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Sharpsburg (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.35
ed them with bloody effect. During this fight Jackson said to Stuart, pointing to the young artillerist: General, if you have another Pelham give him to me. He was then twenty-three years old. In the bloody repulse the Federals received at Sharpsburg, his guns roared for hours, and a little later he was with Stuart in the bloody track he made from Aldie to Markham's, fighting the immense odds of the foe till they were in a few yards of his guns, drawing off to a better position only to figh the horse was shot from under him. Quickly cutting the traces to free the dead animal he mounted another, and it, too, was shot down immediately. He escaped with the gun only after a third horse had been shot down and cut from the traces. At Sharpsburg he commanded nearly all the artillery on the Confederate left, and rent the blue lines with shot and shell. But it was at Fredericksburg that the zenith of John Pelham's renown was reached. The martial king of the proudest nation in all the
Williamsburg (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.35
ellows, and invariably in battle the voices of these men could be heard above the roar of the guns singing the Marseillaise, that stirring song that roused the man of destiny's imperial eagles on many a gory field where the Old Guard could die, but never surrender. This six-gun battery was the nucleus around which gathered that brave body of men that goes down in history as Stuart's horse artillery. Wherever the dashing Stuart and his cavalry went there were Pelham and his war dogs. At Williamsburg and Cold Harbor Pelham fought with bull dog tenacity. At the latter fight he advanced one gun a third of a mile to the front, and for more than an hour it was the only gun on the Confederate left firing, drawing the attention of a whole Federal battery, until Stuart said to Stonewall Jackson: General, all your artillery on the left is idle; nobody is firing except Pelham. After the battle the warm pressure of Jackson's hand told Pelham how well he had demeaned himself. That is histo
Mobile, Ala. (Alabama, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.35
The gallant Pelham. [from the Mobile, Ala., register, May 20, 1894.] Jeb Stuart's boy artillerist from Alabama. How John Pelham, by his skill and courage, wrote his name high on the temple of fame. John Pelham. (by James R. Randall.) Just as the Spring came laughing throa the strife, With all her gorgeous cheer— In the glad April of historic life— Fell the great cannoneer. The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath His bleeding country weeps; Hushed—in th' alabaster arms of Death were from Virginia and Maryland, but most of them were from Alabama. From Talladega, Ala., near Pelham's home, went forty men under Lieutenant William McGregor, a gallant officer now living in Texas. One gun was manned by French Creoles from Mobile, Ala., who were called by Pelham the Napoleon Detachment. They were gallant fellows, and invariably in battle the voices of these men could be heard above the roar of the guns singing the Marseillaise, that stirring song that roused the man of dest<
Talladega (Alabama, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.35
John Pelham came from old Kentucky stock, his father, Dr. Atkinson Pelham, having removed from this State to Calhoun county, Ala., in 1837. Young Pelham was appointed a cadet at West Point in 1856 by the representative in Congress from the Talladega (Ala.) district, Hon. S. W. Harris. The only five-year class in the history of the academy was organized that year, which accounts for his being there at the opening of the war. Like many other West Pointers who have made gallant soldiers, his stal J. E. B. Stuart. General Stuart saw what was in the boy, and intrusted him with the orgarnization of a battery of six pieces of horse artillery. Some of these men were from Virginia and Maryland, but most of them were from Alabama. From Talladega, Ala., near Pelham's home, went forty men under Lieutenant William McGregor, a gallant officer now living in Texas. One gun was manned by French Creoles from Mobile, Ala., who were called by Pelham the Napoleon Detachment. They were gallant fello
Winchester, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.35
t farewell and she returned to Jeffersonville by way of the ferryboat. From the time he set foot upon Kentucky soil Pelham's brilliant career began. However, he did not remain in Louisville long, but hurried on to Montgomery, then the capital of the Confederacy, and reported for duty. He was commissioned first lieutenant in the regular Confederate States Army, and assigned to duty at Lynchburg, Va., where he had charge of the ordnance. Shortly after reporting there he was ordered to Winchester, Va., and was drillmaster of Albertu's Battery. In the meantime, the Federal army, like a huge snake, was coiling itself around Manassas preparatory to striking Richmond. The Confederate army went out to receive the blow and deliver another in return, and Pelham rushed to the front with his battery. All that long day of Manassas he fought with superb courage. So well did he handle his guns that he attracted the attention of that Prince Rupert of American calvarymen, General J. E. B. St
rate side had yet opened, but the lone war-dog howled on. And in the half lull between the boom of the cannon there floated above the noise a sound that seemed strange on that day of multitudinous terrors—the Napoleon detachment singing the Marseillaise as they fought their gun. Like infernal imps of Tophet they flitted about in the smoke of battle. Two armies looked on while the Mobile Frenchmen wrote history with blood. Arms, legs, heads were whirled off, and the ground around torn as by Titan plows. No other Confederate gun had opened, but the fierce Federals could not pass the bellowing Napoleon. Time wore on. Still the gun roared and the sound of its roaring thundered through the air in breaths of battle to the ears of General Robert E. Lee, as he viewed the red revel from the heights. It is glorious, he exclaimed, to see such courage in one so young. And in his report of the battle he spoke of no one but Pelham below the rank of major-general, terming him the gallant Pelha
the traces to free the dead animal he mounted another, and it, too, was shot down immediately. He escaped with the gun only after a third horse had been shot down and cut from the traces. At Sharpsburg he commanded nearly all the artillery on the Confederate left, and rent the blue lines with shot and shell. But it was at Fredericksburg that the zenith of John Pelham's renown was reached. The martial king of the proudest nation in all the tides of time might well envy—if the shades in Valhalla are given that privilege—the story that crowned the boy artillerist in that stupendous fight and dreadful revelry of death. All was quiet in the Confederate army at Fredericksburg on the morning of the thirteenth of December, 1862. The flower of the South's young manhood was there on the heights in double lines behind bristling bayonets and grimmer guns. Every soldier knew there was to be a fearful fight before the sun sank behind the western wood. The Federal army had crossed the Rappa
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