Published the
15th of May in 1863 in the Richmond Whig out of Richmond, VA
Two Processions
Tuesday, the 12th of May, 1863, will long be
remembered by the citizens of Richmond. About 9 o’clock, the head of a long
column of Yankees – said to be 1,600 strong – appeared on the upper part of
Main Street. These Yankees were clad in the uniform of the United States army,
and their clothing was worn and soiled by long service. They had no arms. For
two years they had been trying, by dint of bayonet and ball, to reach this
place; but not until they had laid down their arms and surrendered themselves
prisoners of war, were they able to accomplish their object.
The
procession, though not unusual, of late, was a arrange one. Sixteen hundred
captured, but not humiliated warriors of the North, walking slowly down the
principal thoroughfare of a Southern city, guarded by less than one-third their
number of Confederate soldiers, is no ordinary spectacle. Here were the men,
who, night after night, and day after day, during many months, had gloated over
the fancied prized of beauty, of gold, silver, household stuffs, which were to
be theirs when they had conquered the city through which they were now passing
as captives. Murder, lust, race, theft,
arson, all demoniacal motives that can actuate fallen and depraved men, had
filled their hearts, had been cherished by them as good men cherish virtues,
and had implied them to encounter toils, privations and sufferings
inconceivable. All they had endured was nothing compared to the hope of sacking
Richmond.
The procession was a very silent one. Thousands of
spectators, who had gathered to see it, were equally, silent. File after file,
the long column of dusty blue passed slowly down the street. No jeers, no
taunts, no reproaches from the men and women whom these captives had doomed to
the worst sorrows. Silently the Yankees marched along, watched by the countless
throng of lookers on. They stared back at the crowds that gazed from the sidewalks,
and showed no shame, no remorse – nothing but impudence, brutish, cold, hard
and brazen impudence. So many mean, sensual, cunning, inhuman faces, we never
saw before.
An hour or
two later, another procession passed up the same street. Artillery, cavalry,
infantry and bands of music were in this procession, but the arms of the
soldiers were reversed, their banners were draped in mourning. The drums were muffled
and the notes of trumpet and horns were funeral. The tolling bell and cannon
booming at long intervals, told a mournful story.
The war-worn veterans of Pickett’s division – their
mild-eyed, guileless faces contrasting strongly with the brutal features of the
previous procession – were there. Ewell, brave, modest and maimed, rode close
to the hearse of his great commander. The President of the Confederate States,
pale and sorrowful, was there. The good Governor of Virginia, stricken with
grief for the loss of his noble townsman, was there. The Heads of Department,
the State of Metropolitan Authorities, and many citizens, walked humbly and
sadly behind the coffin, decked with Spring flowers and enveloped in the folds
of a flag which nations of earth have never be held. A great multitude of all
ages, classes and conditions, stood by to see this procession pass. And they
were silent as before. All was hushed while the mortal remains of the best and
best beloved chieftain in all the land passed onward to the Capital of the
State and the Confederacy, which he had so heroically defended and died to save
from pollution. The body of Stonewall Jackson was in the hearse, and this great
procession was in his honor.
The day was
cloudless, brilliant, beautiful exceedingly. If there are eves immortal that
see the souls without the body, that take interest in the affairs of men, what
hindered that they should behold these pageants in this much afflicted city?
And if they behold and care for these things – what then?
