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Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 19. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 12 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 22. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 10 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 18. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 8 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 27. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 6 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 1. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 6 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 17. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 6 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 20. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 6 0 Browse Search
Judith White McGuire, Diary of a southern refugee during the war, by a lady of Virginia 4 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 8. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 4 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 10. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 4 0 Browse Search
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Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 1. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), Camp fires of the boys in Gray. (search)
enate's triumph, Triumphing in love like thine. I am dying, Egypt, dying I Hard I the insulting foeman's cry, They are coming! quick! my falchion!! Let me front them ere I die. Ah! no more amid the battle, Shall my heart exulting swell-- Iris and Osiris guard thee-- Cleopatra! Rome! Farewell! Good Bully! Go ahead, Jack! Give us some more, old fellow! And he generally did, much to everybody's satisfaction. We all loved Jack, the Poet of our mess. He sleeps, his battles o'er, in Hollywood. The Singing man generally put in towards the last and sung us to bed. He was generally a diminutive man, with a sweet voice and a sweetheart at home. His songs had in them rosy lips, blue eyes, golden hair, pearly teeth, and all that sort of thing. Of course he would sing some good rolicking songs in order to give all a chance. And so, with hearty chorus, Three times around went she, Virginia, Virginia, the land of the free, No surrender, Lula, Lula, Lula is gone, John Brown's body,
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 1. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 2.12 (search)
Chief of Cavalry of the Army of Northern Virginia, for my thoughts just now go out, in the language of General Johnston, to the Indefatigable Stuart. To-day, comrades, I visited his grave. He sleeps his last sleep upon a little hillside in Hollywood, in so quiet, secluded a spot that I felt indeed that no sound could awake him to glory again. A simple wooden slab marks the spot, upon which is inscribed--General Stuart, wounded May 11th, 1864; died May 12th, 1864. And there rests poor J. d, and with the words I am going fast now, I am resigned, God's will be done, the great, grand cavalry leader furled his battle-flag forever. Gentlemen, my object in all this is to bring you to the simple grave upon the hillside in beautiful Hollywood that I saw to-day, and to ask you if the Pantheon of Virginia's heart can be complete until it contains the image of this, one of her most gracious cavaliers? The city of Richmond, saved by the fight at Yellow Tavern from capture, pledged it
Heros von Borcke, Memoirs of the Confederate War for Independence, Chapter 24: (search)
he spectacle of her husband's cold pale brow, that she learned the terrible misfortune which had befallen her and her children. I myself mourned my chief as deeply as if I had lost a beloved brother; and so many of my friends being soon after called away, I really felt possessed with a longing that I might die myself. On the evening of the 3th, in the midst of the roaring of the enemy's cannon, which reached us from Drewry's Bluff, we carried Stuart's remains to the beautiful cemetery at Hollywood, near Richmond, where he lies in a simple grave by the side of his beloved little daughter Flora. Of a calm summer evening I frequently rode out to this quiet spot, sitting for hours on my leader's grave, recalling his excellent qualities, and musing over the many glorious battles through which we had fought side by side. General Lee announced the death of General Stuart in the following order:-- Headquarters of the Army of Northern Virginia, May 20, 1864. The Commanding General
John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., On the road to Petersburg: notes of an officer of the C. S. A. (search)
onder, on the slopes of Hanover, fighting his guns to the last. And that greater figure of Stuart; he has fallen, too! How he would have reigned, the King of Battle, in this hot campaign, clashing against the hosts of Sheridan in desperate conflict! What deathless laurels would he have won for himself in this hurly-burly, when the war grows mad and reckless! But those laurels are deathless now, and bloom in perennial splendour! Stuart is dead at the Yellow Tavern yonder, and sleeps at Hollywood; but as the dying Adams said of Jefferson, he still lives --lives in every heart, the greatest of the Southern cavaliers! His plume still floats before the eyes of the gray horsemen, and history shall never forget him! There was Gordon, too-alive but the other day, now dead and gone whither so many comrades have preceded him. He fell in that same fierce onslaught on the enemy's cavalry, when they tried to enter Richmond by the Brook road, in that sudden attack which saved the capital.
Judith White McGuire, Diary of a southern refugee during the war, by a lady of Virginia, 1863. (search)
delicately-carved features, a high, fair forehead, and light hair, which had been well cared for. He looked like one of gentle blood. All seemed so mysterious, my heart yearned over him, and my tears fell fast. Father, mother, sisters, brothers-where are they? The morning papers represented the case, and called for information. He may have escaped in delirium from one of the hospitals! That evening, kind, gentle hands placed him in his soldier's coffin, and he had Christian burial at Hollywood, with the lonely word Stranger carved upon the headboard. We trust that the sad story in the papers may meet some eye of which he had once been the light, for he was surely Somebody's darling. Sweet lines have been written, of which this sad case reminds me:-- Into a ward of the whitewashed walls, Where the dead and dying lay- Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls- Somebody's darling was borne one day:-- Somebody's darling! so young and brave, Wearing yet on his sweet, pale face- S
Judith White McGuire, Diary of a southern refugee during the war, by a lady of Virginia, 1864. (search)
in that lovely spot. Most of them died before war came to distress them. The names of two persons I cannot omit, before whose tombs I pause with a feeling of veneration for their many virtues. One was that of Mrs. Sully, my music-teacher, a lady who was known and respected by the whole community for her admirable character, accompanied by the most quiet and gentle manner. The other was that of Mr. Joseph Danforth, the humble but excellent friend of my precious father. The cemetery at Hollywood is of later date, though many very dear to me repose amid its beautiful shades. But enough of the past and of sadness. I must now turn to busy life again, and note a little victory, of which General Lee telegraphed yesterday, by which we gained some four hundred prisoners, many horses and wagons, and 2,500 beeves. These last are most acceptable to our commissariat! The Southern Army are having an armistice of ten days, for the inhabitants of Atlanta to get off from their homes.
Robert Stiles, Four years under Marse Robert, Chapter 3: from New York to Richmond (search)
unable to recall the details, but I was notified to meet poor Beers' body at the train. Colonel, afterwards General, R. L. Walker (Lindsay Walker), commanding A. P. Hill's artillery, hearing that Beers had been killed on the 3d of May and buried upon the field, had the body exhumed and sent to me at Richmond. It is strange how everything connected with the burial, except the sad scene at the grave, seems to have faded out of my recollection. I know he was buried in our family lot in Hollywood, and as no one of us was buried there for long years after this, we must have bought the lot for the purpose. I remember, too, that we laid him to rest with military honors, Captain Gay's company, the Virginia State guard, acting as escort; and I must have ridden in the carriage with the stricken widow and his two little girls, for I distinctly recall standing between the children at the side of the open grave and holding a hand of each as the body of their hero-father was lowered to its
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 5. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), Editorial paragraphs. (search)
se we remember that he was a gallant soldier in the famous old Rockbridge Artillery. Memorial day has not been forgotten this year at the South, and we trust that the time is far distant when our women shall cease to deck with flowers the graves of the patriot heroes who died for us, or to teach our children to cherish their memories and emulate their virtues. Our printers stopped work to-day (May the 22d) in order to join the throng that pressed through the avenues of beautiful Hollywood to deck the graves and honor the memories of the braves who sleep beneath its sod. As we gazed on the silent bivouack of the dead, and noted that all (from every State of the Confederacy and of every rank) were remembered, and that at least some simple flower decorated the grave of each, we felt that it might be gratifying to loved ones far away to assure them that Richmond still cherishes in her heart of hearts the boys who wore the gray and freely gave their lives in her defence. I
Robert Underwood Johnson, Clarence Clough Buell, Battles and Leaders of the Civil War: Volume 2., Richmond scenes in 1862. (search)
a military band preceding a soldiers funeral. One could not number those sad pageants: the coffin crowned with cap and sword and gloves, the riderless horse following with empty boots fixed in the stirrups of an army saddle; such soldiers as could be spared from the front marching after with arms reversed and crape-enfolded banners; the passers-by standing with bare, bent heads. Funerals less honored outwardly were continually occurring. Then and thereafter the green hillsides of lovely Hollywood were frequently up-turned to find resting-places for the heroic dead. So much taxed for time and for attendants were those who officiated that it was not unusual to perform the last rites for the departed at night. A solemn scene was that in the July moonlight, when, in the presence of the few who valued him most, we laid to rest one of my own nearest kinsmen, of whom in the old service of the United States, as in that of the Confederacy, it was said, He was a spotless knight. Spite o
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 72 (search)
ur tears be like rain, A truer cavalier we shall ne'er see again. Ah! the story he wrote with the point of his sword, How it thrilled through the cities, how it stirred up the land; Who can forget how the hireling horde Ran blating for mercy when he did command. At the North though they mock, and rejoice at his fall, With grief-laden flowers will we cover his pall. Oh! how like the besom of fate in their rear, Came the wave of his plume and the flash of his blade, When, bursting from covert, to his troopers will cheer, The bugle, it sounded the charge in the raid. Now his plume is at rest, his sword in its sheath, And the hand that should grasp it is nerveless in death. Make his grave where he fought, nigh the field where he fell, In blossoming Hollywood, under the hill, In sight of the hearth-stones he defended so well, That his spirit may be guardian sentinel still, And there let a finger of marble disclose The spot where he lies-point the skies where he rose. J. Marshall Hanna.
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