The Butler weekly times. (Butler, Mo.) 1881-1918, 1917-06-21
LIKE AN ARMY OF GHOSTS
As Gray Mist, Lees Gallant Sol
diers, Now Bowed and Feeble,
Marched Under Stars and
Bars and Saluted Old
Glory.

OARS anu 0AiutSO Ol0
Glory.
Richard J. Beamish in the Philadelphia
Press.
Washington-I have seen an arm,
of ghosts.
Gray as graveyard mist it was an
slowly as graveyard mist it driftet
past <
Some of it was blue-gray will
patches OF black Some was dead gray
the parchment grayness of an ole
mans face. This part was streakee
and stripped with buff.
1t was the grand army of the Con
federacy on its last great parade. II
came as the climax of the last nat.
ional reunion of those who fought
for the lost cause with Lee and Stone
wal Jackson.
No more pathetic spectacle ever
has been witnessed in Washing
ton than that which unfolded and dis
solved like dream the other morn
ing. Like dream it will remain in
the memory Of those who looked
with seeing eyes, dream in which
human sacrifice was viewed through
veil, of tears.
From all parts of the South they
came. these who gave their ali to fol-
low Jefferson Davis and his generals
in their unavailing efforts for seces-
sion.
Above the creeping, death gray
line flew the rebel stars and bars.
Rebel flags that had flashed forth
to victory at Bull Run and that had
been driven from Pennsylvania soil
at Gettysburg showed their shell
torn tatters through protective webs
of silk as they were lifted high above
the stopping ranks. But beside the
cross barred flag floated Old Glory
and upon the withered chests of the
men in gray cleaned the tri-color
that spells both France and America.
No Inauguration procession within
the memory of Washington brought
forth enthusiasm that compared at
all with that which swept over the
hundreds of thousands who saw the
thin gray line.
1t had no simmer of gold lace, no
rich investiture to vie with hundreds
of parades that glorious city of gor-
geuos spectacle has known. But it
did have more poignant humanity,
more direct appeal to the American
hearts than all the professions that
have preceded it.
Every rank has its distinctive note.
Every little gray group held a cheer
compelling or tear compelling mo-
tive
Never can I forget that last rank
Of the Arkansas division. We were
waiting opposite the Presidents stand
fronting the White House. There
was the usual flutter of Rebel flags,
The usual applause as the fine, old
of the division on their
sedate livery horses paced by. Then
came the ranks on foot. Clad in the
peculiar death gray of the southern
backwoods, they came with slow, ST.
ent movement of on creeping age.
Almost Involuntary my eyelids mar
rowed to get the full effect of the
irifting haze.
As it crept up to the stand the
Jog resolved itself into its human e.
.ments. Faces made noble by war
lime sacrifices and by hardships
,obly endured stood out softly in the
mist, each like q Moses carved from
:lod by Michael Angelo. Never have
seen such fitting of leonine
name and beard to the human count
nance 40 In the rank that came last.
Never have / seen such majesty of
Americanism as in the slow moving,
owing salute with which they turned
heir faded eyes and withered hands
owards the President. 1t was an ex-
fession of eternity, of the unqueneh- [
d and unquenchable spirit that,
lease God, will hold America togeth- /
{ while life lasts. |,
Bot the unforgettable feature Of {,
hat rear rank was not the faces car [
ed from cloud, nor yet the majesty 4
{ salute. Il was . plain old woman
the Arlansas backwoods ct the 4
ID Of the line near the Presideat
little and bent. she was, and II Ill
asty black. +
Her taaek bouset was Of aaothes
u ani ~ drese Of 10 feecog1fs.
b1e oefio& bat 20 soconao n-Wal6- /
lsnnn ~ Ny Caffio Ioo RIO