"'Mrs. Colonel Creighton: My dear Friend—I have just read in the dispatches that your brave husband and Lieutenant-Colonel Crane were killed in the late battle at Ringgold, Georgia. Oh, how sad this is! Sad to me who loved him; but howterriblysad to you, his beloved wife! I cannot write about it. Precious memories of hours and days of dangers and hardships, shared together in Western Virginia (and of one long, serious conversation about death and eternity, as we rode together at midnight through the woods) crowd upon me. He was warm-hearted, generous, and noble. He loved his country unto death. He was brave, even to rashness. But he has gone!'
"'Mrs. Colonel Creighton: My dear Friend—I have just read in the dispatches that your brave husband and Lieutenant-Colonel Crane were killed in the late battle at Ringgold, Georgia. Oh, how sad this is! Sad to me who loved him; but howterriblysad to you, his beloved wife! I cannot write about it. Precious memories of hours and days of dangers and hardships, shared together in Western Virginia (and of one long, serious conversation about death and eternity, as we rode together at midnight through the woods) crowd upon me. He was warm-hearted, generous, and noble. He loved his country unto death. He was brave, even to rashness. But he has gone!'
"'Yes, the warm-hearted friend, the loving brother, the affectionate son, the devoted husband, the brave soldier, the undying patriot, the fearless and fiery Creighton, is gone! We are here to-day to honor his memory, recount his heroic deeds of noble daring, mourn his fall, and convey his lifeless remains—with those of his brave comrade, Lieutenant-Colonel Crane—to the tomb of a hero and a patriot.
"'What words of elegiac comfort shall I speak to his numerous personal and sorrowful friends; his brothers in the union of the same useful and honorable handicraft; his brave comrades in arms of the noble Seventh, and other regiments, who are here to attest their affection and sorrow; his brother in the flesh, who is now left without a brother; his aged and sorely bereaved mother; and his youthful, but grief-stricken, widow? How shallI, who would take my place with the mourners, speak words of comfort to you?
"'Let us remember that although ourdear,dearfriend will no longer mingle with us in the social or domestic circle,—will not again lead regiment or brigade of fearless braves in the thickest and hottest of the fight, inspiring to feats of exalted heroism—his brave and generous heart now cold and lifeless—dim and sightless those eyes whose radiant and enlivening orbs beamed, now with kindness, and now with fiery bravery—his intercourse with the living world, brought to a final period,—let us remember, that although Colonel Creighton is gone, yet he is not lost; he is not lost to his country, for it has his noble example of true bravery and practical patriotism.
"'He is not lost to us who knew him, for he lives, and will ever live, templed in our brightest memories and best affections. Nor can he be lost to history, for he has made the offering which places his name on its brightest page.
"'Death never comes alone, but is always attended by an escort of sadness. Whenever the silver cord is loosed, the golden bowl broken, the pitcher broken at the fountain, the wheel broken at the cistern, and dust returns to the earth, as it was, mourners go about the streets. But it is especially sad, when, as in this case, sister, mother, and wife are denied the sorrowful pleasure of being present, and ministering to the wants of the dying, and speaking words of Christian hope. But even this finds an offset in the fact that it was his honored privilege to die for country—to fall, covered with glory! Also, in the fact that his body was not mangled—that he did not suffer long—in the assurance furnished by the words, 'Oh, my dear wife!' uttered in dying accents after he fell, and before he expired, that his last thoughts were of home and kindred; and may not we hope that these words were breathed in prayer, and that he threw his whole soul helpless, but trustfully, upon the merits of the Saviour? Again, it is a source of great gratification to us all, and especially to the relatives, that he does not fill a distant and unknown grave—that he was tenderly borne from the field, and promptly forwarded for honorable interment. His grave is to be in our midst, marked by a marble shaft, which will scarcely crumble beneath the tread of the coming ages. You can go there and pay the mournful tribute which nature and affection prompt. And may it not be believed, that from their patriotic ashes (for Creighton and Crane fought and fell together, and they are to rest side by side)—is it not to be believed, that from their patriotic ashes will spring a rich harvestin kindto at once avenge their fall, and save our imperilled country? And will not fathers and mothers conduct their children to these honored graves, and there put upon them vows of eternal hostility to treason and to traitors, be they secret or armed, even as Hamilcar caused his son Hannibal to swear, at the altar, eternal hatred to Rome? And will not every one who visits their tombs, and reads their epitaphs, whisper, "Peace and honor." And when this cruel war is over, and the God of our fathers shall crown our labors and sufferings with success, and bestow upon us, as a nation, an honorable, righteous, and perpetual peace, then, amid the light, and songs, and joy of the nation's jubilee, let their epitaphs be written anew. And during all ages, peace to their ashes, peace to their memory, and peace to their heroic spirits.
"'Let us this day, around the lifeless forms of these fallen heroes, not profanely, but solemnly and religiously, swear that the lives of these, together with the lives of hundreds of thousands of the flower of the nation, given for the salvation of the country, shall not be given in vain; that we will complete well, what they have so well begun.
"'I need not ask of you, in behalf of the aged mother and bereaved widow of Colonel Creighton, your warm, your practical, your continued sympathies: these, I am sure, will not be withheld. But I now ask you to join me in one fervent prayer to the God of the aged, the fatherless, and the widow, our fathers' God, and the God of battles, that He will, by His almighty arm, sustain, and, by His abundant grace, comfort the aged mothers, and bereaved widows, and afflicted friends of our brave soldiers, and their departed sons, husbands, and brothers; that He will thus sustain and comfort all whose hearts have been cloven by the battle-axe of war; that He will abundantly shield, help, bless, and comfort our brave soldiers upon the field, in the hospitals, and prisoners in the hands of our enemies; and that He will speedily bestow upon our imperilled country the inestimable blessing of an honorable, righteous, and lasting peace. Amen.'
"Rev. C. C. Foot, at the request of the family of the late Lieutenant-Colonel Crane, made the following address:
"'The duties we are called to perform—the bearing of our dead brave to their final rest—is indeed solemn and sad. That those who admired and loved them in life, and delight to honor them when dead, should, with sympathizing hearts and grateful hands, minister such a funeral ovation, is due to them in view of the sacrifice they made, the toils they endured, and their deeds of patriotism and valor. When the bugle was first sounded in Washington, calling the North to the defence of our institutions, these were among the first to respond; leaving their business, their friends, and their families, for the field of strife, they unsheathed their swords to strike for freedom's sacred cause. In many skirmishes, and in every battle of their brigade, they struck with such bravery and success as to have secured perpetual illustriousness; while ever a nation exists to feel the throb of a nation's heart, while a man lives to read the annals of America, their noble deeds shall be known, and their illustrious names shall be honored.
"'They passed through so many dangers almost unscarred, that they feared no ill, and their families began to expect with confidence their return to the enjoyments of home, ere many months more should have flown. But when on Ringgold's hillside they raised their swords to gleam as never before, from a volley of Confederate musketry their death-warrant came. Their bodies sank to the ground—their spirits ascended through the smoke-cloud of battle to the patriot's God, to join the slain of the Seventh Ohio Volunteer Infantry, where the stars forever shine in original splendor and glory. On the morrow, instead of the ready pen reporting to loved ones at home that "all is well with us," the telegraph was put in requisition to announce that never more should their voices be heard by friend, companion, or offspring. Oh, how sad such intelligence! How many families, how many tender, loving, trembling hearts throughout the land, have been made sorrowful by like intelligence since this war was so cruelly hurled upon us? From what our soldier friends do and suffer from the myriad untimely deaths, shall we not learn the magnitude of the work of the army, and our great indebtedness to all who have gone to fight for us, our homes, and our country? Let us render them the honor due. When men become illustrious, it is but natural that their friends review their lives, and that others inquire who they are, whence they came, and what circumstances molded them for their greatness. To answer briefly and in part such inquiries about one of these brave men—Lieutenant-Colonel O. J. Crane—is the work to which I have been invited. Lieutenant-Colonel Crane was born in Chautauque County, New York, in the year 1829. When about three years old, his parents removed to their native State, Vermont. Soon after this, his father died, and he was left to climb life's rugged hill from his mother's arms to manhood, without the invaluable aid of a father's counsels and assistance. He was blest with a kind, intelligent, and prayerful mother, to whom he owed no small amount of gratitude.
"'Her care and labor for his health, and even his life, were constant and great. While quite young, he once received a burn, so severe that his life was despaired of. The attendant physician said he could not live—or living, would always be helpless. But his mother loved him intolifeandhealth, little thinking that she had saved him from one fire, only to see him exposed and becoming a victim to a more galling one; little thinking that to him, for whose life she struggled, she and the nation would become indebted for liberty and political security. During his youth he lived chiefly with an uncle, and with whom, about thirteen years ago, he located in Conneaut, Ohio. While there, he was employed in mechanical labor. He spent one year on the Isthmus. On his return from the Isthmus, he came to Cleveland, and found employment as a ship-carpenter. In this city, and this business, he remained till called to participate in our national conflict.
"'As a mechanic, he enjoyed the confidence and esteem of his employers and his fellows. As a man, he drew around him a pleasant circle of friends, constant and affectionate, who deeply mourn his loss. In disposition, he was frank, manly, kind, and ever cheerful. He leaves a sorrowing wife, to whom he was married nine years ago, three small children, a mother, brothers and sisters. Their bereavement is too great, their grief too deep, for even them to express in language. Yet not till weary weeks shall fail to bring letters from the battle-field—not till months confirm that no husband returns—not till years reveal the need of a father to guide the orphans, and a companion to sustain an aching heart, shall be fully realized the magnitude of the sacrifice made, in laying upon a nation's altar a husband and a father.
"'The subject of these remarks had never made a public profession of faith in Jesus. He had respected religion. He showed great kindness and respect to the chaplain of his regiment, and consequently had a good chaplain. He also, after entering the service, became interested in personal religion. He professed a readiness to die when called. Let us pray and hope that beyond the turmoil of this life, he may receive his dear ones to everlasting fellowship of joy.
"'Some months ago he became a member of the Masonic fraternity. Though so soon taken from them, yet—
"'By the hieroglyphic bright,Which none but craftsmen ever saw,Strange memory on our minds shall writeHis honored name that's far awa.'
"'By the hieroglyphic bright,Which none but craftsmen ever saw,Strange memory on our minds shall writeHis honored name that's far awa.'
"'By the hieroglyphic bright,Which none but craftsmen ever saw,Strange memory on our minds shall writeHis honored name that's far awa.'
"'By the hieroglyphic bright,
Which none but craftsmen ever saw,
Strange memory on our minds shall write
His honored name that's far awa.'
"'Citizens of Cleveland and Ohio, as we embalm his name in our memory, let us not fail to remember, also, the dear family he has left. Let us give them our heartfelt sympathy—not the sympathy ofpity, but that ofgratitude—for his and their debtors we are. He gave his life; not for himself, but for us who live, for our homes, and our posterity. Surrounding the husbandless with what comforts we can, and supplying the fatherless with fatherly care, and aid, and sympathy, let us, to our utmost, discharge our indebtedness. Let us work and pray that but few more brave need fall; and that the time be speeded when the defenders of our liberties shall be welcomed home to the enjoyment of their triumphs, with the jubilant acclamation of many millions of freemen.'
"Professor H. E. Peck, at the request of the General Committee, delivered the address on behalf of the city, as follows:
"'On a fair Sabbath in May, only three short seasons ago, just as the bells were calling the town to worship, a regiment passed down yonder street. That, citizens, was a spectacle which you who saw it will never forget. Not because the marching column was striking to the eye. There was no pageant. There were no arms, no banners. There was not even a uniform. The farmer, the student, and the smith, were in that line; and the farmer marched in the garments he brought from the furrow, and the student and the smith were attired as they had been in the recitation-room and shop. But for all that, the display was profoundly impressive. Here was the flower of the Reserve. Lake, Mahoning, Trumbull, Lorain, and Erie, each had a hundred; Portage, twice a hundred; and Cuyahoga, thrice a hundred in the line. And each hundred was made up, not of the rabble, but of sons, whom worthy fathers and mothers dearly loved; of men, who, if they should stay at home, would soon be conspicuous for wealth, or learning, or skill in useful arts. And these thousand true men, loved well at home, made of sterling stuff, were on their way towar—to actual war. To serve the imperilled country, they had quit all,—farms, shops, books, friends, hopes, the past, the future,—all but duty and honor. They might never return. The vow on them might take them to bloody fields, from which there should be no passage except down through the gates of death. Oh, kinsman, was not that an impressive scene? Did you ever see the like? Did not tears wet your eyes as you looked on? Were not the cheers with which you sent the heroes on their way divided, as shouts of yours had never before been, nor have been since, between admiration and sorrow?
"'This, friends, was the first march of our gallant Seventh. You do not forget that in that march the column was led by a young captain, whose high carriage and soldierly bearing were almost the only signs of real military display. The body of that young captain lies in one of yonder coffins. Of him, and his brave comrade who sleeps beside him, I am to speak on this occasion. The history of the noble Seventh istheirlate history. With it, therefore, let me begin.
"'The Seventh left Cleveland May 5, 1861. It went hence to Camp Dennison, where E. B. Tyler, of Ravenna; W. R. Creighton, of Cleveland; and John S. Casement, of Painesville, were made its first field-officers. In the June following, while it was still at Camp Dennison, the regiment was reorganized and sworn into the three-years' service. I well remember seeing Captain Crane, whose remains are yonder, on a sweet Sabbath afternoon—men, sun, air, and earth, all were glad, and the harmonies of nature were tunefully praising God—bringing his company to the colonel's quarters to be sworn in. I well remember the impression which the strong voice of the sombre captain made upon me, as, after the young soldiers, with bare heads and uplifted hands, had taken the oath, he cried, "Company, right face; forward, march!" The tone of the command was as if he would say, "Now, men, there is no retreat. Only service, perhaps death, is before you."
"'A week later, General McClellan, who had then just taken command of the Western Department, came looking for the right material with which to begin his Western Virginia campaign, and inspected the regiment. But it was not at garments the shrewd leader looked. It was thepersonhe studied. He sought the eye. He narrowly scanned the look. Down the line and back again he slowly went. I saw the expression on his face, as at the end, he seemed to say to himself, "They are the right sort!" In the reorganization of the regiment, the staff remained as it was before.
"'On the 26th of June, 1861, the Seventh left Camp Dennison, to enter on active service in Western Virginia. With many long marches it sought the foe. It had begun to doubt whether it would ever meet him, when, at Cross Lanes, on the 26th of August, he came, with overwhelming force. For a brief space, the companies, separated from each other, held their ground. Then, from bare and irresistible necessity, they gave way. Twenty-four gallant men were left on the field, dead or wounded. One hundred were carried away prisoners, and the remainder were scattered like partridges which have received the sportsman's fire. At first, tidings came to us that the Seventh was wholly destroyed. How ached our hearts! Presently, better news came. Major Casement had brought four hundred men through the wilderness into Charleston, and Captain Crane had come to Gauley, bringing, not only almost his entire company, but a flag which he had captured from the enemy.
"'Then came to the regiment days of distraction and despondency. You, and others of the Reserve, heard of, and agonized over its condition. To encourage and cheer it, you sent it a stand of beautiful colors. At the Academy of Music, as you will remember, before a throng of your best citizens, the standards were dedicated.
"'On a mountain-side, in Western Virginia, with Rosecrans' army lying miles up and down, and with the smoke of the enemy's camp-fires rising in the distance, they were presented to the regiment. I wish I could picture the scene, the splendors of the magnificent landscape, the exquisite beauty of the colors as they proudly glowed in the clear sunlight, the enthusiasm of the men and the pride of the officers. Your present helped to rouse the spirit of the regiment. The words of love and considerate regard, which you sent with the gift, assured it that its honor was not yet lost. How thrilling, how hopeful, was the cheer which rolled off among the hills, as the color-guard took its trust!
"'From the Kanawha the Seventh went, on the 17th of December, 1861, to the Potomac. There, now led by Lieutenant Colonel Creighton—Colonel Tyler having taken temporary command of a brigade—it met, at Winchester, March 23, 1862, Jackson's celebrated "Stonewall Legion." Hot was the fire, when the Northern iron met the Southern flint. The Seventh left fifty-six dead and wounded on the field. But it won a name in the fight. The story told of them, the land over, was,they fought like veterans. Then came the long chase up the Shenandoah, then the hard march across to Eastern Virginia, and back to the gates of the Shenandoah. Then came Port Republic, the first square stand-up fight which the regiment had, when, led by Creighton, in an open field, in a line trim enough for a dress parade, and with "Cross Lanes" for its battle-cry, the glorious Seventh charged down on Jackson's steadfast front. Ah, how the list of the dead and wounded was again fearfully swelled! Seventy-two names were added to it.
"'By this time the regiment had become so reduced by the casualties of war, that its friends on the Reserve asked that it might be sent home to recruit. "No," promptly replied discriminating Halleck, "not so long as there is a lame drummer left; not if you will send us a whole new regiment in place of this handful. We know these men, they are just such as we want." Colonel Tyler's promotion to a brigadiership brought Lieutenant-Colonel Creighton to the head of the regiment, and this, and other changes, presently made Captain Crane a Lieutenant-Colonel. The regiment now had plenty of duty. It fought at Cedar Mountain, and there, on the extreme advance, it met the brunt of danger.
"'In one company, out of twenty-one men engaged, eighteen fell killed or wounded. The whole regiment suffered in hardly less proportion. One hundred and ninety-six, of the two hundred and ninety-seven heroes engaged, fell. There, fiery Creighton, as usual, not content to be elsewhere than on the extreme front, was so severely wounded that he was compelled to come home to recover.
"'Soon the regiment was at Antietam, and there it shared the toils and honors of that honorable field. Thirty-eight fallen men, out of one hundred engaged, was the price it paid for its opportunity. Presently it fought and prevailed against great odds at Dumfries. Here it lost ten more of its scant few.
"'In the next year's campaign, after lying in camp and being considerably recruited, the regiment was at Chancellorsville. There it did good service, by catching and holding on its steady line droves of fugitives, who were ingloriously seeking the rear, and by covering the retreat of its corps. It lost, at Chancellorsville, ninety-nine men. Next the regiment was at Gettysburg. There, for the first time in its history, it fought behind defences; nor could Ewell, surging with fiery valor up against the rocky rampart, break the line which it, and its compeers of the Twelfth Corps, held. The Seventh lost at Gettysburg nineteen men; and, as from every field before, so from this, it brought honor and a new name. From the Potomac the regiment went, in September last, to the Tennessee. There, on the 24th of last month, it shared in that brilliant "battle above the clouds," by which Hooker cleared Lookout Mountain. Decisive as the result of its courage here was, it seems to have left behind but one wounded man as its share of the sacrifice which the victory cost. Then came the pursuit of Bragg, and the overtaking of his rear-guard at Ringgold; then the climbing, by the Twelfth Corps, of that bare hill, on the top of which the enemy was securely posted. Staunch Creighton was in command of a brigade, and Crane led the Seventh. The charge was a desperate one, but Creighton did not falter. Kindling to that ardor of which he was so susceptible, he urged his command on. "Boys," he said, "we are ordered to take that hill. I want to see you walk right up it." Then putting himself, not in the rear, as being temporarily a brigadier he might have done, but far in the advance, he led the way. And Crane, close behind, stoutly held the Seventh to its bloody work. The men were ready for the task. The zeal of Cross Lanes, of Winchester, of Port Republic, burned to a white heat. The gallant Seventh, leading the column, flung itself into the billows of fire, as if it were rescuing home from robber hands. But, ah! chivalric Creighton fell, and, alas! sturdy Crane, too; and of the commissioned officers of the Seventh, but one remained unhurt. Is it wonderful that the grand old regiment, losing the inspiring command of the brave soldiers whose voices had so often aroused its purposes, fell back? Oh, Creighton and Crane, had you lived, the Seventh would, perhaps, without help, have carried the dear old colors, tattered by so many leaden storms, into the enemy's defiant works! Sad tale that I must tell, of the two hundred and ten sons and brothers of ours who went into the fight, ninety fell; of the fourteen commissioned officers on the field, thirteen were killed or wounded.
"'My story of the Seventh is done. Yes, the Sabbath comes; sweet, clear day, as bright as that holy morn on which the Seventh first went its way. A sad cortege passes up the same street yonder. Music wails at its head. A downcast guard of honor marches, with mourning colors, behind hearses trimmed with the badges of woe. Look you, kindred, the band which follows the dead is made up of the men who marched in that May Sabbath line two years ago. But the farmer, the student, the smith, are not there. These are soldiers all. They are scarred with the marks of Cross Lanes, of Winchester—nay, let me not stop to recite the long list of battles through which they have passed. Yes, here is part of the scant few left out of the eighteen hundred staunch men who have stood under the flag of the Seventh; and here, hearse-borne, are the bodies of the good leaders who shall head the regiment no more. Pause now, citizens, while I tell you about these noble men. Colonel Creighton was born in Pittsburgh. He was but twenty-six years of age when he fell. For several years he followed the trade of a printer in this city. But he was born to be a soldier, and years ago he learned, in civic schools, a soldier's trade. So, when the war broke out, he was fit to take command. He raised a company in this city. At once his military talent was revealed. He had not a peer in the camp as a drill-master, and there was something about his ardent nature which made men feel that he was fit to command. Thus superior office came to him—he did not seek it. But getting it, he discharged his duties well. He was affectionate to his men, erring only in being, perhaps, too free with them. And when battle came, he was a master-spirit in the dreadful storm. Burning with enthusiasm, almost rash with courage, he could inspire his "gamecocks"—as he familiarly called his men—with such qualities as are most needed in the charge and in the deadly breach. I have often asked sound thinking members of the Seventh, "What of Creighton?" The answer has always been, "He is a soldier, every inch."
"'Lieutenant-Colonel Crane was born in Troy, New York, in the year 1828. He, too, has been a mechanic here for many years. Like his chief, he, too, had learned the use of arms before the war commenced. He was, therefore, amply qualified to take command of his company when Captain Creighton was promoted. And no ordinary disciplinarian was Captain Crane. He had a difficult company, but it was with a strong hand that he laid hold of his work. Headstrong men had a master in him. Withal, he was the soul of kindness to those he commanded. His rugged nature, despising military finery, and the pomps and forms of military life, came down at once to plain, blunt, frank, but sincere and hearty intercourse with the men under him. If you wished to find Captain Crane, you must look for him where his boys were; and if his boys had had a trying or toilsome work, you might be sure he was lightening the load by his own example of brave and sturdy patience. He did not have an impulsive nature. He was not a thunderbolt on the field. He was rock, rather. Fiery floods might break against him, and yet he was always the same; always imperturbable, honest, strong.
"'I should have said before, that Colonel Creighton was in every battle which the Seventh ever fought, except Antietam. It is in place for me to say here, that Lieutenant-Colonel Crane took part in every battle in which his regiment shared. I doubt if another instance of the kind is on record. Would that the Hand which had so often averted danger, could have turned the fatal bullets aside at Ringgold!
"'And now, friends, I am, at the invitation of the joint-committee of the city council, the military, the Typographical Union, the ship-carpenters, and yourselves, and as the representative of other towns, who helped raise the Seventh, to bring a tribute of gratitude and praise to the memory of the gallant dead. In my poor way, I here certify to the noble qualities, to the brave deeds of the soldiers coffined yonder. I come to say, that the honor done them by the city, by the military, by yourselves, by good men who, in other towns, mourn their loss, is well bestowed. The heroes have earned their honors. They have bought them with such high conduct, with such self-sacrifices, as the brightest laurels poorly reward. I know not how those souls, which lately inhabited yonder clay, stand in the other world (would that your prayers and mine could reach them), but I do know, that their names shall live in this world forever. The marble you shall put up over their dust will itself have gone to dust before their renown shall have passed from the hearts and lips of men.
"'Would, friends, that you and I, by any ministry of love, could staunch these widows' and half-orphans' tears. Oh! sisters bereaved, and dear little children, now fatherless, may God in His mercy keep you! May He be help and hope to you! Remember, I pray you, that the spilled blood which was so dear to you, was precious also to God; that it is from such seed that He makes freedom, peace, social order, and prosperity to grow.
"'And, citizens, what shall I say of the Seventh, which mourns its noble dead? Shall I summon here the spirits of those who have fallen on the half-score fields, where the staunch old regiment has left its dead? Shall I call from the shadowy world those who have died in festering prisons? Shall I order the rally for those who, broken in body, shall engage in active pursuits no more? Shall I bring from the field the little remnant—headed by the one unhurt commissioned officer, and under this dear, chafed, and rent old flag, which no longer shines with the glory of color and figure which it displayed when first unfurled in your Academy of Music, but which is lustrous with the light with which brave deeds have invested it—shall I tell them of your love for, and your gratitude to them? Nay, this I cannot do. But I can say to these representatives of the regiment who are with us, and through them to that little handful of bronzed veterans who, huddling around a single camp-fire at Chattanooga, are the last remnant of the Seventh—to you, honored men, we owe a debt we can never discharge. You sprang to arms, when others hesitated. You entered the flinty paths of war with feet shod only for the gentle ways of peace. Often have you been tried, never have you failed; and the honor of the Reserve, which we committed to you, has been proudly kept on every field. And in this hour of weighty bereavement, our feelings towards you and your comrades, living and dead, is like that of the pious Scotch woman who, when grim Claverhouse having first shot her husband, laughing, asked, "Well, woman, what thinkest thou of thy good man now?" quietly replied, as she drew the pierced head to her bosom, and wiped the death-damp from his brow: "I aye thought much of him, but now more than ever."
"'Now, bearers, take out your dead. Put the cherished remains in an honored place. Tell art to lift above them worthy marble. Write upon the stone the names of the battles in which our heroes have fought. Write also the virtues of the dead. Write, too, that gratitude has lifted the monument, partly to do honor to them, worthy of it, whom human praise can never reach; and to teach the living that it is well to make even life a sacrifice to duty. And when our war has been ended, when peace and freedom shall be in all our borders, thronging feet shall, through all the generations, come up to your memorial, and learn lessons of heroism and self-sacrifice.'
"Rev. William Goodrich, of the First Presbyterian Church, made the closing prayer; after which the choir chanted impressively the following hymn:
"'With tearful eyes I look around,Life seems a dark and gloomy sea;Yet midst the gloom I hear a sound,A heavenly whisper, 'Come to Me.'"'It tells me of a place of rest—It tells me where my soul may flee;Oh! to the weary, faint, oppressed,How sweet the bidding, 'Come to Me!'"'When nature shudders, loth to partFrom all I love, enjoy, and see,When a faint chill steals o'er thy heart,A sweet voice utters, 'Come to Me.'"'Come, for all else must fade and die,Earth is no resting place for thee;Heavenward direct thy weeping eye,I am thy portion, 'Come to Me.'"'Oh, voice of mercy! voice of love!In conflict, grief, and agony;Support me, cheer me from above!And gently whisper, Come to Me.'
"'With tearful eyes I look around,Life seems a dark and gloomy sea;Yet midst the gloom I hear a sound,A heavenly whisper, 'Come to Me.'"'It tells me of a place of rest—It tells me where my soul may flee;Oh! to the weary, faint, oppressed,How sweet the bidding, 'Come to Me!'"'When nature shudders, loth to partFrom all I love, enjoy, and see,When a faint chill steals o'er thy heart,A sweet voice utters, 'Come to Me.'"'Come, for all else must fade and die,Earth is no resting place for thee;Heavenward direct thy weeping eye,I am thy portion, 'Come to Me.'"'Oh, voice of mercy! voice of love!In conflict, grief, and agony;Support me, cheer me from above!And gently whisper, Come to Me.'
"'With tearful eyes I look around,Life seems a dark and gloomy sea;Yet midst the gloom I hear a sound,A heavenly whisper, 'Come to Me.'
"'With tearful eyes I look around,
Life seems a dark and gloomy sea;
Yet midst the gloom I hear a sound,
A heavenly whisper, 'Come to Me.'
"'It tells me of a place of rest—It tells me where my soul may flee;Oh! to the weary, faint, oppressed,How sweet the bidding, 'Come to Me!'
"'It tells me of a place of rest—
It tells me where my soul may flee;
Oh! to the weary, faint, oppressed,
How sweet the bidding, 'Come to Me!'
"'When nature shudders, loth to partFrom all I love, enjoy, and see,When a faint chill steals o'er thy heart,A sweet voice utters, 'Come to Me.'
"'When nature shudders, loth to part
From all I love, enjoy, and see,
When a faint chill steals o'er thy heart,
A sweet voice utters, 'Come to Me.'
"'Come, for all else must fade and die,Earth is no resting place for thee;Heavenward direct thy weeping eye,I am thy portion, 'Come to Me.'
"'Come, for all else must fade and die,
Earth is no resting place for thee;
Heavenward direct thy weeping eye,
I am thy portion, 'Come to Me.'
"'Oh, voice of mercy! voice of love!In conflict, grief, and agony;Support me, cheer me from above!And gently whisper, Come to Me.'
"'Oh, voice of mercy! voice of love!
In conflict, grief, and agony;
Support me, cheer me from above!
And gently whisper, Come to Me.'
"This closed the exercises at the church.
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION.
"As soon as the exercises in the church closed, the Brooklyn Light Artillery commenced firing minute-guns from the field-piece planted on the square in front of the church. At the same time, the chimes of Trinity rang a muffled peal, and the bells in all the other churches commenced tolling. The square and the streets leading to it were packed with people from the city and surrounding country, the latter having been pouring in all the morning. It seemed almost impossible to keep an open space in so great a crowd, but the admirable management of the marshals of the day and the city police, aided by the spirit of order and decorum in the crowd, succeeded in preventing any trouble or confusion.
"The procession was formed in nearly the order as at first arranged. First came Leland's band, playing the "Dead March." Then the Twenty-ninth Regiment, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Frazee, with arms reversed and bound with crape. Next the discharged officers and soldiers of the Seventh, headed by their old band. These old members of the regiment numbered sixty, and were formed into a company, under Captain Molyneaux. They were followed by the clergymen of the city, after which came the bodies.
"Colonel Creighton's body was in a hearse drawn by four white horses, from undertaker Duty; and the body of Lieutenant-Colonel Crane, in a hearse drawn by four black horses, from undertaker Howland. Behind the hearses were led two horses fully caparisoned. The pall-bearers, whose names have been previously given, walked beside the hearses. Eleven carriages, containing the mourners, came next, followed by a carriage containing Lieutenant Loomis, Sergeant-Major Tisdel, Bugler Welzel, and privates Shepherd and Meigs, forming the escort from the Seventh. Next were the members of the old Cleveland Light Guard, with their badges and flags; Governor Brough and other invited guests, committee of arrangements, city council, city officers, county military committee, two hundred sick and wounded soldiers from the United States Military Hospital, soldiers from the Twelfth Cavalry, Brooklyn Light Artillery, Captain Pelton; other military and officers of the United States regular and volunteer services; United States Court officers, Typographical Union, ship-carpenters, old Light Guard, under Captain J. Robinson, students from Commercial College, County Court officers, citizens on foot, citizens in carriages.
"The procession was of great length, and passed through a dense crowd of thousands of people during the whole way. It was well managed by Colonel William H. Hayward, chief marshal of the day, and his assistants, H. M. Chapin, William Edwards, John M. Sterling, junior, and C. Busch. The police were again of incalculable value in clearing the way and keeping perfect order.
AT THE TOMB.
"The lot in the Woodland Cemetery, intended as the final resting-place of the heroic dead, not having yet been selected, the bodies were taken to the City Cemetery, and deposited temporarily in the Bradburn Vault, the use of which had been generously tendered. The police again, ever vigilant and effective, had kept the cemetery and its approaches free from the vast crowd until the procession had entered, and then secured ample room, so that there was no crowding or confusion.
"The Twenty-ninth Regiment was drawn up in line, with colors immediately opposite the tomb. The company of the old members of the Seventh, with reversed arms, stood at the right of the tomb.
"As the procession moved up to the tomb the band played a dirge. The Rev. W. A. Fiske, rector of Grace Church, read the beautiful and impressive burial-service of the Episcopal Church, the bodies were placed in the vault, the final prayer said, and then the door of the tomb was closed. The old members of the Seventh fired three volleys over the tomb, and all was over. The heroic dead sleep undisturbed.
"So ended the grandest and the most mournful pageant that has passed through the streets of Cleveland for many a year."
LIEUT.-COL. MERVIN CLARK.
On a gloomy night in May, 1861, when the wind was howling in fitful gusts, and the rain pouring down in merciless rapidity, the writer was awakened by the stentorian voice of the adjutant in front of the tent, followed by an order that Lieutenant —— would report for guard-duty. After wading half-knee deep in mud and water, narrowly escaping a cold bath in an over-friendly ditch, I arrived at the headquarters of the guard. Soon after my arrival, a boy reported to me for duty, as sergeant of the guard; a position no less responsible than my own. At first I felt that, on such a fearful night, I needed more than a boy to assist me in the performance of my task. His form was fragile; his face was smooth as that of a girl, and in the dim, shadowy light of a camp-fire, struggling against the heavy rain, I took him to be about fifteen years of age. We immediately entered into conversation, and between admiration and surprise, the rain was forgotten, and the moments sped so rapidly, that it was nearing the time to change the guard. But my boy companion had forgotten nothing, and as the moment arrived, he called in the relief. As he moved among those sturdy warriors, it occurred to me that I had never before met a boy, who was at the same time a man—a brave, prudent, reliable man. All night he did his duty, and when we parted in the morning, I both loved and admired him. This was my first meeting with Colonel Clark.
Mervin Clark was a native of Ohio, having been born in the city of Cleveland, in 1843. When but three years of age his mother died, and at the age of nine his surviving parent, leaving him an orphan. He was now taken, into the family of Henry W. Clark, an uncle, where he found a home, and kind friends, during the remainder of his life.
The flash of the last gun at Sumter had hardly died away, when he enrolled himself as a private in Captain De Villiers' company, at the same time declaring that he would, by no act of his, leave the service of his country, until rebels in arms were met and subdued. How well he kept that pledge, it is the office of this brief sketch to show.
He left Camp Dennison as an orderly-sergeant, and during the trying marches and skirmishes in Western Virginia, won a commission. Arriving in the East, he was made a first-lieutenant. At the battle of Winchester, he surprised and delighted every one who saw him. When the bullets flew thickest, he stepped on to the brink of the hill, over which our men were firing, and, with revolver in hand, took part in the strife. His captain, seeing his danger, directed him to get behind a tree which stood close by. He obeyed orders, but with his back to the tree, and his face to the foe. At the battle of Cedar Mountain, he commanded a company, and during that fearful day, led his men with great bravery. At last, when the order was given to retreat, he mistook it for an order to charge, and, with a dozen men, dashed at the double line of a whole brigade of rebels. It was not until an officer of authority conveyed the true order to him, that he would withdraw. He now took part in all the battles in which his regiment was engaged in the East, except Antietam. When the regiment left for the West, he accompanied it, and soon after took part in the battles of Lookout Mountain, Mission Ridge, Taylor's Ridge, and the series of engagements taking place while with Sherman. Before his term of service expired, he was made a captain, and commanded his company on its homeward march. He was soon after mustered out with his company. He now sought quiet and rest at his home, giving no evidence of an intention to again enter the service. But before he had been at home many weeks, he surprised and disappointed his friends by enlisting as a private in the regular army. His fame, however, was too wide-spread in Ohio to suffer him to re-enter the service as a private. Governor Brough had already selected him for promotion, and when learning of his enlistment in the regular service, procured an order for his discharge, and immediately appointed him lieutenant-colonel of the One Hundred and Eighty-third Regiment, then about to enter the field. He had now come of age, November 5th, and on the 8th of November cast his first vote; on the 12th, he received his commission; and on the 15th, he left for the front. His regiment joined the army of General Thomas, on its retreat before the rebel forces under Hood. On the 30th of November, the regiment was engaged in the terrible battle of Franklin. During the engagement, the regiment was ordered to charge the enemy's works. The color bearer was soon shot down, when Clark seized the colors, and calling to his men, "Who will follow me to retake these works?" mounted the rebel works, and immediately fell, a minie ball having passed through his head. Every effort was made to take his body from the field, but to no purpose, and the "boy officer" was wrapped in his blanket, and buried on the field of his fame, to be finally removed by careful hands, when the earth had covered every vestige of the strife in its friendly bosom.
LIEUTENANT HENRY ROBINSON.
Henry Robinson was a native of Ohio, and entered the service as first-lieutenant of Company G. He was always attentive to his duties, and soon took a position among the first of his rank. He was constantly with his command during its early service. He was in the skirmish at Cross Lanes, where he won the respect and confidence of the entire command by his gallant conduct. In this affair, he commanded Company G. Arriving at Charleston, he was sent to Gauley Bridge, and soon after was taken violently sick with a fever. He soon after died.
In the death of Lieutenant Robinson, the regiment made one of its greatest sacrifices. He was esteemed by every one for his kind and courteous manners, as well as for his ability as a soldier. He had many friends in the army, and at home, and I doubt very much if he had an enemy in the world. His military career was short, but of such a character that his friends can refer to it with pride.
LIEUTENANT E. S. QUAY.
E. S. Quay entered the service as second-lieutenant of Company G. He was with the regiment at Cross Lanes, where he gave promise of much future usefulness as a soldier. He accompanied the regiment to Eastern Virginia, where he was acting assistant adjutant-general to Colonel Tyler. He took part in the battle of Winchester, where he did splendid service. After Tyler's promotion to a general, he was made adjutant-general, and assigned to his staff. In this capacity, he served in the battle of Port Republic, where he gained new laurels. He finally went to his home on account of ill-health, and after a time, died of consumption. He was a good soldier.
LIEUTENANT JAMES P. BRISBINE.
James P. Brisbine was a native of Trumbull County, Ohio. He was born in 1836. His parents dying while he was quite young, he went to live with an uncle by the name of Applegate. He received a fair education, and during the time, in part, maintaining himself by teaching school in winter. In the spring of 1860, he commenced reading law in Warren, Ohio, which he continued until the breaking out of the rebellion. During his course of study, he gave promise of an able and useful lawyer. When it became evident that the rebellion could not be suppressed but by the force of arms, he deemed it his duty to leave the study of the profession of his choice, and enroll himself among the defenders of his country. This step he considered as a decided sacrifice to him; for, by nature, he was in no way inclined to the life of a soldier; he preferred the quiet life of a citizen, which is alone to be found at home. It was with many misgivings that he finally placed his name on the roll. In doing this, he was alone influenced by patriotic motives. When urged to be a candidate for the position of sergeant, he declined to have any thing to do with the matter; but was elected, notwithstanding his indifference.
At Camp Dennison, he was made orderly-sergeant. He took part in the skirmish at Cross Lanes, where he made a good record as a soldier. Soon after entering the field, his health failed him. The long marches often taxed him beyond his strength; but he seldom complained. He was not in the battle of Winchester on account of sickness, being disabled from the effects of the severe march from Strasburg, which took place a short time before. He expressed many regrets on account of his absence. But he very soon had an opportunity to test his courage on the battle-field. The engagement of Port Republic occurred shortly after. He was in no respect second in gallantry to those who were in the previous battle. He was ever at his post, doing his duty. During the latter part of the battle, a captain, an intimate friend, fell, severely wounded. He caught him in his arms, and laid him gently on the ground, pillowing his head in his lap. The regiment moved off, and the rebels advanced; but he refused to leave his friend. And he did not leave until the captain was borne away by his comrades. He passed through this battle without a scratch. He accompanied the regiment to Alexandria, and from there to the front of Pope's army. He now took part in the battle of Cedar Mountain. While cheering his men forward, he was wounded. Two men took him in their arms, and started in search of the hospital; but before they were off the field a bullet struck him in the groin, severing the femoral artery. Said he, "Remember, boys, I die for my country," and expired in their arms. Thus, a true and devoted friend of his country died to preserve it from the attacks of those who had been educated and supported by it from boyhood.
As an officer, Lieutenant Brisbine was much esteemed; as a companion, he was admired by every one. I doubt if he had an enemy in the army or at home. He won his promotion in the field; and it was, therefore, a much greater prize than a higher rank conferred by favor. He was commissioned early in 1862.
LIEUTENANT CHARLES A. BROOKS.
The subject of this sketch was born in Bristol, Trumbull County, in the year 1843. He early developed those good qualities of head and heart for which he was afterwards so distinguished. Being a good student, attentive to his books, as he was to every other good purpose, he acquired a good education, which would have enabled him to engage in any occupation with credit to himself and profit to the community.
He was desirous of entering the service when the war first began, but was held back by domestic ties which bound him strongly to home. But on the second call for troops, he could no longer remain out of the army; and, hastening to a recruiting station, he enlisted in Company H, of the Seventh Regiment. He arrived at Camp Dennison on the 30th of May, and, with others, was mustered into the service. His tall, commanding figure, connected with his sterling qualities of mind, pointed him out as a proper person for promotion. He was, therefore made a corporal, and, as soon as a vacancy occurred, a sergeant. His officers soon put unlimited confidence in him. If a hazardous enterprise was to be performed, he was deemed fitting to undertake it. While still a sergeant, Creighton would often point him out as his future adjutant. Finally, when Adjutant Shepherd was compelled to resign, on account of growing ill health, Creighton procured his appointment as first-lieutenant, and at once detailed him as his adjutant. He came to this position entirely qualified; for, from the time he had been made orderly of Company H, he transacted all of the business of the company. He was in the affair at Cross Lanes, and all other skirmishes in which the regiment was engaged, as well as the following battles: Port Republic, Cedar Mountain, Dumfries, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg.
Near the close of the battle of Port Republic, he saw one of his old officers lying, seriously wounded, so near the enemy's lines as to be in danger of capture. Throwing down his gun, in company with Charles Garrard, he braved the battle-fire, and brought his old comrade safely from the field; thus, probably, saving his life.
At the battle of Cedar Mountain he was slightly wounded, losing a finger.
In July he was sent to Ohio to bring forward the drafted men assigned to the Seventh. While on his way from Columbus to his home in Bristol, he met with a frightful accident resulting in death. While seated in an omnibus, it was driven on to the railroad track, directly in front of a train. In jumping out, he was knocked down by the cars and run over, mangling both legs frightfully. He was taken to the New England House, but nothing could be done for him, and he expired early the following morning. The following is from the pen of one who knew him and prized him:[6]
"The career of this young man has been short but brilliant. He has been a soldier and a man; pure, noble-hearted, sympathetic, and always ready for any duty. He has been brave, courageous, and trustworthy. He has gone from us with no stain upon his honor, no spots upon his escutcheon, but with his armor begrimed with the dust of many battles. Although young in years, he had lived long, if you count the hardships he had endured, the stirring and momentous events through which he had passed, and in the transpiring of which he had been an actor, the service he rendered his country, and humanity at large, and the good he had done; if gauged by this standard, he had become more mature than many men who have attained their threescore and ten years. So bright an example cannot fail to have a good influence upon the young men of the country. His violent death will bring his virtues prominently before their minds, and cannot fail to make an impression. Let all be exhorted to emulate his patriotism, his gallantry, his valor, his promptness in the discharge of duty, his kindness of heart, suavity of manner, his manly and soldier-like qualities; and if in civil life, they will become manlier men—if in military life, they cannot fail to become better and braver soldiers."
He was buried near where he was born, on the banks of a rippling brook, under the shade of beautiful trees, through the boughs of which will sing an everlasting requiem fitting so brave and active a spirit. The citizens of the vicinity turned out in mass to honor his memory with their presence, and tearful eyes and expressive looks showed their heartfelt sympathy for the afflicted mother, sister, brother, and relatives; while a military organization from Warren gave him the fitting escort, and fired three volleys over his grave.
A grateful public will not forget this heroic and noble sacrifice. Let an enduring monument be erected. Not of marble, which may crumble; but let his manly deeds be engraved upon the tablets of their memory, and let his virtues and sacrifices be interwoven with the affections, the sympathies, and the lives of the people, so that while time lasts, and all that is noble in human action, good in thought, and true in conception and motive, shall be treasured as sacred memories, this hero will not be forgotten, because kept fresh with the watering of many tears.
LIEUTENANT JOSEPH H. ROSS.
Joseph H. Ross entered the service as a private in Captain W. R. Sterling's company. Soon after arriving in camp he was made a sergeant, and finally orderly. He was engaged in all the marches and skirmishes in Western Virginia, and at Cross Lanes fought like a veteran. He was in the battle of Winchester, where he displayed such reckless bravery as to attract the attention of the entire command. While the regiment was partially concealed behind a ridge, within eighty yards of the enemy, Ross was not content with remaining at such a distance, but creeping over the hill, crawled forward on his hands and knees till he was midway between the lines, and taking a position behind a rock, swung his hat to those behind. None but Sergeant Whiting, of Company D, had the courage to follow him. From behind this rock, the two heroes kept up a constant fire on the enemy, hitting their man at every shot.
Ross was now made a lieutenant, and assigned to Company C. He was in the battle of Port Republic, where he fought with his usual bravery. At the battle of Cedar Mountain he commanded Company C. During the entire day he led his men with such certainty, that they slaughtered the enemy fearfully. Night came, and he had not received a scratch, while the thinned ranks testified how many had fallen around him. Soon after dark, as if the regiment had not already suffered sufficiently, it was ordered on picket. When about a mile out, it was fired upon from all quarters, and Lieutenant Ross fell, mortally wounded. He died soon after. His loss was deeply felt, both in the army and at home; for he was a true soldier and friend.
LIEUTENANT FRANK JOHNSON.
At this same bloody battle of Cedar Mountain, another youthful hero fell, Frank Johnson, Company F. He had entered the service as a private in John Man's company, and had risen through the different grades of corporal and sergeant to be a lieutenant. He had toiled along through the hard marches of the Seventh, struggling against a weak constitution, which was every day being impaired by hardships and exposure. He had fought nobly in the battles of Winchester and Port Republic,—recognized by the authorities by giving him a commission; and now, in the morning of his new life as aleader, he fell at the head of his company.