The Sword and Gun 8

The Sword and Gun 8

Whilst camped here the sad news reached us of the brutal

assassination of President Lincoln by the wretched maniac, Booth, and

I say maniac, not to palliate his crime, but because his act was one

none but a maniac would have committed. For, however much he may have

sympathized with the Southern cause and hated its fancied oppressors,

he might have known that such an __EXPRESSION__ of malignity and revenge,

even though sanctioned by the Confederate government, as after events

have shown it was, would, as it in fact has, crush out all sympathy

for the rebellion, at home and abroad, and extinguish the last

sentiment of pity for what its partisans have been pleased to call

their heroic resistance against superior numbers.

 

The effect the news of the assassination had on the army may be

imagined, but cannot be described. In the midst of our rejoicings at

the successes which had so lately crowned our efforts, and while the

praises and acclamations of the North were yet ringing in our ears,

it fell on us like a thunderbolt. Just as the dawn of peace, crowning

the long and arduous labors of the past four years, was beginning

to illuminate his pathway, in the very zenith of his career and at

the height of his fame, our good, kind President was ruthlessly and

brutally murdered. There is no need here to eulogize those virtues,

so well known to all who have watched so anxiously and with such

interest the successive acts of his career, nor to enlarge on that

stubborn honesty and integrity of purpose and principle which has

brought this nation safely through a sea of troubles which well nigh

overwhelmed it. Abraham Lincoln has gone to his account, and the

tears of a nation that honored him whilst living, follow him to the

grave, now that he is dead. The loss is ours, not his; he has died at

his post with his harness on his back; he has laid down his life for

the country he loved more than life itself, a soldier in the cause of

humanity, freedom and right, and what could man wish more. Peace to

his soul! When the time comes for us to go, may our record, if not as

glorious, be at least as clear as his.

 

 

REUNION.

 

[_From the London Spectator._]

 

An end at last! The echoes of the war--

The weary war beyond the western waves--

Die in the distance. Freedom's rising star

Beacons above a hundred thousand graves:

 

The graves of heroes who have won the fight,

Who in the storming of the stubborn town

Have rung the marriage peal of might and right,

And scaled the cliffs and cast the dragon down.

 

Pæans of armies thrill across the sea,

Till Europe answers--"Let the struggle cease,

The bloody page is turned; the next may be

For ways of pleasantness and paths of peace!"--

 

A golden morn--a dawn of better things--

The olive-branch--clasping of hands again--

A noble lesson read to conquering kings--

A sky that tempests had not scoured in vain.

 

This from America we hoped and him

Who ruled her "in the spirit of his creed."

Does the hope last when all our eyes are dim,

As History records her darkest deed?

 

The pilot of his people through the strife,

With his strong purpose turning scorn to praise,

E'en at the close of battle reft of life,

And fair inheritance of quiet days.

 

Defeat and triumph found him calm and just,

He showed how clemency should temper power,

And dying left to future times in trust

The memory of his brief victorious hour.

 

O'ermastered by the irony of fate,

The last and greatest martyr of his cause;

Slain like Achilles at the Scæan gate,

He saw the end, and fixed "the purer laws."

 

May these endure and, as his work, attest

The glory of his honest heart and hand--

The simplest, and the bravest, and the best--

The Moses and the Cromwell of his land.

 

Too late the pioneers of modern spite,

Awe-stricken by the universal gloom.

See his name lustrous in Death's sable night,

And offer tardy tribute at his tomb.

 

But we who have been with him all the while,

Who knew his worth, and loved him long ago,

Rejoice that in the circuit of our isle

There is no room at last for Lincoln's foe.

 

The surrender of Lee and Johnston with their entire armies, put an

end to the rebellion in Virginia, and left the Army of the Potomac,

for the first time in four years, out of employment, with no one to

fight and looking round for some one to hit or to "tread on the tail

of its coat." Such things could not last, so on the 20th of April

we had orders to pack up and move from our camp on the South Side

railroad to City Point, there to take transports for Washington. This

we accordingly did, and after a tiresome march, arrived at City Point

on the morning of the 22d.

 

A few hours sufficed for all necessary arrangements, and before

evening the steamer _Daniel Webster_, having on board Col. Harriman

and staff, Gen. Humphries of the 2d corps, and the 37th and 38th

Wisconsin, was steaming slowly down the James river against a strong

flood tide. We passed Harrison's Landing, where the 9th corps crossed

the James on pontoons in its march from Cold Harbor to Petersburg,

during the summer of last year, and just below this point, the last

rays of the setting sun were shining on the glorious old stars and

stripes floating proudly over Fort Powhattan, the strongest work on

the James river. Our boat having no regular government pilot, was

compelled to anchor shortly after dark, and wait till morning and

daylight should enable us to pick our way along the mazy channel. We

passed Fortress Monroe with its "even trench" and frowning embrasures

about sunrise, and steamed out through Hampton Roads, past that

singularly amphibious locality, part fort, part prison, known as the

Rip Raps, into the smooth waters of Chesapeake Bay. The morning was

still and pleasant, a light breeze from the northwest created just

enough swell to give an easy rise and fall to the vessel, enough

to make us feel that we were at sea, and hardly enough to unsettle

the internal arrangements of the least nautical of our passengers.

Far away on the starboard bow, Capes Charles and Henry were just

visible, faint blue streaks in the distant offing. Astern of us were

Norfolk, Fortress Monroe, the Rip Raps, several Men of War, including

two British and one French steam frigate, and several saucy looking

Yankee gunboats, bustling round in a great hurry, making a great

swell in the water and a great noise with their escaping steam, as

if they had important government business on hand and were anxious

to get through with it. Schooners, barques and sloops of all sizes,

builds and styles were either dropping easily down before the light

wind, their big fore-and-aft sails boomed out on either side and

giving them the appearance, as they rose and fell on the swells, of

sea-birds, perched on the water, with their wings spread ready to

take flight, or with sheets flat aft were working up the bay, passing

and repassing one another as they tacked and tacked again. And the

huge steam frigates lay there quiet, and, as it seemed, disdainful

watchers of the whole scene, models of order and neatness from truck

to deck, every rope taut and in its place, every spar and every

line clear and distinct against the blue sky behind them, the black

muzzles of the guns with their white tompions all in even line, and

the boats at the swinging boom, each with its boat-tender aboard to

keep it from chafing and rubbing against its neighbor--everything

orderly, methodical, neat. (And here a moral. What a pity some people

in this world cannot, like a man-of-war's boat, be furnished with

a boat-tender, to keep the waves of envy and unfriendliness from

causing them to chafe against their fellows.)

 

But ethics and moralizing have but little to do with the 1st

brigade, 1st division, 9th army corps, and still less with the

good ship _Daniel Webster_, which, about this time, was bowling

along up the bay, at the rate of ten knots an hour. About noon we

passed the light-ship on Wolf Trap Shoals, with the _tin-clad_

lying alongside, to protect her from guerrillas. For, the inference

being but fair that those fiends, who would not hesitate to destroy

a train containing innocent women and children, would have as

little compunction in destroying the often-times only friend of

the storm-beaten ship, in her most thrilling hours of danger, all

the light-houses and light-vessels along the coast of Virginia

are strongly guarded, day and night. Just before dark, we entered

the mouth of the Potomac, and, in obedience to a hail from the

guard-ship, at Port Washington, made fast to the dock at Alexandria,

at sunrise, on the morning of the 24th. Here we disembarked, and were

marched out to a very pleasant camping-ground, on the line of the

Orange and, Alexandria railroad. We remained here two days, when we

received orders to march to Washington. Thither we accordingly went,

and the evening of the same day found us encamped near Tenallytown,

between Forts Gaines and Simmons, and not far from the Chain Bridge.

Here we remained, "possessing our souls in peace," and doing a little

picket duty, a little drilling, not a little dress-parading, and, in

fact, playing soldiers; with nothing to do, and all day to do it in;

and, barring a slight suspicion of monotony, leading a not unpleasant

life.

 

On Tuesday evening, May 9th, we had a very pleasant reunion, at

brigade headquarters, the occasion being the presentation to Col.

Harriman, by the officers of his staff, of a very handsome sword. The

presentation was made, in the name of the staff, by Capt. Charles

McCreery, 8th Michigan Volunteers, Inspector General, who in a very

neat and appropriate speech descanted on the pleasant nature of the

relations that had always existed between the Colonel and his staff,

officially and otherwise, during the long time he had commanded the

brigade, and speaking in terms of the warmest commendation of the

able and efficient manner in which the Colonel had commanded the

brigade both in camp and in action. The Colonel responded, briefly

and to the purpose, and after an hour or so spent in social chat

the party broke up, pleased and gratified at the opportunity that

had been afforded them of showing their appreciation of an able and

gallant officer.

 

When the last grand pageant of the war passed through the streets of

the capital, and the army, that for the last four years, had been

laboring to maintain the existence of the country and to uphold its

chosen form of government, received a sincere and hearty public

welcome at the hands of a grateful people. Our regiment took a part

in the pageant and received its share of the welcome. For two days,

Washington was the scene of a military display, the like of which the

world has never seen, and God grant may never have occasion to see

again. From nine in the morning till three in the afternoon of each

day, Pennsylvania Avenue, from the Capitol to Georgetown, was covered

with troops, as the armies of the Potomac, Tennessee and Georgia

passed along through crowds of their fellow citizens who had turned

out to welcome them home.

 

The long wide street, with its shady sidewalks and handsome

buildings, was dressed in its gayest. The fresh spring verdure of the

trees, the glorious stripes and stars waving everywhere, the bright

glancing bayonets, set off by the dark blue of their bearers, the

regimental colors and guidons, the waving of flags and handkerchiefs

from every window, the lively strains of the various brigade and regimental bands, the bright clear sky and sun overhead, formed a sight once seen, never to be forgotten, and worth ten years of a man's life for him to be able to say, "I was there."