"'In one company, out of twenty-one men engaged, eighteen fell killed or wounded. The whole regiment suffered in hardly less proportion. One hundred and ninety-six, of the two hundred and ninety-seven heroes engaged, fell. There, fiery Creighton, as usual, not content to be elsewhere than on the extreme front, was so severely wounded that he was compelled to come home to recover.
"'Soon the regiment was at Antietam, and there it shared the toils and honors of that honorable field. Thirty-eight fallen men, out of one hundred engaged, was the price it paid for its opportunity. Presently it fought and prevailed against great odds at Dumfries. Here it lost ten more of its scant few.
"'In the next year's campaign, after lying in camp and being considerably recruited, the regiment was at Chancellorsville. There it did good service, by catching and holding on its steady line droves of fugitives, who were ingloriously seeking the rear, and by covering the retreat of its corps. It lost, at Chancellorsville, ninety-nine men. Next the regiment was at Gettysburg. There, for the first time in its history, it fought behind defences; nor could Ewell, surging with fiery valor up against the rocky rampart, break the line which it, and its compeers of the Twelfth Corps, held. The Seventh lost at Gettysburg nineteen men; and, as from every field before, so from this, it brought honor and a new name. From the Potomac the regiment went, in September last, to the Tennessee. There, on the 24th of last month, it shared in that brilliant "battle above the clouds," by which Hooker cleared Lookout Mountain. Decisive as the result of its courage here was, it seems to have left behind but one wounded man as its share of the sacrifice which the victory cost. Then came the pursuit of Bragg, and the overtaking of his rear-guard at Ringgold; then the climbing, by the Twelfth Corps, of that bare hill, on the top of which the enemy was securely posted. Staunch Creighton was in command of a brigade, and Crane led the Seventh. The charge was a desperate one, but Creighton did not falter. Kindling to that ardor of which he was so susceptible, he urged his command on. "Boys," he said, "we are ordered to take that hill. I want to see you walk right up it." Then putting himself, not in the rear, as being temporarily a brigadier he might have done, but far in the advance, he led the way. And Crane, close behind, stoutly held the Seventh to its bloody work. The men were ready for the task. The zeal of Cross Lanes, of Winchester, of Port Republic, burned to a white heat. The gallant Seventh, leading the column, flung itself into the billows of fire, as if it were rescuing home from robber hands. But, ah! chivalric Creighton fell, and, alas! sturdy Crane, too; and of the commissioned officers of the Seventh, but one remained unhurt. Is it wonderful that the grand old regiment, losing the inspiring command of the brave soldiers whose voices had so often aroused its purposes, fell back? Oh, Creighton and Crane, had you lived, the Seventh would, perhaps, without help, have carried the dear old colors, tattered by so many leaden storms, into the enemy's defiant works! Sad tale that I must tell, of the two hundred and ten sons and brothers of ours who went into the fight, ninety fell; of the fourteen commissioned officers on the field, thirteen were killed or wounded.
"'My story of the Seventh is done. Yes, the Sabbath comes; sweet, clear day, as bright as that holy morn on which the Seventh first went its way. A sad cortege passes up the same street yonder. Music wails at its head. A downcast guard of honor marches, with mourning colors, behind hearses trimmed with the badges of woe. Look you, kindred, the band which follows the dead is made up of the men who marched in that May Sabbath line two years ago. But the farmer, the student, the smith, are not there. These are soldiers all. They are scarred with the marks of Cross Lanes, of Winchester—nay, let me not stop to recite the long list of battles through which they have passed. Yes, here is part of the scant few left out of the eighteen hundred staunch men who have stood under the flag of the Seventh; and here, hearse-borne, are the bodies of the good leaders who shall head the regiment no more. Pause now, citizens, while I tell you about these noble men. Colonel Creighton was born in Pittsburgh. He was but twenty-six years of age when he fell. For several years he followed the trade of a printer in this city. But he was born to be a soldier, and years ago he learned, in civic schools, a soldier's trade. So, when the war broke out, he was fit to take command. He raised a company in this city. At once his military talent was revealed. He had not a peer in the camp as a drill-master, and there was something about his ardent nature which made men feel that he was fit to command. Thus superior office came to him—he did not seek it. But getting it, he discharged his duties well. He was affectionate to his men, erring only in being, perhaps, too free with them. And when battle came, he was a master-spirit in the dreadful storm. Burning with enthusiasm, almost rash with courage, he could inspire his "gamecocks"—as he familiarly called his men—with such qualities as are most needed in the charge and in the deadly breach. I have often asked sound thinking members of the Seventh, "What of Creighton?" The answer has always been, "He is a soldier, every inch."
"'Lieutenant-Colonel Crane was born in Troy, New York, in the year 1828. He, too, has been a mechanic here for many years. Like his chief, he, too, had learned the use of arms before the war commenced. He was, therefore, amply qualified to take command of his company when Captain Creighton was promoted. And no ordinary disciplinarian was Captain Crane. He had a difficult company, but it was with a strong hand that he laid hold of his work. Headstrong men had a master in him. Withal, he was the soul of kindness to those he commanded. His rugged nature, despising military finery, and the pomps and forms of military life, came down at once to plain, blunt, frank, but sincere and hearty intercourse with the men under him. If you wished to find Captain Crane, you must look for him where his boys were; and if his boys had had a trying or toilsome work, you might be sure he was lightening the load by his own example of brave and sturdy patience. He did not have an impulsive nature. He was not a thunderbolt on the field. He was rock, rather. Fiery floods might break against him, and yet he was always the same; always imperturbable, honest, strong.
"'I should have said before, that Colonel Creighton was in every battle which the Seventh ever fought, except Antietam. It is in place for me to say here, that Lieutenant-Colonel Crane took part in every battle in which his regiment shared. I doubt if another instance of the kind is on record. Would that the Hand which had so often averted danger, could have turned the fatal bullets aside at Ringgold!
"'And now, friends, I am, at the invitation of the joint-committee of the city council, the military, the Typographical Union, the ship-carpenters, and yourselves, and as the representative of other towns, who helped raise the Seventh, to bring a tribute of gratitude and praise to the memory of the gallant dead. In my poor way, I here certify to the noble qualities, to the brave deeds of the soldiers coffined yonder. I come to say, that the honor done them by the city, by the military, by yourselves, by good men who, in other towns, mourn their loss, is well bestowed. The heroes have earned their honors. They have bought them with such high conduct, with such self-sacrifices, as the brightest laurels poorly reward. I know not how those souls, which lately inhabited yonder clay, stand in the other world (would that your prayers and mine could reach them), but I do know, that their names shall live in this world forever. The marble you shall put up over their dust will itself have gone to dust before their renown shall have passed from the hearts and lips of men.
"'Would, friends, that you and I, by any ministry of love, could staunch these widows' and half-orphans' tears. Oh! sisters bereaved, and dear little children, now fatherless, may God in His mercy keep you! May He be help and hope to you! Remember, I pray you, that the spilled blood which was so dear to you, was precious also to God; that it is from such seed that He makes freedom, peace, social order, and prosperity to grow.
"'And, citizens, what shall I say of the Seventh, which mourns its noble dead? Shall I summon here the spirits of those who have fallen on the half-score fields, where the staunch old regiment has left its dead? Shall I call from the shadowy world those who have died in festering prisons? Shall I order the rally for those who, broken in body, shall engage in active pursuits no more? Shall I bring from the field the little remnant—headed by the one unhurt commissioned officer, and under this dear, chafed, and rent old flag, which no longer shines with the glory of color and figure which it displayed when first unfurled in your Academy of Music, but which is lustrous with the light with which brave deeds have invested it—shall I tell them of your love for, and your gratitude to them? Nay, this I cannot do. But I can say to these representatives of the regiment who are with us, and through them to that little handful of bronzed veterans who, huddling around a single camp-fire at Chattanooga, are the last remnant of the Seventh—to you, honored men, we owe a debt we can never discharge. You sprang to arms, when others hesitated. You entered the flinty paths of war with feet shod only for the gentle ways of peace. Often have you been tried, never have you failed; and the honor of the Reserve, which we committed to you, has been proudly kept on every field. And in this hour of weighty bereavement, our feelings towards you and your comrades, living and dead, is like that of the pious Scotch woman who, when grim Claverhouse having first shot her husband, laughing, asked, "Well, woman, what thinkest thou of thy good man now?" quietly replied, as she drew the pierced head to her bosom, and wiped the death-damp from his brow: "I aye thought much of him, but now more than ever."
"'Now, bearers, take out your dead. Put the cherished remains in an honored place. Tell art to lift above them worthy marble. Write upon the stone the names of the battles in which our heroes have fought. Write also the virtues of the dead. Write, too, that gratitude has lifted the monument, partly to do honor to them, worthy of it, whom human praise can never reach; and to teach the living that it is well to make even life a sacrifice to duty. And when our war has been ended, when peace and freedom shall be in all our borders, thronging feet shall, through all the generations, come up to your memorial, and learn lessons of heroism and self-sacrifice.'