He was as calm when the leaden hail
was rattling and as cool when the shells were shrieking and bursting as
he was upon this floor. He was a leader, not a follower of his men; if
they went into the jaws of death, he was at their head. He fared as his
men fared; if their haversacks were empty, his was empty; if they laid
down in the mud, he laid there too; if they sweltered in the summer heat
or shivered in the winter blast, he sweltered or shivered too; and thus
it was he kindled in the breasts of his men intense love for himself and
secured their implicit confidence in his leadership.
The promotions he received, rising from a captain to a major-general,
speak in terms stronger than any words of mine of his courage and valor
and his qualities as a soldier and military chieftain.
As a civilian, pursuing the quiet walks of rural life and devoting
himself to agriculture, the noblest of all arts, he was honored by all
the people and drew to him his neighbors, binding them with the steely
bands of constant friendship. His word was as good as his bond, and the
dusky son of toil as well as the intelligent tenant on his wide
possessions relied upon it with absolute faith; and the most beautiful
tribute that could be paid to his memory was the deep sorrow which
manifested itself in a meeting after his death of those whose brawny
muscle had held the plow-handles and whose toil had made the corn and
the wheat grow on his rich and fertile fields.
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