight! The men on both sides were brave, and fought with more desperation than I had ever before seen. Victor Hugo says ‘a certain amount of tempest is always mingled with a battle.’ Every historian traces to some extent the lineament that pleases him in the hurly-burly. What is a battle? An oscillation. The immobility of a mathematical plan expresses a minute and not a day. To paint a battle those powerful painters who have chaos in their pencils are needed. Let us add that there is always a certain moment in which the battle generates into a combat—is particularized and broken up into countless and detail facts. The historian in such a case has the evident right to sum up; he can only catch the principal outlines of the struggle, and it is not given to any narrator, however conscientious he may be, to absolutely fix the form of that horrible cloud which is called ‘the battle.’ Butler's men charged down the road, and as soon as they rode over the sleeping men in blue, they wheeled their horses, and rode over them again—three times they rode over them—while the men under the blankets would say, ‘we surrender,’ but would fight like tigers when they saw so few ‘grey coats.’ Soon [33] we were all mixed up so that swords, small arms, and ringing cannon thunder caused the blood to flow in streams.

Breast against breast with ruinous assault
And deafening shock they come.

The rush of columns to the breach, officers cheering the men on, pauses, breaks, wild and angry threats, upbraiding calls, fresh rush on rush, now here, now there, fierce shouts above, below, behind, shrieks of agony, choked groans and gasps of dying men and horses hurled down with rattling missiles of death. I take the following from Colonel Thomas' history of the Citadel, page 219: ‘On the 10th March, 1865, our command surprised General Kilpatrick's camp about daybreak, and the battle which followed lasted the whole day, and on the Confederate side no infantry was employed. It may not be our place to chronicle here one of the many episodes that befell the cadets, collectively and severally during their service, and the writer will relate an incident of this battle in which “Shaftsbury” Moses measured sabers and fists with one of Kilpatrick's troopers. The cadet company was fighting hand to hand with the enemy, and Moses' horse was killed under him. On freeing himself from his dying horse, he found himself confronted by a big Yankee, sabre in hand. Moses being a smaller man than his antagonist, and dead game, determined to force the fighting, and he made a furious thrust inside of his adversary's guard, which caused a clinch, and a fall, “then the Gael above, Fitz James below,” and not only so, but the Gael had in the brief struggle secured a firm hold with his teeth on Fitz James' finger. As good luck would have it Private Bill Martin, whose horse had been also killed, came along just at this juncture, and, in his own expressive language, “lifted the Yank off of” Shaftsbury with his revolver. As no such name as ‘Shaftsbury Moses’ appears on the muster-roll of the cadet company, it is proper to state that cadet J. H. Moses, while at the Citadel, on account of his scholarly style of composition, had been dubbed by his fellow-cadets “Lord Shaftsbury.” In this battle Sergeant G. M. Hodges' horse was killed under him, and he was shot in the side. Though wounded, he succeeded in capturing another horse, and continued in the battle until disabled by a wound in the shoulder. After the battle investigation showed that the enemies' bullet had entered the same hole in his coat that was made by the bullet which wounded him at Trevillian, 12th June, 1864. In this battle Captain Humphreys was wounded in the arm by a grape shot in charging a battery. [34] He was carried to the hospital in Raleigh, N. C. The surgeon informed him that his arm must be amputated. He refused to submit to the operation from a morbid horror of going through life maimed, and died a short time before Lee's surrender. Cadet Humphreys was gifted with a fine intellect and a very natural quality to make for himself a successful career. Fate willed otherwise than that he should survive to fulfill the promise of his youth, and, after a term of service, brief but brilliant enough to satisfy the dream of any Paladin of romance, he died just in time not to know that the good fight had been made in vain. “The cadet Company” fought in the battle of Bentonville, and learning that Johnston's army was to be surrendered, by permission marched out of camp the night preceding that event, with the idea of making its way to the TransMissis-sippi part of the Confederacy, but disbanded under counsel of its colonel, L. P. Miller, when he bade them good-bye.’

The 10th of March was a damp, dreary day, and the smoke from the guns would not rise. If you missed your aim your bullet was liable to kill friend or foe. The prettiest duel I ever saw was fought by Captain James Butler and a Federal officer, who began the fight with the brave, the dashing, the gallant and handsome Nat Butler, who was riding the same horse that his brother Thomas was on when killed at Gettysburg. He was shot through the right elbow, and as soon as Captain James Butler saw his young brother's arm hanging at his side, he at once attracted the Yankee's attention by sending a bullet whizzing by his head, and after exchanging three deliberate shots at each other, this brave man in blue bit the dust. Captain James Butler was cool, brave, and reckless, and I can never forget how tenderly he nursed his young wounded brother. No man could have been more attentive and kind than he. Nat Butler was my friend and I was his friend; I loved him and he loved me. Among a great many other brave men, gallant Sam Cothran, orderly sergeant Company B, Sixth South Carolina Cavalry, Tom Sego, Mat Adams, and Fayette Cogburn were killed, which reduced this gallant old company to a mere handful of men. A lieutenant was ordered to capture General Kilpatrick, but the wily general outwitted him. When the lieutenant rode up to him in his dishabille and said, ‘Where is General Kilpatrick?’ he replied: ‘Don't you see him running on that horse right yonder.’ With this the lieutenant charged the private soldier, who was frightened and out-ran everything that followed him. General Kilpatrick, however, took time by the forelock, and was soon mounted on his steed and make good [35] his escape. After the war, when General Butler was in the Senate, Kilpatrick said to him: ‘When I heard the Rebel yell in my camp I threw up both hands and exclaimed: “My goodness, four years hard fighting and a major-general's commission gone in four minutes.” ’

The next day we comparatively rested, and rode into Fayetteville, N. C., and, while we were all at breakfast, gallant Hugh Scott notified General Hampton that one hundred Yankees were at the door, and said: ‘General, give me four or five men and I will run them out of town.’ General Hampton, hearing the words of this beardless boy, was inspired, and he said: ‘You scouts follow me, and I will lead this charge.’ He killed two with his own pistol and captured the captain, who acknowledged that he had one hundred men, of whom quite a number were killed and captured. Here is a copy of General Hampton's letter complimenting those gallant boys who followed him:

It seems that one hundred blue-coats rushed into town and were surprised to find us there. The whole thing was done so quickly that some of us knew nothing about it until it was all over. General Hardee crossed the river with his foot-sore veterans. Butler's rear guard followed leisurely, burning the bridge over Cape Fear river behind them. Bachman's battery was among the last to cross the bridge, and an historic battery it was, recruited in Charleston, composed of sturdy, brave, determined Germans. It enlisted for the war, served in the trying years in Virginia, was complimented for [36] gallantry at every turn; it bore a distinguished name for unbounded courage.

This battery, with its infantry support, successfully resisted at Gettysburg a charge of Federal cavalry, and saved the army transportation. General Farnsworth, the Federal commander, who led the cavalry charge, rather than surrender himself, blew out his own brains on the field of battle.

So this battery traversed nearly every military road in Virginia; crossed the Potomac, fought in Maryland and Pennsylvania; was ordered back to South Carolina, and aided by an enviable courage to close the career of the Confederacy.

Heretofore in these pages an allusion has been made to the ‘Charleston Light Dragoons.’ This is an old and time-honored corps, dating back to 1773, when it was named the ‘Charles-Town City Troops,’ and did active service then as a company, and in halcyon days as gay and gallant ‘Dragoons,’ on ‘Muster Day’ and as an escort for governors. They went to Virginia as a ‘Kid Glove’ company, earning glory on each and every field; such men fought at ‘Balaklava’ and at ‘Inkermann,’ and knew when and where to die. They died as they had lived—‘True to God and to country,’ and a high tribute was paid them by their commander, General Wade Hampton, who had witnessed their gallantry on more than one field. On an occasion General Hampton was riding with General Lee, and came opposite the ‘Dragoons.’ General Lee was attracted by the general appearance of the men, and in his gentle, quiet way asked General Hampton: ‘General, what command is that?’

The answer came with pride and tenderness in the tone: ‘General Lee, it is the “Charleston light Dragoons,” and sir, I would rather be a private soldier of that command than to wear to-day the decoration of the “Legion of honor.” ’

Like wine, time sometimes flavors records of men and horses. Two of the oldest cavalry companies, ‘Dragoons,’ intact to-day, of the ‘Philadelphia City Troops,’ and the ‘Charleston Light Dragoons.’ For a principle they, each of them, fought in 1776, and for the same reason in 1861 to 1865—in the latter years one represented the blue; the other the gray. Each maintained its organization, and when the time comes, rest assured that where duty calls, these men of the ‘Old Dragoons’ will ever be found. Thank God that we have living to-day the men who wore the ‘Gray’ high up in rank-great in military achievements and who are willing to [37] award to the private soldier of the Confederacy, of every branch of service, the glory that belongs to each. But the old cavalry commanders from South Carolina are devoted to the history of their old commands, and Wade Hampton and M. C. Butler have each in turn placed chaplets of laurels upon the monument to the ‘Dragoons,’ and measured out to the survivors the full measures of credit due a command as faithful in life as were they in death to a cause where time honors alike memories of the living, and of the glorious dead.

The winding up the affairs at the city of Fayetteville was hastened. Sherman with his 70,000 men halted until his pontoon bridge could be put down. On the 12th of March, suffering from a wound received at ‘Campbell's Mills,’ General Butler sent me with Private King of the ‘Maryland Line’ to Raleigh, where I might be with my friend, Nat Butler, who was beloved by staff and couriers alike. Any man who has served on the cavalry headquarter staff can fully understand the kind relations existing between the general and his household. The tenderest sentiment exists—a sympathy for chief and staff; for orderlies and couriers.

We found my wounded friend nicely quartered at Major Devereaux's house, with Captain James Butler and Edmund, General Butler's faithful body-servant, at his side: I was so thankful that I was able to help nurse the wounded soldier boy. Dr. Warren, the surgeon, when asked by me what I should do, said: ‘Poor Nat is so low, but if you can keep him mad all the time we will pull him through.’ Major Devereaux's beautiful daughters, Miss Agnes and Miss Kate, would bring every delicacy they could think of, but from no hands save mine would he touch food. He died in the prime of his life, on the 12th day of April, 1877, at the Planter's Hotel, Augusta, Ga.

No more shall the war cry sever,
     Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
     When they laurel the graves of our dead.
Under the sod and dew,
     Waiting the judgment day,
Love and tears for the blue,
     Tears and love for the gray.

The above account is not what a general saw, but what was seen by an humble private soldier, and I regret to say, by him is very poorly described.