Trevino Invites Inquiry

1916

Chihuhua City, Sept. 22. — General Trevino announced today that if the report of Villa's attack on Chihuahua sent to Washington by General Bell commanding the El Paso district, is the same as the version of it received here, he would ask the General to send a personal representative here to investigate the facts at first hand.

The same facilities to investigate would be accorded to any responsible resident of Chihuahua City whom General Bell might commission, General Trevino [said.*]

Note: [*] Sentence ended a bit soon here.

How Falkenhayn 'Got In Bad'

1916

Advice to Kaiser Said to Have Led to His Dismissal.

LONDON, England. — According to reports from Germany received here, says a dispatch from Berne, Switzerland, the dismissal of Gen. Erich von Falkenhayn as chief of the German general staff was due to his suggestion of a complete change in Germany's war plans, which Emperor William indignantly rejected.

Predicting the complete downfall of Bulgaria, as the result of converging attacks from the north and south, and in the end a consequent interruption of communications with Turkey, General Von Falkenhayn urged that the whole Balkan campaign be abandoned, that the Eastern line be shortened and that the occupied territory in France be evacuated.

The general expressed the opinion that the transformation of German strategy into a purely defensive campaign on a shorter front would paralyze the Entente Allies and make it impossible for them to crush Austro-German resistance unless they fought with unlimited resources and then for years. Persistence in the present plan of campaign, he said, would lead to disaster.

Field Marshal Von Hindenburg denounced this advice as childish, cowardly and unworthy of the Germans. Emperor William took Von Hindenburg's view and dismissed Von Falkenhayn.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 2.

Thinks War Will End in August, Next Year

1916

Russian Field Commander Praises Roumania as Ally — Expects Allies to Win.

RUSSIAN ARMY HEADQUARTERS (on southern front). — In an interview with a war correspondent Gen. Alexis Brusiloff is quoted as saying:

"It goes without saying that I felt deep joy when I heard that Roumania had declared war on Austria. My left flank, now resting on the Roumanian army, with which it has virtually brought itself into contact, is now undoubtedly secure.

"The Roumanian army is a strength with which one must reckon. It is under good leadership, an excellent spirit animates it and it is subjected to remarkable discipline. Its body of officers are well learned, serious and competent. Above all, the Roumanian army has magnificent artillery which, it uses with perfect skill.

"During the last two years Roumania has had plenty of time to accumulate great quantities of ammunition and that is a capital point, because artillery plays in modern war a role not only enormous, but preponderating, and any nation without the help of powerful artillery would in vain expect great military success.

Sees Fall of Austria.

"If you consider, moreover, that Roumania in taking part in the war closes naturally her boundaries to German and Austrian buyers, who formerly found on her territory huge quantities of corn and maize, you will admit that the armed intervention of Roumania, who proudly enters the lists, is an event of the first order.

"To my mind, the Austro-Hungarian empire, assailed from all sides, will not be able to stand much longer before the hordes of enemies who are hurling themselves against her and are only preparing to increase the vigor of their blows.

"The present war is a war that it is impossible for us to lose, and altho a huge work remains to be accomplished, its successful result is already in our hands. The game is already won. I said so two years ago, and I did not change my mind one year ago when the penury of ammunitions obliged us to undergo great trials.

Compares War to a Lottery.

"We must consider that for the Allies, the present war can be compared to a lottery in which every number has to win, only we must go on until the end and not have the weakness to think about a premature peace.

"Now you will ask me when one may suppose that true peace will be signed, a peace which the Allies will be able to accept with the joy of an entirely fulfilled task. I am not a prophet, the future is in the hands of God, but if had absolutely to make an hypothesis I should be inclined to think that the month of August, 1917, might see the end of our memorable work."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 3.

Lew Wallace in 1859

1905

The passing of Gen. Lew Wallace brings to mind an incident in his experience in military affairs that did not give any intimation of his subsequent distinction either as a military chieftain or as an author, writes "Veteran" in the New York Sun.

In 1859 at Lafayette, Ind., there was a military encampment of several militia companies from Indiana and Kentucky. Gen. Simon Boliver Buckner was commandant, and Mr. Lew Wallace, first lieutenant of a Crawfordsville organization, was appointed adjutant. At the first guard mounting, a new experience for Mr. Wallace, he got mixed up somewhat, having the sergeants, corporals and privates of the guard all in one rank, without regard to relative positions. Gen. Buckner, who was looking on with evident dissatisfaction, said to me: "Captain, kindly go over and show Mr. Wallace how to mount guard; he knows absolutely nothing about it, although he has a copy of the Army Regulations in his hands."

A few years ago Gen. Wallace was at the Waldorf-Astoria, and Gen. Buckner at the Fifth Avenue, and I brought them together. "Wallace," said Buckner, in the course of conversation, "your military history and mine were somewhat different. Your first experience at Lafayette, Ind., was a failure decidedly, but you learned something during the war, and ended in a blaze of glory, while I graduated at the Military Academy, and well — you know the finale — allow me to ring the bell."

White House Wedding Superstitions

1915

Mrs. Champ Clark, wife of the Speaker of the House of Representatives, writing of the White House wedding scheduled to take place Saturday, says:

"Concerning President Wilson and the Select Lady (predestined in the councils of eternity before the foundations of the world, that is, if Calvinism still holds good) to preside over the social destinies of the White House in 1916, this much is apparent: neither is superstitious. Else in selecting the date of their marriage they would not have run contrary to the marriage day proverb, which says:

"'Monday for health,
Tuesday for wealth.
Wednesday the best day of all;
Thursday for losses,
Friday for crosses,
Saturday no day at all.'

"I wouldn't be at all surprised to see Saturday leap forward into popularity among the list of wedding days out of compliment to the high contracting parties. For the influence of the bride-elect is already manifest in the beautiful 'Edith pinks' lavishly displayed in all the department stores.

"However, among Mr. Wilson's predecessors in office there were several who were superstitious, notably among them General Grant, who tells in his autobiography the story of his own wooing and how it was affected by his pet superstition.

"General Grant says be was brought up to regard it bad luck to stop or turn back after you had stopped any place until you had arrived at your destination. So when he received orders to go to the Mexican War he suddenly realized that he was very much interested in Miss Julia Dent. He was on leave of absence at the time, but he rushed back with all possible speed to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, where he polished up his armor and brushed up his clothes and made himself as attractive as possible. Then mounting his horse he rode away, taking a bee line for Miss Julia Dent's house.

"Arrived at Gravoist Creek, a small, insignificant stream that ordinarily would not have had power to turn a coffee mill, he found it on the boom, out of its banks and making as much noise as the cataract of Lodore.

"But he was not to be stopped by a little old creek, even if it was on the rampage. So he plunged in and swam for dear life, the current carrying him down the stream, and if he had not been a country boy and used to meeting emergencies the story of Appomatox and its 'famous apple tree' would have had a different ending.

"As it was, he kept his own head and headed his horse persistently for the opposite bank. And got there safe and sound but wet to the skin and with no dry clothes on that side of the creek. However, he borrowed some clothes of his future brother-in-law, courted Miss Julia, was accepted, and four years afterward they were married and lived happily afterward, at least as much so as the circumstances would permit."

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 6. The publishing date of this paper is the same day President Wilson and Edith Galt were married.

The Story of a Message

1900

Among stories of war, few are more thrilling than those of dispatches carried through an enemy's country. An instance given by the author of "East Tennessee and the Civil War" offers a striking picture of the almost infinite dangers which often attend upon such a service.

During the siege of Knoxville, it was imperative for Grant, at Chattanooga, to communicate with General Burnside. He sent five couriers with dispatches, by as many different routes. One of the messengers was never heard of again. Three were taken prisoners, and the fifth, arriving at Kingston, after a ride of eighty miles, was too thoroughly exhausted to proceed farther.

It was still forty miles to Knoxville, as the crow flies. Burnside must have the dispatch. A few men, to whom the courier applied, shook their heads. Longstreet's forces held the country, the weather was cold, and the roads were execrable. Then it was that a delicate young woman, Mary Love, said she would go. Her services were accepted.

Mounted on a fleet horse, she sped on, now on the highway, now along by-paths, now through the forest, how over the open hills. Suddenly she came upon a Confederate picket, and was taken to the provost marshal. With perfect composure she told him that she was the sister of Doctor Love, a Confederate surgeon at Knoxville, and that she was riding his horse. The provost marshal knew Doctor Love and knew his horse. The girl was allowed to proceed.

Once more she dashed on. After a long and circuitous ride she reached the river opposite Louisville, her native town, crossed the wide stream, and hastened to the house of her brother-in-law. She had travelled thirty-five miles in a few hours by night, but her exhaustion was complete. She fell to the ground, and had barely strength to say that the dispatches must go on.

Mary Love had come in circles, and there were still fifteen miles to go. The men of the household had gone to the war. After a hasty consultation, a boy of thirteen, John T. Brown, offered to complete the journey, and his mother bade him Godspeed.

Wheeler's Confederate cavalry held the town, and pickets were stationed on all the roads. At nightfall, Mrs. Brown and her boy slipped down to the river's edge and scrambled through the dense undergrowth along its bank for two miles. They had passed the picket lines. Here the mother turned back.

The night was bitter cold, but the boy travelled on, picking his way through the darkness and forests. At length he reached Little River, a distance of eight miles. The stream was swollen and he could not cross. He doubled back on his trail for some distance, and made his way to the house of an old friend of his father. The gentleman received him kindly, and early in the morning he proceeded on his way. By daylight he was able to cross the river, and at length reached the Federal pickets. Then, under the charge of a sergeant, he was sent to General Burnside's headquarters, still several miles away.

The general read the dispatch, and learned that Sherman's army was at hand. In a few minutes bands of music struck up, and batteries pealed the news that relief was coming. Little Johnny sat wondering what it all meant. Suddenly soldiers gathered round him, and one of them, catching him up, set him on his shoulders, and with cheers and shouts he was carried down the street. Then, for the first time, Johnny understood all he had done. — Youth's Companion.

A Salute Wasted — Was Old Negro Cook, Not the General

1900

The flag-ship Monongahela was anchored off the navy-yard at Pensacola Bay in 186—, and Admiral Farragut, who was then in command, was on board. He had been very busy the week before paying official calls on the mainland, and among those who had entertained him was General Canby. When, therefore, word was received that the general would visit the ship the next day, the admiral was determined to have everything ready to receive him in a style becoming his rank.

The old boat was scrubbed and holystoned from stem to stern, the bright work was given an extra rub, and things generally were put into the best of order. Captain Heywood, now brigadier-general commandant of the marine corps, had a special inspection of his company of marines, and not a spot of rust or a dull helmet spike escaped his notice. When night closed in, darkness settled down over a very clean ship and a very tired ship's company.

Bright and early the next morning the admiral's launch was sent off to bring the general aboard. At the last moment it was discovered that there was no fruit for luncheon, and Pompey, the admiral's cook, was sent in the dingy to get some.

Pompey was a character in his way, and had been with the admiral for many years. He was very proud of what he called his military bearing, and wore his beard carefully trimmed to a point. His hair and beard were nearly white, and although he was sixty years old, he ruled the other negroes with a rod of iron.

By ten o'clock every one was standing by in full dress, when the quartermaster came aft and reported that the admiral's launch was returning.

The officer of the deck walked to the rail and took a squint at the boat through his glasses. A man clad in a blue uniform was seated in the admiral's cane chair in the stern, but as the gunwale struck him just below the shoulder and the awning hid his head, the officer of the deck was not certain that it was General Canby until, as the wind lifted the edge of the awning, he caught a glimpse of a gray beard.

Word was passed that the general was coming off. The crew were beat to quarters, the marine guard paraded, and the gun squad, detailed to fire the salutes took their stations.

Everything was in readiness, and the admiral and his staff stood at the head of the gangway to receive the guest. A hush of expectancy settled over the ship.

The boat drew nearer. Just as the launch scraped alongside, boom! boom!! came the salute from the guns.

"Present arms!" came the command to the guard, and at a sign from the flag officer the band struck up "Hail to the Chief."

Amid all this military pomp and splendor the occupant of the launch was slowly clambering out, feet foremost, and just as the last gun was fired he stood erect at the top of the gangway.

Merciful heavens! It was Pompey, with a bag of fruit in each hand!

Confusion! The honors intended for a general had been rendered a negro cook! As the situation dawned on the men, even discipline could not check a general shout of laughter. The old admiral himself laughed until he could laugh no more.

It seemed that in some way the dingy had gone off and left the old negro, and that he had managed to convince the coxswain that "Marse Farragut was jes' bound to have dat fruit befo' the general came."

Pompey wanted to land at the port gangway, but the coxswain insisted that the admiral's launch never went to the port side, and that the old man would have to land on the starboard side, aft.

Had the awning been a little higher, the mistake in identification would not have occurred. As things were, no one could be blamed, and the affair was treated as a joke, while Pompey was nicknamed the "General."

When, an hour later, General Canby did come off, he was received with all due ceremony, and on being told the story, laughed till the tears rolled down his cheek; and demanded to see the man who had stolen his salute. — Youth's Companion.

Thirty Girls Eat Ice Cream

Illinois, 1906

Drill Corps the Guests of General Pennypacker

As guests of General Galusha Pennypacker of Philadelphia, Pa., who is visiting with "Dad" Stearns at the Decatur hotel, the members of the Girls' Drill Corps ate ice cream and cake until they could eat no more Monday night.

Last Saturday General Pennypacker was invited by Commandant James M. Cowan to use the girls drill. He was so delighted with them and with their fine maneuvering that he asked how he could recompense them for his pleasure. He said he thought it was a notable thing to put "thirty young women together for thirty minutes, and have only one do the talking." He suggested ice cream, and the young girls gathered at the Decatur hotel Monday night at his invitation.

There was music during the evening, and "Dad" read some poems and sang, accompanied by his son, Charles Stearns, on the guitar. The general wrote his name and address on the paper napkin of each guest.

—The Daily Review, Decatur, IL, May 15, 1906, p. 7.

Gettysburg Field of Battle Forever Consecrated

1907

At Gettysburg

Field of Battle Is Forever Consecrated to the Highest Ideals of American Valor.

See Naples and die!" wrote an enthusiast, and gave a new vogue to a moribund old world city by a sententious saying. But to the American whose soul is alive to patriotic emotion, a more fitting exhortation would be, see Gettysburg and live! And so seeing, live to be consecrated anew to American ideals. Realize and drink in from that historic fount the immortal lesson of "what they did here," that the nation might live — a grand object lesson, made manifest so that he that runs may read by its 600 monuments and tablets dedicated there to American valor.

A thrilling page it is that may be read in these silent yet speaking symbols which mark the various positions held by the 640 organizations that fiercely contended for victory during those fervid July days of '63. And punctuating the long lines of marble and granite memorials that thickly strew the picturesquely diversified field imposingly stand out the colossal bronze images of the leading generals in the commanding stations each occupied.

All the historic landmarks, too, are there to-day. Away to the west the Lutheran seminary, still standing like a sentinel on the outpost, round which the waves of battle raged and spumed and from the cupola of which Reynolds and Buford watched Hill's advance debouching from the woods on either side of the Chambersburg pike; and, just beyond, the undulating plain and McPherson's wood, the scene and altar of sacrifice whereon the valiant first corps of Meade's army unstintedly poured out its libation of blood. To the east and south, Cemetery hill and its prolonged ridge, along which stand out those never to be effaced features of the landscape — the national cemetery, with its 3,575 graves of union dead, the clump of trees or "high water mark of the rebellion," whence Pickett's braves were hurled back in disaster and death; the "bloody angle," and the peach orchard, which season after season renews itself in blossom and fruit; the wheat field, yearly sown to the same crop, but no longer yielding its "harvest of death"; grim Devil's Den, a rocky, wood-tangled maze to-day as it was and has ever been since the red Indian and savage beast sought it for their lair; the same wooded heights of Little and Big Roundtop, partly denuded, yet with many surviving ancient trees scarred and broken and torn by solid shot and shell, or trunks pimpled by many bullets, but fruitful yet with leafy life.

Vanished only are the mangled corpses of the slain, the rushing columns of struggling foeman. the blazing lines, the crash of musketry and cannon's deafening roar, the dying groans and frantic, swelling cheers. With all these marvelously preserved vestiges of the battle still defining its varying fortunes, and with the graphic story of the guides, very little exercise of the imagination is needed even to a stranger, none at all to the veteran who fought there to reconstruct the scene, and once seen render its realization vividly impressed forever on the mind.