THE REUNION.
[Illustration: “UPON THE WALL HUNG THE GOOD SWORD, WITH THE DENT IN ITS
SCABBARD.”]
Twenty years passed away, with their changes for good and for ill. The
great war seemed like a dream, and its events were dim and shadowy. But
there remained to me some substantial evidence of its reality. Upon
the wall hung the good sword, with the dent in its scabbard telling of
the death struggle of the brave black mare, whose name should be on
Stone River’s roll of honor. In the corner stood the regimental flag,
presented by my comrades when we parted in 1865, the deep scar upon its
staff matching the deeper scar upon the manly breast of its bearer
“in the brave days of old.” I looked at them and longed for the twin
seven-shooters that should keep them company.
[Illustration: “IN THE CORNER STOOD THE REGIMENTAL FLAG PRESENTED BY MY
COMRADES WHEN WE PARTED IN 1865. THE DEEP SCAR UPON ITS STAFF MATCHED
THE DEEPER SCAR UPON THE MANLY BREAST OF ITS BEARER IN THE BRAVE DAYS
OF OLD.”]
Representing my adopted State, Nebraska, in the Senate, I had reached a
position that had at least given my name notoriety. It chanced that the
Major of an Iowa cavalry regiment saw it in the public prints and was
prompted to write me. “Are you,” said he, “the man who commanded the
19th Ohio during the war? If so, I have a pistol that must belong to
you, for the fact of its presentation is engraved upon it.” I am quick
to respond, and in brief time there came the pistol, as welcome to my
hand and heart as an old-time friend.
He wrote me its history. During the days of the period of
reconstruction he was on duty in Alabama, and upon the person of a man
whom he arrested was found the revolver. The Major took it from him
and had held it since, hoping that some time he might meet the owner.
Hearty thanks went to him, and I longed all the more for its mate,
somewhere existing, but probably never to be recovered by me.
Twenty-eight years elapse after the cavalry raid in the Sequatchie
Valley. The Congress is in session and a dreary debate drags its
weary length through the hours. My yawning presence in the Senate
Chamber would only add emphasis to the dullness there, and I go to the
Committee Room, to engage in the usual employment of a Congressman’s
spare hours, the dictation of replies to the endless letters, from
every direction, on every conceivable subject. There comes a messenger,
and this his message: “The compliments of Senator Pugh of Alabama, who
requests the pleasure of seeing you in the Marble Room.” I respond
quickly to the call, and go to the room of simplicity and beauty that
is one of the chief attractions under the great white dome. Near at
hand are three men, two of them well known by me, the third a stranger.
[Illustration: GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER
“The Marshal Ney of the Confederacy.”]
I hasten to greet my colleague, and then shake hands with warmth of
greeting with a gentleman I have grown to respect and like. It is
General Wheeler, once a dashing cavalry leader of Confederates, he
who harried our rear so persistently and pronouncedly; reconstructed
into a leader in forensic debate, an authority on parliamentary law,
and an all-around legislator, whose trenchant pen was surely as mighty
as his vigorous sword. Cuba and the Philippines are the scenes of his
later triumphs, and there is no name upon the Army Roll more honored
now for patriotic devotion and soldierly ability than that of him who,
during the dark days of the civil strife, was the Marshal Ney of the
Confederacy.
I am introduced by the courtly Senator Pugh to his esteemed
constituent, ex-Confederate Colonel Reeves, of Alabama. I greet him
with pleasure, for he bears upon him those evidences that command
respect. Both appearance and speech declare the Southerner, and the
soft broad accents fall pleasingly upon the ear. He said, “I think,
sir, I have something that once belonged to you, and will give it to
you with pleasure, for I presume from the inscription upon it you will
prize it highly.”
He produces the long-lost revolver and tells its story. He bought it
and its companion from one of General Wheeler’s troopers, who said
he captured it at the battle of Mission Ridge. I mildly suggest
that at Mission Ridge the captures were on the other side. He smiled
acquiescence and said he cared little at the time of purchase from
whence they came, so that they might be his. He had carried them
through the war until a fearful wound had disabled him from further
field duty.
After the war he had loaned one to the sheriff of his county and from
him it had been captured by some of our troops. I told him of the
return of that one to me eight years before. We exchange reminiscences
of the great struggle. We compare experiences. Enemies in war, we are
in peace friends.
Handling his revolver with easy grace and caressing gesture, he
makes it mine again, saying as he passes it to me, with pardonable
reluctance, “I tell you, sir, that is a mighty close shooting pistol.”
I cordially agree to that sentiment, and we both dwell in thought upon
the career of these messengers of death that have fought beneath two
flags, giving loyal support to their masters, who have fought each one
loyally for his own.
And thus finding each other, after a quarter of a century of
separation, they came back to me, to be cherished fondly and I hope
never again to be used.
EPILOGUE.
And so my friend, you have the truthful story. It is not one to excite
special wonder, but causes, I take it, emotions of pleasure and
thankfulness.
As the pistols have come peacefully together, so have north and south
united in fraternity and in devotion to one flag and a common country.
The war taught mutual respect, and never again can there come between
these sections the hatred, based upon mutual misunderstandings, that
led to the attempt at dismemberment. The men who did the fighting
during those four years of bloody war can have no sympathy with the
incendiaries who would array section against section upon any subject.
Their motto is bear and forbear. The disposition to fraternize was
strong among them even during the strife, and with them now is the
brotherhood that is the inevitable incident of unity of national
purpose and a patriotic desire for one destiny.
Long ago, while condemning the false teaching that led to the belief
that allegiance was to the State, we appreciated how deep abiding was
the honest conviction of those who, taught in a different school from
us, made untold sacrifice for the cause they espoused.
Forgetting nothing of the past--the cruel blow at nationality, the
unhallowed attack upon the flag, with all the sad results of weeping
and wounds, of desolation and death--we have forgiven everything.
Full citizenship, with all of honor, of governing power, and
controlling rights that the term imports, has been accorded to all who
participated or lent aid and comfort to the enemies of the Union.
As the victors and the vanquished have recognized equal courage and
even powers of endurance, there has come mutual respect. Through the
throes and labor of reconstruction, with the contact of peoples, the
interchange of commerce, the common interests of the different parts of
the national whole, the dovetailing of States through the construction
of the iron highways of trade, and mutual contribution of the capital
needed for the development of the new South has come peaceful,
contented reconciliation. The years that gather wisdom and experience
to all long ago taught the lesson even to those who fought for it,
that the cause for which they struggled and suffered was better lost
than won.
Hail the epoch of concord! All hail, the era of fraternity!
Let us close the lid of the mahogany box, believing that the pair
snugly ensconced within it shall never serve save as polished reminders
of other days.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Extraneous quotation mark on page 11 removed.
Corrected typo in illustration caption “battlelield” to “battlefield”.
Normalized punctuation in illustration caption “CHARGE OF GENERAL....”
Positions of illustrations re-arranged to support the main text.