Well might the South call that royal old soldier to lead its
hosts. Another half hour of Albert Sidney Johnston at Shiloh, and
the history of the United States might have been changed by his
unconquered sword. Lofty in his aims, adored by his subordinates,
he was a modern Marshal Ney. The Southern cypress took its darkest
tinge around his untimely grave. Sidney Johnston had all the sterling
qualities of Lee, and even a rarer magnetism of character.
Honor placed one fadeless wreath upon his tomb. He would not play
the ignoble part of a Twiggs or a Lynde. He offered a stainless
sword to the Bonnie Blue Flag.
The gravity of his farewell, the purity of his private character,
the affection of his personal friends, are tributes to the great
soldier. He nearly crushed the Union army in his tiger-like assault
at Shiloh. By universal consent, the ablest soldier of the "old
army," he was sacrificed to the waywardness of fate. Turns of
Fortune's wheel.
California was stunned by the rapidity of Sumner's grasp of the
reins of command. Before the Knights of the Golden Circle could move,
the control of the State and the coast was lost to them forever.
Forts and arsenals, towns and government depositories, navy-yards
and vessels, were guarded.
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