USA > Pennsylvania > Chester County > West Chester > Reunion of the Ninety-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers, October 29th, 1884 at Camp Wayne, West Chester, Pa. An account of the proceedings with a roster of the comrades present > Part 3
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Charles E. Raby. Died.
After the above had been read it was ascertained that the minutes of the association and the constitution and by-laws prepared
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for the action of this meeting had been inadvertently left at home by the secretary, who had gone to get them. This being stated by the president, on motion of Colonel Price, seconded by several com- rades, it was decided to have the oration before concluding the business meeting. Colonel Guss then introduced our comrade, Hon. Marriott Brosius, who came forward, and was received with great applause. He then spoke as follows :
THE ORATION.
A more delightful task has rarely fallen to my hands than that which the partiality of your committee has assigned to me in connec- tion with this Reunion ; that of recalling some of the forgotten inci- dents, gathering up the fragrant recollections and patriotic reminis- cences of our military career, and with a promethean spark from the altar of fraternal devotion, kindle them into new life until, like a restored picture, they appear in fresh brightness on the canvas of our memories to point the morals and illustrate the lessons of our service and our sacrifice.
The occasion, however, is not free from difficulty. Some of its aspects touch the heart in its tenderest part, and the mind is rather enfeebled than otherwise by the emotions which swell the breast, as the flood of affectionate remembrances and hallowed associations pour in ceaseless volume upon us, leaving little to the most earnest desire to discharge faithfully a delicate trust, but an acute sense of inability for the task. Still, we indulge the allurement of hope, that drawing inspiration from opportunity, we may be moved to some utterances that will tend to promote the reunion of this remnant of the old Regiment in the bonds of a firm and indissoluble friendship, and revive in our hearts the vestal flame of love for the memory of our comrades who suffered with us the parting, bore with us the burdens, won for us the victory, but came not back to share with us the glory.
My loving comrades, as we looked into each other's eyes to-day and touched each other's warm palms in fraternal greeting, memory, the soul's cup-bearer, brought back to us with great vividness the affecting incidents of our departure in November, 1861, when with hearts luminous with patriotic fire, with eyes flashing with brightness, with steps firm and true to the drum's tap, with a carriage which betrayed the fine pride and sturdy vigor of the young manhood which composed our rank and file, we marched through the streets of the borough, thronged with citizens and friends pressing eagerly
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to obtain a last embrace and a final farewell. Mothers with their cheeks suffused, and their faces mantled with a sweet sadness through which like a gleam of sunlight through a rift in the clouds flashed the great courage of their souls as they gave their sons with a mo- ther's benediction to an imperilled country. Wives whose hearts were pierced by the unutterable grief of parting with those whose lives had been inseparably entwined with their own, stood like trem- bling vines from which the oak had been rudely torn, sustained by the unfaltering hope that a country saved would render back to the sweet embrace of love the dear offerings that day laid upon her altar. Sisters with their brows radiant with beauty, and their faces luminous with the glow of that divine sentiment which alone could make them capable of a deed so grand as when they bade their brothers with a God-speed to the scene of their duty, to brave the perils of the battle and the siege. Fathers whose hearts had been strengthened for the trial by the kindling fires of patriotism, stood grand and heroic as they consecrated with unbidden tears the gift of their boys to the cause of Union and liberty. And citizens in multitudes, all stirred alike by the awakening spirit of devotion which swept with electric touch, the heart-strings of a loyal people, greeted us with swaying hands, waving handkerchiefs and loud huzzas which culminated in enthusiastic shouts as the train bore us swiftly away. Who can con- template the agonizing solicitude of that day, the pain of those part- ings, the anguish of those aching hearts, and the desolation of those broken homes, without feeling the uplifting touch of the sublime heroism of those who gave their first-born, and the splendid valor of those who went out in the early morning of their lives, a conse- crated band, to keep watch at the gateway of the Union, as Gabriel and his band of holy angels kept their watch and walked the rounds of Paradise, willing if need be to gather into their own breasts the pittiless daggers of treason unsheathed for the nation's heart.
The occasion which summoned us from our homes and com- manded our sacrifices will not lose its tragic interest while Americans enjoy the blessings, born to us out of the mighty scourge of civil war, which kindled the fires of death from Gettysburg to the Gulf. It seems to be the lesson of the ages that every new birth of freedom must have its dark night of travail and pain. Every marked advance in civilization has been made through fields of carnage. It has been through the Thermopylas and over the Marathons and Gettysburgs of the world's history that civil and political liberty have carved their way to ultimate triumph. So our war was one of those overruling
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necessities in the providence of God in working out the destiny of the Republic. It was not for conquest or spoils. It was no rash . and fruitless war for wanton glory waged. It was the spontaneous uprising of patriotism to rescue union and liberty, to establish and maintain the supremacy of ideas that will wander through eternity, principles as inextinguishable as the stars, and a civilization as shin- ing as the sun.
Liberty and slavery-irreconcilable in their nature-crossed the ocean the same year. The Mayflower and the Dutch slave ship ploughed the sea at the same time. Both sought the shores of the New World and both planted their seeds to grow side by side until the principle of the survival of the fittest should exterminate one and nationalize the other. Formidable events in the history of their con- flict put the nation to a formidable alternative-"the horrors of miasma or the fury of the blast." Said Victor Hugo: " For every oak struck by lightning, how many forests rendered wholesome." The storm came. Behind the visible work was the invisible, the lat- ter sublime as the former was barbarous. Under a scaffolding of war was reared a majestic temple of human freedom. It was thus the character and magnitude of the undertaking which called us away, that signalized our departure as an event of no inconsiderable moment in the annals of Chester county. Then, too, many of the men who composed our Regiment were not those whom any com- munity could afford to lose. Hundreds of homes surrendered to the recruiting officer their brightest and best. Young men of the high- est character and most commanding talents abandoned the fields of employment for which they were conspicuously fitted by their su- perior character and intellectual equipment, and, turning their backs upon their dearly cherished hopes. took their places by the side of their comrades to swell the ranks of their country's defenders ; so that in the moral and intellectual character of its men, from the field to the rank and file, the Ninety-seventh had few superiors in the ser- vice ; and the people, not alone those who endured the heart pangs of separation and loss, but the whole community, instinctively felt a sense of impending calamity as they witnessed the departure of the flower of their young manhood.
To adjust ourselves to our new relations and become as capable in our new field of operations as we had been efficient in the less ex- citing pursuits of peace was an undertaking whose difficulties the uninitiated cannot easily appreciate. A good soldier is a machine. He moves at the word of command, as the shuttle flies at the touch
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of a spring. Intelligence and judgment as agencies in the direction of individual movement have little place in the principles and rules of military organization and discipline : and a man who has been ac- customed to turning to the right or left, or advancing in a straight line at his own will, surrenders a large share of his personal liberty when he consents to go forward or turn aside at the command of another. One accustomed to express his opinion freely in season and out of season, with knowledge and without knowledge, makes a sad and melancholy sacrifice of his freedom of speech when he consents to hold his tongue except when permitted to speak. Some of us were dull scholars in this despotic school of military limitations upon hu- man rights, and sometimes embarrassments ensued upon an undue assertion of that deeply cherished right to speak our mind. Comrade Miles, of Company E, thought the propriety of holding Jacksonville was a question upon which every citizen and soldier as well, had a right to an opinion, and when preparations for evacuation were being made and he accidentally met General Wright, he saw no harm in remarking to him. "General. I thought you would have to 'vaccate,'" and we can imagine his surprise when his temerity was rewarded by an order for an escort to conduct him to private quarters. But this surrender of individual liberty ; this complete subjection to the do- minion of arbitrary rule, was not a badge of degrading servitude, but a high and patriotic duty, and a part of the voluntary sacrifice the citizen made when he became a soldier. And hard as it was at times to brook this submission when our own judgment rose in hot revolt against a command, the reason for which was not discoverable, while its inutility and danger were apparent to all, yet no disobedience or even reluctance, to respond to the command of a superior ever im- paired the efficiency of the Ninety-seventh. Our fighting qualities were never at a discount, and we fairly earned the compliments ex- torted from casual observers of our steadfast courage and invincible prowess. It was an aid of one of the Generals who, witnessing our dauntless bravery and obstinate courage as we held the line under a tempest of fire at Foster's Place, on the 18th of May, '64, remarked. "The Ninety-seventh will hold that line for three weeks if they are supplied with ammunition." It reminds us of the brave Colonel George of a Minnesota regiment at the battle of Chickamauga, who promised still better. When an aid came with the inquiry as to how long his regiment could holdl a certain pass, he sent back the heroic answer. " Till we are mustered out. " So at the Darbytown road ; an officer who witnessed our splendid and successful charge said to
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Colonel Pennypacker, " That's the d-st regiment of yours to fight I ever saw !" He was informed by the Colonel that it was the result of early training, but I think something was due to inherited quali- ties-courage in the blood, and it illustrated what every machinist knows, the better the material, the better the machine. But in dis- playing these high qualities of the soldier we were only being true to ourselves. Obedience, subordination, devotion and courage were all comprised in that first great self-imposed command, " Go ye and serve your country until Union and Liberty are rescued from the despoiler's hands."
That our boys behaved so well may be due in part to the fact that for a long time they were under a mother's watchful eye. Boys will put their best foot foremost when mother is looking on. A noble woman, like the King's name in battle, is a mighty incentive. Mrs. Mary St. John ( I would rather call her St. Mary John ) exerted an elevating and beneficent influence upon all who came within her radiant ministry of kindness and helpfulness. She did not lead in battle like Joan of Arc, or command a fortress like Lady Banks, or fire the cannon like Molly Pitcher ; but she was behind us :
" In danger, mind you, a woman behind you Can turn your blood to fire."
The gentle sway of her womanly scepter, her self-sacrifice, devotion and tender care, followed the battle, like the sunshine the storm, alleviating pain, assuaging the distresses of sickness and smoothing the wrinkled brow of the soldier's life. O, woman !
"When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou."
Mother St. John brought into the camp something of the influence of home. Gen. Sherman used to say that the home influences were of infinite assistance in the dicipline of the army. It was a benediction to any regiment to enjoy the presence and be subject to the dominion of a woman's influence, and so profoundly sensible are we of the value of her association with the regiment, so fragrant is our recollection of her tender and affectionate care, that I know I but voice the spontaneous emotion of every heart when I invoke blessings upon Mother St. John. May time deal with her gently, may the days of her years be lengthened out, and joy and happiness be the companions of her age.
The services of the regiment during an exceptionally checkered career of good and bad fortune comprised every variety of experience possible to military life. We fought rebels and likewise malaria and
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mosquitoes. We measured swords with the enemies of our country on many a well-contested field; we wrestled manfully with the enemies of our constitutions in the form of southern fevers that walked in the darkness and stalked abroad at noonday : and we had many sanguinary encounters with the winged and venomous disturbers of our comfort and peace that marshalled their hosts in every swamp, assailed every out-post and invaded every camp on the southern coast with malign and ravenous intent to feast with rancorous rapture on the sweet and nourishing blood of the North. We were wood choppers on Sea Brook, lumbermen on the St. Mary's, dock builders at Port Royal, sappers on Morris Island, engineers on Hilton Head, and miners at Petersburg. Our reveille and tattoo sounded in every degree of latitude from Washington to St. Augustine. Our camp-fires blazed in every coast state from Maryland to Florida. Our victorious eagles were borne from Hampton Roads to Port Royal ; from Pulaski to Jacksonville ; from Fernandina to Morris' Island ; from the rice swamps of the Carolinas to the trenches of the Peninsula. Our wild hurrahs rang out and our avenging bayonets gleamed from the slopes of Wagner, Gregg and Fisher. We forced the gates of Wilmington, unfurled our battle-scarred flag in the streets of Goldsboro, and swinging to the capital of the State, we stood in its shadow, proud spectators of a glorious triumph, as the last army of the "Confederacy " laid its arms at the feet of Sherman's corquering legions, and the curtain fell before the tragedy of the rebellion.
In contemplating the career of our regiment, we cannot over- look the melancholy shadows which form the sombre background for the more cheerful and exhilarating incidents of our diversified experience. We cannot look into each others eyes to-day without being reminded of our unreturning comrades who are bivouacked under eternal skies on the plains beyond the river. It was a solemn hour when we stood beside our first grave and endured the pangs of our first grief. Every family has its first death; we had ours when comrade Stevens, of Co. F. in January, 1862, closed his loyal service to his country and was mustered out. He but led the way, for our death roll was long and illustrious. The noble and gifted Hambleton : the gentle and studious Gardner; the sturdy and - faithful Taylor; the vigorous and manly Brinton: the brave and impetuous Hawkins: the brilliant and during Carruthers, and the young and gallant Morton, but represent the harvest of death gathered from our line, and rank and file, and suggest the splendid
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aggregate of purity, patriotism, intellect, devotion and all the high qualities of manhood that swelled the sacrifice which the Ninety- seventh laid upon our country's bleeding altar.
How can we fitly honor the memory of our valiant dead? Let us dwell for a moment upon their patriotic services and meritorious death. I have great faith in the influence upon the living of the remembrances of the heroic dead. It was such an influence that led a young Greek two thousand years ago, when walking over the tiekis on which a Grecian warrior won his victories, to exclaim : "the trophies of Miltiades will not let me sleep." So with the contem- plation of the sacrifices and splendid courage of our departed comrades, may come an incantation that will conjure spirits of high patriotism round about us, until like Hector's son we catch heroic fire from the memory of the tried fidelity and steadfast devotion of our fallen braves.
Vain are the eulogies of the living upon the noble men whom the tide of battle and its allied destroyer, fell disease, swept to the skies from camp and field. They were soldiers in the most exalted sense. Their helmets were of faith, their breastplates were of courage, their swords were of justice. They entered the war in something of the spirit of Gustavus of Sweden, at Lutzen, when spurning his corselets he exclaimed " God is my harness." Our boys went into battle inspired with all the heroism of the Revolution. They marched into the fight with Wayne and all the heroes of Brandywine, Paoli and Valley Forge, in the air above them. The typical bravery of the Union soldier was well exemplified by an incident toll of Gen. Dan McCook. He was storming the heights of Kenesaw Mountain at the head of his troops. The summit was crowded with rebel soldiers; the ascent was precipitous ; the troops had to lift themselves up by the bushes and branches of the trees: he knew it was certain death. In a momentary pause in the ascent he was heard to repeat, in calm, clear tones, these lines from Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome :
"Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate. To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late, And how can man die better than by facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?
A moment afterwards he rushed up the heights, and in two minutes feli dead " for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods." The same spirit animated and inspired our men in many a perilous encounter. On Morris Island, the night of Wagner's
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evacuation, when our line was formed for the advance, the glittering sentinels of heaven-the watching stars-witnessing our impatience for the assault, our dauntless Major, whose breast was glowing with the foreshining of the glory of the anticipated achievement, address- ing the regiment, said : " Men, remember your duty to God and your country to-night." The thrilling words went down the line like an electric pulse, touching off a magazine of heroic-daring in every heart, in the blaze of which every man would have scaled the walls of Wagner, pikes, lances and all, or found a grave in the attempt. There are times when the soldier seems transformed ; swept on by the wings of the tempest of excitement ; riding on the billows of impetuous heroism ; insensible to danger, knowing no fear, he is more than man. We have seen our boys marching into the jaws of death with as firm and steady a step as they would pursue the common- est paths of life. At Green Plains they charged against a hurricane of fire before which none but lines of adamant could stand. O, mortal powers, what courage! How like gods they moved, yet how like men they fell, these citizen soldiers, many of whom but the week before had left their kisses on the lips of mothers, wives and sisters in exchange for their benedictions, as they rushed to their baptism of fire! But how could they die better? Near the beginning of the century a great battle was fought on the plains of the Danube, resulting in a victory for France. The courage of a private soldier contributed to the triumph, and ever after, at the parades of the battalion, the name of Latour D'Vergne was first called, when the eldest sergeant stepped to the front and answered. " died on the field of honor." So in Walhalla, the paradise of battle-scarred warriors, when on the roll of heroes the names of our martyred comrades are called, a chorus of dauntless spirits will reverberate along the celestial corridors as the highest eulogy is pronounced, "died on the field of duty." To their character our praise can add nothing ; not to their valor, for that is immortal : not to their patriotism, for that is in the Recording Angel's book; not to their sublime endurance, for that is embalmed in history's page. Helpless to add a single flower to the immortal wreathes that must forever crown their immortal deeds, we can but resign them to their rest with the prayer of Chester County's sweet poet on the field of Gettysburg :
"Take them, O, Fatherland. Who, dying, conquered in Thy name ! Take them, O. Gud, our brane. The glad fulfilment of The dread decree! Who grasped the sword for peace, and smote to save, And dying here for freedom, died for Thee."
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Thus have our dead completed their task; but ours, my comrades, remains unfinished. The nation's martyrs left as a legacy to their surviving countrymen the best government ever devised by human wisdom for the happiness of mankind, and as we recall their sacrifices that government of the people, by the people and for the people might not perish from the earth, is it irreverent to believe that our dead, who from camp and field went up to God in the shadow of our flag and who still love their country, are assembled with us to-day in their viewless forms, and with their celestial voices are dedicating their surviving comrades to the holy ministry of preserving for all coming time what they died to save. This is our unfinished task. Let us for a moment consider the commanding duties it lays upon us.
"The walls of my city," said an ancient ruler, "are the hearts of my people." So the surest defences of this Republic are the hearts of its citizens, when imbued with an intelligent sense of the responsibilities and a loyal devotion to the obligations of citizenship. If there is one overruling necessity, one fundamentally essential factor in the true solution of the problem of our destiny, it is a standard of moral independence, political integrity, obedience and loyalty, that will guarantee a citizenship at once independent, incorruptible, obedient to law and loyal to the public weal. So this Republic with a voice of solemn supplication, emphasized by the sacrifices of the past, summons the manhood on which it leans to- day to lift itself up to the true stature of American citizenship.
Without a vigorous, noble and true manhood, though our empire reach from sea to sea, we are a rope of sand. The French king was not wholly wrong when he said " I am the State." He was part of it. Not one man, but all men. are the State.
"Not high raised battlements or labored mounds, thick wall nor moated gate.
Nor cities proud with spires and turrets crowned, nor starred and spangled Courts.
Where low -born baseness wafts perfume to pride, but men, high-minded mien.
Who their duties know, but know their rights and knowing, dare maintain."
Seek ye, then, first intelligence, virtue, honor, independence and loyalty to principle in the citizen, and all the blessings of good government will be added unto you. Fidelity to conviction, devotion to duty, loyalty to conscience and country, are the qualities which moulded the men who honored American citizenship and adorned
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the public service in the past, and it is a hope in aid of whose realization all the graves filled by our civil war implore the living, that the influence of American civilization and the inspiration of American progress may produce for Columbia's future citizens a race of men who, " being admirable in form, noble in reason, infinite in faculty," will add thereto integrity of soul-a mighty priesthood of truth, who will barter not their honor at the public marts, stock boards, election polls or in halls of legislation, but will stand with manly firmness against all the blandishments of power and the seductions of ambition and gold, as integrity incarnate.
The infirmities common to forms of government in which sovereignty resides in the people and speaks through popular elections have their roots in individual delinquency and personal venality. The seeds of political degeneracy lurk in that condition of personal character which makes it possible for men to violate the plainest requirements of morality to advance a political end. It is a low standard of character, an enfeebled moral sense, insensibility to the stain of dishonor in the voter, that nurtures the poisonous tree of political evil and hurries it on to its tainted bloom and deadly fruitage.
In the breast of the voter is the virus that taints the blood of our political life, and the decay of character is the unerring prelude to degeneracy in our political institutions.
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