The West Point John Pelham Knew
The following is the speech which Mary Elizabeth Sergent gave to the John Pelham Historical Association at our banquet in Newburgh, New York, September 6, 1985.
Mr. President, distinguished guests, fellow members: Good evening. Welcome to the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York, and welcome to eighteen hundred fifty-six. This was not an easy place to reach. The Erie Railroad, running from Chicago to Jersey City, stopped at Turner's (which is now Harriman); western candidates took a dirt road through the mountains to Buttermilk Falls (now Highland Falls), and another for a mile through the woods to the South Gate. The Canterbury Road ran from New Windsor to the North Gate. It was best to come by water. The mail and supply sloop, Cadet, made a daily round trip between the North Dock and Newburgh. There three ways to come, all of which landed you on the South Dock.
John Pelham may have taken the New York Central up the East Bank to Garrison's Landing and the ferry across the Hudson, or he may have come on a steamboat or on one of the few sloops which still carried passengers. On the dock he was met by a sentry who recorded his arrival on a slate and sent him up the road to report.
The road climbed a steep grade. Three-quarters of the way up another road met it; stables and riding hall stood on his right. The road to his left led to the hospital. Again the road climbed, finally emerging on the plain. Beside him to the left stood the Post Headquarters-Library building; beyond it were the chapel, the Academy buildings, with the mess hall down another street to the south, the Superintendent's Quarters, the cadet barracks, and around the curb, houses: the Thompson Cottage, where some cadets were allowed to eat; the homes of the Commandant, the Adjutant, and Dean, and other professors. There were also monuments commemorating Thaddeus Kusciusko, who founded the Engineers; Dade and his command, who fell in the Seminole Wars; and cadets who had died at West Point. John had more than natural grandeur to contend with as he stood there for the first time. The spirit brooding over West Point touches a new cadet, making him aware that he is about to become part of something greater than himself.
Reporting with him that second day of June were Charles Campbell, Charles Patterson, John Poland, Thomas Rosser, and three others who did not stay the course. They were the first of their class [to arrive]. Eventually, ninety-three of them would report -- many would be rejected. One simply packed up and went home in panic! They ranged in age from sixteen to twenty-one. The Adjutant met them in the library. With remote courtesy he recorded their vital statistics in a long book resembling an election register. Then they signed the register. At this point, John handed over sixty dollars to the Academy treasurer and received a little book in which to keep his accounts. The only time he would see cash for the next five years would be when he went on leave. A soldier now escorted the candidates down the street to the sally port. As they entered the stone tunnel, yearlings in the cockloft above them dropped a gentle shower of cadet buttons on their heads -- welcome to West Point! They emerged to the area, climbed to the stoop, and entered the Eighth Division.
Here their escort vanished. His place was taken by three gray-clad fiends, all roaring at once. They were housed four to a room. Each of them had brought a trunk, containing underclothing, bed linen, and towels. These trunks, their buckets, brooms, wash bowls, slippers, looking glass and candlesticks were the only furnishings in the room. They were each issued a pillow, blanket, a quilt, arithmetic book, candles, school supplies, wafers to seal letters, matches, soap, lndia ink to mark clothing, and three volumes of infantry tactics.
Beginning in July, John was credited with thirty dollars each month. Four dollars of this was placed in a fund to pay for his equipment when he graduated. Fifty cents was deducted to pay for the band and Old Bentz, the bugler. He was also charged for room and board, laundry services, a barber, dancing master, uniforms, textbooks, any damage to public property -- mostly broken crockery in the mess hall -- and "sundries at Simpson's," the cadet store.
The candidates drilled morning and afternoon. When not drilling, they studied reading, writing, spelling, and arithmetic under selected upperclassmen. Among John's arithmetic instructors were E. Porter Alexander and Henry M. Robert, who later wrote Roberts Rules of Order. This instruction was viewed as a bore or a lifeline, depending upon your previous education. John probably did not need it. Some candidates had years of college behind them. Rosser, on the other hand, had only four years of formal schooling. The rest of his time had been spent clearing land, shooting bears, and hauling cotton forty miles to the gin.
The candidates were marched to meals. The food was not worth the march. The civilian contractor "catered" the mess hall, where they sat on backless stools, minding their manners. At night they spread blankets and pillow on a floor, rolled up in their quilt, and slept like the dead. Eugene Beaumont remembered rising those first mornings feeling as if he had been beaten with a board.
On Saturday, June 14, they marched to the hospital. Clad in a bright blush, and little else, they submitted to physical examinations. The summer of eighteen hundred fifty-six was a very hot one in New York State, but one of them wrote home that during this scrutiny, he missed his long woolen underwear. John Pelham was five feet, seven inches tall, his arms measured thirty-two inches from armpit to fingertip, and he had been vaccinated. His teeth met, so he could bite cartridges; he could read coarse print across a twelve-foot by fourteen-foot room; he had no tendency toward consumption. He passed. The following week the mental examination was conducted in the library before an academic board sitting in state. John was given a book and told to read a few lines aloud; he performed on a blackboard in arithmetic; the head of the English Department dictated several lines to test his writing and spelling, ending with the words, "Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth."
On Monday, June 23, Special Orders #94 were published at evening parade. Seventy-one of them had passed. Eugene Beaumont had worked himself into such a state he didn't hear his name read. An upperclassman from his native Pennsylvania took him to the edge of his tent after parade, where we was reassured by being allowed to read the order himself. They moved into the summer camp, pitched on the eastern side of the plain. There were eight rows of tents. Tactical officers lived with their companies. The Commandant dwelt in splendor overlooking the entire camp. They were sized and assigned to companies. Tall men went to A or D; short ones to B or C. John was in D. In 1860 Fitzhugh Lee would be his tactical officer.
The tents were white, with white flies which were supposed to make them cool, but didn't. Everyone slept on blankets spread on the wooden floors and used their trunks as desks. Uniforms hung from a pole suspended from the ridge-pole. The only other furniture was a gun rack. In the hot summer of 1856 the class of 1861 learned to be soldiers. In summers following, they would learn to be noncommissioned officers and, finally, officers.
Reveille was at five each morning -- in ten minutes they had to be up, dressed, and on the parade ground. After roll call, they policed the camp from five-thirty to six-thirty, and at some point washed, combed their hair, and shaved. If your age made shaving unnecessary, you still went through the motions. At seven came the half mile march to breakfast which usually consisted of bread, coffee, and hash made from a great many potatoes and very little meat. At eight came morning parade, followed by guard mounting from nine to eleven; after July 4 they had artillery drill. Cavalry drill would come in their second year. From ten to eleven they caught their breath and polished their equipment. From eleven to noon, another drill. At one they marched to a dinner of soup, meat, potatoes, vegetables and dessert, usually bread pudding. Fridays they had fish. Unless you were on guard duty, you were free within the camp from the end of dinner until dancing instruction. Many liked to read. Haxton played a great deal of chess; DuPont generally took a nap.
After dancing, the company area had to be policed again. From five-thirty to six-forty-five there was infantry drill. Dress parade came at seven; the ladies strolled over from the hotel to watch. The march to supper followed. Bread, butter and coffee were served with berries three or four times a week in summer. In fall or winter these were replaced by stewed apples or pears and, in spring, a stewed rhubarb. When the Davis Commission investigated all phases of the Academy in 1860, the cadet officers asked that the younger plebes be allowed enough milk for supper so they would not have to drink coffee or exist on bread and water.
After supper the new plebes had an hour and a half to trot down Chain Battery Walk to the Hudson and swim. Much refreshed, they fell in for the last roll call of the day, after which they had ten minutes to get ready for bed. At nine-thirty the drums beat tattoo. Three times a week they could hear music floating out from the hotel, where upperclassmen were dancing with lovely ladies. Hops lasted from eight to nine-thirty -- upperclassmen frequently stopped on their way back to camp, pulled a few plebes into the company street and left them there on their blankets under the stars. If this mild hazing took a more sinister tone, the plebe could challenge his tormentor to fight it out below the walls of Fort Clinton in the chill dawn.
Plebes often went on guard. It was twenty-four-hour duty during which they alternated walking post and resting in the guard tent. At night the officer in charge woke them by shining a ray from a dark lantern in their faces. If that didn't work, he flipped up the quilt and laid the icy flat of his scabbard against the soles of their bare feet.
On Saturday afternoons they often climbed up to old Fort Putnam, an old Revolutionary ruin. Later Saturdays would see such amusements as fishing in the river and eating the catch or gathering chestnuts on old Canterbury Road. On July 4 the corps marched to the chapel to listen to the reading o£ the Declaration of Independence and an oration by the cadet adjutant. Then they marched to the plain where at the stroke of noon the West Point battery fired the national salute. The new state of California made this thirty-one guns in 1856. It was John's introduction to artillery.
Demerits did not go into their permanent records until the middle of August. Two hundred were allowed each year divided into 100 every six months -- go over that, you were "found" on conduct. Kilpatrick and Kingsbury went for months without a single one; John Pelham once came within five of reaching the limit. His first was for "bedding not properly aired at morning inspection."
He was a friendly soul. There were many instances of talking or laughing in ranks, of "boyish conduct" in class. He never performed such a spectacular feat as a classmate who managed to turn a somersault in ranks while marching to class! John seems to have been a late-oriented person. His record is full of tardies at reveille and of music or talking in room after taps. Along in October the inspecting officer must have eyed his chin rather closely one morning for he wrote urgently to his mother, "Would you send me a razor? I need it as soon as you can get it to me." Once your number of demerits exceeded a certain amount, you had to walk them off in the area during your free time -- it was no way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
On August 29 camp was struck and the corps marked back to barracks. DuPont wrote home, "It was a great luxury to again sleep on a mattress between sheets and to have a desk and chair for study." Academics began. The class of 1856 was a five-year class, but in November 1858 the course was changed back to four years amid cadet rejoicing. In April 1859 the course was changed back to five years. Deep gloom. This five-year course was an early casualty of the war. [The class of] 1861 graduated early in May; the class which was supposed to graduate in 1862 was commissioned in June, thus confusing historians for the rest of time.
Instruction ran from eight to four, Monday through Friday, and from eight to noon on Saturday. There were drills and parades after four every day, weather permitting, meaning no snow above the knees. There was inspection and compulsory chapel Sunday mornings. Everyone recited everyday in every subject. The class was divided into small sections, in which you moved up and down according to your marks. Competition in the first section was fierce -- everyone in it wanted to be head of the class. Life in the bottom section was fierce, too -- everyone in it wanted to graduate. You were marked on a scale of 3.0, perfect; 2.0, passing; anything below that, trouble. Marks were posted weekly in the sally port. Grades carried out to four or five decimal points were added up at the end of the course. Military performance was added and demerits subtracted to determine general standing, and all this without computers! Top man in the class was Henry DuPont, who graduated with 2,276.0 points. Monthly reports mailed to parents gave a cadet's standing against the number in his class. The lower his number, the higher his standing. John was usually a bit below the middle of the class.
The plebes studied algebra, geometry, trigonometry, English, geography, history, and fencing. The 4th Class mathematics, English studies, fencing, French and riding. The 3rd Class studied natural and experimental philosophy -- physics to you -- French, Spanish, drawing, and riding. The 2nd Class took Ethics (which was to the 19th century what Psychology is to the 20th), infantry, artillery and cavalry tactics, chemistry, riding and drawing. The 1st Class studied engineering, ethics, military law, mineralogy and geology, ordnance and gunnery, and riding. They made various kinds of ammunition themselves in the Ordnance Lab and were taken to Cool Spring to see cannon manufactured in the West Point foundry. There were no electives.
West Point's methods and priorities were set up and inspired by three men whose life work almost spanned the 19th century. Upon the granite of their characters the Military Academy stands today. John Pelham probably knew the first of them by reputation. In 1856 Sylvanus Thayer was still a power in the Corps of Engineers, which ran the Academy. Dennis Mahan was John's professor of engineering. Peter Smith Michie entered West Point as a plebe in 1858 when John was a third classman.
Soon after the class entered, Colonel Richard Delafield became the Superintendent for the second time. He tried to be moderate and progressive, but he was not a young man. John considered him arbitrary and deceitful.
Colonel William Hardee was Commandant from 1856 to 1860 when he was replaced by John Reynolds. Cadets remembered him as the best soldier they ever knew. John had one serious brush with Hardee during his last summer camp -- he was so busy entertaining a group of young ladies that he failed to rise and salute the Commandant. He was confined to the guard tent and awarded five [demerits]. He seems to have suffered very little. Offerings of food and cigars poured in, and one girl sat near the guard tent each day just to talk with him.
Albert E. Church was Professor of Mathematics. His department more than any other was responsible for weeding out plebes who would not be able to complete the higher branches of the course. Eighteen of John's class resigned or were found deficient in January 1857 -- the department had a good year. Robert W. Weir was Professor of Drawing. You'll see this example of his work tomorrow in the old chapel. The text is from Proverbs and it reads: "Righteousness exalteth a nation; but sin is a reproach to any people." The Rev. John W. French was head of the English and Ethics Departments and Chaplain of the post. Cadets felt the Ethics course was redundant. "If we have no morals when we come here," said one, "we will certainly never develop any in the section room." Professor Henry L. Kendrick of the Chemistry Department was also responsible for Mineralogy and Geology. Each man in the class took the pledge in April 1858 to save Henry Hasbrouck from dismissal for drinking. From that day Professor Kendrick's dinner invitations were greatly appreciated -- he also served extremely well-preserved peaches.
Riding began in November of their second year. The horses were remounts bought in Vermont for $5.00 each. Cadets felt the government had been cheated. Examine a spur of that day and you will find yourself in some sympathy with the horse, but boys raised in cities really suffered. Good natural horsemen were in demand as instructors. One of John's larger demerits was a five "for making use of highly profane language while on duty in the riding hall" -- we shall never know if he swore at the horse, the rider, or both. Even good riders had accidents with horses. John once landed in the hospital after being kicked in the leg. The cavalry horses were also artillery teams. When the West Point Battery went to war in 1861, the horses went with it. There was no more riding for the class after that.
The library contained about 20,000 books. Cadets like Emory Upton gave themselves parallel courses in tactics and leadership studies. Several, including John, read a book called Cavalry: Its History and Tactics by a British officer named Nolan. Just a few weeks before he resigned, John Pelham reread this. Nolan included an excellent section which every other cadet book seems to have ignored -- horse artillery.
The cadet hospital was near the South Gate. One member of the class who suffered a form of nervous colitis wrote an exact account of his treatment there. He was given "Blue Mass" followed by a bitter tonic, doses of a mixture for dysentery, rhubarb and soda and something that sounds like a sedative. He was put on a low diet of tea and toast. He felt weak after this. It's a wonder he was not dead! The dentist came down from Newburgh two or three days a week and met his victims in a room in the Third Division. In December 1860 John had two teeth out and three filled, all in the same day without novocaine.
Chapel was compulsory. Unless you were a Roman Catholic excused to attend Mass in Buttermilk Falls, you were considered a Protestant. The chaplain was an Episcopalian, and the service followed that order of worship but was kept Low Church with open communion. The chapel building was erected in 1836. The corps sat in the middle; the cadet choir in the balcony. Air for the organ was supplied by a plebe at a handsweep. The Sunday before graduation the choir sang a lugubrious hymn which began, "When shall we meet again?", and ended, "Never -- no never." The Sunday before 1861 [class] graduated, one of the ladies present was so overcome she had to leave the chapel. Many classes graduated in this building, but 1861 was simply marched to the library to take the new oath of allegiance and told to report to Washington without delay. They stopped in the cadet mess hall, Kingsbury made a speech, the cadets cheered him to the rafters and everybody parted in floods of emotion. When the new cadet chapel was built in 1911, it was planned to destroy the old one. At this point the alumni rose in wrath and announced, "Over our dead bodies!" The building was taken down and re-erected at the entrance of the cemetery. There it stands today -- the sole survivor of the Greek Revival Academy buildings.
Christmas was a time of homesickness. They had oysters, roast turkey, and mince pie in the mess hall, but no leave. The band played that night and the cadets danced with each other. There were very few girls on the post. Right after the new year came the dreaded January examinations. Those of the class who survived were sworn in. They filled out the oath individually in those days.
"I, John Pelham, of the State of Alabama, age 18 years and 5 months, do hereby engage with the consent of my guardian to serve in the Army of the United States for 8 years, unless sooner discharged by the proper authority. And I, Cadet John Pelham, do hereby pledge my word of honor as a gentleman that I will faithfully observe the rules and Articles of War, the regulations for the Army, and the regulations for the Military Academy. And that I will, in like manner, observe and obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me according to the Rules and Discipline of War. signed John Pelham
Charles Drake |
Each of them paid Mr. Drake a quarter for his services. Their obligation ran its eight years from the date of the January examination -- five in the corps and three more in the Regular Army.
Once the oath was administered, gloom settled over them like a gray cloud. The river froze; it could be frozen for weeks and there were no ice breakers. Snow drifted until the roads through the mountains were impassable. West Point was cut off from the world. The cadets settled ever more deeply into an isolated, lonely, almost monastic life. It was preparation for more loneliness and isolation to come. In 1857 it was an Indian-fighting army, dedicated to protecting settlers across the west. It lived on tiny posts, surrounded by thousands of miles of blowing grass, sun-bleached deserts, mountains and rattlesnakes.
Cadets made their own amusements. They went ice skating on the river; there were snowball fights in the area; they made molasses candy by taking the mantles off their gas jets and patiently holding a pan over the open flame. More reckless souls slipped down to Buttermilk Falls on dark nights to visit the establishment of Benny Havens. Food was one lure; hot rum flip another. The Dialectic Society sponsored theatricals, concerts and literary endeavors. John Pelham was its Vice-President in 1859, its President in 1860. Even a military funeral was a welcome break in routine. A wedding such as that of Lieutenant Lockett of Alabama was doubly welcomed. Lockett fought for the South, served in the Egyptian Army after the war, and upon his return to this country, became one of the engineers who constructed the pedestal for the Statue of Liberty. Most welcome of all breaks in routine were fires. The cadets formed the post fire department.
Out of this isolation, in the dark days of five winters, was born a class. It was forged by shared experience and expectation. The experience was the necessity for each of them to pass the same mental hurdles and qualify in the same physical demands. The expectation was combat. They envisioned this as themselves together, shoulder to shoulder, against those disputing the westward settlement. In their wildest nightmares none dreamed he would first have to fight his own classmates.
In June 1857 they became yearlings. They could go to the hotel. Their letters home fill up with references of calling on ladies, and some of the class met their future wives. John played the field -- he liked the girls and vice-versa. But he never became serious about anyone in particular until he was no longer a cadet. During his last encampment he was a hop manager which gave him lots of opportunities to dance.
The greatest excitement of their second summer occurred one hot August morning as they marched back from breakfast. William C. Paine, called by DuPont "our dog of a first captain" was attacked by three cadets armed with swords they had snatched from cadet officers. Charles Jesup, a first classman, started it, joined by Edwin Stoughton of Vermont and, for some reason, Tom Rosser. While Paine fenced with all three of them, the sentries watched with boggling eyes. Finally, someone had sense to bellow, "Turn out the guard." Jesup, Stoughton and Rosser were put in arrest, charged with violating the 7th Article of War -- inciting to mutiny -- penalty, death, or such lesser penalty as a court martial shall decide. John Pelham had a troubled month -- one gets very attached to a congenial roommate. The court sentenced the mutineers to four months in the guard house. Unlike many first captains, Paine never got into the history books. Jesup died in Kentucky the same day Rosser left West Point. Stoughton, in early March 1863, was captured by John Singleton Mosby and hustled to Confederate cavalry head-quarters, where he was greeted with acclaim by Colonel Rosser. Mosby felt his prisoner was getting more attention than he was. He took the train to Culpeper, caught Stuart and Pelham in the railroad station and poured his woes into Stuart's ear. John Pelham probably went behind the nearest post and laughed himself silly.
The big event in 1858 was furlough. For a year the class had talked, dreamed and sung of it. Most of them, including John, were dismissed June 14 and left with the graduating class, cheering wildly as their ship pulled away from the South Dock. They were free until 1 p.m., August 28. They traveled in a furlough uniform. Pelham and Rosser had their picture taken in it. It was dark blue with gold buttons and the letters "U.S.C.C." on a black hat. Full dress differed slightly from today's -- the white collar was folded over the gray one, which was open to show a black bombazine stock. Zippers and creases in trousers had not yet been invented. This uniform was worn most of the time, even to class. The full dress hat with cockfeathers was a cadet officer's. Captains had four chevrons. The First Captain was also the commander of A Company.
Peter Pelham's wife remembered John spent most of his furlough summer teaching all the little girls in and around Alexandria, Alabama, to ride West Point fashion. The class seems to have enjoyed another short leave during the last encampment -- there's nothing about it in the Post Orders -- but John mentions getting home that summer; DuPont's regular letters to Delaware cease, and Beaumont recorded, "July 1860. 25 days furlough for self and class."
Eighteen fifty-nine passed almost without incident. The class grew ever closer. Nicknames were acquired which would be theirs for life. The oldest man in a class was always called "Dad"; the last to enter was called "Sept" for September. Buffington was shortened to "Buff" and Kilpatrick to "Kill." Feminine nicknames were common, but no one could every remember why. Malbone Watson was called "Peggy" and Samuel Williams, "Susan." DuPont always called his roommate "Hoxton," but Pelham, when writing to him during the war, addressed him as "Dear Lou." Well, his name was Lewellyn. Pelham himself seems to have been called mostly by his last name, as was Kingsbury; once in a while he was called "Jack."
In October Crow's Nest caught fire and burned for a week, looking like a volcano at night. Troops could not extinguish it until aided by an early snowfall. At first this incident attracted more attention than the John Brown raid. As Brown went to trial, however, discussions started. The first hints of disunion appeared. Several fights of a sectional nature occurred. Emory Upton, the only true abolitionist of the corps, fought Wade Hampton Gibbes of South Carolina one night in a room on the second floor of the First Division. John Pelham acted as second for Henry Dupont in a battle with two New Englanders.
Meanwhile, the class designed its ring. It would be worn on the little finger of the left hand and used as a seal for the rest of their lives. The class crest was cut into the stone -- theirs was a drawn sword with a fine chain around it and the class motto, "Fidele a outrance," which means "Faithful to the Uttermost." Inside was engraved, "John Pelham, Graduating Class of 1861."
They became first classmen in the summer of 1860. Chambliss was First Captain; Dresser, Captain of D Company; Ames and Adair, the other captains; Kingsbury was the Adjutant and DuPont, the Quartermaster. Babcock, Benjamin, Buffington, Hasbrouck, Hoxton, Kent, Kilpatrick, Kirby, Patterson, Upton, John and Samuel Williams were the lieutenants. Sergeants came from the second class and corporals from the third. Dresser was broken to the ranks in April for going AWOL and Kirby took his place as Captain of D Company with Poland replacing Kirby as Lieutenant. While the Davis Commission met that summer, there was a lot of visiting and sociability. The West Point Hotel and Cozens Hotel in Buttermilk Falls were both full. Cadet officers and recent graduates testified, and everyone picnicked, danced, watched parades and strolled in the moonlight. There was an immediate improvement in the cadet mess hall, but the general report of the commission became an early casualty of the war.
In October came the greatest media coverage of their five years -- the Prince of Wales visited West Point. Upton was impressed by the "pure" English spoken by the visitors. John enjoyed the visit because it attracted many of his friends from New York and Newburgh. He would have sent home a paper but "the reporter is a fool and his account is worth nothing." The cadets put on a review which the papers called a parade. DuPont wrote home of an illustration in Harpers Weekly featuring "a little non-descript with a gun on his shoulder at the head of the column which I am trying to persuade Chambliss is a likeness of him." Cadets invited the prince to a ball, but his aides would not let him accept. Instead they gave him the rare treat of visiting classrooms the next day. He was not amused, except in the riding hall. Kennard lost his seat but kept control of his horse by clinging to its mane until he could get back into the saddle, and he was applauded.
The following month came the presidential election clouded by threats of secession. The first cadet to leave was Henry Farley of South Carolina, who resigned from the third class on November 19. Henry DuPont wrote to his mother, "The future certainly looks very dark, and if it is to be our lot to be employed in cutting our countrymen's throats and fighting our dearest friends and classmates, I am very sorry I ever came here." During the next months the very ground seemed to be breaking up under their feet. Each cadet had to make up his own mind and act upon his own convictions. Each had to live the rest of his life with his decision, might be called upon to die for it or kill his dearest friend. Duty was a lonely word; honor was a painful word; and where was his country?
Most of the class wanted to graduate -- they were so near it. For Southerners, the question was not shall I leave, but when shall I leave. John's father sent him reluctant permission to resign in February. He put it carefully away until needed. Optimistic by nature, he felt, "Mr. Lincoln does not seem to be very anxious for a war and I guess everything will remain quiet until June." By the end of March, he and Tom were the only residents of the original Confederacy still in the corps. Rosser's demerit record goes all to pieces at the beginning of April; John's does not change. On April 7 his upper lip was not properly shaved at morning inspection. On the 18th he was absent from breakfast roll call -- there his record ends.
On Friday, April 12 at 4:30 in the morning, former cadet Farley jerked the lanyard which sent a signal shell soaring over Charleston harbor. The bombardment of Sumter had begun. The fort surrendered the next afternoon. A blast of outrage swept the North. Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers to put down the rebellion, and Virginia left the Union rather than coerce her sister states. On April 22 John Pelham and Tom Rosser resigned and left West Point with a flock of Virginians and North Carolinians. They caught the ferry to Garrison's Landing and the New York Central cars to the city. Their classmates carried John and Tom down to the South Dock on their shoulders. They left West Point as they had entered it almost five years before: down the hill, past the riding hall, to the Hudson's water. It was over for them. Two weeks later the class graduated -- it was over for them all.
What did they take with them when they left West Point? They took a thorough grounding in the basics of their profession. Large numbers of them, regardless of which branch they would eventually serve, were sent into artillery units as drillmasters at first. They knew how to use the tools of their trade. They took a fierce determination to do their duty at whatever cost to themselves and an idealism which lifted that duty to an almost blinding glory. Many of them would wear stars before they were thirty. Too many of them would burn out before middle age. Five were to be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor and others certainly earned it. Finally, they took with them a friendship which had been forged in five years of lonely isolation. For the rest of their lives this bond would hold them together. The widest differences in ideology and the most terrible combat never loosened it; it would help bind their shattered nation together again. And finally, they left behind a part of themselves -- they left their youth at West Point. It lingers on above the Hudson's water, between the hills. Here, as in no other place on earth, you may still meet them. Here, even today, you can reach out and touch their spirits.
[At this point, I want to thank some very dear friends in the Library, Special Collections of the Library and the Archives of the U.S. Military Academy. Also, the Archives of the State of Alabama and the Hagley Library of Wilmington, Delaware, and many other libraries and people, including Mrs. Henry, who have shared their family papers and pictures with me for over thirty years and so made this evening possible, and Rhoda Pollack, our projectionist. ]
Now, I would like to introduce you to the Class of 1861:
• John Adair left the army in December, 1861, and went to Cariboo, British Columbia. After the war ended he settled in Oregon, married a doctor and died at 76.
• Adelbert Ames, Congressional Medal of Honor. He was a general, a military governor, a United States Senator. He died in 1933 at the age of 97, the last man in the class.
• Orville Elias Babcock as a member of Grant's staff escorted Lee to Appomattox. He was caught in the scandals of Grant's administration; his reputation suffered but he died saving others from drowning in 1884.
• John Whitney Barlow made the first geodetic survey of the Yellowstone region, his report causing the government to make it a National Park. He retired a brigadier general and died in Jerusalem at 75.
• Eugene B. Beaumont, Congressional Medal of Honor. He went west after Sedgwick's death and was appalled at the conduct of Sherman's army. After the war he served in the 4th Cavalry and commanded Fort Bowie when Geronimo was brought in. He died in 1916.
• Samuel Nicoll Benjamin, Congressional Medal of Honor. He went into the Seven Days Battles flat on his back in a wagon and commanded his battery on crutches. He died burned out at 47.
• Adelbert Rinaldo Buffington was a military inventor who designed, among other things, the recoil system for the huge "disappearing" guns. He retired a general and died at 84.
• Charles Carroll Campbell resigned to go South in June. He commanded the arsenal when Atlanta fell. After the war, he was a civilian employee for the Army engineers. He died in 1912. One son was named John Pelham Campbell.
• Nathaniel Rives Chambliss resigned when Tennessee seceded. He served in the Confederate Ordnance Department. After the war he was an editor, teacher, planter, cotton broker, and the husband of Anna Hardee. He was the first Confederate in the class to join the Alumni Association. He died in 1897.
• Charles E. Cross was the second man in the class. An engineer, he was killed getting a bridge across the Rappahannock near Fredericksburg in 1863, aged 26.
•Francis Asbury Davies taught French at the Academy for four years. He left the service after the war and worked in the Philadelphia post office until he died in 1889.
• Justin E. Dimick liked Benny Havens too much. He was turned back into the June class. His father succeeded lcobod Crane as commander of the 1st Artillery and tried to keep him under the parental thumb. But he got into action and was shot in the spine at Chancellorsville. He died two days later, aged 23.
• George Warren Dresser went into the Ordnance Department. He resigned after the war and became an engineer in public utilities. He died in 1883.
• Henry Algernon DuPont was the first man in the class and the class president. Poor health kept him from active service until after Gettysburg. In the next year he won the Congressional Medal or Honor and kept Hunter from burning the Superintendent's house at V.M.I. He resigned from the army in 1875 to go into business. He was Chairman of the Senate Armed Forces Committee at the time West Point was rebuilt in 1911. He lived to be 88.
• Robert Langdon Eastman was the son of the painter, Seth Eastman. He drew the sketch of Benny Havens place we showed you tonight. He taught drawing at West Point and helped the New York Police during the draft riots. He died in November, 1865, of an illness he had contracted before Yorktown in 1862. He was 29.
• William Anthony Elderkin's picture went home in John Pelham's pocket. He was Rickett's 3rd Lieutenant at Bull Run and then transferred into the Commissary Department. He married the daughter of Abraham Lincoln's pastor, retired as a Colonel, and died in Middletown, New York in 1900.
• Campbell Dallas Emory had a chronic heart condition. He was kept on the west coast until just before Petersburg, served in Texas after the war and died in San Antonio at the age of 38.
• Daniel Webster Flagler was turned back into the June class because of illness. He died a brigadier general in 1899.
• Charles Henry Gibson caught swamp fever in 1862 and was sent home to die. He resigned from the army in 1864 and never really recovered, although he served on the National Relief Commission during the Spanish-American War. He died in 1911.
• Erskine Gittings was the baby of the class. He fought in the Gulf and Western theatres, was wounded, and after the war served on strike duty, fought Indians and taught at West Point. He died at 40.
• Franklin Harwood was the only navy jounior in the class. He was the first man ever to lead a battery from San Francisco through the "great American desert" in the heat of the summer and get it east in fighting condition. Never very strong physically, he died in 1883.
• Henry Cornelius Hasbrouck while an invalid teaching at West Point in the fall of 1863, first had the idea for Battle Monument. He was an Indian fighter, commandant of cadets from 1882-1888 and retired a brigadier general. He died in Newburgh in 1910.
• Charles Edward Hazlett was a turnback from the class of 1860. He fought with the old West Point Battery at Bull Run and in almost every engagement of the Army of the Potomac after that until he was killed at Little Round Top, the second day at Gettysburg, aged 25.
• Guy Vernor Henry was an army brat and sired an army dynasty. He earned the Medal of Honor at Cold Harbor, was an outstanding Indian fighter, and lost an eye in the Battle of the Rosebud in 1876. He died in 1899 just after he had finished a tour as Military Governor of Puerto Rico.
• Mathias Winston Henry was the next to the last man in the class. He suffered from poor health most of his life. He resigned and went south in August, 1861, and served in the Stuart Horse Artillery. It was his section Pelham took forward at Fredericksburg. After the war he went to Mexico, but disliked Maximillian's army and returned to mining in Nevada. On a business trip east, he died in Brooklyn on his 39th birthday.
• Llewellyn Griffith Hoxton resigned at the end of May and served the South under Hardee. His younger brother, Willie, was in the Stuart Horse Artillery. After the war, he taught in a private boys' school and died in 1891.
• Leroy Lansing Janes fought in Florida, picked up the usual lingering illness and spent the rest of the war teaching at West Point. He left the army in 1867 and became a sort of secular missionary to Japan, in charge of a boys' school in Kyushu. He died in California in 1910.
• James M. Kennard resigned in March, 1861. A Confederate lieutenant, he was wounded at Bull Run and five days later became the first of the class to die for his country. He was 22.
• Jacob Ford Kent was wounded three times and taken prisoner at Bull Run. He spent the war in the 3rd Infantry, stayed in the army and became a major general. He gave the order which sent Teddy Roosevelt up San Juan Hill and into the White House. He lived to be 83.
• Judson Hugh Kilpatrick thirsted for fame but found mostly notoriety. First of his class to marry, he lost his wife during the war. First of his class to shed his blood for his country, he received a wound more embarrassing than serious at Big Bethel. He came out of the war a major general and tried politics. But he always ran on the wrong ticket and was never elected. In 1881 he was made Minister to Chile, where he remarried, sired a daughter and died at 46. The daughter married one of the less affluent Morgans and had twins. Thelma, Lady Furness, was mistress of the Prince of Wales until she made the mistake of introducing him to a Mrs. Simpson; and Gloria, who married a slightly tarnished Vanderbilt, gave birth to "Little Gloria is Happy Now." Grandpa would have been very pleased with his descendants -- they have managed to make the headlines for three generations.
• Henry Walter Kingsbury was considered to be the best soldier in the class by his fellow cadets and, incidentally, he was Simon Bolivar Buckner's brother-in-law. He took command of the 11th Connecticut Infantry early in 1862. Leading them just above Burnside's Bridge at Antietam, he was shot four times. He died of his wounds the next day, aged 26. Three months later his widow bore him a son.
• Edmund Kirby was the next to the youngest in the class. He was second lieutenant to Ricketts at Bull Run and in command of the battery afterwards. He and Pelham were frequently opposite each other in battle. He had typhoid in 1861 and a bad relapse in 1862. He was wounded at Chancellorsville, lost a leg, and died on May 28 at the age of 23. The night before his death Abraham Lincoln laid in his hand his brevet as a brigadier general.
• Charles McKnight Loeser was drillmaster to Elmer Ellsworth's Fire Zouaves and fell heir to the regiment when Ellsworth got himself martyred. They were a rare handful, but he did his best for a year and then he went in the 2nd Cavalry Regiment. He was wounded, taken prisoner, and after the war became a publisher in New York City. He died in 1896.
• James F. McQuesten oldest in the crass. He the war in the 2nd Cavalry captain when he was killed at the age of 29.
• Leonard Martin suffered from cardiac asthma and was sent home to die after Fredericksburg. He was back fighting at Gettysburg. He finished the war as colonel of the 51st Wisconsin, and he left the army in 1866 to work for the Northern Pacific Railroad. He died in 1890.
• Henry Beach Noble was badly wounded at Cedar Mountain, taught at West Point during his convalescence, and retired as a captain in 1869. His health never recovered and he was never able to work again. He died in 1898.
• Charles E. Patterson resigned and went south a month after graduation. He died of wounds two days after Battle of Shiloh. He was 25.
• John Pelham needs no introduction to most of us. However, for the benefit of any guests who may be meeting him for the first time tonight, he was drillmaster to a Virginia battery which he commanded at Bull Run. In November 1861 he took command of the Stuart Horse Artillery, rising to be a major. He never sent a gun into danger without going with it and staying with it until all peril was passed and, in more than sixty fights, he never lost a gun. Both Ames and DuPont remembered him as the best liked man in the class. He possessed a rare and endearing combination of character and charisma. He was mortally wounded on St. Patrick's Day, 1863, and died at one the next morning without ever regaining consciousness. He was 24.
• John Scroggs Poland served with the infantry, wrote on military law, and rose to be a brigadier general. His picture, smuggled through the lines, was found in John Pelham's personal possessions. He died in 1898.
• Jacob Beekman Rawles fought with the artillery in the Gulf and western theatres. He retired a brigadier general and died in California one month short of his 80th birthday.
• Olin Rice left the army in June to fight for the South. He settled in St. Louis, Missouri after the war and died in 1882.
• Wright Rives went into the 6th Infantry. He was badly wounded at Vicksburg, retired for disability in 1870, and died in 1916.
• John Issac Rodgers served with the artillery throughout a long career. He retired a brigadier general and died at the age of 92.
• Thomas Lafayette Rosser commanded the first anti-aircraft battery in North America trying to shoot down an observation balloon early in the war. Then he went into Stuart's cavalry. He was wounded at least twice, lost his best friends, and was a major general, C.S.A., when the war ended. Barred from his profession, he became a civil engineer for the Northern Pacific Railroad. In 1898 he volunteered for the war with Spain and at 61 became a brigadier general, U.S.A. He died in 1910. One son was named John Pelham Rosser.
• Jacob Henry Smyser started in the artillery and ended in ordnance. He resigned from the army in 1869 and died in 1885.
• George Oscar Sokalski was the first Polish-American to graduate from West Point. He served with the cavalry, was sick, captured, and was one of the few survivors of the gunboat Cincinnati when she was sunk in the Mississippi. He died at Fort Laramie, Dakota Territory in 1867, aged 27.
• Sheldon Sturgeon was the bottom of the class. He was captured at Bull Run and fought throughout the war with the infantry. He went into the 6th Cavalry and retired in 1876. He died in 1892.
• George A. Thornton left West Point with Pelham and Rosser. His picture went home in John's pocket. He was at Yorktown at the start of the war and in the Cherokee Nation when it ended. And there are no clues as to what happened to him afterwards.
• Emory Upton was the class genius. Kent said he hadn't a single grain of humor in his whole body, but he was an outstanding officer, wounded twice, and a brigadier general when the war ended. He was commandant of cadets from 1870-1875, studied and wrote on tactics and became the last word on the subject for the United States Army. Losing his wife after only a few years of happiness, he grieved and began suffering severe head pains originating in some condition hindsight has diagnosed as everything from a cerebral aneurism to a brain tumor. One night in 1881 he shot himself. He was 42.
• Malbone Francis Watson lost his right leg commanding a battery at Gettysburg, and suffered from the wound the rest of his life. He taught French at West Point until he retired as a captain in 1868, and became commissary officer for the Veterans Home in Dayton, Ohio. He died in 1891.
• John Benson Williams served in the 3rd Infantry. He went on sick leave after Fredericksburg and was dismissed from the service by order of the President in February 1863. He taught a private military school for a while but died in the province of Quebec in 1903.
• Samuel C. Williams of Tennessee is the only member of the class for whom we have no picture. He resigned in February 1861. He was at Charleston in April. After that there is a blank. He remains the unknown classmate.
• William H. Woods died in the cadet hospital in 1857. He was 20. He was buried at West Point and the following year Henry Hasbrouck and Henry Kingsbury picked out this monument which the class erected over his grave.
Let it serve as a symbol of all who "lie forgotten."
This article first appeared in Volume 4, No. 3 of The Cannoneer.
