The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1866-06-14
Trip Over the York River Railroad.
RICHMOND, June Is, 1866.

Editors of the Dispatch: ....
Early yesterday morning, accompanied
| by congenial friend, we started off on a
ride down the York River railroad, and
over some of the chief battle fields OF
!! McClellan's campaign.
Ny friend was well informed concerning
the condition and prospects of the York
| River railroad, and from him | gathered
many interesting facts. 1t seems that this
most natural and shortest railroad route to
the sea is in the hands of Mr.. W. IL. Will
liams, who engages to complete it in very
few months, putting it in thorough order
and furnishing the rolling stock; and from
what we hear of Mr.. Williams's antece-
dents, and his present financial ability and
energy, we believe that this impor tan
work will be promptly done, and we
done. Such men are useful in any o.
munity, but especially in our desolat
impoverished country, and we are
to learn that Mr.. Williams, having
fascinated with our beautiful cit
termined to make his home among
Williams ,ciN do about as much ,c01
pear as an ordinary size steam engine-GN
coll do it q great deal better.
Having gone down as far as Bottoms
bridge, we crossed the Chickahominy, and
were soon amid former scenes of strife,
where human passions eliminate.
We stood upon the battlefield of Cold
Harbor. The spirit armies still linger
there, and spiritually there still seems
around us the northern host, proud, stub
born, but dismayed. Far in the rear and
to the right Jackson's signal gun is heard.
n 10 .nrhf of IN
sweeps onward, and hundred southern
banners float to the breeze. A wild shout,
prolonged and joyous, rises from the ex-
pectant host in front. Hope meets despair;
heroes mingle in the dust; the northern
banner trails the day is ours! My south
ern heart beats loud with enthusiasm, and
feel that this truly is glory. Yes, the
glory of the triumph OF passion. we
move to another part of the field, and thick
scattered through the green underground
we see plain white head-boards bearing
such simple words as these Sergeant,
company -, First South Carolina regi-
mcnt. southern soldier; killed in battle,
July, 1852" An honest farmer standing by
at the time, we asked him what kind friend
had marked these graves so neatly. He
replied that the enemy had done it. No,
sir, not an enemy. The man that does
that is friend to human nature. He is the
good Samaritan, though reviled, yet pouring
oil and wine into the wounded and binding
up the broken heart. This is true glory
the glory of the triumph of Love. That
man, had duty called him there, we doubt
not, would have slept in that spot where
heroes sleep together. But God has spared
him for greater work-to build the bridge
of charity across the yawning chasm Of
Observation-Disclosures "mercy and truth have
met together, and righteousness and peace
have kissed each other" The human
heart, left to its own CONCENTRATIONS and
alone with God, can hardly do evil. This
little deed of some man unknown to fame
has done more towards reconciliation than
the united efforts of all the wise men in
Congress assembled, and we believe that
even they would return from visit to these
scenes with more charity and forgiveness
in their natures. Association with the
great dead has strangely elevating and
purifying influence upon us. And here we
are among the great. They need no pane
gyric; eulogy would be mockery for we
find them interlocked where martyrs ever
rest--at the foot of the stake. They hold
all they gained, and there they are now, so
many Yards from the breast-w0rks, all
sleeping in line, officers and men, awaiting
that last call of the trumpet, when they
will rise up and press forward to the prize
Of true glory. ur rf,>