Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1867-09-17
"Reminiscences Of the War.

lHe loiioWAhk SOHhuhiNotioh kHNa
to the heart. Thousands weep with
the writer over the graves of our dearly
loved and fallen braves-the glorious
private soldiers, who, though they bore
the now forbidden banner, will live i'm.
mortal in the coming ages, when those
who have not the magnanimity to drop
one tear over their graves, though ithey
may now riot in the ill.gottsR wealth
which such men gave their patriot blood
to defend, will be forgotten and obscured
forever:
For the Public LEDaER.l
Comrades Although the editor so
kindly intimated that tho deserving pri.
yate was equally as welcome to place
in the columns of the PUBLIC LEDGER as
his leader, and paid the highest tribute
of respect to the worthy private himself; ).
yet, 80 far, have purposely avoided IN
termixing in my "reminiscences of the
war" individual obituaries Comrades
You may attribute this silence to iudif-
ference. You may imagine that | care
not for messmates who fell by my side,
and now sleep in their shallow coainless
graves on the bleak, red hills of Georgia,
or beneath the shade of the dense cedar
thickets around Murfreesboro. Although,
many of those that are sleeping there
shared with me their scanty blanket
when had none, and the North wind
was piercing-forget them never. The
word mother, a word that should be in
delibly stamped upon every mans heart
would as soon be effaced from my heart
as the names of those men. But, com
rades, cannot stand upon the grave of
a messmate, be he ever so dear, and
write his obituary, when, in Imagination
| see around me so many little hillocks
beneath which rest gallant comrades
equally worthy. How can l stand upon
the grave of poor, quiet, patient Sergt
Gallagher, a part of whose brains fell
upon my jacket when his head was
carried away by shell, on the Kenesaw
line, and recount his surprising patience
(being an Irishman) under the bitter
taunts of his comrades, the majority of
whom were his countrymsn, on account
of his bad English How can / recount
his good, soldierly qualities, when ia
imagination l see the appealing blue
eyes of poor, brave, little Frank Wilson,
the Menphian, peering out upon me
from between the folds of his tattered
blankets. He seems to say, as he
lies there with that fatal red spot on his
forehesd-" Jack, was not | your mess
mate for these three long years, and
during that time did you ever see me
finch from danger )" No, no, Frank |
never did. In advancing to battle, there
were few men in our regiment-and the
9TH Confederate could number many gal
liant msn--that saw your face; and in
retreat there were fewer still that ever
saw your back. Poor Frank l will drop
a tear to your memory, and let you sleep
on, for | cannot proceed further when
tho dark eyes of Porter, the tall, gallant
Indianian, are flashing upon me from his
shallow grave in the bloody ground in
front of Franklin as they used to flash in
battle. | can imagine | hear him say
Jack, have we not messed together,
and are any of those you have mentioned
braver than II" No, no, Porter, l did
not say that, for none were Drawer than
you. You threw down the officer sword
and rushed for the private's deadly rife.
Behind was no place for you. Near
Porter | see stretched the huge form OF
that brave Irishman, Dick Cahill, " the
infant" as we used to call him. An in
fant only to his friends--e giant to his
enemies. Aud "a giant be almost was
indeed, for he stood near seven feet, and
weighed near three hundred pounds. A
bullet pierced his great, noble heart at
Franklin. He was always there when
wanted; and tits surprising that one who
occupied so much space escaped so long
Comrades, | cannot proceed further, for
near Dick lies Sayers, the young Louis
william, aud around him, and on every
battlefield, from the Ohio to the Roanoke,
our dead are scattered. Wherever the
Army of Tennessee unfurled its banners,
or Numbered with its guns, our dead
there lie. Then, boys, as | cannot write
an obituary for each of our gallant dead,
let's gather together from the distant
battlefelds, where they lie sleeping, the
Americans, the Irishmen, the English
men and the Germans that composed the
old fifth, and make one funeral pile Of
them all, and over the urn that contains
their ashes l will write for all, the follow
ing short obituary; This urn contains
the ashes of brave men and true patriots,
who died in defense Of their own and
adopted country" Then, comrades, as
this is their wake, and rivers of tears
would not bring them back into line, and
whilst the spirits of our comrades are
lowering around us, let us drink fare
well bumper 10 their memory, and our
toast shall be: MAY liberty never have
worse, or tyranny half so good friends as