And now, in the quiet of a sick-chamber, I undertake to weave a little garland to his memory. I know that nothing I may write will add any lustre or greatness to a name that has become immortal in the annals of a people who more than a third of a century ago, and for four long years, performed deeds of heroic valor that would have shed glory upon the military renown of any country or people that have ever lived or had a place in history.
I have never permitted any criticism or detraction that has been written or uttered against General Longstreet, no matter by whom or for what purpose the same may have been written or uttered, to have a feather’s weight in varying my love and veneration for this almost incomparable commander.
I watched him in his course from Bull Run to Appomattox, and to me he was always a plumed knight, without reproach. I have seen him on the field of battle, and I have seen him at his quiet tent. The very first order I heard given to “fire,” was delivered by Longstreet at Bull Run on the 18th day of July, 1861. It was the prelude to the great victory on the bloody field of Manassas, three days after.
Bull Run may have been the beginning of battles in Northern Virginia—introductory to greater performances, but it was nevertheless a finished battle. A flag of truce came in and asked for a suspension of hostilities, and that the Federal dead be buried. The Union forces had fallen back to Centreville, three miles. Detachments from Bonham’s South Carolinians and Early’s Louisianians were called for to bury the dead. Longstreet’s brigade had done the principal fighting, and Longstreet’s brigade rested.
The dead were buried by those who had been fighting them only a few hours before. The day’s battle was over, and the sun went down with the victors in possession of the field and its dead.
The battle of Bull Run (18th of July, 1861) will always remain in my memory a separate picture, and, like a diamond, however small it may be when compared with greater jewels, will retain its own halo and its own setting of gems. Longstreet was the hero of that historic field. Beauregard was higher in command, but Longstreet began and ended the fight.
I hope to be pardoned for this reference to an almost forgotten engagement, wherein nearly four thousand South Carolinians and an almost equal number of Virginians and Louisianians received their “first baptism of fire.”
I will relate an incident that occurred after the war, to illustrate the inward character of General Longstreet, and how this great man desired to be on friendly terms with every one, especially old friends whom the accidents of war had estranged. It had come to my knowledge that in some way or other during the war General Longstreet and General Lafayette McLaws, lifelong friends and fellow-officers in the old United States army, had become separated in their friendships. Seventeen years and more had passed, and yet no healing balm had been poured upon these two proud hearts. General Longstreet was a patron of the N. G. A. College. He had two sons, Lee and James, at this military institution. General McLaws was contemplating sending a son to the school. Knowing that there was estrangement between these great military heroes, I induced Governor A. H. Colquitt to place these two men on the Board of Visitors to the College in the hope that they might meet each other in the quietude of my mountain home and become reconciled. They both came, and I arranged that they might be my guests, with others, and in some way I hoped to bring them close together. Their meeting was quite formal, and I thought they were very cold to each other. But after the supper was over, and getting my other guests to seats on the piazza, where they might smoke and talk, I gently asked the two to walk into the parlor with me, and seated them within easy distance of each other. I then began the conversation by alluding to some affair of the war with which they were familiar, for both of them had commanded Kershaw’s brigade, to which I belonged. It was not long before the clouds began to roll away, as these old warriors passed from one scene to another, and their voices became friendlier. I then thought I could be excused and passed from the room, and kept others from disturbing them, and when they came out together, shook hands, and bade each other “good-night,” I thought then that they were friends again. That night I called at General Longstreet’s room and knocked, but heard no response. I pushed the door gently and peered in, and discovered that the General was kneeling and praying. I went away as softly as I could, and the next day General Longstreet thanked me for the quiet way in which I had brought them together. “For,” said he, “we are friends again.” If I ever knew, I have long since forgotten the cause of the estrangement. It might have occurred at Gettysburg.
It was my pleasure to have witnessed the meeting between General Longstreet and President Davis, so often alluded to as occurring at the unveiling of the Ben Hill statue in Atlanta. I had been given by Colonel Lowndes Calhoun on that occasion the command of several hundred one-armed and one-legged Confederate veterans. When these two great heroes met and embraced, my command “went wild,” and they never got into line any more. Longstreet was almost a giant in stature and always attracted attention and produced enthusiasm. Whatever his political views were after the war was over, he honestly and fearlessly entertained them, but he never offensively presented them to any one, and it remains yet to be seen whether he was not right in many matters concerning which he was perhaps too harshly judged by some people.
In 1896 General Longstreet’s name was on the McKinley electoral ticket. He came to Dahlonega to address the people on the political issues of the day. Although not a member of his political party, I had the honor of introducing him to the people of my native county in the following words, as published in the Eagle, October 29, 1896: