The war was
ended--the affair was over--the brass bands, and rolling drums, and
dazzling uniforms had speedily done the business. The power of the
North was broken. She had run upon the breakers. The great hulk was
lying stranded, the waves were beating her, and she was about to go to
pieces.
Such was 1861--an era of mirth, inexperience, inflated views, brilliant
pageants, gay adventures, ruddy cheeks, sparkling eyes and splendid
banners, floating proudly in the sunshine of victory!
1862 came, and with it a new phase of the war. Sweat, dust, and blood
had replaced the music and wreaths of roses. Faces, were not so
ruddy--they began to look war-worn. The rounded cheeks had become
gaunt. The bright uniforms were battle-soiled. Smoke had stained them,
the bivouac dimmed them, the sun had changed the blue-gray to a sort of
scorched yellow. Waving handkerchiefs still greeted the troops--as they
greeted them to the end of the war. But few flowers were thrown
now--their good angels looked on in silence, and prayed for them.
They were no longer holiday soldiers, but were hardened in battle. They
knew the work before them, and advanced to it with the measured tramp
of veterans. They fought as well as soldiers have ever fought in this
world. Did they not? Answer, Cold Harbor, Malvern Hill, Cedar Mountain,
Manassas, Boonsboro', Sharpsburg, and Fredericksburg! And every battle,
nearly, was a victory.
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