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.