Part 39

It was a matter of great gratification to North Carolina when this son, after an absence of a few years, gladly returned to her service. She views his career in arms with a just pride. She will ever reckon him among the most precious of her jewels; and will hold him forth as the fittest of all exemplars to the coming generations of her young heroes. Chief among his triumphs will it be reckoned that in the midst of his elevation and of the high hopes which possessed his soul, he so demeaned himself as to secure a place, hallowed by grief, in many an humble heart throughout North Carolina. His name is to be pronounced reverently and with tears by the winter fireside of many a hut; and curious childhood will beg to have often repeated the rude stories in which soldiers shall celebrate his generosity, his impartiality, his courtesy, and his daring. It is true that many eyes which flashed with enthusiasm as their favorite urged his gray horse into the thick of the battle, are forever dull upon the fatal hills of Pennsylvania; but this will render his memory only the more dear to the survivors; what of his fame was not theirs originally, they will claim to have inherited from the dead around Gettysburg.

If this story has been properly told, little remains to be said by way of comment. A young man of very rare accomplishments and energy, fitted equally for the cloister of the scholar and for the field of battle, has been snatched from our midst. Admirably qualified to be of assistance to the country as a soldier or as a statesman, General Pettigrew has been suddenly removed at the very commencement, as it were, of his career.

Ostendent terris hunc tantum fata, neque ultra Esse sinent.

Although what he has achieved is sufficient for fame, that which impresses the observer most forcibly is that such vast preparation should, in the course of Providence, be defeated of an opportunity for display at all commensurate with what seemed its reasonable requirements. Under the circumstances, his death looks like a prodigious waste of material. It adds a striking illustration to that class of subjects which has always been popular in poetry and in morals, whether heathen or Christian. It appears very clearly that the Ruler of all things is under no necessity to employ rare talents and acquirements in the course of His awful administration, but, in the crisis of great affairs, can lay aside a Pettigrew with as little concern as any other instrument, even the meanest.

Upon some fitting occasion, no doubt, his friends will see that the public is furnished with a more suitable and detailed account of the preparation he had made to do high service to his generation. It will then be better known that no vulgar career of ambition, and no ordinary benefit to his country, had presented itself to him as worthy of the aims and endowments of James Johnston Pettigrew.

Mrs. Spencer's sketch was written in 1863 and published in the _Fayetteville Observer_. It will also be found in her _Last Ninety Days of the War_, as an appendix. Other sketches since written may have added opinions, but very few facts.

The stranger may ask, What has this young man done that he should be placed by the side of Davie, Macon, Murphy, Badger, and Ruffin? In intellectual grasp he was the equal of any of them--probably the superior of all. As an original thinker, as a practical investigator in new and untried fields, it does not appear what he might have been.

He was on the crest of the highest wave of Southern valor and patriotism as it swept over the mountains of Pennsylvania.

In Longstreet's assault, in the third day's fight at Gettysburg (which some Virginia historians, with amusing vanity, call "Pickett's charge"), Pettigrew's command, Heth's Division, bore the brunt of the enemy's resistance. Five of the North Carolina regiments following Pettigrew had more men killed than Pickett's fifteen. His own brigade (four regiments at Gettysburg) carried into Longstreet's assault about fourteen hundred and eighty men; its loss in killed and wounded was four hundred and forty-five.

This same brigade, Pettigrew in command, held the pivot of the first day's fight, but at a fearful cost. Out of the twenty-two hundred engaged it lost six hundred and sixty killed and wounded.

In this brigade was the famous Twenty-sixth North Carolina Regiment, under Harry K. Burgwyn, which lost in the first day's fight five hundred and eighty-eight men killed and wounded out of a total of eight hundred and in Longstreet's assault one hundred and twenty of the remnant, the greatest loss and the greatest percentage of loss of any regiment in either army in any battle during the Civil War. Its gallant colonel (Burgwyn) was among the last of fifteen color-bearers who fell with the flag in their hands.

In the first day's fight Pettigrew was engaged with the famous "Iron Brigade," in which was the Twenty-fourth Michigan, facing the Twenty-sixth North Carolina in the open field at close range, gradually getting closer as the Federals slowly retired through field and woods for an hour and a half, until finally, and before the Twenty-fourth broke, they were within one hundred feet of each other, at which range they continued for twenty or thirty minutes. Captain J. J. Davis (afterwards Associate Justice of our Supreme Court) was an eye-witness and participant. He says: "The advantage was everywhere with the Confederate side, and I aver that this was greatly, if not chiefly, due to Pettigrew's Brigade and its brave commander. The bravery of that knightly soldier and elegant scholar, as he galloped along the line in the hottest of the fight, cheering on his men, cannot be effaced from my memory."

After this frightful day's work he was chosen to lead Heth's Division in Longstreet's assault. And though wounded in this assault by a grape-shot through his hand, he it was who, on the retreat of Lee's army, was chosen to command the rear guard, which consisted of his own shattered brigade and another. This was the duty that Napoleon assigned to Marshal Ney, "the bravest of the brave." And it was in the discharge of this duty that Pettigrew lost his life.

Dr. W. H. Lilly, of Concord, N. C., an eye-witness and the physician who was with General Pettigrew when he got his death-wound, at my request gives me a short account taken from his diary kept at the time:

"General Pettigrew was carrying his wounded hand in a sling.... On the night of July 13th we started on our march to the river. It was raining, and very dark, so that we proceeded very slowly. On the morning of the 14th, General Pettigrew, with his and General Archer's Brigades, was left as rear guard while the wagons and artillery were crossing the river on the pontoon bridge. While our men were lying down a large body of cavalry appeared in our rear. A squadron from the main body came riding up to our line. They were at first thought to be our men retiring before the main body of the advancing enemy. When near us a small United States flag was recognized, and they were in our midst before we fired on them. General Pettigrew's horse threw him, as he had only the use of one hand. He then began to snap his pistol at one of them, who turned and shot him in the abdomen. The General's pistol did not fire, as the powder was wet from the heavy rain. Nearly the entire squadron was killed or captured. We put General Pettigrew on a stretcher and carried him over the river at once. I advised him to remain in a house, and assured him that his only chance for life was in his being entirely quiet. He refused, saying he would rather die than fall into the hands of the enemy. We brought him in an ambulance to Bunker Hill and put him into Mr. Boyd's house, where he died at 6:30 A. M. on the morning of July 17th."

Why was it that this young man (who rarely went into a fight that he did not get hit) was preferred for responsible and dangerous commands before the officers trained at West Point? He had the genius for war and the spirit of a hero-martyr.

In the blood of his crucified cause was written the mightiest protest ever filed for the judgment of posterity against the class legislation, the centralization and the aggrandizement of the General Government in copartnership with the preferred and protected States--a copartnership out of which has been spawned a still more unholy alliance with the corporations and moneyed institutions which have their roots in those States and in foreign countries.

Not in blood, we hope, but nevertheless bravely and patriotically, let the young men of this day and generation strive to free our Union from the domination of domestic traitors and entangling alliances with foreign foes.

I have selected two short extracts from his book, _Spain and the Spaniards_, as giving a hint of his style and habits of thought. The book was intended for private circulation among his friends, and was written, doubtless, with the usual speed of young authors. It indicates considerable learning and research, but its arrangement is somewhat crude and its style not always sufficiently careful and clear. One might well wish that he had devoted his life to literature, but his talents were so varied and versatile it is hard to say where he would have most excelled.

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THE CHARACTER OF THE BRITISH.

"All this talk (that our western civilization and government is nothing but a development of English ideas) is beginning to make the Europeans believe that we consider ourselves under some obligations to sympathize with and sustain Anglo-Saxonism, the real truth being that there is a far greater sympathy between the French and us than between their neighbors and us. We are essentially democratic; they abhor and detest the idea. The most miserable creature in England would spurn liberty if accompanied by equality; for he thinks there must be some poor devil, more miserable than himself, over whom he can tyrannize. We acknowledge and are in favor of securing to every one his just rights in the political system; whereas, exactly the contrary holds in the Anglo-Saxon, who follows the old parable of giving to him that hath and taking from him that hath not even that which he hath. The universal tendency is to yield power to those above and to keep the lower class pressed to the earth. I, therefore, see little to justify the attempt of Mr. Bright to transplant our institutions into England. He forgets that the Americans--it is useless to investigate the causes why--are a race of higher and more delicate organization, and can be entrusted with liberty because they can appreciate it. The common Englishman would only covet the privilege of suffrage in order that he might sell his vote at its market value. He needs a sort of master, and delights in having one. Universal suffrage in England, with due submission, seems to me the craziest idea that ever entered into the brain of a statesman. But Mr. Bright has a meagre following, for the English people know themselves too well to indulge in such a Utopian experiment. Not content with this, they kindly volunteer to lecture us upon the errors of our system of society--for it is a difference of society as well as of government--and pronounce republicanism a failure because we prefer to confine government within the strictest limits necessary for the objects of its institution, and perhaps find King Log more suitable for the purpose than King Stork. Even Mr. Macaulay has favored us with a "preachment," founded upon such a strange confusion as to seem to belie the aphorism that history is wisdom teaching by experience, and that its votaries should consequently be the wisest of statesmen. England is a conglomeration of monopolies. The land is a monopoly of a few thousands; the government of a few hundreds. The whole number of capitalists does not exceed a few millions. All below is a toiling, ignorant, vicious, discontented multitude, who know not one week where they will find bread for the next. Such is their system, and were America like England, Mr. Macaulay would be justifiable in supposing the cause of republicanism hopeless. But what class in America enjoys a monopoly of the pleasures of life? Is not every avenue open to the most unfriended capacity? Do not all receive the benefits of education? Can not, and have not, the poorest boys occupied the Presidential chair? Have our great statesmen, our millionaires, been, for the most part, the children of even competency? Owing to the equality which reigns throughout our ideas and institutions, is it not in the power of every honest laborer to make provision against the contingencies of old age, and do not most of them make such provision? Whence, then, is to come this army of grim, despairing, famished workmen, who, having nothing, hoping nothing, without past or future, are to wage an eternal warfare against the order of society? Is there, then, no middle ground between a savorless communism and the despotism of capital? Are there no checks and balances in nature? Do freedom, equality, education, an honorable inculcation of industry effect nothing? It is provoking to hear such solemn inconsequences from a really great man.

The disposition, too, to place a money value upon everything, the real cause of their difficulties, is peculiar to the Anglo-Saxons, and an anomaly in the present age of the world. In the military profession, where, of all others, individual merit should be the sole passport to distinction, commissions are still bought and sold. Throughout the country money is imperatively required for every position of eminence. The records of the House of Lords contain the strange case of a duke who was expelled for no other crime than his poverty. Men of the first abilities are deterred from accepting the peerage because they have not amassed money enough to save them from the humiliating and disgraceful position of a poor gentleman. We Americans like money, not because it is money, or because it brings position or respect, but because it gratifies bodily desires. It would be thought an astonishing thing with us if the Presidential Electors were to inspect the pockets of the candidate rather than his head and his heart; or if, in 1848, Mr. Cass had been recommended on account of his wealth, or General Taylor had sold out his commission--things perfectly consonant with Anglo-Saxon ideas. Yet the greatness of England is due in considerable part to this very state of affairs, and any attempt to alter it may involve the downfall of her power. The natural rulers are the aristocracy--and the Anglo-Saxon gentleman is certainly one of the best qualified persons in Europe to govern Anglo-Saxons--but all below bear the impress of an inferior class, a strange combination of servility with tyranny. That there should be any real sympathy between the great body of the two nations is as little to be desired as expected.

Having thus spoken of the want of sympathy between us in the weaker points of character, justice requires me to confess that there is an equal absence of resemblance in the virtues. The Englishman certainly does possess bulldog courage. His officers may be ignorant of the science of war, but he, nevertheless, fights to the last, nor is he subject either to the exhilaration of success or the depression of defeat. He is conservative by nature and abhors humbugs and humbuggery. The middle classes, and particularly the country gentleman, are worthy of their position. The men of this rank are true and the women virtuous. Reserved in intercourse and unamiable toward their own countrymen, they seem to be courteous to foreigners and even to each other when the social barrier is broken through; but these do not compose the nation. In discussing national relations it is not the merits and demerits of one class alone that are to be considered, but the bearing of the whole.

The increase of steam and the facility of communication and the little leaven of Anglo-Saxonism unfortunately left among us, has of late years caused many Americans to look up to England as the _mother country_, as the phrase goes. Though, perhaps, not one in ten of those who use the expression so frequently has any great amount of the much prized fluid in his veins. The manner in which the homage is received beyond the water depends very much upon the state of relations with France. As the one goes up, the other goes down. The difference between the conduct of the English toward America now, and its conduct in 1850, is astonishing. Then France was torn internally, scarcely able to maintain domestic tranquillity, and powerless for any offensive action. Europe was just beginning to stagger weakly along, as if from a bed of sickness. England and Russia, alone, of the great powers, had stood the storm unbent. Under this state of things America was a presumptuous youngster, to be snubbed upon every opportune occasion. The Yankees (as they persist in calling the whole nation) were described in Europe as lank, nasal-twanging barbarians, very good for accumulating money and manufacturing wooden nutmegs, but worthy only of a place in the kitchen of the civilized world. The Brussels-carpeted parlor, Christendom, was not to be defiled with their presence. The newspapers never wearied of ringing the changes upon American shortcomings. Our self-government and liberty were held up as empty bubbles on the point of bursting. The plain and unflattering truth being that the English have a profound contempt for us, and it is impossible to blame them for it, when we remember the servility and utter abnegation of manhood that characterize so many of us in the presence of a live lord. They have eagerly embraced every opportunity of kicking and cuffing us, yet we whine at their feet; how could they do otherwise than despise us? Since that time, however, certain changes have taken place in the world. The distracted French Republic has given way to a powerfully organized empire, with a chief capable of planning, and an army and navy capable of executing any enterprise, however gigantic. The first warning given of this change was in 1851, on the Greek question, when the President of the French Republic checked Lord Palmerston, and gave England to understand that her course of proceeding in foreign domineering must be altered or a war with France would follow in a fortnight. We all remember the salutary effect of that warning, and Palmerston's capital "bottle-holding" speech. The doctrine of a balance of power upon the ocean as well as the land has been again spoken of in high places. The ghost of Waterloo, from being a source of unmingled pride and gratification and boasting, has come to cause as many terrors as that of Banquo. An unexpected consequence has been that the manner of speaking of America has altered apace. It is "our cousins beyond the water" now, and "Brother Jonathan." An American is appealed to and asked whether he will allow the "mother country" to be crushed, the "Protestant religion to be destroyed," etc. All this happened before, and if the government of Louis Napoleon were supplanted by a weak monarchy, the present good feeling of "our dear cousins" would disappear as rapidly as their fears.

In truth, opposition to the advancement of the United States, whether material or intellectual, is the normal condition of England. We have suffered from it ever since the foundation of our government, and will continue to do so, except when the fear of invasion causes a temporary change in her policy; for selfishness, an utter, unholy and inconceivable desire to sacrifice the happiness and prosperity of every other country to her own even most trifling advantage, is her invariable rule of action. The English quarrel among themselves about the length of a bishop's gown, or the cut of a guardsman's hat, or great constitutional questions, but there is never a difference of action on this point; and any statesman who dared raise a voice in behalf of justice and honor in foreign relations could not be returned from a single constituency in England. Witness poor Bright and Cobden in the Chinese war. Woe to any nation that trusts her friendship.

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AN EVENING AT SEVILLE.

About nine o'clock in summer, the whole of Seville issues forth to enjoy the evening air on the Plaza Isabel, which is the favorite promenade at that hour. So, following the current, I found myself in a large parallelogram, surrounded by stately buildings in the modern style, and half-filled with an innumerable throng of all classes, some seated, some walking. Most of the men were smoking and most of the women fanning themselves, with occasional intermixtures of conversation; but the great occupation of every one is to look and be looked at....

A public promenade is indispensable to every Spanish city, however small, and every Spaniard is sure to pass there some portion of the week. Particularly is this the case in Andalusia and Valencia. The unbroken clear weather, continuing during a large part of the year, converts the occasional constitutional stroll into a daily habit, and an afternoon or evening walk is as much a matter of course as attendance at mass. Fortunately for strangers, they have thus, during spring and summer, an opportunity for seeing a considerable portion of the population without the necessity of resorting to letters of introduction, which involve the sacrifice of more time than a passing traveler can spare. Seville is the city where this, as all other national customs, is seen in its greatest perfection....

The night was Spanish, and who can describe the glories of a Spanish summer night on the banks of the Guadalquivir? The mellow lustre of the moon seemed to have overflowed the earth, and the blue vault of heaven had given even to the stone buildings around an appearance of liquid silver. It was as though the air itself had a visible tangible substance, and we were floating upon the bosom of an enchanted ocean. The lamps served but for ornament, and stood like little points of burnished gold. Not a cloud obscured the sky. Odoriferous breezes from the south wafted gently over, as if fearing to embrace too roughly the fair cheeks that sought their wooing. A quadruple row of chairs offered repose to the indolent or weary, and from time to time some young lady would take compassion upon a score of admirers, by remaining where all might approach within sound of her voice; but the more interesting part of the assemblage was generally to be found on the promenade.