Chapter 7
A People's Hero
After the death of General Lee, many speeches were made in his praise, and many letters were written telling of the sorrow of his friends. These letter came not only from the South, but from the North, and other lands.
The New York Sun thus closes its notice:
"His death will awaken great grief through the South, and many people in the North will drop a tear of sorrow on his bier. * * * In General Lee, an able soldier, a sincere Christian, and an honest man has been taken from earth."
The New York Herald said these kind words of him:
"In a quiet autumn morning, in the land he loved so well, and, as he held, he had served so faithfully, the spirit of Robert E. Lee left the clay which it had so much ennobled, and traveled out of this world into the great and unknown land. * * *
"Not to the Southern people alone shall be limited the tribute of a tear over the dead Virginian. Here in the North, forgetting that the time was when the sword of Robert E. Lee was drawn against us, we have long since ceased to look upon him as the Confederate leader, but have claimed him as one of ourselves; for Robert Edward Lee was an American, and the great nation which gave him birth would to-day be unworthy of such a son if she looked upon him lightly."
The Pall Mall Gazette, London, England, said:
"The news from America, that General Robert E. Lee is dead, will be received with great sorrow by many in this country, as well as by his fellow-soldiers in America.
"It is but a few years since Robert E. Lee ranked among the great men of his time. He was the able soldier of the Southern Confederacy, the leader who twice threatened, by the capture of Washington, to turn the tide of success and cause a revolution which would have changed the destiny of the United States."
The London Standard gave this tribute to Lee:
"A country which has given birth to men like him, and those who followed him, may look the chivalry of Europe in the face without shame; for the lands of Sidney and of Bayard never brought forth a nobler soldier, gentleman and Christian, than Robert E. Lee."
He was called "the great captain of his age" --- "the great general of the South" --- "a good knight, noble of heart and strong of purpose, and both a soldier and a gentleman."
These beautiful words were said of him in a speech soon after his death:
"General Lee's fame is not bounded by the limits of the South, nor by the continent. I rejoice that the South gave him birth. I rejoice that the South still holds his ashes. But his fame belongs to the human race. Washington, too, was born in the South and sleeps in the South, but his fame belongs to mankind. We place the name of Lee by that of Washington. They both belong to the world.
"There is one thing more I wish to say before I take my seat. General Lee's fame ought to rest on its true foundation. He did not draw his sword in the cause of slavery--he did not seek to overthrow the Government of the United States. He drew it in the defence of constitutional liberty. That cause is not dead, but will live forever."
General W. Preston spoke of him thus:
"I knew him first when he was a captain. * * At that time, General Scott had decided upon General Lee as a man who would make his mark if he were ever called upon to do great work. He never drank, he never swore an oath, but there was never a dispute among gentlemen in which his voice was not more potent that any other; his rare calmness and dignity were above all. When the war came on, he followed his native State, Virginia. * * Scott maintained that Lee was the greatest soldier in the army. * *
"I remember when Scott made use of these words: 'I tell you one thing, if I were on my death-bed, and knew that a battle was to be fought for my country, and the President were to say to me, 'Scott, who shall command?' I tell you that, with my dying breath, I would say Robert Lee. Nobody but Robert Lee! Robert Lee, and nobody but Lee!"
These extracts would not be complete without this one, bearing upon his life as a teacher:
"And it is an honor for all the colleges of the South, and for all our schools, that this pure and bright name is joined by the will of him that bore it with the cause of education. We believe that, so long as the name of Lee is cherished by Southern teachers, they will grow stronger in their work. They will be encouraged to greater efforts when they remember that Lee was one of their number, and that his great heart, that had so bravely borne the fortunes of an empire, bore also, amid its latest aspirations, the interests and hopes of the teacher."
A great public honor was paid to our hero when the bronze statue by Mercie was unveiled in Richmond.
Shortly after the death of General Lee, a few ladies met in a parlor in Richmond and formed a society know as the Ladies' Lee Monument Association. Their plan was to erect a monument in Richmond to the memory of the great chief, and to collect funds for this purpose from the entire South. They began at once their labor of love. Though the South was at that time very poor, the people gave gladly of their small means until the Ladies' Association had collected over fifteen thousand dollars.
Almost at the same time, another "Lee Monument Association" was formed of the old soldiers and sailors of the Confederacy, which had General Jubal A. Early for its president. The ladies of the Hollywood Memorial Association were asked to help, and they proved great workers in the cause.
I cannot tell you the many ways in which these and other societies worked to raise the money, but at last there was enough in the treasury to erect the statue.
In the meantime, General Fitzhugh Lee was made Governor of Virginia, and he at once began to take measures to bring about the erection of the monument. By his efforts a "Board of Managers" was appointed, whose work was to choose the design, the artist, and the site of the monument. The Allen lot, in the western part of the city, was at last chosen for the site, and was accepted as the gift of Mr. Otway Allen, June 18th, 1887. It was then the duty of the Board to find a sculptor worthy to execute this great work.
After many trials, the Board selected Monsieur Mercie, a Frenchman, who was both a painter and a sculptor of note. In the summer of 1887, the best photographs of General Lee, as well as one of his shoes and his uniform, were sent to the sculptor. A small spur, such as General Lee wore, was taken over to France by Miss Randolph, who was one of the Board of Managers. Monsieur Mercie told her that when General Lee's shoe was sent to him, there was no one in his household, except his twelve-year-old boy, with a foot small enough to wear it.
In working out the likeness to General Lee, Monsieur Mercie had the good fortune to have Miss Mary Lee, who was then in Paris, as a critic of his work.
On the 27th of October, 1887, the cornerstone was laid with splendid rites, and on the 3rd of May, 1890, the statue reached Richmond by way of New York. It was packed in three boxes. On the 7th of May, each box was placed in a separate wagon, from which waved the flags of Virginia and the Confederacy. Then, one wagon was drawn by men of the city, one by old soldiers, and one by women and girls--the fine lady and her humble sister standing shoulder to shoulder. They went through the city, pulling the ropes amid the cheers of twenty thousand people, until they came to the spot where the statue was to stand. Such was their love for Lee! The monument in all is about sixty-one feet in height, and cost sixty-five thousand dollars. It shows the General mounted upon his war-horse, Traveler. His feet touch the stirrups lightly, after the manner of the Southern horseman. He is clad in a plain uniform. A sash girds his waist, and the sword of a cavalry officer hangs from his side. He holds the bridle reins in his left hand, while in his right is his hat, which he grasps as if he had just taken it off to acknowledge the cheers of his men, through whose ranks we may suppose him to be passing.
The day decided upon for unveiling the statue was Friday, May 29th, 1890.
From North, South, East and West, people thronged to do honor to the great chief.
All the city was then thinking of one man -- Lee, just as, twenty-five years before, all their hopes had turned to him.
On that day, the sun rose bright and the people with it. Soon, the noise of tramping feet and the tap of the drum were heard, and ere long the glitter of bayonets, the flashing of sabors and the waving of flags told that the line was forming. The streets were crowded, and rang with cheers as some noted soldier rode by or an old Confederate flag was waved.
At noon, the long line was formed on Broad street, and the parade began. Every window, doorway, and even the house-tops along the line of march, were filled with people eager to see the great parade, which stretched through the streets four miles in moving mass.
General Fitzhugh Lee, nephew of the hero, who had been one of his most daring cavalry generals during the war, and who had formerly been Governor of Virginia, was chief marshal of the parade. Cheer after cheer arose as he rode by, wearing the slouch hat of a cavalryman. "Our Fitz," as his men loved to call him, "was himself again."
The guests rode in open carriages, and among them were misses Mary and Mildred Lee; and General W. H. Fitzhugh Lee, wife and sons. They were followed by band after band of volunteer troops from all the Southern States, in the following order: South Carolina, North Carolina, Mississippi, Texas, Maryland, District of Columbia, Alabama, West Virginia and Virginia. Behind these marched the veterans--men who had fought in the Civil War, and who came from all parts of the South. Brave men were there from Texas, the far-off "Lone Star State." With the veteran troops from Louisiana was "the old war-horse" Longstreet, who had led the First Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia; and at the head of the Georgia men was the tried and true Gordon. Gallant sons of Florida, Mississippi and Alabama were in line with the brave men of North and South Carolina. Veterans from Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky, Maryland, West Virginia and Virginia were also there to honor the memory of their leader.
Whenever and wherever these veterans were seen, they were greeted with hearty cheers. Some were clad in their old gray uniforms, faded and worn, and in many cases full of bullet-holes. Here and there along the line could be seen the old and tattered flags of the Confederacy.
After the veterans, came the civic orders in Richmond, the students of Washington and Lee University, and the corps of cadets from the historic Virginia Military Institute.
The cross-bars and battle-flags of the Confederacy floated in the breeze by the side of the "Stars and Stripes," which meant that the people of the United States were one nation.
As the line moved along the streets decked with floating flags and gay bunting, the sound of the many feet was lost in loud and hearty cheers that arose from doors, house-tops and crowded sidewalks.
At last, the throng at the grandstand heard the roll of the drum and the nearing din of the parade, and soon the bright line swept into view. The crowd was so dense that persons on the grandstand could not be seen by those on the ground. Ringing cheers arose, not once, but time and time again, as the great men took their places on the stand, and it was as late as 3:45 o'clock P.M. when Governor McKinney stepped forward to make the opening speech.
Then there was prayer by Rev. Dr. Minnigerode, who was the rector of St. Paul's church during the war, at which church General Lee worshipped when in Richmond.
When the prayer ended, the band played Dixie, the war-song of the South, with whose strains the old soldiers had so often been thrilled as they marched into battle. Then there was a great noise which at last wore itself away, and General Early rose and spoke a few words of cheer to the old soldiers.
The orator of the day was Colonel Archer Anderson, who pictured scene after scene in the life of General Lee with great force and clearness. Again the grand hero seemed to live and act in their midst--to lead them on to victory or to teach them how to bear defeat.
When the speaker took his seat, amid cheers, General Joseph E. Johnston arose and with two old soldiers marched to the base of the monument. Each of the soldiers carried a battle flag, tattered and torn by shot and shell. When the monument was reached, General Johnston pulled the rope and one part of the veil fell off. Another pull brought off the rest of the veil, and the splendid statue was in plain view of the eager multitude. A score of old soldiers mounted its base and waved their old Confederate flags in loyal, eager love for their dead chief. Mighty cheers broke from the watching throng, like the wild breaking of a storm, but at last they died away.
Up there, against the blue sky, kissed by the rays of the setting sun, in the midst of his own people, was the matchless face and form of Lee.
Some wept, others shouted, but all thanked God that he had given to America such a son as Lee.
Seldom had men looked on such a scene before. At last the crowd went slowly away, leaving their hero in bronze to keep silent watch over the city he loved so well. Beneath him were the homes of his friends, and beyond, in "Hollywood" and "Oakwood," Richmond's "cities of the dead," were the graves of his fallen heroes, and far away, across and a-down the James, were his battlefields.
As time rolls on, statue and city will pass away. But the name and virtues of Robert E. Lee will never die, for they are written in the history of his country and in the Book of Life, and will live beyond the shores of Time.
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Southern War Poems
Lee to the Rear
by John R. Thompson
Dawn of a pleasant morning in May
Broke thro' the Wilderness, cool and gray.
While perched in the tallest tree-tops, the birds
Were carolling Mendelssohn's "Songs without words."
Far from the haunts of men remote
The brook brawled on with a liquid note,
And nature, all tranquil and lovely, wore
The smile of spring, as in Eden of yore.
Little by little, as daylight increased,
And deepened the roseate flush in the East---
Little by little did morning reveal
Two long, glittering lines of steel!
Where two hundred thousand bayonets gleam,
Tipped with the light of the earliest beam,
And the faces are sullen and grim to see
In the hostile armies of Grant and Lee.
All of a sudden, ere rose the sun,
Pealed on the silence the opening gun---
A little white puff of smoke there came,
And anon the valley was wreathed in flame.
Down on the left of the rebel lines,
Where a breastwork stands in a copse pines,
Before the rebels their ranks can form
The Yankees have carried the place by storm.
Stars and Stripes o'er the salient wave,
Where many a hero has found a grave,
And the gallant Confederates strive in vain
The ground they have drenched with the blood to regain.
Yet louder the thunder of battle roared---
Yet a deadlier fire on their columns poured---
Slaughter, infernal, rode with Despair,
Furious twain, through the smoky air.
Not far off in the saddle there sat
A gray-bearded man with black slouch hat;
Not much moved by the fire was he---
Calm and resolute Robert Lee.
Quick and watchful, he kept his eye
On two bold rebel brigades close by---
Reserves that were standing (and dying) at ease
Where the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees.
For still with their loud, bull-dog bay
The Yankee batteries blazed away,
And with every murderous second that sped
A dozen brave fellows, alas! fell dead.
The grand old beard rode to the space
Where Death and his victims stood face to face,
And silently waves his old slouch hat---
A world of meaning there was in that!
"Follow me! Steady! We'll save the day!"
This was what he seemed to say;
And to the light of his glorious eye
The bold brigades thus made reply:
"We'll go forward, but you must go back."
And they moved not an inch in the perilous track.
"Go to the rear, and we'll give them a rout."
Then the sound of the battle was lost in their shout.
Turning his bridle, Robert Lee
Rode to the rear. Like the waves of the sea
Bursting the dykes in their overflow,
Madly his veterans dashed on the foe;
And the backwood in terror that foe was driven,
Their banners rent and their columns riven
Wherever the tide of battle rolled,
Over the Wilderness, wood, and wold.
Sunset out of a crimson sky
Streamed o'er a field of a ruddier dye,
And the brook ran on with a purple stain
From the blood of ten thousand foemen slain.
Seasons have passed since that day and year,
Again o'er the pebbles the brook runs clear,
And the field in a richer green is drest
Where the dead of the terrible conflict rest.
Hushed is the roll of the rebel drum;
The sabres are sheathed and the cannon are dumb,
And Fate, with pitiless hand, has furled
The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world.
But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides,
And down into the history grandly rides,
Calm and unmoved, as in battle he sat,
The gray-bearded man in the black slouch hat.
The Conquered Banner
By the Rev. J. A. Ryan, Catholic Prist, of Knoxville, Tenn.
Music by A. E. Blackmar
Furl that banner, for 'tis weary;
Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary;
Furl it, fold it, it is best;
For there's not a man to wave it,
And there's not a sword to save it,
And there's not one left to lave it
In the blood which heroes gave it;
And its foes now scorn and brave it---
Furl it, hide it, let it rest.
Take that banner down---'tis tattered,
Broken is its staff and shattered,
And the valiant hosts are scattered
Over whom it floated high.
Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it,
Hard to think there's none to hold it,
Hard that those who once enrolled it
Now must furl it with a sigh.
Furl that banner, furl it sadly---
Once ten thousands hailed it gladly,
And ten thousands wildly, madly,
Swore it should forever wave,
Swore that foeman's sword should never
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever,
Till that flag would float forever
O'er their freedom or their grave.
Furl it! for the hands that grasped it,
And the hearts that fondly clasped it,
Cold and dead are lying low;
And the banner, it is trailing,
While around it sounds the wailing
Of its people in their woe.
For, though conquered, they adore it,
Love the cold, dead hands that bore it,
Weep for those who fell before it,
Pardon those who trailed and tore it,
And Oh! wildly they deplore it,
Now to furl and fold it so.
Furl that banner! true 'tis gory,
Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory,
And 'twill live in song and story,
Though its folds are in the dust;
For its fame on brightest pages,
Penned by poets and by sages,
Shall go sounding down the ages,
Furl its folds though now we must.
Furl that banner! softly, slowly,
Treat it gently---it is holy---
For it droops above the dead;
Touch it not, unfold it never;
Let it droop there, furled forever,
For its people's hopes are dead.
Music in Camp
by John R. Thompson
Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran, deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.
The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;
And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its hid embrasure.
The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver,
And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.
And now, where circling hills looked down,
With cannon grimly planted,
O'er listless camp and silent town,
The golden sunset slanted.
When on the fervid air there came
A strain, now rich, now tender;
The music seemed itself aflame
With day's departing splendor.
A Federal band, which eve and morn
Played measures brave and nimble,
Had just struck up with flute and horn
And lively clash of cymbal.
Down flocked the soldiers to the banks,
Till margined by its pebbles,
One wooded shore was blue with "Yanks,"
And one was gray with "Rebels."
Then all was still, and then the band,
With movements light and tricksy,
Made stream and forest, hill and strand,
Reverberate with "Dixie."
The conscious stream with burnished glow,
Went proudly o'er its pebbles,
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow
With yelling of the rebels.
Again a pause, and then again
The trumpets pealed sonorous,
And Yankee Doodle was the strain
To which the shores gave chorus.
The laughing ripple shoreward flew
To kiss the shining pebbles;
Loud shrieked the swarming boys in blue
Defiance to the Rebels.
And yet once more the bugles sang
Above the stormy riot;
No shout upon the evening rang--
There reigned a holy quiet.
The sad, low stream, its noiseless tread
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
And silent now the Yankees stood,
And silent stood the Rebels.
No unresponsive soul had heard
That plaintive note's appealing,
So deeply Home, Sweet Home, had stirred
The hidden founts of feeling.
Or blue or gray, the soldier sees,
As by the wand of fairy,
The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees,
The cabin by the prairie.
Or cold or warm, his native skies
Bend in their beauty o'er him;
Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes,
His loved ones stood before him.
As fades the iris after rain
In April's tearful weather,
The vision vanished as the strain
And daylight died together.
But memory, waked by music's art,
Expressed in simplest numbers,
Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart,
Made light the Rebel's slumbers.
And fair the form of music shines,
That bright, celestial creature,
Who still 'mid war's embattled lines
Gave this one touch of nature.
----Louisville Journal
The South
by Father Ryan
Yes, give me the land
Where the ruins are spread,
And the living tread light
On the heart of the dead;
Yes, give me the land
That is blest by the dust,
And bright with the deeds
Of the down-trodden just.
Yes, give me the land
Where the battle's red blast
Has flashed on the future
The form of the past;
Yes, give me the land
That hath legends and lays
That tell of memories
of long-vanished days.
Yes, give me the land
That hath story and song
To tell of the strife
Of the right with the wrong;
Yes, give me the land
With a grave in each spot
And names in the graves
That shall not be forgot.
Yes, give me the land
of the wreck and the tomb;
There's grandeur in graves---
There's glory in gloom.
For out of the gloom
Future brightness is born;
As, after the night,
Looms the sunrise of morn.
And the graves of the dead,
With the grass overgrown,
May yet form the footstool
Of Liberty's throne;
And each simple wreck
In the way-path of might
Shall yet be a rock
In the temple of Right.
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