Our gallent soldiers, perishing,
Have left a deathless name.”
The grand review of the army took place on the 23d and 24th of May. It was estimated that one hundred and fifty thousand (150,000) troops passed in review. It was a grand spectacle—a sight never before and never again to be witnessed on this continent.
Those gallant officers in full military uniform, mounted upon prancing steeds, galloping up the broad avenue; the admiring crowd showering both horse and rider with beautiful wreaths and bouquets; the graceful salute à la militaire; the throwing up of hats, the waving of handkerchiefs and the loud huzzas that rent the air, made it an exciting scene. There was General U. S. Grant, the calm, self-possessed, heroic soldier, whose brow was crowned with the wreath of victory bravely won on a hundred battle-fields. There, too, was General Sherman, the invincible, who has yet to learn the meaning of the word defeat, and whose great “March to the Sea” has won the applause of an admiring world. The brave and gallant Meade, who so long and well commanded the army of the Potomac, and who hastened the overthrow of the rebellion by turning the tide of battle at Gettysburg, was among the number. The hero of Winchester—General Phil. Sheridan—too, was there; also that great cavalry rider, General Kilpatrick, with a corps of subordinate officers—among them our own Custer, of whom we have been so proud. There was General Burnside, the noble, generous soldier, whose heroisms never shone on the victorious field with a brighter lustre than after the defeat at Fredericksburg; who, when efforts were being made to exonerate him from all blame, manfully stepped forth, and, with a moral heroism less human than divine, confessed to the world that he alone was responsible for that defeat, acknowledged his inability to command so large an army, and humbly asked to be relieved and assigned to a subordinate position. Afterwards, the old Ninth Corps, under his victorious leadership, covered itself with glory and honor. But, “in that bright constellation of noble heroes,” none shone with a purer radiance—though perhaps with greater brilliancy—than that one-armed Christian soldier, Major-General O. O. Howard.
“O soldier with the empty sleeve,
The nation gives you blessing,
And woman’s hand shall keep for you
Its tenderest caressing.”
The navy was likewise largely represented by officers of different rank, foremost among whom was Admiral Farragut—once “lashed to the mast.” The first day, the army of the Potomac—those heroes of so many battles—passed in review; the next, Sherman’s grand columns. It would seem impossible for one to look back upon those war-worn veterans, those battle-scarred heroes, whose trusty swords, wielded by strong arms, had gotten us the victory and saved the life of the Republic, and hear their stately “tramp, tramp, tramp,” for six successive hours, causing the earth to tremble beneath their firm tread, proudly bearing aloft their tattered banners, under which they had fought and their comrades fallen, without his heart swelling with emotions of deep gratitude and his eyes becoming dim with tears. Neither the services nor the hardships of the soldiers can ever be fully appreciated or estimated. Oh! those long fatiguing marches—the lonely picket post—the cold, damp bivouac—the scorching heat—the weary months spent in hospital—the loathesome confinement in prison-pens, those ante-chambers of hell, compared to which the meanest jail or penitentiary or almshouse was a paradise, and the exchange would have been hailed with far great joy than was the fairy isle of Calipso by the wrecked Télémaque, but the escape from which was a thousandfold more difficult than his from this enchanted isle!
In retrospecting the past, I find conflicting emotions alternately taking possession of my heart, emotions both of joy and sorrow. There are many pleasant remembrances connected with my “army life;” but, ah! there are also many sad reflections. My experience, though varied, sometimes joyous and again heart-rending, I would not take a fortune for. Good opportunities were afforded for the study of that greatest of all studies, human nature. Every trait of the human heart might be detected, not only the evil passions, but also the God-like virtues. There were many pleasures experienced in working for the soldier. It was pleasant to meet, not only old friends and acquaintances, but to form new ones. It was pleasant to see countenances light up as one entered the wards where the sick and wounded were lying. It was pleasant to know that your efforts, however humble, were gratefully appreciated—yea, an hundredfold. And there was a melancholy pleasure even in administering to dying wants; but the best of all was the consciousness of doing good; but the sad reflections far outweigh all the pleasant experiences. It is sad to think of the desolate homes, of the broken family circles, of the lonely firesides, of the many sorrowing ones all over our land. It is sad to think of the thousands of widowed wives and fatherless children, of so many loving mothers who wait in vain for the return of their darling boys, and of aged fathers who have none upon whom to lean, the staff of their declining years having been broken. It is sad to see so many crippled youth, so many empty sleeves.