Chapter I: HEAR again the tread of war go thundering through the land,

And Puritan and Cavalier are clinching neck and hand,
Round Shiloh church the furious foes have met to thrust and slay,
Where erst the peaceful sons of Christ were wont to kneel and pray.

The wrestling of the ages shakes the hills of Tennessee
With all their echoing mounts athrob with war's wild minstrelsy;
A galaxy of stars new-born around the shield of Mars
And set against the Stars and Stripes the flashing Stars and Bars.

'Twas Albert Sidney Johnston led the columns of the Gray,
Like Hector on the plains of Troy his presence fired the fray;
And dashing horse and gleaming sword spake out his royal will
As on the slopes of Shiloh field the blasts of war blew shrill.

"Down with the base invaders," the Gray shout forth the cry,
"Death to presumptuous rebels," the Blue ring out reply;
All day the conflict rages and yet again all day,
Though Grant is on the Union side he cannot stem nor stay.

They are a royal race of men, these brothers face to face,
Their fury speaking through their guns, their frenzy in their pace;
The sweeping onset of the Gray bears down the sturdy Blue,
Though Sherman and his legions are heroes through and through.

Though Prentiss and his gallant men are forcing scaur and crag,
They fall like sheaves before the scythes of Hardee and of Bragg;
Ah, who shall tell the victor's tale when all the strife is past,
When, man and man, in one great mold, the men who strive are cast?

As when the Trojan hero came from that fair city's gates,
With tossing mane and flaming crest to scorn the scowling fates,
His legions gather round him and madly charge and cheer,
And fill besieging armies with wild disheveled fear;

Then bares his breast unto the dart the daring spearsman sends,
And dying hears his cheering foes, the wailing of his friends,
So Albert Sidney Johnston, the chief of belt and scar,
Lay down to die at Shiloh and turned the scales of war.

Now five and twenty years are gone, and lo, to-day they come,
The Blue and Gray in proud array with throbbing fife and drum;
But not as rivals, not as foes, as brothers reconciled;
To twine love's fragrant roses where the thorns of hate grew wild;

Aye, five and twenty years, and lo, the manhood of the South
Has held its valor staunch and strong as at the cannon's mouth,
With patient heart and silent tongue has kept its true parole,
And in the conquests born of peace has crowned its battle roll.

But ever while we sing of war, of courage tried and true,
Of heroes wed to gallant deeds, or be it Gray or Blue,
Then Albert Sidney Johnston's name shall flash before our sight
Like some resplendent meteor across the somber night.

America, thy sons are knit with sinews wrought of steel,
They will not bend, they will not break, beneath the tyrant's heel;
But in the white-hot flame of love, to silken cobwebs spun,
They whirl the engines of the world, all keeping time as one.

To-day they stand abreast and strong, who stood as foes of yore,
The world leaps up to bless their feet, heaven scatters blessings o'er;
Their robes are wrought of gleaming gold, their wings are freedom's own,
The trampling of their conquering hosts shakes pinnacle and throne.

Oh, veterans of the Blue and Gray who fought on Shiloh field,
The purposes of God are true, His judgment stands revealed;
The pangs of war have rent the veil, and lo, His high decree:
One heart, one hope, one destiny, one flag from sea to sea.

KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD.

OLD GLORY AT SHILOH

SPRING on the Tennessee; April--and flowers
Bloom on its banks; the anemones white
In clusters of stars where the green holly towers
O'er bellworts, like butterflies hov'ring in flight.
The ground ivy tips its blue lips to the laurel,
And covers the banks of the water-swept bars
With a background of blue, in which the red sorrel
Are stripes where the pale corydalis are stars.

_Red, white and blue! O spring, did you send it,_
_And Flowers, did'st dream it for brothers to rend it?_

Spring on the Tennessee; Sabbath--and morning
Breaks with a bird note that pulses along;
A melody sobs in the heart of its dawning--
The pain that foreshadows the birth of a song.
Art thou a flecking, brave Bluebird, of sky light,
Or the sough of a minor wove into a beam?
Oh, Hermit Thrush, Hermit Thrush, thou of the eye bright,
Bird, or the spirit of song in a dream?

_"Our country--our country!" Why, birds, do you sing it?_
_And, woodland, why held you the echo, to ring it?_

Spring on the Tennessee; hark, Bluebird, listen!
Was that a bugle note far up the bend,
Where the murk waters flush and the white bars glisten,
Or dove cooing dove into love notes that blend?
And Wood Thrush, sweet, tell me,--that throbbing and humming,
Is it march at the double quick or wild bees that hum?
And that rumble that shakes like an earthquake coming--
Tell me, O Hermit Thrush, thunder or drum?

_O birds, you must fly from the home that God gave you!_
_O flowers, you must die 'neath the foot that would save you!_

Out from the wood with the morning mist o'er it
A gray line sweeps like a scythe of fire,
And it burns the stubble of blue before it,--
(How their bugles ring and their cannon roar it!)

_In Dixie land we'll take our stand,_
_And live and die in Dixie!_

Out from the deep wood clearer and nigher,
The gray lines roll, and the blue lines reel
Back on the river--their dead are piled higher
Than the muzzle of muskets thund'ring their peal:

_In Dixie land we'll take our stand,_
_And live and die for Dixie!_

Noon on the Tennessee; backward, still driven
The blue lines reel, and the ranks of the gray
Flash out with a fierceness that light up the heavens,
When the thunders of night meet the lightnings of day.
Noon and past noon--and this is the story
Of the flag that fell not, and they call it Old Glory:

It flapped in the air, it flashed with the blare
Of the bugles so shrill and so true,
It faced quick about and steadied the rout
And halted the lines of blue.
And the _boom-boom-boom_ of the maddened guns
Roared round it thick and fast,
And _dead-dead-dead_ sang the learing lead
Like hail in the sheeted blast,
And up and around it, surge and swell,
Rose the victor waves of the rebel yell,
And Grant's grim army staggered, but stood,
With backs to the river and dyed it with blood
In the shuttle of thunder and drum;
And they cheered as it went to the front of the fray
And turned the tide at the sunset of day,
And they whispered: _Buell is come!_

Spring on the Tennessee; April--and flowers
Bloom on its banks; the anemones white
In clusters of stars where the green holly towers
O'er bellworts, like butterflies hov'ring in flight.
And the ground ivy tips its blue lips to the laurel
And covers the banks and the water-swept bars
With a background of blue, in which the red sorrel
Are stripes where the pale corydalis are stars.

Red, white, and blue--it tells its own story--
But, Spring, Who made it and named it Old Glory!

JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE.

THE FLAG OF THE CUMBERLAND

THE Confederate frigate, _Merrimac_, newly arisen from her briny bath in the Norfolk Navy Yards, with her sides new coated in an almost impenetrable mail of iron and rechristened the _Virginia_, steamed slowly down the river May 8th, 1862, to Newport News, where the _Cumberland_, the _Congress_, and the _Minnesota_ of the Union fleet lay at anchor.

The crews of the latter vessels were taking life leisurely that day, and were indulging in various pastimes beloved of seamen. The _Merrimac_ as she hove in sight did not look especially belligerent. Indeed she appeared "like a house submerged to the eaves and borne onward by the flood."

Notwithstanding her somewhat droll appearance, the _Merrimac_ had herself well in control and was not on a cruise of pleasure bent, as the navies well knew.

With steady determination she came on, until within easy distance of the _Congress_, a vessel which gave her greeting with a shot from one of her stern guns, and received in response a shower of grape.

Broadsides were then exchanged, resulting in fearful slaughter to the crew of the _Congress_ and damage to the guns. An officer of the _Congress_ was a favorite brother of Captain Buchanan of the _Merrimac_. But such relation effected naught in the exigencies of war.

Before the _Congress_ could recover herself, the _Merrimac_ headed for the _Cumberland_. The fires of the Cumberland, as she approached, had no effect upon her armored sides.

Into the _Cumberland_ she ran her powerful iron prow, crashing in her timbers and strewing her decks with the maimed, the dead, and dying.

Again she turned her attention to the _Congress_, remembering also the frigate _Minnesota_ with her fiery baptisms. Upon the _Congress_ she soon forced a surrender. The _Minnesota_ found refuge in flight.

Her work upon the _Cumberland_ was complete. And albeit the vessel had been rammed and was sinking, her men ascended to the spar deck and fought till the waters engulfed them. The last shot was fired from a gun half submerged in the water.

As the ship settled to the bottom she careened slightly and then righted herself; and the flag, as if defying the fate that threatened its destruction, still flew above the masthead.

There, close to the waves--her colors almost touching the water--the captain, who was absent from his ship, found his flag upon his return. A harbinger as it proved of the issue that was to be.

THE CUMBERLAND

AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
On board of the _Cumberland_, sloop of war;
And at times from the fortress across the bay
The alarum of drums swept past,
Or a bugle blast
From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose
A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
Was steadily steering its course
To try the force
Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,
Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
And leaps the terrible death,
With fiery breath,
From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
Rebounds our heavier hail
From each iron scale
Of the monster's hide.

"Strike your flag!" the rebel cries,
In his arrogant old plantation strain.
"Never!" our gallant Morris replies;
"It is better to sink than to yield!"
And the whole air pealed
With the cheers of our men.

Then, like a kraken huge and black,
She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!
Down went the _Cumberland_ all awrack,
With a sudden shudder of death,
And the cannon's breath
For her dying gasp.

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,
Still floated our flag at the mainmast head
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!
Every waft of the air
Was a whisper of prayer,
Or a dirge for the dead.

Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas!
Ye are at peace in the troubled stream;
Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,
Thy flag, that is rent in twain,
Shall be one again,
And without a seam!

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE MONITOR

TWO old Spanish ships had, prior to the sinking of the _Cumberland_, met a like fate at the hands of the Confederates; and the signal success of the _Merrimac_ now augured well for the break of the blockade.

The South was greatly elated. The North was disquieted.

Twenty-four hours later the trend of events was changed.

There appeared in Hampton Roads a strange new craft, called the _Monitor_. It was unlike any vessel before seen, having a revolving round tower of iron, that enabled the gunners to train the guns on the enemy continuously, without regard to the position of the ship. The hull had an "overhang," a projection constructed of iron and wood, as a protection against rams.

The inventor and builder of this little giant was John Ericsson.

His,

"The master mind that wrought,
With iron hand, this iron thought.
Strength and safety with speed combined."

The vessel had been launched in less than a hundred days after the laying of the keel, in an effort of the Federal government to have her in service before the completion of the _Merrimac_ (the _Virginia_.)

The new warship attracted the attention of the navies of Europe and brought about a change in the construction of war vessels.

As if indignant at the actions of the _Merrimac_ in preceding her, and in attacking the Union fleet, the _Monitor_ bore down upon her like some live thing bent upon retribution, and at once engaged her in a terrific encounter.

With the hope born of confidence in the strength of the Confederate ironclad, and her ability to overpower completely the Union flotilla, boats filled with sight-seers had gone out from Norfolk, but with the first terrible onset of the armored combatants speedily made their way back to safety.

In this battle of the waters two old Naval Academy comrades fought on opposite sides, Lieutenant Green and Lieutenant Butt, both well-known names.

For five long awful hours the strength of the two iron monsters was pitted against each other for supremacy on the seas, without apparent serious injury to either vessel.

At last the _Merrimac_ ended the gigantic contest by turning her prow and withdrawing to Norfolk.

THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR

Hampton Roads, Virginia, March 9, 1862

OUT of a Northern city's bay,
'Neath lowering clouds, one bleak March day,
Glided a craft,--the like I ween,
On ocean's crest was never seen
Since Noah's float,
That ancient boat,
Could o'er a conquered deluge gloat.

No raking masts, with clouds of sail,
Bent to the breeze or braved the gale;
No towering chimney's wreaths of smoke
Betrayed the mighty engine's stroke;
But low and dark,
Like the crafty shark,
Moved in the waters this novel bark.

The fishers stared as the flitting sprite
Passed their huts in the misty light,
Bearing a turret huge and black,
And said, "The old sea serpent's back
Carting away,
By light of day,
Uncle Sam's fort from New York bay."

Forth from a Southern city's dock
Our frigates' strong blockade to mock,
Crept a monster of rugged build,
The work of crafty hands, well skilled--
Old _Merrimac_,
With an iron back
Wooden ships would find hard to crack.

Straight to where the _Cumberland_ lay
The mail-clad monster made its way;
Its deadly prow struck deep and sure,
And the hero's fighting days were o'er.
Ah! many the braves
Who found their graves
With that good ship beneath the waves.

Flushed with success, the victor flew,
Furious, the startled squadron through;
Sinking, burning, driving ashore,
Until the Sabbath day was o'er,
Resting at night,
To renew the fight
With vengeful ire by morning's light.

Out of its den it burst anew,
When the gray mist the sun broke through,
Steaming to where, in clinging sands,
The frigate _Minnesota_ stands,
A sturdy foe
To overthrow,
But in woeful plight to receive a blow.

But see! beneath her bow appears
A champion no danger fears;
A pigmy craft, that seems to be,
To this new lord that rules the sea,
Like David of old
To Goliath bold--
Youth and giant, by scripture told.

Round the roaring despot playing,
With willing spirit helm obeying,
Spurning the iron against it hurled,
While belching turret rapid whirled,
And swift shots seethe
With smoky wreathe,
Told that the shark was showing his teeth.

The _Monitor_ fought. In grim amaze
The Merrimacs upon it gaze,
Cowering 'neath the iron hail,
Crashing into their coat of mail,
They swore, "this craft,
The devil's shaft,
Looked like a cheese box on a raft."

Hurrah! little giant of '62! Bold Worden with his gallant crew
Forces the fight; the day is won;
Back to his den the monster's gone,
With crippled claws
And broken jaws,
Defeated in a reckless cause.

Hurrah for the master mind that wrought,
With iron hand, this iron thought!
Strength and safety with speed combined,
Ericsson's gift to all mankind;
To curb abuse,
And chains to loose,
Hurrah for the _Monitor's_ famous cruise!

GEORGE H. BOKER.

THE NIGHT OF CHANTILLY

IN March, 1862, McClellan set out from Washington to capture the Confederate capital. At Yorktown he was held in check for a month by an inferior force of Confederates. It was the last of May before he reached Fair Oaks (Seven Pines), seven miles from Richmond. The Confederates here attacked him, and a furious battle of two days' duration ensued, when the Confederates were driven back. A notable event of this engagement was the appointment of General Robert E. Lee, as commander in chief of the Confederate armies; in place of General Joseph E. Johnston, who was severely wounded.

One of the most conspicuous figures of this battle of Fair Oaks was General Philip Kearney.

In the words of Stedman:--

"When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn:--
He rode down the length of the withering column,
His sword waved us on and we answered the sign."

"Kearney was the bravest man and the most perfect soldier I ever saw," said General Scott. "A man made for the profession of arms," says Rope. "In the field he was always ready, always skillful, always brave, always untiring, always hopeful, and always vigilant and alert."

He distinguished himself in the War with Mexico, and lost an arm while he was leading cavalry troops in close pursuit of the retreating Mexicans, at the battle of Churubusco, when they retreated into the city of San Antonio itself.

Mounted upon his great gray steed, "Monmouth," he spurred through a rampart, felling the Mexicans as he went. A thousand arms were raised to strike him, a thousand sabers glistened in the air, when he hurriedly fell back, but too late to escape the wound which necessitated the amputation of his left arm.

At Churubusco ended the spectacular career of the celebrated San Patricios battalion of Irish deserters, who deserted to the American army on the Canadian border and afterwards deserted to the Mexicans from the Texan border, fighting against the American in every Mexican war battle of consequence from Palo Alto to Churubusco. After capture the leaders and many of the men were court-martialed and shot; their commander, the notorious Thomas Riley, among the latter. The survivors were branded in the cheek with the letter "D" as a symbol of their treachery.

General Kearney resigned from the army in 1851 and made a tour of the world. He then went to France and fought in the war of that country against Italy. At Magenta, while he was leading the daring and hazardous charge that turned the situation and won Algiers to France, _he charged with the bridle in his teeth_.

For his bravery he received the Cross of the Legion of Honor, being the first American thus honored.

When the Civil War cloud burst, he came back to the United States and was made brigadier general in the Federal army and given the command of the First New Jersey Brigade.

His timely arrival at Williamsburg saved the day for the Federals.

In the engagement at Fair Oaks,

"Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest,
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,"

there was no charge like Kearney's.

"How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten,
In the one hand still left,--and the reins in his teeth!"

General Oliver O. Howard lost his _right_ arm in this battle. When the amputation was taking place, he looked grimly up at General Kearney, who was present, and remarked, "We'll buy our gloves together, after this."

At Chantilly, a few days after the second battle of Bull Run, wherein he forced the gallant Stonewall Jackson back, he penetrated into the Confederate lines and met his death.

The Confederates had won. The dusk had fallen and General Kearney was reconnoitering after placing his division.

"He rode right into our men," feelingly relates a Confederate soldier, "then stopping suddenly, called out,

"'What troops are these?'"

Some one replied, "Hays' Mississippi Brigade."

He turned quickly in an attempt to escape. A shower of bullets fell about him. He leaned forward as if to protect himself, but a ball struck him in the spine. He reeled and fell.

Under the white flag of truce, General Lee sent his remains to General Hooker, who had the body transported to New York, where it was interred with becoming honors.

"Oh, evil the black shroud of night of Chantilly,
That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried."

KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES

SO that soldierly legend is still on its journey,--
That story of Kearney who knew not how to yield!
'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney,
Against twenty thousand he rallied the field.
Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest,
Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine,
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,--
No charge like Phil Kearney's along the whole line.

When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground
He rode down the length of the withering column,
And his heart at our war cry leapt up with a bound.
He snuffed like his charger, the wind of the powder,--
His sword waved us on and we answered the sign;
Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder,
"There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line!"

How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten,
In the one hand still left,--and the reins in his teeth!
He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten,
But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath.
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal,
Asking where to go in,--through the clearing or pine?
"O, anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same, Colonel!
You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line!"

Oh, evil the black shroud of night of Chantilly,
That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried!
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily,
The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride!
Yet we dream that he still,--in that shadowy region
Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign,--
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion,
And the word still is "Forward!" along the whole line.

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

THE CAVALRY CHARGE

WITH bray of the trumpet
And roll of the drum,
And keen ring of bugle,
The cavalry come.
Sharp clank the steel scabbards
The bridle chains ring,
And foam from red nostrils
The wild chargers fling.

Tramp! tramp! o'er the greensward
That quivers below,
Scarce held by the curb bit
The fierce horses go!
And the grim-visaged colonel,
With ear-rending shout,
Peals forth to the squadrons
The order: "Trot out!"

One hand on the saber,
And one on the rein,
The troopers move forward
In line on the plain.
As rings the word, "Gallop!"
The steel scabbards clank;
As each rowel is pressed
To a horse's hot flank;
And swift is their rush
And the wild torrents flow,
When it pours from the crag
On the valley below.

"Charge!" thunders the leader;
Like shaft from the bow
Each mad horse is hurled
On the wavering foe.
A thousand bright sabers
Are gleaming in air;
A thousand dark horses
Are dashed on the square.
Resistless and reckless
Of aught may betide,
Like demons, not mortals
The wild troopers ride.
Cut right! and cut left!
For the parry who needs?
The bayonets shiver
Like wind-scattered reeds.

Vain--vain the red volley
That bursts from the square,--
The random-shot bullets
Are wasted in air.
Triumphant, remorseless,
Unerring as death,--
No saber that's stainless
Returns to its sheath.
The wounds that are dealt
By that murderous steel
Will never yield case
For the surgeon to heal.
Hurrah! they are broken--
Hurrah! boys, they fly!
None linger save those
Who but linger to die.

Rein up your hot horses
And call in your men,--
The trumpet sounds, "Rally
To colors!" again.
Some saddles are empty,
Some comrades are slain
And some noble horses
Lie stark on the plain:
But war's a chance game, boys,
And weeping is vain.

FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.

AN IMMORTAL TWAIN

IT is a coincidence worthy of note, and heretofore unremarked by historians, that, as in the hour of birth of the National Flag there was given to posterity the name of a great Revolutionary hero, the hour of birth of the Confederate Battle Emblem immortalized the name of a hero of the Confederacy.

At four o'clock in the afternoon of that hard-fought battle of Manassas (Bull Run), July 21, 1861, the Federals were thinning out the lines in gray. Now they were directing their efforts against the wings of Jackson and Beauregard. Jackson's solemn visage was growing more solemn; Beauregard was anxiously scanning the landscape beyond, in the hope of discovering the approach of badly needed reenforcements.

Over the hill a long line was seen advancing. The day was hot and dry and not a leaf stirred in the dust-laden air. Clouds of smoke and grime enveloped the advancing troops and obscured their colors. General Beauregard raised his glass and surveyed them critically.

He then called an officer and instructed him to go to General Johnston and inform him that the enemy was receiving reenforcements and it might be wise for him to withdraw to another point. Still, he was not fully assured that the coming troops were Federals! The flag hung limp and motionless and could not be accurately discerned.

If these were Federals the day was surely lost. But if they were Confederates there was a fighting chance to win.

He determined to hold his position, and called out,

"What troops are those?"

No one could tell. Just then a gust of wind spread the colors. The flag was the Stars and Bars--General Early's brigade, not a moment too soon.

"We must have a more distinct flag," announced General Beauregard vehemently, in infinite relief: "One that we can recognize when we see it."

In that instant was conceived the Confederate Battle Flag, used thereafter throughout the Civil strife.

After the battle, the design--St. Andrew's Cross--was submitted by General Beauregard, and, approved by General Joseph E. Johnston, was adopted by the Confederate Congress.

"Conceived on the field of battle, it lived on the field of battle, and was proudly borne on every field from Manassas to Appomattox."

* * * * *

The Confederates were routed and running in disorder. General Jackson was standing immovable. General Bee rode to his side. "They will beat us back!"

"No, Sir," replied Jackson, "we will give them the bayonet."

General Bee rode back to his brigade. "Look at Jackson," said he, "standing there like a stone wall. Rally behind him." With this his brigade fell into line.

* * * * *

Early's troops arrived and formed. The Federals were beaten into a tumultuous retreat that never slacked until Centerville was reached.

From that day the name "Stonewall" attached to Thomas Jonathan Jackson and was peculiarly appropriate as indicating the adamantine, unyielding character of the man.

The motto of his life was: "A man can do what he wills to do," and in his resolves he depended for guidance upon Divine leading. He tried always to throw a religious atmosphere about his men; and out of respect to his feelings, if for no other reason, they often refrained from evil. His mount was a little sorrel horse, that the men affirmed was strikingly like him as it could not run except towards the enemy.

The ardent love of his troops for him made the tragedy of his death the more deplorable. Mistaking him for the enemy as he was returning from the front, in the gathering darkness at Chancellorsville, May, 1863, his own men shot him,--shot him down with victory in his grasp.

The whole country was horror-struck. Friend and foe alike paused in sympathy at such a situation.

To the Southern cause it was more than the taking off of a leader; it was an irreparable loss. By his death was left a gap in the Confederate ranks that no one else could fill.

Prior to the breaking out of the war Jackson had been unknown, but in the two years of his service he accomplished more than any other officer on his side. He saved Richmond from early fall by keeping the Union forces apart, until he was joined by Lee, when together they drove McClellan from within a few miles of the Confederate Capital and cleared the James River of gunboats.

In his report from Chancellorsville, General Robert E. Lee pays tribute to the illustrious officer thus:--

"The movement by which the enemy's position was turned and the fortune of the day decided, was conducted by the lamented Lieutenant General Jackson, who, as has already been stated, was severely wounded near the close of the engagement Saturday evening. I do not propose here to speak of the character of this illustrious man, since removed from the scene of his eminent usefulness, by the hand of an inscrutable but all-wise Providence. I nevertheless desire to pay the tribute of my admiration to the matchless energy and skill that marked this last act of his life, forming as it did a worthy conclusion of that long series of splendid achievements which won for him the lasting love and gratitude of his country.

"R. E. LEE.

"GENERAL S. COOPER,
"Adjt. and Insp. Gen. C. S. Army,
"Richmond, Va."

STONEWALL JACKSON

NOT midst the lightning of the stormy fight,
Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe,
Did Kingly Death with his resistless might
Lay the great leader low.

His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke
In the full sunshine of a peaceful town;
When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak
That propped our cause went down.

Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,
Recalling all his grand heroic deeds,
Freedom herself is writhing in the wound
And all the country bleeds.

He entered not the Nation's Promised Land,
At the red belching of the cannon's mouth
But broke the House of Bondage with his hand,
The Moses of the South!

O gracious God! not gainless is the loss;
A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown,
And while his country staggers neath the Cross,
He rises with the Crown.

HENRY LYNDEN FLASH.

THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG

A CLOUD possessed the hollow field,
The gathering battle's smoky shield:
Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed,
And through the cloud some horsemen dashed,
And from the heights the thunder pealed.

Then, at the brief command of Lee,
Moved out that matchless infantry,
With Pickett leading grandly down,
To rush against the roaring crown,
Of those dread heights of destiny.

Far heard above the angry guns
A cry across the tumult runs,--
The voice that rang through Shiloh's woods
And Chickamauga's solitudes,
The fierce South cheering on her sons!

Ah, how the withering tempest blew
Against the front of Pettigrew!
A Khamsin wind that scorched and singed
Like that infernal flame that fringed
The British squares at Waterloo!

A thousand fell where Kemper led;
A thousand died where Garnett bled:
In blinding flame and strangling smoke
The remnant through the batteries broke
And crossed the works with Armistead.

"Once more in Glory's van with me!"
Virginia cried to Tennessee;
"We two together, come what may,
Shall stand upon these works today!"
(The reddest day in history.)

Brave Tennessee! In reckless way
Virginia heard her comrade say:
"Close round this rent and riddled rag!"
What time she set her battle-flag
Amid the guns of Doubleday.

But who shall break the guards that wait
Before the awful face of Fate?
The tattered standards of the South
Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth,
And all her hopes were desolate.

In vain the Tennesseean set
His breast against the bayonet;
In vain Virginia charged and raged,
A tigress in her wrath uncaged,
Till all the hill was red and wet.

Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed,
Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost
Receding through the battle-cloud,
And heard across the tempest loud
The death-cry of a nation lost!

The brave went down! Without disgrace
They leaped to Ruin's red embrace;
They only heard Fame's thunders wake,
And saw the dazzling sun-burst break
In smiles on Glory's bloody face!

They fell, who lifted up a hand
And bade the sun in heaven to stand;
They smote and fell, who set the bars
Against the progress of the stars,
And stayed the march of Motherland!

They stood, who saw the future come
On through the fight's delirium;
They smote and stood, who held the hope
Of nations on that slippery slope
Amid the cheers of Christendom.

God lives! He forged the iron will
That clutched and held the trembling hill!
God lives and reigns! He built and lent
The heights for freedom's battlement
Where floats her flag in triumph still!

Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns!
Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs.
A mighty mother turns in tears
The pages of her battle years,
Lamenting all her fallen sons!

WILL HENRY THOMPSON.

UNITED

ALL day it shook the land--grim battle's thunder tread;
And fields at morning green, at eve are trampled red.
But now, on the stricken scene, twilight and quiet fall;
Only, from hill to hill, night's tremulous voices call;
And comes from far along, where camp fires warning burn,
The dread, hushed sound which tells of morning's sad return.

Timidly nature awakens; the stars come out overhead,
And a flood of moonlight breaks like a voiceless prayer for the dead.
And steals the blessed wind, like Odin's fairest daughter,
In viewless ministry, over the fields of slaughter;
Soothing the smitten life, easing the pang of death,
And bearing away on high the passing warrior's breath.

Two youthful forms are lying apart from the thickest fray,
The one in Northern blue, the other in Southern gray.
Around his lifeless foeman the arms of each are pressed,
And the head of one is pillowed upon the other's breast.
As if two loving brothers, wearied with work and play,
Had fallen asleep together, at close of the summer day.
Foemen were they, and brothers?--Again the battle's din,
With its sullen, cruel answer, from far away breaks in.

BENJAMIN SLEDD.

OLD HEART OF OAK

TO the Navy is ascribed the larger shares in the Civil War, of overcoming the prowess of the South. "The blockade sapped the industrial strength of the Confederacy."

A powerful factor in this blockade was David G. Farragut. Farragut was a Southerner by birth--a Tennessean--and fought, as it were, against his own hearthstone. Yet, when it is considered that from early youth he was in the marine service of the government and by arms upheld the national flag, and when it is remembered with what reverence the seaman regards the flag under which he serves, his choice is not surprising.

Scenes wherein men fought and died for the Stars and Stripes and often with their dying breath expressing adoration of the nation's emblem were common experiences of his life.

In his memoirs is related a pathetic story of a youth's death from accidental shooting. "Put me in the boat," implored he of his comrades, "that I may die under my country's flag." Another, a young Scotchman, who had a leg cut off in battle, cried out mournfully, "I can no longer be of use to the flag of my adoption," and threw himself overboard.

The necessity of choosing between the North and the South brought Farragut many sleepless nights and forced him between the fires of censure from the South and doubt of his fealty from the North, as it was recognized that the Southern man, as a rule, felt that his first allegiance was due to his State.

When he was but a lad of seven years, Farragut lost his mother and was adopted by his father's friend, that fighting old Commodore David Porter, who was destined to raise both his adopted and his own son to become admirals in the United States Navy.

For little Dave Farragut the sea had always a wonderful fascination, and at the age of twelve he was made a midshipman on the _Essex_, a warship of 1812. The _Essex_ one day captured a whaling vessel, and Captain Porter placed David in charge to steer her across the Pacific. The captain of the whaler, when clear of the _Essex_, thought to regain his vessel from the boy, by countermanding his orders. He threatened to shoot any sailor who dared to disobey him. Right here, the mettle that was to make Farragut the head of the American navy and the idol of the American people manifested itself. He repeated his order at first given; and when the mutinous captain appeared from below decks where he had gone for his pistols, he was told by the youthful commander that he would have to stay below or be thrown overboard. He chose the former.

To this same dauntless spirit, the Federal government owed the blockade of the lower Mississippi and the closing of the ports of Mobile Bay, that inflicted such injuries upon the Confederacy as to hasten the end of the war. "With ports closed," says an authority, "the Southern armies were reduced to a pitiful misery, the long endurance of which makes a noble chapter in heroism."

The lower Mississippi was controlled by the Confederates. Possession of the river and the capture of New Orleans could be accomplished only by running the forts situated below the city some seventy miles. To run the forts with wooden vessels and escape destruction from the armed vessels of the Confederacy in the Mississippi was a hazardous undertaking. Farragut believed he could do this. In December, 1861, he wrote to a friend: "Keep your lips closed and burn my letters. Perfect silence is the first injunction of the Secretary. I am to have a _flag_ in the gulf, and the rest depends upon myself."

In March he again wrote, "I have now attained what I have been looking for all my life--a _flag_--and having attained it, all that is necessary to complete the scene is a victory." The victory he was soon to have.

At two o'clock the morning of April 24, 1862, the signal for the start for the forts was given. In a few moments the thunderous roar of batteries and guns broke upon the air. The river became a mass of writhing flame.

"The passing of Forts Jackson and St. Phillips was one of the most awful sights and events I ever saw or expect to experience," says Farragut. Rafts of cotton were set on fire by the Confederates and came down the river, scattering disaster as they came. One of these caught the _Hartford_, Farragut's flagship, and set it on fire. So high rose the flames that even the courageous commander was for the moment daunted and exclaimed, "My God! is this to end this way!" By the expeditious use of the hose the flames were controlled.

The strong barriers across the river were broken. By repeated and desperate efforts the Confederate boats were sunk or disabled. The levee at New Orleans was gained. The Crescent City was taken.

Thus was accomplished a feat in naval warfare reckoned without a parallel in naval history, except in that of twenty-four months later in Mobile Bay. In compliment to his exploit the rank of rear admiral was conferred upon Farragut. Of the fleet, as subordinate officers, were Dewey and Schley, a future admiral and a rear-admiral.

To his home, the victorious commander addressed the following letter:--

"My dearest Wife and Boy.

"I am so agitated I can scarcely write, and I shall only tell you that it has pleased Almighty God to preserve my life through a fire such as the world has scarcely known."

When the ships lay safely at the levee with but one of the squadron lost, Farragut by note requested the mayor of New Orleans to remove the Confederate flag and to surrender the city formally. In curt terms the doughty mayor refused to do so, stating there was not in the city of New Orleans a man who would take down that flag. Then ensued a most unique correspondence between the two, through which Farragut made himself misunderstood to the extent that it was rumored that it was his intention to turn the guns on the city. At the expiration of forty-eight hours, however, an officer of the fleet removed the offending flag and hoisted the Stars and Stripes over the city hall.

To injure purposely the defenseless, as in turning the guns on the city, was not in keeping with the nature of David Farragut as revealed in history. Power combined with gentleness were the marked traits of his character. This gentleness had its finest reflex in his delicate attentions to his invalid wife. In the presence of her continuous suffering his warrior nature was laid aside, and his chivalric kindness shone forth in acts of rare devotion and tender care.

When he was asked one day, as to his feelings during a battle in seeing men fall writhing upon every side, he answered, "I thought of nothing but the working of the guns; but after the battle, when I saw the mangled bodies of my shipmates, dead and dying, groaning and expiring often with the most patriotic sentiments upon their lips, I became faint and sick. My sympathies were all aroused." Markedly noticeable in his letters is the absence of self-elation over his victories. There are, rather, a rejoicing in the advancement of his cause and gratitude to the Almighty for preservation. In this we read anew the lesson of true greatness.

Just prior to entering into the noted action of Mobile Bay, he wrote his son respecting his views of duty and death. "He who dies in doing his duty to his country, and at peace with his God, has played out the drama of life to the best advantage." Shortly after this was penned, the _Hartford_ was steaming into Mobile Bay, under the heavy fire of guns of Fort Morgan and Fort Gaines, in the execution of a naval feat that attracted the attention and admiration of the whole civilized world.

At the mouth of the bay the two islands upon which the forts stood were less than a mile apart. The passage had been strewn with torpedoes by the Confederates, and only a narrow strip of water was left clear. Through this strip went Farragut's fleet: the _Tecumseh_ first, the _Brooklyn_ next, the _Hartford_ third. Suddenly the prow of the _Tecumseh_ lifted: she veered and sank. The _Brooklyn_ backed and held Farragut's ship directly under the guns of Fort Morgan. Shot and shell hurtled in the air. The smoke grew dense. The fire from the cannons lit the heavens. Men shouted and fell.

"What's the matter!" called Farragut.

"Torpedoes," some one answered.

Never a profane man, he now gave vent to an oath, and cried out, "Full speed, Jouett. Four bells, Captain Drayton."

The _Hartford_ steamed to the front. The torpedoes crackled under her as she sped on; but the forts were passed. And high in the rigging of his ship, in full view of the enemy and imminent danger of the fiery missiles, was seen Farragut, whence he directed all the ships' maneuvers. An officer, observing him standing there, feared lest a shot would cause his fall, and carried a rope and lashed him to the mast.

In maddened fury the ironclad _Tennessee_ plunged straight at the _Hartford_. All the fleet bore down upon the Confederate ship. And crowding together, the _Lackawanna_, needing room, struck the flagship by accident, and came near striking the commander. Against the _Tennessee_ every Federal ship now redoubled her efforts, until, battered and bruised and despairing, she struck her colors.

The captain of the _Tennessee_ was Buchanan, the same who commanded the _Merrimac_ in her fight with the _Monitor_ in Hampton Roads. "The _Tennessee_ and Buchanan are my prisoners," wrote Farragut home. "He has lost a leg. It was a hard fight, but Buck met his fate manfully."

Fort Morgan and Fort Gaines surrendered and Farragut's fierce conflicts were at an end. Nearly so was his path of life. Congress honored him with the rank of admiral, the highest honor to be conferred. America and foreign nations extended him the most distinguishing courtesies. And then--the unseen Pilot steered his course across the unknown sea unto the harbor of the city Eternal.

FARRAGUT

FARRAGUT, Farragut,
Old Heart of Oak,
Daring Dave Farragut,
Thunderbolt stroke,
Watches the hoary mist
Lift from the bay,
Till his flag, glory-kissed,
Greets the young day.

Far, by gray Morgan's walls,
Looms the black fleet.
Hark, deck to rampart calls
With the drums' beat!
Buoy your chains overboard,
While the steam hums;
Men! to the battlement,
Farragut comes.

See, as the hurricane
Hurtles in wrath
Squadrons of clouds amain
Back from its path!
Back to the parapet,
To the gun's lips,
Thunderbolt Farragut
Hurls the black ships.

Now through the battle's roar
Clear the boy sings,
"By the mark fathoms four,"
While his lead swings.
Steadily the wheelmen five
"Nor' by East keep her."
"Steady," but two alive:
How the shells sweep her!

Lashed to the mast that sways
Over red decks,
Over the flame that plays
Round the torn wrecks,
Over the dying lips
Framed for a cheer,
Farragut leads his ships,
Guides the line clear.

On by heights cannon-browed,
While the spars quiver;
Onward still flames the cloud
Where the hulls shiver.
See, yon fort's star is set,
Storm and fire past.
Cheer him, lads--Farragut,
Lashed to the mast!

Oh! while Atlantic's breast
Bears a white sail,
While the Gulf's towering crest
Tops a green vale,
Men thy bold deeds shall tell,
Old Heart of Oak,
Daring Dave Farragut,
Thunderbolt stroke!

WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH.

August, 1864.

PINE AND PALM

(GRANT AND LEE)

Charles Francis Adams in address before Chicago Chapter of Phi Beta
Kappa, June 17, 1902.