THE FUNERAL CEREMONIES
(A. S. Hardy, in the Constitution, Atlanta, Georgia.)
Gainesville, Georgia, January 6, 1904.
The funeral of General James Longstreet, which was held at eleven o’clock to-day at the county court-house, was the most impressive ceremonial ever held in Gainesville. Several thousand people gathered in and around the court-house, and when the guards threw open the doors to the public just preceding the service, which occurred in the main court-room instead of in the rotunda as originally intended, there was a great crush, though every endeavor was made to handle the vast throng with every possible ease. Only a few minutes were consumed in filling every available seat, and outside there appeared to be absolutely no diminution in the size of the crowd.
A few moments before twelve o’clock, the active pall-bearers bore the casket up the stairway from the rotunda, where it had lain in state from two o’clock yesterday, and placed it in position just in front of the judge’s rostrum. It was banked in a profusion of exquisite floral offerings, many of which came from out-of-town Confederate camps, other organizations, and from personal friends. Across the head and foot were thrown a Confederate and a United States flag, and standing near was the handsome silk flag of the Candler Horse Guards.
If any should doubt that the people among whom the General lived did not love him and revere his memory, this doubt would have been dispelled to-day if they had seen the demonstration over his casket as the last sad rites were being said. Not a business house in town was open, everything in the city closing tight their doors from the beginning of the funeral until after the body was placed to rest in Alta Vista Cemetery. From every quarter the people came and upon every lip there was praise of the immortal deeds of the great Confederate commander.
As the body was being placed in position, Bishop Keiley, Father Schadewell, of Albany, and Father Gunn, of Sacred Heart Church, Atlanta, emerged from the judge’s private chambers on the left and were escorted to a position in front of the casket. The burial service of the Roman Catholic Church was conducted by the Right Rev. Bishop Keiley, of Savannah; Father Schadewell, of Albany, and Dr. Gunn, of the Sacred Heart Church, of Atlanta. Father Schadewell read the liturgical Latin service, then gave the same in English. Some of the beautiful prayers are given elsewhere.
After reading the service and the blessing of the remains the right reverend bishop, who himself had served as a soldier from 1860 to 1864 in the Confederate army under Longstreet, spoke as follows:
“Had it pleased God that the cause which met defeat at Appomattox eight and thirty years ago had been crowned with that success for which both its justice and the singular devotedness of its defenders had given us right and warrant to hope, a far different scene had been witnessed here to-day. It might have been that Federal as well as State authorities had met to pay a merited tribute to this dead hero, who valiantly sustained on many a bloody field the imperishable principles of the right of self-government.
“Had it pleased God to spare the precious lives of those of his companions in arms who have passed over the river, then we had seen the peerless Lee, the brave Johnston, and the dashing Hampton sharing our grief and mingling their tears with ours over the remains of the soldier whom Lee loved. Is there e’en a suggestion of irreverence in the thought which would people this hall with the dauntless spirits of our dead?
“Having met defeat in an unequal struggle and having loyally accepted the results of that struggle; having devoted our time and scanty means to the upbuilding of our loved land; having been blessed by a merciful God beyond our dreams or deserts, we lay aside our tasks to-day for awhile to recall the glories of our past and to tell of the valor of one who fought and bled for us.
“The foeman need not frown,
They are all powerless now;
We gather here and we lay them down,
And tears and prayers are the only crown
We bring to wreathe each brow.
“Having passed the span which Providence ordinarily allots as the term of human life, General James Longstreet has answered the roll-call of the great God.
“What a brilliant page in history is filled with his grand career. Born more than eighty years ago in the neighboring State of South Carolina, he entered West Point in his seventeenth year and graduated therefrom in his twenty-first. He served with marked distinction in the Mexican War and was more than once complimented for his gallant conduct and merited and received promotion.
“When the Southern States withdrew from the Union by reason of attacks on their reserved rights which were guaranteed by the Constitution, and were forced into the war between the States, James Longstreet offered his services and sword to the cause of self-government. No history of the war may be written which does not bear emblazoned on every page the story of his deeds. Why need I recount them here? Assuredly no one will question the gross impropriety of discussing incidents of the career of Longstreet during the war which have been the subject of criticism by some.
“We who knew him forty-odd years ago; we who shared his convictions and in humble ways bore a part in the good cause; we know what a tower of strength Longstreet was to the noblest knight who has graced tented field since the peerless Bayard passed from earth,—Robert E. Lee; we feel and know to-day that neither boundless praise nor fullest words of gratitude can exaggerate the worth of James Longstreet or pay him what we owe.
“By what I deem is a peculiarly fortunate coincidence, we are committing his remains to the tomb on a day when the Catholic Church commemorates the manifestation of our Saviour to the Gentiles in the persons of the wise men, who, led by a star, came from their distant homes to Bethlehem. The Bible tells us that they found the Child and Mary, His Mother. God has sent stars which have been beacon-lights on our pathway through the world, though in their gleaming we have foolishly failed at times to see the guiding hand of a merciful Providence. Joy and sorrow, sickness, and even death have been stars which should have led us nearer and nearer to God.
“It is my duty as a priest of God to call your attention to the obvious lesson of this occasion,—the vanity of mere earthly greatness and the certainty of death and the necessity of preparation for it. James Longstreet was a brave soldier, a gallant gentleman, but better still—a consistent Christian. After the war between the States he became a member of the Catholic Church, and to his dying day remained faithful to her teaching and loyal to her creed.
“Deep down in the heart and breast of every man when touched by the correcting hand of God there is a longing for some means of communicating with loved ones who have been taken from us by death. Oh that we might reach them or tell them of our love or do something for them!
“In that familiar profession of faith, which comes down to us even from the days of the immediate followers of the Master, there is a clause which brings comfort to the afflicted heart of the sorrowing and answers the longings of the grief-stricken. It is that solemn profession of our belief in the communion of saints.
“To the Catholic heart it tells of a golden chain of intercession longer than the ladder of the patriarch and reaching from the cold dead clods of earth even to the great throne of God; a golden chain which links and binds together the children of God here and above; a brilliant and mystic tie which binds and unites the blessed ones who now see God in heaven to us who yet labor and wait in this vale of tears. It tells us of their interest in our salvation and their prayers in our behalf. But it brings yet more solace and comfort to aching hearts when it soothes the grief of those who are in doubt as to the dead who have had their garments soiled with the warfare of this world and have left it not prepared to meet that God before whom scarce the angels are pure; for it tells, too, that even we may aid by our prayers those who are yet in the communion of saints.
“The last words of Mother Church have been said for James Longstreet. Softly and tenderly they fall on every Christian ear, for the children of the Church they have a deeper meaning.
“May his soul rest in peace. Amen.”
This concluded the funeral services and the body was borne from the court-house to the hearse by the active pall-bearers. The procession then formed in the following order: Queen City Band, Candler Horse Guards, and Governor’s Horse Guards, honorary escort; hearse with pall-bearers, family and relatives, Confederate Veterans, Daughters of the Confederacy, mayor and council and county officers, Brenau College, Children of the Confederacy, citizens and public generally. The procession moved up North Bradford Street to Spring Street, out Spring Street to Grove, down Grove to West Broad, thence Broad to Alta Vista Cemetery.
Father Schadewell accompanied the remains to the cemetery, where a short service was held, the crowd baring their heads when the following prayer was read:
“Almighty and most merciful Father, who knowest the weakness of our nature, bow down thine ear in pity unto Thy servants upon whom Thou hast laid the heavy burden of sorrow. Take away out of their hearts the spirit of rebellion and teach them to see Thy good and gracious purpose working in all the trials which Thou dost send upon them. Grant that they may not languish in fruitless and unavailing grief, nor sorrow as those who have no hope, but meekly look up to Thee, the God of all consolation, through Christ our Lord. Amen.
“Grant, O Lord, that whilst we lament the departure of our brother, Thy servant, out of the life, we may bear in mind that we are most certainly to follow him. Give us grace to make ready for that last hour by a devout and holy life and protect us against a sudden and unprovided death. Teach us how to watch and pray that when the summons comes we may go forth to meet the bridegroom and enter with him into life everlasting, through Christ our Lord. Amen. Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.”
A volley was then fired over the grave of the dead leader by the Candler Horse Guards and a detachment from the Governor’s Horse Guards, under command of Colonel A. J. West, and Captain W. N. Pillow, taps were sounded, and the grave closed over one of the greatest warriors the world has ever known.
*****
(From the Atlanta, Georgia, Constitution.)
(By Alan Rogers.)
Pathetic Scenes Marked the Interment of Lee’s “Old War-Horse.”
With muffled drums and the flag that was furled
With the cause that was lost, when the last smoke curled
From the last old gun, at the last brave stand—
His soul marched on with the old command;
And the step was slow, as they bore away,
To await the eternal muster day,
Their old-time comrade, lost awhile,
But loved long since for the brave old smile
That cleared the way when he only knew
His ways were Gray and their ways were Blue;
And if for a time, he walked alone,
He’s all right now, for “Longstreet’s home:”
Back to his old command he’s gone,
With Lee and Jackson looking on,
And cheering him back to the ranks again
With the Blue and the Gray all melted in.
Gainesville, Georgia, January 6, 1904.
Slowly the bells of Gainesville toll a requiem, the last taps have sounded only to be lost again across the winter-browned fields of Georgia, but the reveille of awakening still rings out clear and true that to-day old comrades in arms, citizens, soldiers, admirers, friends, women of the South, children of a rising generation, Georgia, and all Dixieland may know that Lieutenant-General James Longstreet, the “war-horse” of the Confederacy, has at last again joined his old command.
And the thousands who marched to the little cemetery just as the sun started on its sleeping journey in the west did not come to say a last good-by; with uncovered heads they simply said good-night.
In the court-house which but a few months ago was a converted hospital for the care of those maimed by a terrible cyclone, the body of General Longstreet rests beneath the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy and the Stars and Stripes of the Union. Old soldiers passed in a never-ending procession with uncovered heads for one last look upon the face of their commander. Look if you will behind that curtain of mist before the eyes of that wearer of a gray uniform and you will see quite another picture. It is that of his beloved “Old Pete,” as he was known by his own command, hurrying on to the support of General Jackson at Manassas. Or his indomitable courage on the retreat from Gettysburg “leading on and on as strong in the adversity of defeat as in the success that follows victory.” Or perhaps hurrying towards the front at the Wilderness, the intrepid leader so far in the van that he was wounded by his own men. Or at the last succumbing at Appomattox to the inevitable and with Lee reaping the reward of honor that belonged to a surrender that cost more bravery than all of the battles of that blood-drained period of history.
The sentinels that guard the bier are withdrawn. The body is carried by loving hands to the court-room above. Here in the presence of his nearest relatives and friends that taxed not alone the capacity of the building, but overflowed into an acre of mourning humanity outside.
Here in the closely crowded hall of justice converted into a sanctuary by lighted candles and the priestly robes of the officiating clergy, the services were held. There was no music save the stifled sob of brave men whose hearts were awakened to the sacred ties of old-time memories in a way beyond their control. Bishop Keiley, himself an old soldier of General Longstreet, and Rev. Fathers Gunn, of Atlanta, and Schadewell, of Albany, officiated. After the reading of the prayers of the impressive service of the Roman Catholic Church, Bishop Keiley in a beautiful eulogy revered again the memory of his old friend and commander. His address appears in another column, but the choking of his voice, the closed eyes shutting back the tears that would come,—these things are lost in the reproduction of printer’s ink and can only remain in the memories of those who were so privileged as to be present.
The picture was most inspiring. Look, if you will, at the one-time forest of battle-flags, hewn down and water-logged in the blood of many victories to a tiny grove of priceless ribbons that rise and fall with the wavering strength of the old soldiers who carry them. And in this same sweetly sad procession march with faltering steps the men who wore the gray and the sturdy step of those who, now belonging to a rising generation, wear the blue of the reunited union.
But perhaps even more inspiring than the uniforms of gray were the women of the South, Daughters of the Revolution, school-girls, Daughters of the Confederacy, many of them wives or widows of old comrades—the bravest army of home-defenders, valor-inspiring soldiers that ever dared not only to die but to let die all that was highest and dearest in one common cause. Impressive is the marching of men. But the marching of women—it is different, wonderfully, beautifully different.
What was said may soon be forgotten, but what was seen by those who gathered at the grave will live forever in the memory of all those who saw. Above the opening of the last resting-place of General Longstreet the two flags he loved so well were again crossed and stacked for the bivouac that knows no waking. Just as the near relatives and dearest friends were gathered about the grave, there stepped up an old veteran and delivered the Stars and Bars as the last, loving message from General Jenkins, of North Carolina. With this old flag and the Stars and Stripes, the General was buried.
Then, just as the body was about to be lowered, another figure bent with the ravages of time and trembling with the emotion that bespeaks a tender heart and brave courage made his way to the circle about the grave. His interruption of the services was beautiful beyond all hope of describing.
“I want,” he said, and he hesitated not as one who has forgotten some carefully prepared speech, but rather as one whose heart was getting the better of his attempt at expression, “I want to bury this jacket, my old gray jacket, with my General. I’ve got my papers, too, my enlistment papers. They’re all here, and they’re all clean. I wasn’t an officer, but I belonged to Longstreet’s command, and I’d rather be a private in the old corps than, than—— Well, I’ve served my time, and the General, he’s served his time, too. And I reckon I won’t need my uniform and papers again. But I’d like to leave them with him for always. They were enlisted under his command, and as I don’t ever want to be mustered out again, I’d just like to leave them with him always, if you don’t mind.”
And as no one minded unless it was in the most beautiful way possible, the faded gray jacket and the enlistment papers were lowered with the crossed flags of two republics and many floral offerings as a last loving tribute to General Longstreet, who, with the final sounding of taps, again passed for ever and ever to his waiting commander and his old command.