University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XVIII

Incidents and Commencement of Session 1876-77

Although General Lee and his eldest son were graduates
of West Point, his second was educated at Harvard, and his
third—youngest and namesake, Robert E.—was sent to our
University, where he spent two sessions, 1860-61, 1861-62,
and from where he entered the Confederate service, a very
young man, in the spring of 1862. These facts made the
University, with her traditions, influence and faculty, thoroughly
known and respected in the Lee family, and by none
more so than the General himself.

In the spring and summer of 1865 the University, perforce,
went through a process of reorganization and reassembling
of its teaching staff preparatory to reopening on the first of
October. Only the older members of the faculty had remained
at their accustomed posts during the belligerent years, most
of them serving the Confederacy at home or abroad in one or
another capacity. But now after the restoration of peace it
was quite natural that all would incline to return in order to
put forth their strongest energies in re-establishing the famous
institution along lines that might, perchance, even increase its
former greatness and usefulness. It was a crucial period with
General Lee, as with thousands of willing hearts and hands
who anxiously stood ready to contribute, so far as possible,
thought, word and act towards his welfare—him whom they
loved, honored, yes, worshiped. To him during these several
months a number of more or less tempting opportunities presented
themselves, but as it was not the dollar and cent coefficient—material
remuneration—that played the strongest

part, it was difficult to make a final decision from his viewpoint—moral
sense of obligation to his fallen country. This
final selection had to be solved correctly according to his own
question—What may I do that will bring the greatest immediate
and remote good to my humbled people? Not a few
thought this high conception of duty might best be realized
by a connection with the University in some capacity—that
from existing conditions seeming impossible, at least perplexing.
The University, according to Mr. Jefferson's wish, had
never been governed by an executive head or active president,
and possessed unfilled no department in which General Lee
had shown his greatest strength or would probably grow into
liking. It was said that even the faculty disapproved an inflection
of Mr. Jefferson's original plan of government—Professor
Schele being the most pronounced and outspoken. General
Lee, if consulted at all upon the subject, no doubt expressed
himself as believing that his connection with the State
University might have in the eyes of some an eleemosynary
savor, and that others for his personality might incline to withhold
substantial aid from anything receiving the fostering care
of the State. We students knew most of these facts in the abstract,
and, although possibly in error, felt absolutely confident
that had General Lee been approached by the right power, in
the right way, at the right time, he would not have hesitated
a moment in waving such conceived vagaries and in taking up
the presidency of the University—a great work found necessary
for some one to assume forty years later. He was a man
thoroughly open to convincing and telling argument, with a
vision of light that readily dispelled all mellow shades of darkness;
he only desired to be certain where duty lay, and any
half-way persuasive counsel might have gone far towards
shaping his interpretation of that duty to be at the University.
The postponement of a President was simply an unwise delay
—"hope deferred (that) maketh the heart sick"—the result
of inefficient forethought and intuition on the part of those
then in power. Oh, that they could have possessed a mystic
inspiration, a prophetic dream, of the future and its revelations!
Later came the accepted offer from Washington College,
the most wise step in its history, as at once it took on
new life and position, soon became recognized highly throughout
the country, and to-day furnishes the chief asset—more
than all others combined—upon which it continues to feed and
thrive. Had his life been spared another decade, even duly
acknowledging the subsequent wise and aggressive administration
of that institution, one can scarce predict accurately
the progressive steps of its onward march; or instead, had his
life's crowning work been ordered amid our University community,
and there been bequeathed the perpetual touchstone of
his living personality, what even greater strides she might
have taken towards imperishable fame and renown! Every
student took one or more newspapers, daily or otherwise,
while those of Virginia, especially Richmond, were to be found
in many rooms and always in the library. Those of early
February, 1873, announced the death, after several months of
severe illness, of Commodore Maury, professor of physics and
meteorology in the Military Institute, Lexington—a position
he had occupied with signal ability for four years, becoming a
most popular teacher and esteemed citizen, and whose death
was deplored throughout the scientific world. His body was
placed in the Gilham vault of the cemetery on the hill, opposite
the grave of "Stonewall" Jackson, where, according to his request,
it reposed until spring and then was taken by way of
his beloved Goshen Pass—famed in prose by his own writings
and in verse by those of the gifted Margaret J. Preston, and
decorated for the occasion not alone by nature but additionally
by the willing effort of loving hands—to Goshen, and
thence by the Chesapeake and Ohio train to Richmond, to find
a last resting place in consecrated Hollywood, among legions
of other distinguished dead. In early November of the same
year Mrs. Mary Randolph Custis Lee, widow of General
Robert E. Lee, also died at Lexington, causing the press to
pay length and deserving tributes to the memory of her noble
character and life, at the same time recounting much matter
incident to her distinguished husband and other members of
her illustrious family.

Thus it seemed in those days a student at the University
was meeting continually something that called his attention to
the small, quiet and cultured valley town fifty miles away, such
as intensified a desire for a visit—that which would be accepted
at the first favorable opportunity. While a several

days' absence from lectures always implied much, it was far
more serious in the latter part of May, when cramming for
examinations was in order. But in the lives of every one
there are times for chance-taking, and as these already had
occasionally come my way, I felt again ready for such a demand—thus
willing to make the trip with the baseball team.
I indulged in many delightful anticipations during the few
preceding days and in most respects there was no disappointment.
My leave of absence bears the names, in their individual
writing, of Jas. F. Harrison, Chai., J. W. Mallet,
F. P. Dunnington, J. S. Davis, and was secured hurriedly
the morning of departure. Our journeying party consisted
of about thirty-five, but fully an equal number formed an
escort and assembled at the depot to encourage, show interest
and wish us Godspeed in the coming contest. Indeed not a
few became enthusiastically demonstrative, expressing sincere
regrets at not having arranged to go along.

Our train, amid many noisy exclamations from ourselves
and those left behind, pulled out of Charlottesville shortly
after 2 o'ck, P. M., the day being balmy and ideal for the
full enjoyment of such a trip. Most of us had been grinding
faithfully over studies for the past months without any "surcease
of sorrow," and now felt keenly a delight over the forthcoming
needed pleasures. A number of us being on an unfrequented
route desired to make the most of it and occupied
the rear platform of the last car, where could best be viewed
the landscape becoming more and more picturesque as we sped
to higher altitudes. The scenes continued to vary as the many
view-points changed from the incessant curving of the road,
each more impressive until the climax was reached near the
mountain top (Afton), when was unveiled below a panorama
of outstretched valley lands intuitively unsurpassed by anything
in the world. Plots of stately trees, green cereals and grass,
intermingled with the many fields that had recently been fallowed
for spring crops, all so diminutive from the elevation,
lay spread out as far as eyes could range in beautiful contrast,
yet grateful harmony. It was the famous and fertile Piedmont
Valley, revealing itself fifteen hundred feet below like
one vast garden covering many miles, dotted with peaceful
homes, fruitful orchards and vineyards—those giving to the

world the celebrated Albemarle pippin apple and the delicious
Monticello brands of wine. To our immediate left towered
the mighty cliffs around whose tapering sides we had made
gradually a struggling ascent, while on the right high ranges
seemingly extended into infinite distance. Onward we pushed
to be shut in by huge boulders and a cloudless sky, to be
appalled by a long damp dark weird tunnel, and delighted by
an escape into the stately mountain peaks dissolving themselves
into the far-famed Shenandoah Valley. In quick succession
followed the newly established junction (Basic City) with the
then Shenandoah Valley Road, the yellowish south-fork of the
Shenandoah River skirting the western slope of the Blue
Ridge, the prosperous village of Waynesboro, where on March
2, 1865, Gen. Sheridan's victory gave the Federal Army thereafter
sole control of that entire territory, and finally the hilly
town of Staunton, noted so favorably among us students as
the center of southern female education. An hour later, 6
o'ck, brought us to Goshen, a small station partly bordered
by woods, consisting of several dozen modest frame houses
occupied by its entire population of one or two hundred. This
was the nearest railroad point to the Rockbridge Alum and
Jorden Alum Springs (ten miles), and to Lexington (twenty-one
miles)—all three having to be reached by private conveyance
or public stage. The hotel was rather an indifferent
whitewashed building in close proximity to the north side of
the track, but here we enjoyed a good substantial supper, taking
thereafter stages for our destination that lay in a southward
direction through a rugged mountainous country over a
rough and tortuous road. As our journey, "like a wounded
snake drew its slow length along," in the glimmer of that beautifully
clear and starlight night distinctive outlines could be
seen of the many towering cliffs and stately boulders. All nature
seemed silent and at rest, save our little caravan and an occasional
beast of burden or bird of prey, whose mingled shrill
and mellow notes apparently bid us here and there a friendly
welcome. As for ourselves, we were a noisy and mirthful
band overflowing with pleasures present and those considered
in sight. Viewing picturesque scenery—that of the Goshen
Pass excelling all other—singing college songs and sacred
hymns, telling jokes and stories, running and walking, all
served in turn to pass acceptably the earlier hours, but as it
grew late even such a diversified program almost ceased to
amuse, so that none of us regretted when our drivers shortly
after midnight pulled up at the brick hotel on the south side
of Main Street, Lexington. The Washington and Lee boys
were out in force, and also a few from the Military Institute,
to extend the late but hearty greeting, while our souls were
thoroughly responsive to the genuine cordiality of the occasion.
A rest lasting far into the morning completely invigorated
the body and mind, so that the day broke in only to find us
ready and eager to accept every avenue of profitable enjoyment
according to individual taste and preference—walking,
driving, riding horseback, visiting friends and ladies, inspecting
graves, churches and things educational. In the very
shadow of the hotel, slightly to the north and east, were the
grounds, chapel and various buildings of Washington and Lee,
while in a continued line eastward along the same ridge and
road, separated simply by a skeleton fence and gate, stood
those of the Military Institute—none having been seen by
most of us until the dawning of that Sabbath morning, and
possessing for each an endless interest susceptible of being satisfied
only by personal inspection. Nor were the graves of Lee
and Jackson remote—the former in the rear of the chapel on
the University campus, shortly within the enclosure and to the
right of the road; the latter in the cemetery on the brow of the
hill at the western outskirts, to the left of Main Street as you
leave the town.

Then again the several churches were presided over by
clergymen of more than local distinction, the Episcopal and
Presbyterian being noted especially—the one for the association
of General Lee, the other for the many years of personal
membership and attendance of General Jackson. On this
morning the bells rang out their clear resonant sounds, appealing
alike to all humanity, strange and familiar, and I was not
long in deciding that the sacred line would be most resourceful
to me. As a result several of us went first to the Presbyterian
Church, a red brick building of creditable age and
size on the east side of Main Street slightly west of the hotel,
where entering the east door and accepting the last seat—not
intending to remain through the entire service—we heard the

greater portion of a scriptural sermon by Rev. Dr. Kirkpatrick.
After leaving here we visited the Episcopal Church
and the University Chapel in time to witness the dispersing of
those in attendance, so that in comparing notes at the dinner
table we all were gratified in having accomplished so much
to our liking—heard many good words of advice, saw strange
students, cadets and pretty girls galore, and also at close range
most of the important and noted personages of Lexington, including
General G. W. Custis Lee, his two sisters, Mary and
Mildred, General Francis H. Smith, Margaret J. Preston, J.
Randolph Tucker and other professors, with their families of
the two institutions. In the afternoon some of us walked out
to the cemetery, where rest many who had contributed their
energies to the upbuilding of that educational center and town,
finding it an inviting, well-cared-for enclosure of several acres
with a few gravelly and grassy walks, much shrubbery and a
number of smaller trees. Only a few lots had railing or coping,
but all a goodly covering of grass with one or more
graves marked with suitable slabs. The "Stonewall" Jackson
grave in the Jackson lot, of course, claimed most interest and
at that time seemed in hopeless neglect, barring the well-worn
path thereto which gave evidence of the extreme respect and
homage paid by untold journeying pilgrims. This lot, as I
remember it, was in the southeastern section of the cemetery,
not large but enclosed by an iron fence having several broken
stiles and a gate bearing the name Jackson. Within were
several graves—his own, nearest the east fence line and the
town, was unmarked, except by a green mound bearing some
faded flowers, while those at his side, first wife and small
child, had plain marble slabs much discolored by the ravages
of time. After an hour we retraced our steps down Main
Street through the town, and on our left first entered by an
unpretentious wooden gate the University campus, following
a road—the common artery of the two institutions—which
with slight ascent bore to the right, thence eastward in a
straight line through a second gate into the Military Institute
grounds. To the left of this road and parallel with it, but at
some elevation and distance, stood in a straight row the University
buildings, General Lee's residence and those of several
professors; to the right in close proximity was the Chapel,

Professor George Frederick Holmes, LL.D., at fifty-five
1820-1897

See page 408

FACING 354

library and General Lee's tomb, and nearly parallel with it,
but further onward within the Military Institute grounds, a
row of cottages occupied by its professors.

Although the day was a holiday, on which ordinarily the
buildings would be closed, the janitors in consideration of our
visit stood ready to direct and admit us to all that could possibly
be of interest. Here, of course, the Chapel and General
Lee's tomb claimed first attention—the former being of good
proportions and design, possessing to an unusual degree an
air of brightness and comfort. The galleries on either side
were low, supported by round columns and terminated with
curved ends near the rather high and deep platform spanning
the entire southern end of the room. This platform was furnished
with a red carpet, a lecturing stand in front, a sofa and
several chairs back near the wall, and above on the wall hung
portraits of Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Marshall and
other great men. Under the Chapel was a basement of which
the south room was used by General Lee as an office that
obtained light from southern and western windows, being entered
by a door on the east. The room was of good size, low
ceiling, white walls and furnished with several heavy antique
pieces—desk, center-table, small bookcase, sofa and chairs
upholstered with green leather—and the contents were claimed
to have remained untouched since General Lee's death, everything
being just as he left it the day of his final sickness.
The southern or rear wall of the Chapel building being down
a hill was some feet higher than the front, and as General
Lee's room and the library occupied the lower floor it was
found possible to construct in the library area, in contact with
this southern wall, a vault whose top when covered with the
white marble lettered slab was level with the library floor.
Here a few feet from his working office reposed his remains,
also those of his wife and daughter (Agnes), which long since
have been transferred to the other side of the wall where has
been erected a beautiful mausoleum, the corner stone being laid
November 29, 1878, whose lower story is a crypt of twenty-eight
burial chambers—intended to be solely the Lee family
vault—and whose upper story is continuous with chapel room
—being connected therewith from its platform by a graceful
arched entrance, first into the smaller ante-room, thence into

the larger monumental chamber where rests the sarcophagus
surmounted by a beautiful white marble recumbent statue of
General Lee, head eastward, chiseled by Valentine, Virginia's
noted sculptor.

This statue was conveyed from Richmond to Lexington,
April, 1875, creating at the time no little favorable comment
and respectful attention from our student-body, and on this
occasion of our visit received from each of us close inspection
in its temporary well-guarded room. I distinctly recall extending
a finger within short range of the right arm of the
statue with the remark—in this arm old Traveler broke a bone
during the summer of 1862, seriously handicapping the General
at Antietam—whereupon the attendants quickly seized my
arm, imploring to keep hands off as the oil in the body might
discolor.

On the upper (north) side of the sloping lawn, just opposite
the Chapel and at a higher elevation, stood the main University
building, about two hundred and fifty feet long, of brick
construction, and of irregular height and depth. The three-story
central portion, with cupola and tall round columns, projected
a few feet in the foreground beyond the adjoining sides
with square columns, and these three portions were connected
by smaller and lower links. While the lines were decidedly
broken, yet the tout ensemble was far from bad—indeed rather
attractive. It was this building that General Hunter, during
his encampment in Lexington, June 12-15, 1864, ordered to be
burnt along with the Military Institute and Governor Letcher's
residence, but fortunately was rescued (the others meeting
the designed sadder fate) through the merciful intervention
of subordinate officers, who seemingly possessed a greater
respect for education and the memory of Washington. They
were helpless, however, in preventing the destruction of its
apparatus, books and other useful interior furnishings, as well
as much valuable property that contributed to the material
worth of the community. On this visit we found lecture
rooms, apparatus, laboratories, museum, and hall of literary
societies all thoroughly equipped as though forgetful of the
direful past.

From here we leisurely walked eastward by several residences,
including General Lee's, and intersected at an angle the

roadway running south, entering the adjoining Military Institute
campus through a gate, indicating the dividing line between
the contiguous properties. The imposing main granite
building, beautifully elevated as a tower of strength to the overlooking
southward valley, four or five stories, and several
hundred feet square with fortress-like turrets unfurling flags
straight to the breeze, a cannon here and there, and manly
uniformed cadets at every turn, made our approach on that
Sabbath afternoon ever grateful and lasting in memory. It
was in this building that "Stonewall" Jackson had taught for
ten years and from whose halls hundreds had gone forth well
equipped to bear with distinction the trials of bloody warfare.
Indeed, it was her battalion of youthful cadets on that memorable
May 15, 1864, that went far towards making New
Market a signal victory, and for several months thereafter
continued to be an element of usefulness. But the further
service of this building was doomed to be of short duration,
as General David Hunter, the immediate successor of General
Franz Sigel—the Federal commander at New Market—was
not unmindful of that defeat and the part played thereto by
the gallant young men of her training, and determined if
opportunity presented her career should cease. He had been
directed to advance from Staunton to Lynchburg by way of
Charlottesville, through Rockfish Gap, but fancying this
strongly guarded diverted his order by accepting the course
up the Valley, via Lexington, Buchanan and Peaks of Otter,
applying the firebrand at every turn and leaving merciless desolation
in his wake. At Lexington he halted several days,
quartering his men in and around the handsome Military Institute
building, and upon evacuation paid the miscreant's
gratitude for a tenure of hospitality by firing it in numerous
places only to leave as pathetic sentinels the tottering walls.
Thus perished that around which clustered in the hearts of so
many an inseparable sentiment—a choice library of ten thousand
volumes, the teaching rooms and philosophical apparatus
of "Stonewall" Jackson, museum, chemicals and all that contributed
to a properly assembled teaching equipment. Surely
vengeance was his—Shylock-like he demanded his pound of
fair flesh and received it together with its veritable life's
blood. But Phœnix-like, it arose from its ashes, as on this
memorable visit there was nothing to remind one of that sad
epoch—for through the munificence of Virginia everything
had been restored to its pristine glory, barring possibly slight
improved changes in the interior spacing. Indeed, the lecture
and living rooms, laboratories, engineering and drawing departments
all showed age, use and abuse.

Monday morning was taken up largely in retracing some
steps of the yesterday, visiting spots of minor importance and
walking to points of vantage to view the surrounding country,
so beautiful and picturesque. Some of the players went to the
ball-grounds for preliminary practice; many of us talked and
speculated on results, while a few supported their favorite
nine with small monetary consideration—betting without odds,
thus indicating supposed equal strength. Our colors—(cardinal)
red and (silver) gray, could be seen here and there upon
the fair as well as sterner sex, but naturally the blue predominated.
The game was called shortly after 3 o'ck, and continued
for three hours with unabated interest—often wild excitement.
The attendance was considered large and representative,
the nines well-matched, and the result in positive doubt
until the last man was out—when the small contingent of red
and gray gave a deep sigh of relief over victory being theirs,
with a score of 19 to 17. The Military Institute following
proved most loyal friends, doing much to encourage and make
us realize that we were not altogether strangers in a strange
land, while the Washington and Lee boys that night took us
again into good fellowship with a finely prepared supper,
at which toasts, songs, jokes and unbounded merriment prevailed.
Late hours found us seeking and leaving bed that
morning, Tuesday, and the afternoon hour for leaving,
2 o'ck, dawned upon us sooner than could acceptably be
realized.

The return trip homeward was largely a repetition of the
going, except daylight and nightfall were happily interchanged
upon the extremes of the route—thus affording full view of
the rolling valley lands, running streams, Goshen Pass and
other rugged mountainous scenery as we slowly journeyed
along the uneven and tortuous pike. Every soul seemed self-satisfied
and joyously contributed his share of fun-making to
the pleasant passing of the hours. Goshen was reached about

dusk, where, after taking supper, we boarded our train for
Charlottesville, arriving there at midnight. The end had
come and with it no sorrow; victory had been won and the
University's good reputation sustained. Practically two days
of student-life had been sacrificed, but we were more intelligent
beings, as a veritable equivalent of knowledge in another direction
had been gained—that which at the time was helpful and
diverting, and has continued to shed occasionally pleasant
recollections along the many intervening years.

Commencement this year began Sunday, June 24th, when at
night Rev. Dr. John A. Broadus delivered the annual sermon
before the Y. M. C. A., in the Public Hall, which was packed
with an intelligent and cultivated audience. This gentleman
on several previous occasions during my University career
had delighted the students with his forceful reasoning and
thought, and this time proved no exception.

Monday night—Wash. Celebration. After prayer by Rev.
Robert J. McBryde, the President, Mr. Frank P. Farish, Va.,
in a neat speech introduced the Orator, Mr. Eugene Williams,
Ala., who emphasized the fact that the orator selected by the
Committee of the Faculty had resigned several days before,
and that he under solicitations but disadvantages had consented
to take his place. He soon announced his theme, "England's
Conquered Neighbor, Poor Downtrodden Ireland," laid special
stress upon the lack of interest we feel towards Ireland, gave
a vivid account of her conquest and the harsh laws by which
she is governed, eulogized her orators, statesmen, poets, warriors
and patriots, and predicted the coming of her disinthralment
at no distant day. While this oration was brief it was
well-written, well-delivered and frequently elicited ripples of

applause. After this the President conferred the debater's
medal upon Mr. J. F. Ellison, Va., who received and acknowledged
the same in a short but highly creditable speech.

Tuesday night—Jeff. Celebration. In spite of the rain the
Public Hall was crowded, and after prayer by Rev. Robert
J. McBryde, the acting President, Mr. J. Allen Southall, in
the absence of the regularly elected President, Mr. Ben. D.
Whiteley, introduced the Orator, Mr. C. A. Culberson, Texas,
who at once announced his subject as, "The French Revolution."
He eloquently insisted that the excesses of the Revolution
were merely incidental and that the hearts of the French
people longed for freedom—that for which they were willing
to die; he sketched the Revolution giving an analysis of the
principles which guided the revolters, recognized their denial
of the truth of revolution and the rock on which they split,
admitted the errors and crimes of their many leaders, but held
up Lafayette as a better product of revolutionary principles,
comparing him, to the unbounded applause of the audience, to
our own beloved—General Robert E. Lee. After this the
President conferred the debater's medal upon Mr. A. G. Stuart,
Va., who, in the presence of his honored father—A. H. H.
Stuart, Secretary of the Interior under President Filmore—
made an exceedingly felicitous response in which he pledged
himself not to regard the prize as the goal but as the starting
point of his aspirations.

Wednesday night—Joint Celebration. The address before
the two societies this year was delivered by one of Virginia's
most gifted sons, Maj. John W. Daniel, then spoken of generally
as the next governor of the State. He began his address
with a beautiful allusion to the circumstances which
surrounded him and the hallowed memories which clustered
around the place where he stood, and then graphically introduced
his theme, "Conquered Nations." In substance he affirmed:
While in one sense there is no conqueror but God,
and the hand of God could be traced in all history, yet he proposed
to show that the fate of the South had been but the fate
of the whole human family, and that solace and hope may be
gathered from well-nigh every page of the world's history.
That America is the spoil of conquest and the refuge of the
conquered and oppressed, and that the settlers of New England,

Pennsylvania, Georgia, South Carolina and Virginia
were all conquered peoples fleeing from oppression. He then
inquired into the origin of the conquering English, and showed
how they, too, had been conquered, and how the rule of the
Norman conqueror had been "woe to the vanquished." Then
followed a vivid picture of the doings of "Norman carpetbaggers,"
and the sportive cruelties and cruel sports of the
conquerors, showing at the same time how this state of things
developed the "English Kuklux," whose existence is verified
by better testimony than that of a partisan congressional committee.
He portrayed the benefits which the Normans brought
to the English, and how Norman and Saxon blood gradually
blended together until "conquered England came to the front
as conqueror." Magna Charta was wrested from the barons,
great ideas of constitutional freedom were generated, and the
conqueror's yoke became at last the triumphal arch of freedom.
He showed all nations to be conquered nations, illustrating
his position by reference to Scotland, Ireland, France,
Spain, Carthage, Rome, Greece, Egypt, Arabia, Asia Minor,
Turkey and Prussia. He drew illustrations from history to
show how frequently the little nations are the conquerors, and
argued that "the survival of the fittest" is the true philosophy
of conquest. He deduced a number of "truths of conquest,"
illustrating and enforcing them by bright historical examples,
showing the results of conquests. He alluded to the results
of our own late war, and the effort to enthral the Southern
mind by partisan conquerors, showing that while the intelligent
master was stricken down, the rude, untaught slave was elevated
to the highest places of government. He argued that
physical geography, to a great extent, conquered the South,
the configuration of the continent to a large extent preserving
the unity of the American race. Then he related the great disadvantages
under which the South went into the war, and declared
that the wrath of the tremendous revolution left no
condition of her people at its close which the beginning found.
Between North and South the war eliminated, annihilated its
cause. What was that cause? Slavery was the material bone
of contention; secession was the formula fiction of law adopted
in pleading for its defence. The war ended, but slavery has
departed for evermore, and by the arbitrament of battle secession
was buried with it in a common grave, and there is nothing
more to divide us. He further ably argued the duty of
the South in the present crisis, and declared that the South is
rising up, and emphasized the sentiment—let the gallant South
and generous North rejoice alike that the South is looking up.
"Standing side by side by the bier of the honored dead, let the
North and South alike raise their eyes to the mild and gentle
majesty of true faith; with one voice let them speak faith and
friendship between North and South for evermore—there is
no conqueror but God." At the conclusion of this brilliant
address, Professor Thomas R. Price conferred in a happy
manner the Magazine medal upon Mr. William P. Kent, Va.,
who made an appropriate speech in acknowledgment of the
honor.

Thursday morning—Commencement or Final Day. At 10
o'ck, the entire University contingent and numerous strangers
assembled in the Public Hall for the usual conferring of diplomas
and certificates of proficiency, which lasted about two
hours. At night followed the great event to those fond of
the terpsichorean art—Final Ball—which, owing to the near
completion of the museum building, was held there amid many
of the specimens that rested here and there in temporary
position.

Every student this session had great expectation of our
boating crew, for we had followed in a measure the gallant
four in their daily training—that prescribed in the gymnasium,
on the path and at the oar—and felt convinced if honest effort
and well-seasoned muscle meant anything it was soon to have
a creditable manifestation. It was our first attempt at gaining
laurels on the high-sea, and thus knowing our honor bearers
we believed they would bring new distinction to the University.
While, as usual, many of our number returned to their
homes several weeks before Commencement, yet the great
majority of those remaining were interested sufficiently in the
cause and crew to accompany the latter to Lynchburg, the
scene of contest. Although an excursion train was scheduled to
leave Charlottesville on Saturday morning, June 30th, and return
the same day after the race, many of us preferred to make
the downward trip Friday afternoon on the regular southern
train from Washington, especially as the railroad management

had side-tracked a couple of cars for such a contingency. Our
party was rather numerous, consisting not only of students but
their lady friends chaperoned by matronly ladies, all grouping
themselves in the cars according to most congenial companionship,
fully alive to the fact that it was a lark in support of our
University colors, and that we were to enjoy several days together
at hotels or the homes of mutual friends. Senator and
Mrs. Daniel who had been with us several days, he having
delivered the Joint Address, returned home in our car, and
others were along with sober and settled tastes, but all seemed
in the spirit of youth—possibly through propinquity or the
imbibition of sparkling vivacity—and repressed not in the
slightest the gush of enjoyment. The day was beautiful—
clear and hot—as were those that immediately followed, so in
spite of the pleasures of the hour we all were right glad to
reach, shortly after 4 o'ck, our destination when a refreshing
bath and a change of linen could be indulged. Most of us
stopped at the Norvell House where our University contingent
of boys and girls spent delightfully the two days as one happy
family. The first night and next morning passed too quickly
in visiting, seeing that hilly town's various points of interest
and making arrangements to attend the race in the afternoon.
A canal boat took us up the river about 2 o'ck, to the grand
stand erected on the southern bank near the beginning of the
race course, where we accepted positions of advantage as best
we could. To most of us the view was perfect, the start satisfactory,
and as the crews passed us on the upward lap they
seemed evenly matched, pulling with a firm, steady and deliberate
stroke—evidently reserving all spurting for the homeward
stretch. Every one seemed wild with excitement, containing
themselves with great difficulty, little conscious of anything
save the pending contest and result. The stake was
reached when all eyes watched intently the turning in the distance—some
to say beautifully done, others, a foul—and soon
the prows seemingly advanced side by side, saying apparently,
"all is well," but in reality a far different story, for in turning
the power exerted by our men was so great as to cause one of
the sliding seats to slip its bearings, thereby deadening its occupant
the rest of the course. But onward they came with
this complete breakdown, the remaining three struggling as

Professor John Staige Davis, A.M., M.D., at fifty-two
1824-1885

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FACING 364

best they could, frightfully unbalanced—two on one side pulling
against one on the other thereby taxing the coxswain and
adding excessive resistance—until near the finish, when, relinquishing
all hope and effort, they allowed themselves to
come limping along far behind their competitors much to our
audible expressions of mortification and sorrow. For a brief
time we were ignorant of the cause of defeat, believing it a
case of pure exhaustion on the part of our crew and of superior
strength in the winners, but when the truth became known a
sentiment of disgust prevailed, as virtually it was no contest
at all—only a sham combat between the able and disabled, the
afflicted and well. And yet no one censured our contestants
for claiming victory, nor would we have permitted them to
have done otherwise, but what we wanted and expected was
an honest exhibition of training, skill and strength—that
which failed to be realized. "What is one man's meat is
another's poison," so the cause that grieved us delighted the
town-people, consequently we had to accept the situation with
becoming grace and magnanimity. We decorated ourselves
with large and small badges of black mourning, assumed a
more modest and quiet attitude, and entered into the gayeties
offered as though we were the victors. Everything was done
by the citizens of Lynchburg to make our visit pleasant while
our crew by defeat made it all the more memorable. Sunday
morning found us more reconciled to the inevitable and with
a disposition to turn homeward—that which we did shortly
before noon, leaving behind ineffaceable pleasure and regrets.