The Blue and The Gray

"HOME, SWEET HOME."

In the spring of 1863 two great armies were encamped on either side of the Rappahannock River, one dressed in blue and the other dressed in gray. As twilight fell, the bands of music on the Union side began to play the martial music, "The Star Spangled Banner," and "Rally Round the Flag;" and that challenge of music was taken up by those upon the other side, and they responded with "The Bonnie Blue Flag," and "Away Down South in Dixie." It was borne in upon the soul of a single soldier in one of those bands of music to begin a sweeter and a more tender air, and slowly as he played it they joined in a sort of chorus of all the instruments upon the Union side, until finally a great and mighty chorus swelled up and down our army—"Home, Sweet Home." When they had finished there was no challenge yonder, for every band upon that farther shore had taken up the lovely air so attuned to all that is holiest and dearest, and one great chorus of the two great hosts went up to God; and when they had finished the sweet and holy melody, from the boys in gray there came a challenge, "Three cheers for home!" and as they went reverberating through the skies from both sides of the river, "something upon the soldiers' cheeks washed off the stains of powder."

THE REV. O. H. TIFFANY, D. D

HOW solemn a thing is death!—and yet, how wonderful a thing is life! God appoints it, man develops it, death seals its destiny, eternity unfolds its ultimate issues. Each human soul in which this power of life is has "its secrets and histories and marvels of destiny, heaven's splendors are over its dead, hell's terrors are under its feet, tragedies and poetries are in it, and a history for eternity." Every social organism, every grand national aggregation of lives but generalizes the history of the individual, and thus the history of all life and of all living, whether in individuals, families, societies or nations, is one history, and that history the record of its conflicts, its defeats, its victories. The dawn of this life is a struggle for being, its growth a constant warfare with antagonisms, its maintenance is by continued defenses. And each and all of these create crises of destiny which may retard or advance, destroy or establish the whole.

Our national birth was a contest with physical difficulties, our establishment a victory over political antagonisms; the last desperate struggle was a conflict of ideas, a contest of moral principles; and we may hope that its issue shall be one of prosperity and peace.

Mountains are rock-ribbed and enduring because the earthquake has settled them on their foundations; the pines that crest them like a coronet withstand the rudest blasts, because they have been rooted by the storms which toss their giant branches. So universal freedom has been made sure by the passing turbulence of rebellion, and our national prosperity established by the rude blast of war.

It was a war such as the world never before witnessed; it was fought by such armies as never before were marshaled on the field. But the end has come. These great armies have returned covered with honor and laureled with renown. They are merged again in the business and activities of life; they have disappeared from view like the snow in springtime, or the dew of the morning in the summer's sun; now and then the halting step upon the sidewalk, here and there an empty sleeve, remind us in our daily walks of the stern realities of war.

After war, peace!

Peace to the dead. Peace through their labors to the living. These "have fought their last fight," the salvos of artillery which soon shall sound from the guns they loved so well shall not awake them. The grass shall grow green in springtime, the birds of summer shall sing their sweetest notes, the bright glories of autumn shall tint the foliage above them, and the white snow of winter shall lie unbroken on their graves, but these shall sleep on in peace.

Peace, white-robed and olive-crowned, has come to us who linger. Peace, with its cares and toils, peace, with its plenty and prosperity, peace, with its duties for to-day and its destinies for to-morrow. Let us welcome it and become worthy of it. Let there be in all our lives, thoughts, hopes, endeavors, such devotion to duty as called and sent these brave men to the battlefield and sustained them there; and then we may safely leave our future to the care of those who, coming after us, shall pause, amid the ruins time may make, to trace upon the marble in our cemeteries the names of the heroic dead.

THE UNION SOLDIER

THE past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the sounds of preparation, the music of the boisterous drum, the silver voices of heroic bugles. 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 assemblages 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 army of freedom. We see them part with 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 babies that are asleep; some are receiving the blessings of old men; some are parting with mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts again and again, and say nothing, and some are talking with wives, and endeavoring 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—standing in the sunlight sobbing—at the turn of the road a hand waves—she answers by holding high in her loving hands the child. He is gone, and forever. We see them all as they march proudly away under the flaunting flags, keeping time to the wild, grand music of war, marching down the streets of the great cities, through the towns and across the prairies, down to the fields of glory, to do and to die for the eternal right. We go with them, one and all. We are by their side on all the gory fields, in the hospitals, on all the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the wild storm, and under the quiet stars. We are with them in ravines running with blood, in the furrows of old fields; we are with them between contesting 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 whirlwind of the charge, where men become 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 first grief.

The past rises before us, and we see four millions of human beings governed by the lash; we see them bound hand and foot; we hear the strokes of cruel whips; we see the hounds tracking women through the tangled swamps; we see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty unspeakable! Outrage infinite! Four million bodies in chains—four million souls in fetters. 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 shriek of the bursting shell; the broken fetters fall; these heroes died. We look—instead of slaves we see men, women and children. The wand of progress touches the auction block, the slave pen, the whipping post, and we see homes and firesides, and schoolhouses and books, and where all was want and crime and cruelty and fetters, 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 tearful willows and the embracing vines; they sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless alike of sunshine 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 they found the severity of death. I have one sentiment for the soldiers, living and dead—cheers for the living, and tears for the dead.

Our Noble, Heroic and Self-Sacrificing Women.

EMORY A. STORRS

BRIGHT and shying on our resplendent annals shall appear the names of those thousands of noble, heroic and self-sacrificing women, who organized and carried forward to triumphant success a colossal sanitary and charitable scheme, the like of which, in nobility of conception and perfectness of execution, the world had never before witnessed, and which carried all around the globe the fame and the name of the women of America.

From camp to camp, from battlefield to battlefield, through the long and toilsome march, by day and by night, these sacred charities followed, and the prayers of the devoted and the true were ceaselessly with you through all dangers.

Leagues and leagues separated you from home, but the blessings there invoked upon you hovered over and around you, and sweetened your sleep like angels' visits.

While the boy soldier slept by his camp fire at night and dreaming of home, and what his valor would achieve for his country, uttered even in his dreams prayers for the loved ones who had made that home so dear to him, the mother dreaming of her son breathed at the same time prayers for his safety, and for the triumph of his cause. The prayers and blessings of mother and son, borne heavenward, met in the bosom of their common God and Father.

ANTIETAM

THE SWORDS OF GRANT AND LEE

"Fame Hath Crowned with Laurel the Swords of Grant and Lee."

WAR WITH SPAIN

ONLY those who know the power of peace can realize the dread of war. For four centuries Spain has borne down upon her colonies, with a heavy hand. The brightest of them, Cuba, "the Pearl of the Antilles," has been the victim of two cruel and merciless wars at her hands, waged with relentless barbarity. We could not, as a Christian nation, help protesting against her inhumanity to a people whose home was so near our shores.

For thirty years the sounds of war had been silent in our domain, but justice demanded that we interfere in behalf of a people who are struggling against oppression, and in the noble cause of humanity. Spain's cruelty and Spain's greed are matters of history.

THE MAINE DISASTER

On the 25th of January the Maine, an American battleship, entered the harbor of Havana, Cuba, and anchored in her waters at a spot indicated by the harbor-master. The usual exchange of salutes and formal visits expected between two powers, took place, and there was no apparent unfriendliness shown. Just three weeks from that day, in the evening of the 15th of February, an explosion took place, which tore the boat to atoms, killing 266 of her crew and two officers. At once treachery was suspected, but the American people was asked to suspend its judgment until the long and searching investigation which was conducted by the naval board of inquiry was ended, when every evidence was produced proving that the awful calamity was due wholly to Spanish treachery.

This led to a severing of all diplomatic relations, which was ended by the Spanish minister's request for his passport. Spain declared war upon the United States on April 24, 1898, and it took the House of Representatives one minute and forty-one seconds to pass a declaration of war in reply to Spain, and the Senate acted with equal promptness.

Events of such vast importance have rarely followed each other with such rapidity as have those of our late war with Spain. In less than three months a nation which deemed itself invincible, threw down the gauntlet which was as speedily picked up, and engagements and battles trod almost upon each other's heels, until its boast was proved a vain one, and victory was ours.

Our people were ready to accept the challenge. From North and South came the glad response. Once more the blue and the gray fought side by side, as brothers.

THE FIRST GUN FIRED

Our history would be incomplete if I did not tell my young readers who fired the first shot in our war with Spain. The United States cruiser, Nashville, of the North Atlantic squadron at Key West, can lay proud claim to that honor.

It was a clear and beautiful morning in April when the American fleet left Key West, and proceeding southward across the straits of Florida, first saw the city of Havana and the battlements of the famous Morro Castle, on the afternoon of the same day. The fleet presented a gallant sight, and when at three in the morning Admiral Sampson's flagship, the New York, flashed forth her signal lights, the answering signals were given from all the ships of the fleet, black smoke began to pour from the smokestacks, and the crews needed no further hint that they had work before them.

These volunteers in company with the Sixteenth and Sixth Regiments were ordered to "charge the Block House'" and up the hill they charged with military precision.

After the Nashville returned to Key West, the rest of the squadron proceeded to the Cuban coast. Coming within fifteen miles of Morro Castle, the fleet scattered so as to form a complete blockade of the port. Every day brought new prizes to our squadron, and the blockade of Havana proved effectual.

It is well to call the attention of the boys to a few of the changes in phraseology between the old sea terms and the new. Once in the English navy (and ours was modeled after it) the term admiral was unknown—the word constable or justice was used. So with the title of captain, which is in reality a military one. In the earlier times this personage was called a master. The term commodore we have borrowed from that very nation with whom we have just measured arms—the Spanish, and comes from their word comendador. Cadets were not known by that name, but were called volunteers. Another item which furnishes food for reflection, is the origin of the United States navy. On October 13, 1775, the continental congress voted to fit out two vessels, one to carry ten guns, the other fourteen, for the purpose of taking English supply vessels. The same month it added two more vessels to its extensive equipment. On March 27, 1794, after our troubles with the Algerine pirates, six frigates were ordered, each to carry thirty-two guns. Congress appropriated $700,000 for the purpose of organizing a navy. Compare this feeble beginning with our splendid navy of to-day.

It is proper to explain here what the practice of nations is with regard to prize money. It is a strict rule of war that neutral powers must not interfere nor give help to either party that is engaged in a war. To furnish ships, ammunition, or supplies is a grave offence, and all such goods are termed "contraband of war."

Any boat at sea suspected of carrying "contraband" articles can be searched, but properly commissioned vessels only can perform this duty. Another thing which will subject a vessel to being seized or confiscated is an attempt at blockade running, or trying to pass the line established by the war vessels stationed in an entrance to a harbor or along the coast. These are rules of war common to all nations, and must be rigidly observed.

All neutral governments are notified that such blockade exists, and exactly how far it extends. But "paper blockades," or the mere declaration that a blockade is in force, are of no account. At the treaty of Paris, in 1856, the powers declared that "blockades, in order to be binding, must be effective," or in plainer words, a force must actually be stationed on the blockaded ground strong enough to make it dangerous to attempt to pass it.

"Prize money" sounds very tempting, and its meaning will be given. When a war is in progress properly commissioned ships are empowered to capture not only the armed vessels of the enemy, but its merchantmen as well. These vessels are taken to the country of their captors, the courts pass judgment upon their value, and if it is proven to be a lawful prize, it is sold, and the proceeds is called "prize money," and is awarded to the captors, the officers and crew, in proportion to their rank.

The prize money adjudged to them is thus given out in the following manner:

"1. The commander of a fleet or squadron, one-twentieth part prize money awarded to any vessel or vessels under his immediate command.

"2. To the commander of a division of a fleet or squadron, a sum equal to one-fiftieth of any prize money awarded to a vessel of the division under his command, to be paid from the moiety due the United States, if there be such moiety; if not, from the amount awarded the captors.

"3. To the fleet captain, one-hundredth part of all prize money awarded to any vessel of the fleet in which he is serving, in which case he shall share in proportion to his pay, with the other officers and men on board such vessel.

"4. To the commander of a single vessel, one-tenth of all the prize money awarded to the vessel.

"5. After the foregoing deductions, the residue is distributed among the others doing duty on board, and borne upon the books of the ship, in proportion to their respective rates of pay.

"All vessels of the navy within signal distance of the vessel making the capture, and in such condition as to be able to render, effective aid if required, will share, in the prize. Any person temporarily absent from his vessel may share in the captures made during his absence. The prize court determines what vessel shall share in a prize, and also whether a prize was superior or inferior to the vessel or vessels making the capture.

"The share of prize money awarded to the United States is set apart forever as a fund for the payment of pensions to naval officers, seamen and marines entitled to pensions."

On April 27 our forces bombarded the important city of Matanzas, a rich and flourishing point, the outlet of the agricultural districts. April 29 the city of Cienfuegos yielded to our shells, and on the 30th of April the frowning batteries of Cabanas were attacked.

DEWEY'S VICTORY AT MANILA

The first great naval battle of the war took place on the 1st of May. Those whose opinion was considered valuable, declared that on this battle depended the result of the war—some even prophesying that a victory here would practically end it.

Another matter which engrossed the attention of the governments abroad, was the fact that this encounter would serve as a test of the merits of the modern fighting machine. Should it prove all that was claimed for it, then in truth, a new departure in naval warfare had come.

The eyes of the world were upon the fleet, which, under the command of Commodore George Dewey, was hastening toward Manila, the capital of the Philippines. Just after daylight, Sunday morning of May 1, Manila time, 6 p.m. Saturday, Chicago time, the Olympia opened fire, when two miles away from the enemy. As she drew nearer, she trained every battery upon the Spanish fleet, with deadly effect. When the battle was almost decided, the Reina Christina came out to engage our flagship.