“As the last carriage drove away, the Governor’s Horse Guard came up the street, forty strong, under command of Captain Miller. The company was an escort to the hero of the day. With the Governor’s Horse Guard came a carriage drawn by two black horses. In that carriage was General Joseph E. Johnston. The old hero sat upon the rear seat, and beside him was General Kirby Smith.... The carriage was covered with flowers. ‘That’s Johnston! that’s Jo Johnston!’ yelled some one. Instantly the Governor’s Horse Guard, horses and men, were displaced by eager, battle-scarred veterans. The men who fought under the hero surrounded the carriage. They raised it off the paved street, and they yelled themselves hoarse. Words of love, praise, and admiration were wafted to the hero’s ears. Hands pushed through the sides of the carriage and grasped the hands of the man who defended Atlanta. The crowd grew and thickened. Captain Ellis tried to disperse it, but could not. Then the police tried; but the love of the old soldiers was greater than the strength of both Captain Ellis and Atlanta’s police force. For ten minutes the carriage stood still; then, as it began to move, some one called out, ‘Take the horses away!’ Almost instantly both horses were unhitched, and the old men fought for their places in the traces. Then the carriage began to move. Men who loved the old soldier were pulling it. Up Marietta street it went to the Custom-house, then it was turned, and back toward the opera house it rolled. The rattle of the drum and the roll of the music were drowned by the yell of the old soldiers; they were wild, mad with joy; their long pent-up love for the old General had broken loose. Just before the carriage reached the opera house door a tall, bearded veteran on a horse rode to the side. Shoving his hand through the open curtain, he grasped the hand of General Johnston just as a veteran turned it loose. The General looked up. ‘General Johnston!’ cried the veteran. General Johnston continued to look up. His face showed a struggle. He knew the horseman, but he could not call his name. ‘Don’t you know me, General—don’t you know me?’ exclaimed the horseman. In his voice there was almost agony. ‘General Anderson, General,’ said Mrs. Milledge. General Johnston heard the words, and, rising almost from his seat, exclaimed, ‘Old Tige! Old Tige! Old Tige!’ The two men shook hands warmly. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of each. ‘Yes, Old Tige it is, General,’ said General Anderson, ‘and he loves you as much now as ever.’”
A simple headstone in the Greenmount Cemetery, at Baltimore, marks the sleeping place of Johnston, beside his wife, who was Miss Lydia McLane, of Baltimore.
[1] General Johnston. By R. M. Hughes, New York: D. Appleton & Co. Great Commanders Series.
EVENING
Sunset; and purple mist
Upon the mountain’s crest,
And pale blue trails of smoke that slowly twist
Into the West.
Soft airs that whisper “Rest,”
And sunset clouds of gold;