Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1876-10-12
An Eloquent Outburst.

When Colonel Ingersoll faced his
old comrades, the Boys in Blue, at
the indianapolis Convention, the in
spiration of the occasion caused him
to give impromptu utterance to the
following eloquent, touching and pa
thetic passage. We have never read
anything of the kind equal to it. 1t
proves him to be a natural-b born era
tor.
He was recalling the scenes of the
war, and said:
The past rises before me like a
dream. Again we are in the great
struggle for national life. We hear
the sounds OF prepsration-the music
of tho boistrous drums-.the silver
voices of heroic buglcs. We see
thousands of assemblages and hear
the appeals of orators; we see the
pale cheeks of women and the flushed
faces of men; and in those assembling
es we see all the dead whose dust we
have covered with flowers. We lose
sight of them no more. We are with
them when they enlist in the great ar
my of freedom. We see them parting
from those they love. Some are
walking for the last time in quiet
woody places with the maidens they
adore. We hear the whisperings and
the sweet vows of eternal love as
they lingeringly part forever. Others
are bending over cradles, kissing ba-
bles that are asleep. Some are re-
ceiving the. blessings of old men.
Some are parting who hold them and
press them again and again to their
hearts, and say nothing; and some
are talking with wives, and endeayor-
ing with brave words spoken in the
old tones to drive from their hearts
the awful fear. We see them part.
We see the wife standing in the door
with the babe in her arms, --stand-
ing in the sunlight sobbing, at the
turn of the road a hand waves-she
answers by holding high in her low
ing hands the child. lie is gone, and
forever.
We see them all as they march
proudly away under the Haunting
flags, keeping time to the wild, grand
music of war,-through the towns and
across the prairies, down to the fields
of glory, to do and TO die for the eter-
nal right.
We go with them one and all. We
are by their side on all the glory fields,
lin all the hospitals of pain,-on all
the weary marches. We stand guard
with them in the wild storm aud un-
der the quiet stars. We are with
them in ravines running with blood
in the burrows of old fields. We are
with them between contending hosts,
unable to move, wild with thirst, the
life ebbing slowly away among the
withered leaves. We see them pierced
by balls and torn with shells in the
trenches by forts, and in the whirl-
wind of the charge, where men be-
come iron with nerves of steel.
We are with them in the prisons Of
hatred and famine; but human speech
can never tell what they endured.
we are at home when the news
comes that they are dead. We see
the maiden in the shadow of her first
sorrow. We see the silvered head of
the old man bowed with the last grief.
The past rises before us and we see
four millions of human beings govern
cd by the lash we see them bound
hand and foot; we hear the strokes of
the cruel whips; we see the hounds
tracking women through the tangled
swamps. We see babes sold from the
breasts mothers. Cruelty unspeak-
able Outrage infinite
-Four millions of bodies in chains
four millions of souls in letters. All
the sacred relations of wife, mother,
father and child trampled beneath the
brutal feet of might. All this was
done under our own beautiful banner
of the free.
The past rises before us. We hear
the roar and shrek of the bursting
shell. The broken letters fall. These
heroes died. We look. Instead of
slaves we see men, women and chill
dren. The wand of progress touches
the auction block, the slave pen, the
whipping post, and we see homes and
iresides, and school houses and books,
and where all was want, and crime,
and cruelty, and letters, we see the
faces of the free.
These heroes are dead. They died
for liberty-they died for US. They
are at rest. They sleep in the land
they made free, under the flag they
rendered stainless, under the solemn
pines, the sad hemlocks, the fearful
willows, and the embracing vines.
They sleep beneath the shadows of
the clouds, careless alike of the sun
shine or storm, each in the windowless
palace of rest. Earth may run red
with other wars-they are at peace.
In the midst of battle, in the roar Of
conflict they found the serenity OF
death. A yoice-"(ilory." | have
but one sentiment for the soldiers liy-
ing and dead cheers for the living
and tears for the dead.
s---~--
a catafalaque is very much like 8
mousaoIaum Both imnIv demice,