Read Ebook: The Taylor-Trotwood Magazine Vol. IV No. 5 February 1907 by Various

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erest all classes of visitors.

Within twenty minutes' ride of Norfolk, Portsmouth, Hampton, Newport News and Old Point Comfort is Sewell's Point, the site of the exposition. In this vicinity nature and man have combined to create a territory supremely attractive and beautiful. The grounds face Hampton Roads, and embrace more than four hundred acres in area, forming a beautiful setting for the architecture of the exhibit buildings, which will be entirely of the colonial period. The beautiful and commodious buildings under construction are the Auditorium, History and Art, Education and Social Economy, Manufactures and Liberal Arts, Virginia Manufactures, Medicine and Sanitation, Machinery, Electricity and Ordnance, Transportation, Marine Appliance, Foods, Agriculture and Horticulture, Forestry, Fish and Game, Mines and Metallurgy buildings, aside from numerous special buildings and pavilions. There are no less than six buildings devoted to Arts and Crafts alone.

The whole group will suggest the baronial structures of the seventeenth century in England. With massive Corinthian columns, surrounded by verdant trees, they will constitute an everlasting picture of grandeur and beauty. Several enlarged replicas of old American homes will preserve the identical outlines, and will conform in proportion. The Arts and Crafts Village will be a scene of active interest, where skilled hand-workers will display the possibilities of the finished products in metals and wood, in which machinery has no part.

Another distinguishing feature of the exposition will be the military display of the United States, the troops of which, together with those of foreign countries, will form a permanent encampment during the exhibition.

The horticultural and cut flower exhibit will surpass in design and beauty all previous attempts along this line. Displays of flowers and potted plants will be made in the Court of the States, where will be shown in profusion of number and variety--asters, chrysanthemums, dahlias, gladioli, peonies, rhododendrons, sweet peas, roses, etc. The work of transplanting trees, plants and shrubs in the general decorative scheme has been practically completed. A unique feature is the floral fence, which forms a semi-circle around the exposition grounds. The frame is of wire, upon which crimson rambler, honeysuckle and trumpet vine intertwine in artistic effect. Monster oaks, tall pines, cedars, maples, willows and elms are on the grounds to afford ample shade, while native flower-bearing and evergreen shrubs and fruit trees will enter into the general scheme of landscape beautification.

The Jamestown Exposition will differ from the St. Louis Fair in that it will be historic, while the latter was mainly industrial. Every conceivable object of historic interest which can be secured will be on view at the Ter-Centennial, and as the surrounding country is a prolific source from which to gather this class of exhibits, it will far excel in historic interest.

A few of the distinctive features of the exposition will include: the first international submarine races; prize drills by regiments of all countries; the largest motor boat regatta ever held; yacht races in which all nations will compete; more naval and military bands than were ever before gathered together; the highest tower ever erected in America, if not in the world; the largest parade ground; sea bathing at the border of the grounds; dirigible airships for commercial uses; an enclosed sea basin with an area of 1,280,000 square feet; an exact reproduction of old Jamestown; stupendous pyrotechnic reproduction of war scenes and unique night harbor illumination.

Norfolk, the exposition city and "Golden Gate of the Atlantic," penetrated by the salt air of the ocean, is free from climatic complaints. Its geographical location and the fortunes of war add to its interest and prominence, and it is replete with reminiscent features. It is a great commercial center, within twelve hours' ride of more than 21,000,000 population, and within twenty-four hours' ride of 39,000,000 people. Possibly its most historic structure standing, in a well preserved condition, is old St. Paul's Church, erected in 1739, twice fired on by the British, and still retaining, imbedded in its walls, a shell fired by Lord Dunmore's fleet, January 1, 1776.

The descendants of hardy settlers contemporaneous with Captain John Smith and his associates, followed by the cavaliers that settled Virginia, are to be found now, as then, foremost in business, social, religious and political affairs. From them have issued those who have made names that are referred to with pride in the conduct of state and national affairs. Although the "Mother of States," and foremost in the making of American history, all of her children did not yield to the temptation of forsaking their birthright of fair lands, and it is the present generation that has made possible the splendid celebration commemorative of the first settlement of this country by their ancestors.

It is small wonder, then, that all roads this year will lead to Tidewater Virginia and the Jamestown Ter-Centennial, which will throw open its gates to the world April 26.

A PLEA

Take you such gold as I have, old Time; 'Tis a trifling thing that you win; For what is gold but a sordid lure, All blotched with the blood of men? 'Tis little I care for the filthy stuff, And less is my need thereof; Take you such gold as I have, old Time, But leave me a little love!

Take you the cold world's praise, old Time; 'Tis hollow and false, I know; For Honor, at best, is an empty name, And Fame but a trumpet the foolish blow; Take them and bid them fly fast from me, Fly fast as a homing dove; Take you the cold world's praise, old Time, But leave me a little love!

Yea, leave me a little love, old Time, And take you all else you prize; For Love will sweeten the saddest heart Like a blossom from Paradise. 'Tis the goodliest gift of God to man, A treasure fine gold above; So, take you all else you prize, old Time, But leave me a little love!

ONCE MORE THE DREAM

Once more the dream! Once more the dream! That brings with undiminished gleam The light that shone upon my youth From regions of untarnished Truth. Before this stoic mockery, Called wisdom of maturity, Could dim the luster of its glow. Or ere its cares could stem the flow Of love from thy great heart to me-- Thy heart of hills, my Tennessee.

Once more the dream! Once more the dream! And all old things unaltered seem; Restored are joys I counted lost Beyond a time all worry-tossed. The streams yet wear a silver sheen Despite the years of change between; The bird songs have their olden thrill, The woods are cool upon the hill, And partial Nature smiles on thee, Who art her queen, my Tennessee.

Once more the dream! Once more the dream! And floats to me upon the stream From Memory's generous spring some form Or voice I loved beyond the storm. And thus does Memory surely prove Herself an angel, born of Love. 'Tis not a dead past that she brings, For past is present when she sings. And thus old joys once known with thee, I live again, my Tennessee.

Thus let me dream! Thus let me dream! Nor Time deprive me of a beam. For, oh, that heart is happiest Which dwells on pleasures past and best! And that heart bides in saddest gloom That broods upon some ill to come. Let these old joys and loves be mine Till life shall drift beyond the line From heaven that is to heaven to be, From thy warm heart, my Tennessee.

GENERAL JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON

Born at Longwood, Prince Edward County, Virginia, February 3, 1807

Died at Washington, District of Columbia, March 21, 1891

When the restless spirit of Johnston took its flight from earth the South bade farewell to as brave a knight as ever shivered a lance "when knighthood was in flower." His death following so quickly that of William T. Sherman, was a dramatic coincidence. They had fought a long and bloody duel--hilt to hilt and toe to toe, and the arena extended from the Mississippi River to the Atlantic Ocean. Sherman advanced with sword and torch in the hands of his splendid army; Johnston met him with strategy and the stubborn resistance of his thin lines of gray; the duel ended only when the resources of military art were exhausted and the shattered remnant of Johnston's weary columns was overthrown by Sherman's overwhelming numbers. When the conflict was ended and the battle flags were furled, these two great captains met in the capital of the republic and shook hands across the bloody chasm. Sherman died in February, 1891, and Johnston, broken in health and feeble with age, was one of his pall-bearers, an office which he had also performed at the funeral of his friend, General Grant. A month later he joined the silent hosts to which these antagonists on many a field of glory had preceded him.

Joseph Johnston was the eighth son of Judge Peter Johnston and Mary Woods, of Virginia, whose Scotch ancestors had lived and prospered and passed away on the old plantation at Osborne's Landing. The boy was a born soldier and foreshadowed his brilliant career, even when a child at his mother's knee. The story is told that his father took him coon-hunting one night, and he became so interested in describing and illustrating military tactics to the negro boy who attended him that they became separated from the hunters, and fell so far behind that they could not reach them with their voices. Jo made the boy dismount and kneel on the ground with his gun presented, in imitation of a hollow square of infantry. Then he withdrew and re-appeared as a regiment of cavalry, charging down upon the hollow square; but his horse was not a war-steed and was totally untrained in battle, and suddenly shying from the squatted infantry, threw the cavalry regiment to the ground. His biographer, Robert M. Hughes, says, "of course he was wounded--he always was on every available occasion."

The growth and development of the lad increased his determination to be a soldier. So marked was his predilection that his father, who had served under "Light Horse Harry Lee" in the Revolution, gave him his sword, although he was next to the youngest son. Young Johnston treasured it, and kept it bright till 1861, when the tocsin of Civil War was sounded, and, like Lee, he drew it in defense of his native State, although, like Lee, he was opposed to secession.

The comparison of the characters of Johnston and Lee is most interesting. Born in the same year, entering West Point at the same time and graduating in the same class , they both saw their first active military service under General Scott. Johnston accompanied Scott on his arduous campaign in the Florida Indian war, and later to Mexico. While Lee was engaged in boundary work in Texas, Johnston was performing a similar work for his government on the Canadian line. From early manhood they were fast friends and were bound together by the same associations, the same surroundings and the same interests throughout all their lives. Both came from the Mexican War with the title of colonel. Both were opposed to secession, but both resigned their commissions in the United States army and entered the service of the Stars and Bars with the rank of colonel. Both supported, with consummate ability and unfaltering courage, the cause they held dear, and when this cause went down in defeat both met the verdict with quiet dignity. Both refused safety and honors abroad, preferring to give their abilities to rebuilding a united nation, and both lived to have abundant proof of the respect and esteem in which all people held them.

It would be useless to seek to measure the relative capacity of these two classmates. The circumstances surrounding their operations were not the same, the generals opposing them were unlike and their methods of campaign were necessarily different. It is safe to say that both applied, as far as possible, the tactics and principles of war taught them at their alma mater. "Johnston's Narrative," which he wrote and published in 1875, explains his tactics and his reasons for adopting them and have been held in high repute by students of military art on both sides of the ocean ever since their publication.

Like Lee, Johnston never failed to gain the respect and confidence of his men. "Although," says Mr. Hughes in his admirable biography, "Johnston was never allowed to retain command of one army long enough to achieve the great results which only flow from long association ... he never failed to win the love of his men. They trusted him because they knew that their blood would not be wasted.... They admired him because they knew he would not ask them to go where he would not go himself. His order was 'Follow,' not 'Go.'... They called him their Game Cock, because of his gallantry and martial bearing, and strove to emulate him in courage and coolness."

"Farewell, old fellow," was the parting salute of one of his men, "we privates loved you because you made us love ourselves."

Johnston's personal character was no less admirable than his public career. Unselfishness, modesty, purity, courtesy, charity, devotion to home and family ties ever characterized him in public and in private.

After his surrender to Sherman at Durham's Station, North Carolina, he retired to Savannah, Georgia, putting the war and its issues behind him, using his great influence to renew the national allegiance and to cultivate a new patriotism that should embrace the whole country. In 1877 he returned to Richmond, and in the following year was elected to the House of Representatives. On the expiration of his term he was appointed Commissioner of Railroads by President Cleveland and continued to reside in Washington until his death. He met here both Grant and Sherman, and, as already said, became fast friends with his former foes and acted as pallbearer at the funeral of each.

I sat with Jo Johnston in the Forty-sixth Congress of the United States. I was young and he was ripe in years and experience. I sought him and cultivated him and never tired of listening to the story from his lips of his maneuvers in the last days of the Confederacy. He was small of stature, square built, and straight as an arrow, with a big round bald head and keen gray eyes that glittered like stars. Congress was not congenial to him--he was not an orator but a soldier; he was not a statesman, but a general. He knew how to wield an army but was helpless on the battlefield of argument. During the fiercest fights of the two great contending parties on the floor of the house, he daily walked to and fro like a caged lion, his head up, his eyes sparkling and his whole attitude one of excitement, yet taking no part in the struggle. But he was a faithful representative of his people, and was loved by all who knew him.

In 1887 he received a crushing blow in the death of his wife. Their childlessness and her invalidism and the long years of army life had drawn them together in an unusual degree, and he was never able to recover his old time joy in life after his loss.

Naturally the distinguished veteran was in great demand on the occasion of re-union and memorial exercises. Always averse to anything savoring of publicity, he attempted to fill these engagements in an unobtrusive way, but at times the enthusiasm of his old followers put all his efforts to naught. This was shown at the memorial exercises at Atlanta in the spring of 1890, of which an Atlanta paper gives the following account:

"As the last carriage drove away, the Governor's Horse Guard came up the street, forty strong, under command of Captain Miller. The company was an escort to the hero of the day. With the Governor's Horse Guard came a carriage drawn by two black horses. In that carriage was General Joseph E. Johnston. The old hero sat upon the rear seat, and beside him was General Kirby Smith.... The carriage was covered with flowers. 'That's Johnston! that's Jo Johnston!' yelled some one. Instantly the Governor's Horse Guard, horses and men, were displaced by eager, battle-scarred veterans. The men who fought under the hero surrounded the carriage. They raised it off the paved street, and they yelled themselves hoarse. Words of love, praise, and admiration were wafted to the hero's ears. Hands pushed through the sides of the carriage and grasped the hands of the man who defended Atlanta. The crowd grew and thickened. Captain Ellis tried to disperse it, but could not. Then the police tried; but the love of the old soldiers was greater than the strength of both Captain Ellis and Atlanta's police force. For ten minutes the carriage stood still; then, as it began to move, some one called out, 'Take the horses away!' Almost instantly both horses were unhitched, and the old men fought for their places in the traces. Then the carriage began to move. Men who loved the old soldier were pulling it. Up Marietta street it went to the Custom-house, then it was turned, and back toward the opera house it rolled. The rattle of the drum and the roll of the music were drowned by the yell of the old soldiers; they were wild, mad with joy; their long pent-up love for the old General had broken loose. Just before the carriage reached the opera house door a tall, bearded veteran on a horse rode to the side. Shoving his hand through the open curtain, he grasped the hand of General Johnston just as a veteran turned it loose. The General looked up. 'General Johnston!' cried the veteran. General Johnston continued to look up. His face showed a struggle. He knew the horseman, but he could not call his name. 'Don't you know me, General--don't you know me?' exclaimed the horseman. In his voice there was almost agony. 'General Anderson, General,' said Mrs. Milledge. General Johnston heard the words, and, rising almost from his seat, exclaimed, 'Old Tige! Old Tige! Old Tige!' The two men shook hands warmly. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of each. 'Yes, Old Tige it is, General,' said General Anderson, 'and he loves you as much now as ever.'"

A simple headstone in the Greenmount Cemetery, at Baltimore, marks the sleeping place of Johnston, beside his wife, who was Miss Lydia McLane, of Baltimore.

EVENING

Sunset; and purple mist Upon the mountain's crest, And pale blue trails of smoke that slowly twist Into the West.

Soft airs that whisper "Rest," And sunset clouds of gold; A bird's low murmur from its hidden nest Across the wold.

Red rose leaves falling, falling, 'Neath swiftly fading skies, The faint, far voices of dead summers calling, All ghostly-wise.

Twilight and darkening woods; Smell of the dew-drenched sod; And over all, while perfect silence broods, The peace of God.

LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH

HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE SOUTH

At the outbreak of the war in 1861, John A. Cockerill was about fifteen years old, and the recruiting officers had refused to enlist him in the ranks of the fighting line by reason of his youth, but accepted him as a drummer boy in the Twenty-fourth Ohio Infantry, in which regiment his brother was then a first lieutenant and later captain and colonel.

It is in no way surprising to the personal friends of John A. Cockerill that anything written by him should be the best of its kind. The best war story ever written is on the Battle of Shiloh, as seen by John A. Cockerill, which story I send you herewith, with the earnest request that you permit it to occupy a place in your interesting and valuable Historic Highways of the South.

Yours very truly,

THEODORE F. ALLEN, Cincinnati, Ohio.

Shiloh Church, April 6th, 1862.

Thus it happened that I was with the army of General Sherman when it felt its way up the turbid Tennessee as far as Pittsburg Landing, and it so happened that I was at Shiloh Church on the morning of that terrible onslaught by General Johnston's army on Sherman's division, which held the advance of Grant's army.

I have often wondered what sort of a soldier I must have appeared at that time. I can remember myself as a tall, pale, hatchet-faced boy, who could never find in the Quartermaster's department a blouse or a pair of trousers small enough for him, nor an overcoat cast on his lines. The regulation blue trousers I used to cut off at the bottom, and the regulation overcoat sleeves were always rolled up, which gave them the appearance of having extra military cuffs, which was a consolation to me.

Not exactly clear in my mind what I intended to do, I ran across to the old log Shiloh Church, which stood on the flank of my father's regiment. On my right the battle was raging with great ferocity, and stretching away to my left and front one of the most beautiful pageants I have ever beheld in war was being presented. In the very midst of the thick wood and rank undergrowth of the locality was what is known as a "deadening," a vast, open, unfenced district, grown up with rank, dry grass, dotted here and there with blasted trees, as though some farmer had attempted to clear a farm for himself and had abandoned the undertaking in disgust. From out of the edge of this great opening came regiment after regiment, and brigade after brigade of the Confederate troops. The sun was just rising in their front, and the glittering of their arms and equipments made a gorgeous spectacle for me. On the farther edge of this opening, two brigades of Sherman's command were drawn up to receive the onslaught. As the Confederates sprang into this field, they poured out their deadly fire, and, half obscured by their smoke, advanced as they fired. My position behind the old log church was a good one for observation. I had just seen General Sherman and his staff pushing across to the Buckland brigade. The splendid soldier, erect in his saddle, looked a veritable war eagle, and I knew history was being made in that immediate neighborhood. Just then a field battery from Illinois, which had been cantoned a short distance in the rear, came galloping up with six guns and unlimbered three of them between Shiloh Church and the left flank of the Seventieth Ohio. This evolution was gallantly performed. The first shot from this battery, directed against the enemy on the right opposite, drew the fire of a Confederate battery and the old log church came in for a share of its compliments. This duel had not lasted more than ten minutes when a Confederate shell struck a caisson in our battery and an explosion took place, which made things in that spot exceedingly uncomfortable. The captain was killed, and his lieutenant, thinking he had done his duty, and, doubtless, satisfied in his own mind that the war was over so far as he was concerned, limbered up his remaining pieces, and, with such horses as he had, galloped to the rear and was not seen at any other time, I believe, during the two days' engagement.

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