The bones of our brave
Southern boys lie scattered over our loved South. They fought for their
"_country_," and gave their lives freely for that country's cause:
and now they who survive sit, like Marius amid the wreck of Carthage,
sublime even in ruins. Other pens abler than mine will have to chronicle
their glorious deeds of valor and devotion. In these sketches I have
named but a few persons who fought side by side with me during that long
and unholy war. In looking back over these pages, I ask, Where now are
many whose names have appeared in these sketches? They are up yonder,
and are no doubt waiting and watching for those of us who are left
behind. And, my kind reader, the time is coming when we, too, will be
called, while the archangel of death is beating the long roll of eternity,
and with us it will be the last reveille. God Himself will sound the
"assembly" on yonder beautiful and happy shore, where we will again have
a grand "reconfederation." We shed a tear over their flower-strewn
graves. We live after them. We love their memory yet. But one
generation passes away and another generation follows. We know our loved
and brave soldiers. We love them yet.
But when we pass away, the impartial historian will render a true verdict,
and a history will then be written in justification and vindication of
those brave and noble boys who gave their all in fighting the battles of
their homes, their country, and their God.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359