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Frederick H. Dyer, Compendium of the War of the Rebellion: Regimental Histories 162 162 Browse Search
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing) 119 119 Browse Search
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 1. 25 25 Browse Search
William Tecumseh Sherman, Memoirs of General William T. Sherman . 23 23 Browse Search
Maj. Jed. Hotchkiss, Confederate Military History, a library of Confederate States Military History: Volume 3, Virginia (ed. Clement Anselm Evans) 21 21 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Massachusetts in the Army and Navy during the war of 1861-1865, vol. 1, Condensed history of regiments. 20 20 Browse Search
The Atlanta (Georgia) Campaign: May 1 - September 8, 1864., Part I: General Report. (ed. Maj. George B. Davis, Mr. Leslie J. Perry, Mr. Joseph W. Kirkley) 20 20 Browse Search
Robert Underwood Johnson, Clarence Clough Buell, Battles and Leaders of the Civil War: Volume 2. 18 18 Browse Search
Comte de Paris, History of the Civil War in America. Vol. 3. (ed. Henry Coppee , LL.D.) 18 18 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Irene E. Jerome., In a fair country 17 17 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War.. You can also browse the collection for May or search for May in all documents.

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ted friend; the devoted Christian, husband, and father; the gayest of companions; full of fun, frolic, laughter, courage, hope, buoyancy, and a certain youthful joyousness which made his presence like the sunshine. Upon this last trait I have dwelt much — the youth, and joy, and hope, which shone in his brilliant eyes and rang in his sonorous laughter. He passed before you like an incarnate spring, all mirth and sunshine; but behind was the lightning. In those eyes as fresh and blue as the May morning, lurked the storm and the thunderbolt. Beneath the flowers was the hard steel battle-axe. With that weapon he struck like Cceur de Lion, and few adversaries stood before it. The joy, romance, and splendour of the early years of chivalry flamed in his regard, and his brave blood drove him on to combat. In the lists, at Camelot, he would have charged before the eyes of ladies and of kings, like Arthur; on the arena of the war in Virginia he followed his instincts. Bright eyes were e
shby pursued in his turn, and quickly sent intelligence to Jackson, which brought him back to Kernstown. The battle there followed, and Ashby held the turnpike, pressing forward with invincible ardour, flanking the Federal forces, and nearly getting in their rear. When Jackson was forced to retire, he again held the rear; and continued in front of the enemy, eternally skirmishing with them, until Jackson again advanced to attack General Banks at Strasburg and Winchester. It was on a bright May morning that Ashby, moving in front, struck the Federal column of cavalry in transitu north of Strasburg, and scattered them like a hurricane. Separated from his command, but bursting with an ardour which defied control, he charged, by himself, about five hundred Federal horsemen retreating in disorder, snatched a guidon from the hands of its bearer, and firing right and left into the column, summoned the men to surrender. Many did so, and the rest galloped on, followed by Ashby, to Winches
the combats of the Peninsula, where, at Williamsburg, he led a regiment of infantry in the assault; in the battles of Cold Harbour and Malvern Hill, at the second Manassas, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and the scores of minor engagements which marked almost every day upon the outposts. He missed the battle of Chancellorsville, greatly to his regret, having gone home, after an absence of two years, to witness the bombardment of Charleston and see his family. It was soon after his return in May that the fatal moment came which deprived the service of this eminent partisan. At the desperately contested battle of Fleetwood, in Culpeper county, on the 9th of June, 1863, he was sent by General Stuart to carry a message to Colonel Butler, of the 2d South Carolina cavalry. He had just delivered his message, and was sitting upon his horse by the Colonel, when a shell, which also wounded Butler, struck him upon the right knee and tore his leg in two at the joint. He fell from the saddle
nst active service with the artillery or infantry — the winter is fatal. Then the wheels of the guns sink in the slushy soil; wagons cannot move with rations; and thus conquered by the rain and snow, the cannoneers and musket-bearers settle down in their comfortable camps, build their log-cabins, or their arbours of boughs; and days, and weeks, and months pass by in perfect quiet, until the spring sun dries the roads, and the thunder of artillery and musketry again roars across the fields of May or June. Thus the gunners and footmen bear the brunt in the great battles, to retire thereafter to camp and rest. Their ranks may be decimated, but those who survive enjoy something like repose. They build their chimneys, broil their meat, smoke their pipes, and lounge, and laugh, and sing around the camp-fire, with none to make them afraid. The life of the cavalry is different. They do not perform the hard work in the conflicts of armies, where the improved firearms of modern time
John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., Stuart's ride around McClellan in June, 1862. (search)
ill follow me he shall see what took place on this rapid ride, witness some incidents of this first and king of raids. The record will be that of an eye-witness, and the personal prominence of the writer must be excused as inseparable from the narrative. I need not dwell upon the situation in June, 1862. All the world knows that, at that time, McClellan had advanced with his magnificent army of 156,000 men, to the banks of the Chickahominy, and pushing across, had fought on the last day of May the bloody but indecisive battle of the Seven Pines. On the right it was a Confederate, on the left a Federal success; and General McClellan drew back, marshalled his great lines, darkening both the northern and southern banks of the Chickahominy, and prepared for a more decisive blow at the Confederate capital, whose spires were in sight. Before him, however, lay the Southern army, commanded now by Lee, who had succeeded Johnston, wounded in the fight of Seven pines. The moment was favou
John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., Stuart on the outpost: a scene at camp Qui Vive (search)
the hoofs of cavalry had trampled; the woods had been cut down to furnish fuel for the camp fires; the fences had preceded them; the crops and forage had been gleaned for the horses of the troopers. The wheels of artillery and army trains had worn the roads into ruts and quagmires; opposing columns had advanced or retreated over every foot of ground, leaving their traces everywhere; those furrows over which the broomstraw waved in the winter wind, or the spring flowers nodded in the airs of May, were ploughed by cannon-balls. The war-dogs had bayed here, and torn to pieces house and field and forest. The villages were the forlorn ghosts of themselves, and seemed to look at you out of those vacant eyes, their open windows, with a sort of dumb despair. They were the eloquent monuments of the horrors of war — the veritable abodes of owls. Had a raven croaked from the dead trees riven by cannon-balls, or a wolf growled at you from the deserted houses, you would have felt not the
is a crime of the deepest and darkest dye, and in this case that swift retribution which visited the deed, was consistent with both law and equity. The natural historian will be interested in the announcement that he had killed a good many robins, but none were good, as they live altogether on a kind of berry called gall-berry, which makes them bitter. Bears, deers, coons, and opossum there are; but the Lieutenant has killed none. The weather, he adds, is as warm here as any day in May in the valley. We are on a sort of island, bounded by dense swamp on each side, and a river before and behind, with the bridges washed away. We are throwing up fortifications, but I don't think we will ever need them, as it is almost impossible for the Yankees to find us here. Admire the impregnable position in which Lieutenant Bumpo with two pieces of artillery, commanding in the field, awaits the approach of his old friends. Dense swamps on his flanks, and rivers without bridges in hi