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Joseph Wheeler (search for this): chapter 40
was shed near the Atkins plantation, a few miles from Chapel Hill, on the 14th April, 1865. In a later number of the same paper, a member of the First Tennessee Cavalry says that it is a mistake; that companies F1 and F2 of the same regiment to which he belonged, skirmished sharply with the Federals on the 15th, and claims that this was the last blood shed. Both are in error: there was a skirmish near Mt. Zion church, two miles south-east of Pittsboro. North Carolina. between a body of Wheeler's cavalry and a party of Federals, on the 17th of April; two Yankees were wounded. and three others, with several horses, captured. There was other skirmishing in the neighborhood about this time, and as late as the 29th (two days after General Johnston surrendered), a squad of Federal cavalry rode through Pittsboro, firing upon the citizens and returned soldiers, and receiving their fire in return. These men were pursued and overtaken near Haw river, where a skirmish occurred, in which
Richard Grant White (search for this): chapter 33
ote far away from the scenes they spoke of-comfortably housed and perfectly secure. The men of the North wrote with their pens, while the men of the South wrote with their hearts! A singular commentary upon this has been given us by Mr. Richard Grant White-himself a member of the committee. In April, 1861, a committee of thirteen New Yorkers-comprising such names as Julian Verplanck, Moses Grinnell, John A. Dix and Geo. Wm. Curtis-offered a reward of five hundred dollars for a National Hyn out by the application of a greenback poultice! The committee advertised generally for five hundred dollars' worth of pure patriotism, to be ground out in not less than sixteen lines, nor more than forty. Even with this highest incentive, Mr. White tells us that dozens of barrelfuls of manuscript were rejected; and not one patriot was found whose principles — as expressed in his poetry — were worth that much money! Were it not the least bit saddening, the contemplation of this attempt to
Whittier (search for this): chapter 33
still, they bore witness; but it needed the rough and cruel friction of the war to bring it to the surface. What the southron felt he spoke; and out of the bitterness of his trial the poetry of the South was born. It leaped at one bound from the overcharged brain of our people-full statured in its stern defiance mailed in the triple panoply of truth. There was endless poetry written in the North on the war; and much of it came from the pens of men as eminent as Longfellow, Bryant, Whittier and Holmes. But they wrote far away from the scenes they spoke of-comfortably housed and perfectly secure. The men of the North wrote with their pens, while the men of the South wrote with their hearts! A singular commentary upon this has been given us by Mr. Richard Grant White-himself a member of the committee. In April, 1861, a committee of thirteen New Yorkers-comprising such names as Julian Verplanck, Moses Grinnell, John A. Dix and Geo. Wm. Curtis-offered a reward of five hundr
Wigfall (search for this): chapter 14
him quite willing to shoulder the responsibilities of all the positions. Now, as in Montgomery, I wondered that the frail body-that could not bend-did not break beneath the load of anxiety and bodily labor he imposed upon it. His energy and industry were untiring; and every afternoon the declining sun found him in the saddle, inspecting and reviewing the troops, at one of the many camps near town. Sometimes the hard, stolid face of the Postmaster-General appeared at his side; again Senator Wigfall galloped along, with his pants stuck in his boots and seeming to enjoy the saddle much more than the curule chair; and often Little Jeff the Benjamin of Mr. Davis' household-trotted at his side. But there was never a suite, seldom a courier; and wherever he went, plain, stirring syllables of cheer-and strong, grave words of incentive-dropped from his lips among the soldiery. They were treasured as the truth, too, by that rough auditory; for as yet, Mr. Davis was in the zenith of his
Wilcox (search for this): chapter 30
struggle must be made for Cemetery Heights. Lee must win them-and then for victory! All the artillery was massed upon this point. Then awoke the infernal echoes of such an artillery duel as the war was never to see again. The air was black with flying shot and shell, and their wild whoo! made one continuous song through the sultry noon. Forth from the canopy of smoke and their screen of trees, comes the chosen storming party-Pickett's division of Virginians; supported on the right by Wilcox and on the left by Heth's division under Pettigrew, its own general having been wounded in the head the day before. Unmindful of the fire-sheeted storm into which they march-down into the Valley of the Shadow of Death stride that devoted band. Now, they emerge into the Emmetsburg road, straight on for the coveted heights. On! never blenching, never faltering — with great gaps crashing through them-filling the places of the dead with the living next to die-On! into the jaws of death go
Wilcox (search for this): chapter 36
that series of battles, unparalleled for bloody sacrifice of men and obstinacy of leader — a series of battles that should have written General Grant the poorest strategist who had yet inscribed his name on the long roll of reverses. And yet, by a strange fatality, they resulted in making him a hero to the unthinking masses of his countrymen. Lee's right rested on the Orange road; and an attempt, after the crossing, to turn it, was obstinately repulsed during the entire day, by Heth and Wilcox. During the night Hancock's corps crossed the river, and next morning received a fierce assault along his whole line. The fighting was fierce and obstinate on both sides; beating back the right and left of Hancock's line, while sharply repulsed on the center (Warren's). Still his loss was far heavier than ours, and the result of the battles of the Wilderness was to put some 23,000 of Grant's men hors de combat; to check him and to force a change of plan at the very threshold of his open do
Wilkes (search for this): chapter 32
rried public opinion to his side; and-while the Government could then do nothing but persist in effort for recognition, now so vital — the people felt that dignity was uselessly compromised, while their powerless representatives were kept abroad, to knock weakly at the back door of foreign intervention. Slight reaction came, when Mason and Slidell were captured on the high seas, under a foreign flag. Mr. Seward so boldly defied the rampant Lion; Congress so promptly voted thanks to Captain Wilkes, for violating international law; the Secretary of the Navy-after slyly pulling down the blinds-so bravely patted him on the backthat the South renewed her hope, in the seeming certainty of war between the two countries. But she had calculated justly neither the power of retraction in American policy, nor Secretary Seward's vast capacity for eating his own words; and the rendition of her commissioners — with their perfectly quiet landing upon British soil-was, at last, accepted as sure
Wilkinson (search for this): chapter 32
rning wheels, they would drop down the Cape Fear, at night, to within a hundred yards of the looming blockade giant. Then, putting on all steam, they would rush by him, trusting to speed and surprise to elude pursuit and distract his aimand ho! for the open sea. This was a service of keen excitement and constant danger; demanding clear heads and iron nerves. Both were forthcoming, especially from navy volunteers; and many were the hair-breadth ‘scapes that made the names of Maffit, Wilkinson and their confreres, household words among the rough sea-dogs of Wilmington. Savannah suffered least of the fair Atlantic sisterhood, from the blockade. The early capture of her .river forts blocked access to her wharves, almost effectually; though occasional steamers still slipped up to them. Yet, she was in such easy reach of her more open neighbors, as to reap part of the bad fruits with which they were so overstocked. These proud southern cities had ever been famed throughout
Willard (search for this): chapter 2
aching its mouth. Madame rearranges her parure and smoothes her ruffled lace; while Mademoiselle pouts a little, then studies her card for the next waltzer. Senator Jenks takes his nip just a trifle more regularly; and Blobb, of Oregon, draws a longer breath before his next period. As for the lobby-pump, its piston grows red-hot and its valves fly wide open, with the work it does; while thicker and more foul are the streams it sends abroad. For awhile there is some little talk around Willard's about the secesh; and the old soldiers wear grave faces as they pass to and fro between the War Department and General Scott's headquarters. But to the outer circle, it is only a nine-day wonder; while the dancing and dining army men soon make light of the matter. But the stone the surface closes smoothly over at the center makes large ripples at the edges. Faces that were long before now begin to lengthen; and thoughtful men wag solemn heads as they pass, or pause to take each othe
Augusta Evans Wilson (search for this): chapter 37
hem again into certain destruction; and the assault on Petersburg had failed utterly, at the cost of 14,000 men for the experiment. On that same day, Hunter was driven back from an assault on Lynchburg, and sent in disgraceful rout through West Virginia. Hampton, too, had done his share as ever in the long war. He had caught Sheridan at Trevellian's Station, and compelled him to retreat and entirely abandon his part of Grant's new programme; and a little later he came upon Kautz and Wilson — in a railroad raid below Petersburg-and defeated them disastrously, capturing their trains, artillery and a large proportion of their men. Thus, by July, these rough and repeated lessons had taught even General Grant that hammering with flesh and blood upon earthworks was too costly; that barn-burning and railroad-tearing cavalry were not effectual to reduce the city that had so laughed to scorn his brilliant tactics of the left flank! A more disgusted, if not a wiser man, he sat d
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