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WILLIAM M. PULVER is engaged in general farming and stock-raising on section 3, Dutch Creek Township. He was born in Richland County, Ohio, Nov. 23, 1828, and is the son of Isaac and Melinda (Brown) Pulver, who were natives of New York, but settled in Ohio in 1827. Of their children, William M. is the only one now living. Mrs. Pulver died in 1836. She was a devoted member of the United Presbyterian Church. Mr. Pulver was subsequently united in marriage with Miss Hannah Armstrong, a native of Ohio, and to them were born eleven children, ten of whom are now living.
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Our subject was reared on a farm, and his early life varied with farm work and in attending the common schools. When sixteen years of age he commenced to work at the carpenter trade with his father, continuing with him until he was twenty-five years old. In 1853 he went to Wabash, Ind., and worked at his trade until the fall of that year, when he again returned home and here remained until the fall of 1854, when he came to Iowa and located in the city of Clinton, working at his trade until the spring of 1855, when he moved to Washington, Iowa, and continued carpentering until 1862, when he bought forty acres of land on section 3, Dutch Creek Township, to which he has since added 120 acres, making a fine farm of 160 acres of land, all of which is under a high state of cultivation.
On the 5th of October, 1858, Mr. Pulver was united in marriage with Miss Jane Alexander, a native of Richland County, Ohio, born Oct. 6, 1833, and daughter of James and Elizabeth (McAllister) Alexander, who were also natives of Ohio. Of this union there are six children: James M., born Oct. 1l, 1859; S. M., born Feb. 25, 1861, married Miss Mary E. Bennet; Amanda, born July 23, 1863, is now the wife of Frederick Mungole, a farmer in Dutch Creek Township; Isaac and Hannah, twins, born June 21, 1871; Jennie, born Feb. 2, 1875. Mrs. Pulver is a member of the United Presbyterian Church. Politically, Mr. Pulver is a Republican. He has held several of the township offices in a most creditable manner. He is a fine mechanic, and has usually more work than he can attend to. To each of his children he has given a good education. Few men are more highly respected and esteemed than the subject of this sketch.
JAMES W. HOUCK, farmer and stock-raiser on section 11, Franklin Township, is a native of that township, born in 1857, and is a son of A. M. and Margaret (Orendorf) Houck, a sketch of whom appears elsewhere in this volume. He was reared upon his father's farm and educated in the public schools of Washington. When fifteen years of age he left home, going to Minneapolis, Minn., where he remained on year, employed in a shingle factory. From there he went to Missouri, where he engaged in driving a stage from Princeton to Bethany for about six months; thence he went to Austin, Tex., and remained three months, coming upon the trail with cattle to Colorado. He next went to Wichita, Kan., where he engaged in running a restaurant about one year. He then returned to Franklin Township, and remained two years, engaged in farming. Having a desire to see a little more of the West, he went to Salt Lake, Utah, and from there went to Carson City, where he engaged in trading for more than a year. Denver, Col., was his next objective point, from which place he returned home to reside here. In addition to general farming, he is engaged somewhat in shipping stock.
EZRA FISHBURN is a retired farmer in Crawford Township, residing upon section 18. The State of Virginia has furnished many of the best families of Iowa, and from Augusta County came our subject. His parents, Philip and Lydia (Sillings) Fishburn, were reared and married in that State. Philip was born in Maryland, but his parents moved to Virginia when he was eighteen months old. Those were troublous times, and families were frequently obliged to congregate together for protection, while the elders went to mill at Winchester, 100 miles distant. A guard always accompanied the trains to guard against attacks from the Indians.
Philip Fishburn and his wife were the parents of ten children—Abraham, Elizabeth R., William M., Ezra, Daniel, Levi F., Lydia A., David A., George W. and Sally. All the children were born in the house on the old homestead, which, in the days of Indian hostilities was used as a fort, and loop-holes were many that adorned the old log mansion which is yet standing, and although more than a century old is in possession of Daniel Fishburn. Ludwig and Philip, brothers of Dietrich Fishburn, the grandfather of our subject, were soldiers in the Revolutionary War, Philip carrying a gun and Ludwig driving a team. They both served under Gen.
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Washington, and frequently related to our subject how the General had often wept when seeing his gallant soldiers wading through the mire and snow with bleeding feet, and always encouraged them by hoping the future would find tham provided for.
The Fishburns were of German origin, and have always been a noted family. Two of the cousins of our subject, Julia M. and Clement C., were professors in Washington College, Rockbridge County, Va. They are a remarkably long-lived family. Philip, above mentioned, reached the age of one hundred and one years, and Ludwig died when ninety-two years of age. The parents of Ezra remained in the old home in Virginia during their lifetime. The father lived to see the Unon preserved, and was buried in 1865. HIs wife lived until 1881, at which time she was eighty-six years of age. Her sons were members of different forces during the late war. Abraham S., who wedded Ann Pomeroy, resides at Lacon, Ill. He was Quartermaster General at St. Louis until ill-health caused his resignation. HIs son, Eugene M., was a member of the Chicago Battery at the same time. William D. belonged to the 15th Iowa, of which he was Hospital Steward, serving during the entire campaign. He is the husband of Caroline Patterson, whom he married in Virginia; they are now residents of Merrick County, Neb. George W. was Major of a Confederate regiment during the war, serving under Stonewall Jackson. He now resides near the old homestead, and is the husband of Pet Mills. Daniel was forced into the Confederate service, and it is said, while guarding a mill near his home, an officer who was riding by said to him: "We have got you out at last." "Yes," said Daniel, "you have forced me into the service, but thank God, I carry a United States musket." His Union sentiments were so pronounced that he was allowed to return to his family soon afterward. He wedded Malinda Crosby, now deceased.
The old manor was known during the war as the "Union House," and the Fishburns were despoiled of most of their property. During the progress of the war the Confederates under the command of Gen. Johnston, posted their artillery on the side of a hill near the house. Philip Fishburn was sick in bed, and a messenger was sent to warn the family to leave the house, as arrangements were being made to give Gen. Sheridan's army a hot reception. Philip knew another road which ran parallel with the one the rebels expected him to take, and sent Johnston word that Sheridan was no good, and that he would take the other road, get behind, and capture every mother's son of them. The hint was acted upon, and the artillery was removed. Levi is a resident of Louisa County, Iowa, and is the husband of Catherine Grenier; he was forced to remain by the Confederates and attend a mill during the war. William was a bachelor, and unable to work by reason of disability. During the war he was engaged in making wooden canteens for the Confederate army. Levi accumulated "barrels" of scrip, a part of which he yet keeps on hand to remind him that Confederate money will not run a Union mill. Elizabeth married John McCloud, a native of Vermont, and they reside in Rockingham County, Va. Sally A. became the wife of John Kelly, deceased. She resides in Augusta County, Va.
Our subject was born in 1817, and was married to Martha Anderson in 1842. She was born in 1825. Their eldest children, Huston D., of Jewell County, Kan., and Hester, were born in Virginia. Huston wedded Hannah Davis since the war. He was a veteran of the 4th Iowa Cavalry, and was engaged in all the principal battles of the war. Hester is the wife of Henry Summers, of Marion Township, this county. In 1844 our subject removed to Delaware County, Ind., and cleared a farm in the woods of that State. After residing there until 1852, he saddled his horse, and alone, made a trip to this State. He rode across these vast prairies and was well pleased with the country, but after his return to Indiana engaged in the mercantile trade in Granville, where his partner, William Morris (who was later killed by Indians in the Black Hills), almost made him a bankrupt.
Mr. Fishburn came to Iowa again in 1855, and for two years sold goods for R. M. Tickle and Thomas Tucker in Marshall. He owned 400 acres of land in Missouri, and traded it for a quarter-section near Marshall, where he first began farming. Later he purchased a farm near Havre of David Benson, and in 1864 bought his present farm in
Crawford Township, upon which he still resides. Many of the most substantial improvements, and all the fences he has grown since coming. More than two and a half miles of hedge fence is required to surround his splendid farm. The remainder of his children are: Lydia, now the wife of Madison Tucker; William D., the husband of Cynthia Bailey; James, a bachelor, who were born in Indiana; Jane, the wife of Lemon Bailey, of Merrick County, Neb., and Charles, the husband of Mildred U. Fishburn, who resides in this township, were born here.
The family are numerous and prosperous, and our subject is one of the oldest and best known citizens of the township. Forty-five years of a happy married life have sat lightly on their shoulders, and Mr. and Mrs. Fishburn have lived to see their children well married and settled and their grandchildren, twenty in number, have nestled in their arms.
RESIDENCE & TILE FACTORY OF
JAMES ECKELS [Eckles],
SEC. 2. FRANKLIN TOWNSHIP
JAMES ECKLES, tile manufacturer and farmer, resides upon section 2, township 75 north, of range 8, attachment to Washington. He came to this county in 1856, and located n his present farm. He is a native of Belmont County, Ohio, born Dec. 1, 1828, and is a son of John and Catherine (Shipman) Eckles. John Eckles was a native of Belmont County, Ohio, and was born in 1801. He was one of the best and most influential citizens of that county, and took great interest in its welfare. For many years he was Justice of the Peace in his native county. Religiously, he was connected with the United Presbyterian Church, and for some years was an Elder in that body. His death occurred Oct. 14, 1875; his wife preceded him eight years, dying in 1867. John's grandfather, the great-grandfather of James, was a soldier in the Revolutionary War, and Charles Eckles, the grandfather of James, was a pioneer of Belmont County, Ohio, and was very prominent in his day.
The boyhood and youth of James Eckles were spent on a farm and in a mill. He was educated in the common schools, but obtained a very liberal education. On the 7th of April, 1852, he was united in marriage with Miss Emma Ross, a native of Philadelphia, Pa., and daughter of James and Martha A. (Watson) Ross. She is well educated, and a lady of more than ordinary intelligence and refinement. James Ross was a native of New Jersey, born in 1796 and of Welsh descent. Mr. and Mrs. Eckles are the parents of twelve children, all of whom are still living: Martha E. is now the wife of Thomas Simpson, of this county; Annie C. is now the wife of J. C. Purvis, also of this county; prior to her marriage she was engaged as a teacher in the public schools of Washington County. William T. now resides near his father, and is engaged in operating the stone quarry; Mary B. resides at home; Elizabeth also makes her home with her parents, but is at present in teaching in this county; Annette is now in Elk County, Kan., engaged in teaching in the public schools; she was partially educated at Columbus Junction, Iowa. Lillie May is now the wife of M. F. Young, a farmer of Elk County, Kan.; she was a teacher in Washington County. John W. resides at home, and is engaged as engineer in the tile factory; Rena A., Leona J., Charles C. and Robert H. are at home. Mr. and Mrs. Eckles have also ten grandchildren.
In politics, Mr. Eckles is a Republican, and is now serving as Justice of the Peace. He has also held various other township offices. Religiously, he and his wife, with several of the children, are members of the United Presbyterian Church. Mr. Eckles, in connection with J. C. Purvis, established the present tile factory in the spring of 1877, and has since been actively engaged in the manufacture of tiling. He has a good trade, the factory having a capacity of 400,000 feet of 3-inch tiling, worth $3,600. During the season he employs seven men. He also has a stone quarry, employing two men, from which he gets out a fine quality of building stone. Mr. Eckles is the owner of 155 acres of valuable land in this township. Socially, he is pleasant and agreeable at all times, and while his stay in Washington County has not numbered the same years as many others, but few men have more real true friends than James Eckles. His wife is equally as well respected, and has a host of friends in Washington County. To her husband
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she has been truly a helpmeet, and her wise counsels Mr. Eckles ascribes much of his success in life. A view of the residence and tile factory of Mr. Eckles is presented on an accompanying page.
BENJAMIN I. JONES, of Washington, Iowa, is of Welsh descent, and was born in London, England, May 27, 1842. He is the son of Benjamin I. and Mary Jones, who emigrated to this country in 1845, locating in Des Moines County, Iowa, being among the pioneers of that county. His father died in 1846, leaving a widow and two children: Mrs. Ann Thomas of this county, and Benjamin I. His mother subsequently married John Jacob. She died at her son's home Dec. 1, 1185. Both parents were members of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
Benjamin I. Jones, the subject of this sketch, was reared upon a farm, and received but little schooling, what little he did obtain being acquired by going two miles and a half through the timber to school. He studied much at home when a boy and since reaching manhood, and can be called a self-educated man. Although living some distance from his countrymen, he can talk, read and write the Welsh language.
In 1862 Mr. Jones enlisted to defend his country's flag, but on account of sickness was not mustered into the service. Being determined to serve his country he again enlisted, becoming a member of Co. M, 8th Iowa Vol. Inf., on the 12th of August, 1863. He was mustered in at Davenport, and in October was sent with the regiment to Louisville, Ky., and thence to Nashville, Tenn. His regiment was a part of Croxton's Brigade; was with the regiment in every engagement, in the campaign of 1864, up to the time of what is known as Stoneman's Raid. He was then taken prisoner with the regiment, being sent to Andersonville Prison, and for some time endured the horrors of that loathsome place. After being paroled he received a furlough of thirty days, which was afterward extended to sixty on account of not being capable for duty after suffering in rebel prisons. He then reported at Camp Chase, Columbus, Ohio. He rejoined his regiment at Macon, Ga., and was mustered out Aug. 13, 1865.
After being discharged Mr. Jones returned to Des Moines County, where he lived on a farm until the spring of 1883, when he came to Washington, where he has since continued to reside. On the 17th of December, 1885, he was united in marriage with Miss Mary E. Bare, a native of Augusta County, Va., born Feb. 13, 1845. He is a member of the Presbyterian Church, of which body his wife is also a member. They have one child, Asa B., born May 17, 1887. In politics he is a Republican. He is also a member of the G.A.R. Coming to this county and to Iowa before its admission as a State, he has been an eye-witness and a participant in all things tending to advance the interests of his adopted State. Socially, he is respected by all.
At a soldiers' banquet held in Washington, in 1885, Mr. Jones read the following account of his life in Andersonville Prison:
"Three days after we were captured we arrived at Andersonville, in Sumter, Ga., sixty-one miles south of Macon. Here we were searched the third time. Capt. Wirz ordered every man to take off his clothing, giving orders to the guard to shoot the first man who refused to give up anything of value he might have in his possession. They took from us everything that was any account to them, even our blankets and what few cooking utensils we had. They intended to keep us on very light diet so we had but little use for anything to cook with. I had a little money with me, and was thoughtful enough to cut the inside seam of the bosom of my shirt and stick my money in there. They did not succeed in finding my hidden treasure, so I was better off than many. The reason, I suppose, that they dealt with us more severely than thousands of others, was because we were captured on a raid and were called the Brownlow raiders. Jim Brownlow, son of the Parson, was then Colonel of the 1st Tennessee Cavalry, which was captured with us. The Colonel made his escape, and I was informed that when he crossed the Chattahoochie River he had nothing but his underclothing.
"After taking form us all that they desired, and while marching us to the stockade Capt. Wirz said to us, 'I'll make you think you are in hell before you come out of there,' and I think he fulfilled his promise as nearly as a man possibly could. He was a small man, with a cruel countenance, very pale, and when he came into camp he alway rode a white
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horse; many of the boys called him 'Death on the White Horse.' He had a desperate temper, and would strike or kick a prisoner who was not as strong as himself. I saw him stamp one of our sick comrades in the face because he was not able to move as fast as he desired. If any of the prisoners made their escape and were recaptured, they were punished most severely. While I was there on of our men was strapped to a cannon forty-eight hours, without food or water, for the crime of trying to escape. Andersonville Prison was built of large pine logs, hewed and set in the ground four feet and fourteen feet above ground. It contained about twenty acres. Around it, and about twenty feet from the stockade, was the 'dead line;' if anyone went outside of this, or even touched it, he was immediately shot by the guards. I saw one poor comrade who had lost his reason, and who said he was going home to see his mother, cross the line, and try to climb the stockade; he was shot down like a dog. Through the prison flowed a small stream, with a swamp on each side. Above was the rebel camp, cook-house, stables, etc. Into this stream was thrown the filth from the camp and cook-houses above, so that the water was unfit for a brute to drink; all we could say of it was, that it was wet. I saw several of our men shot by the guards who were getting water under the dead line. Wells were dug in different parts of the camp by our men; ropes were made of pieces of clothing to haul the dirt, and half canteens were used instead of spades. but a few shallow wells were not sufficient to supply 33,000 men with good drinking water. Hundreds prayed daily for water, and about the 1st of September a beautiful spring broke out directly under the dead line. The only act of kindness that I ever heard of Capt. Wirz doing was to permit us to sink a barrel and a lead trough to carry the water outside the dead line. Some say that there was a spring there years before, and that it broke out again; be that as it may, I believe it was a direct answer from God to the thousands of suffering men; that it was as much a miracle as the healing of Naaman, the Syrian. In In the early dawn and until dark, hundreds could be seen at times waiting their turn to get water from 'Providence Spring.' Many would wait patiently for a long while, then stoop down and place their poor bony hands together in order to make a cup to contain water enough to wet their fevered lips. Some would have tin cups, canteens, little buckets that they had made with their pocket-knives, and old boot legs with wooden bottoms. Oh! how thankful our dying comrades were when they received a little cold water to quench their thirst or cool their burning brows, even if it was carried to them in a boot leg. In the last day it will be said to many of them, 'Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these, ye did it unto me.'
"But to go back a little, when we marched into Andersonville, we heard the boys yell 'Fresh fish! Fresh fish!' meaning that fresh prisoners were coming in. thousands crowded around us to hear the latest news from the front, others to see if there were some in the crowd they knew,or some from a regiment of their own State, among the unfortunates. I felt very sad to see so many dirty, ragged and sickly comrades at first, but there we were, and we also would be in the same condition soon, if not exchanged. At night my bunk-mate and I lay down to sleep with an old gum blanket under us, and a horse blanket over us. When we woke up in the morning, we had any amount of graybacks on our persons, and thousands of maggots around us and under our blankets. Graybacks could be seen on the ground every day, and felt every nigh on our bodies. When the sun warmed the ground the maggots would disappear until the next night. It was the same in all parts of the camp. The next day we selected a spot to stretch our blankets, bough four small sticks nearly as large as broom handles, for seventy-five cents, stuck them in the ground and tied the four corners of our blanket to them to keep the sun off. At night we spread our blanket over us, tucked it under, and placed the sticks between us lest some one would steal them before morning. The next day I bought an old quart cup for seventy-five cents and a case knife for fifty cents. The cup and half canteen were all we had for cooking our meals; these we kept between us at night for the same reason we did the sticks.
"Before we entered the prison we were arranged in squads of ninety, and threeof thse, 270, into a detachment. A rebel Sergeant was in charge of each detachment in order to call the roll and issure rations to the Sergeant of each ninety. The Sergeant who had charge of us would compel us to stand in line for hours in order that each one on the roll would answer to his name. If any one was reported sick he would have to go and see, lest some one had made their escape, or some had died. If the right person could not be found there were plenty of others sick who would be pointed out as the person whose name was on the roll. The soon got tired of coming to call the roll, but counted the men. Strange as it may appear, the Sergeant's detachment was always full. He might call the name of John Smith; some one would answer 'here!' although John Smith might be sick or gone to the Spirit land weeks before, yet some one was always ready to answer to his name
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in order that we might get more rations. One-half of the camp drew cooked rations for two weeks, and the other uncooked. When we drew our rations cooked it would be a little over a pint of mush to the man and almost always sour. At first we got a small piece of meat about an inch square every other day; soon they thought that was too much, so they gave us none. The cooked beans were abut half beans, and the balance bugs and sand. Why sand was put in, I don't know, unless done by the commissary before cooking to make them weigh in order that he might speculate a little. Whatever the rebels said about us, they couldn't say that we hadn't any 'sand in our craw.' If we undertook to skim the bugs or weevil out of our soup we would have to skim it all away before we came to the last bug. I had not been raised on that kind of diet, consequently it did not agree with me; but I did not complain so much about the quality as the quantity. When our rations were issued uncooked, they consisted of a little rice or coarse corn meal. This we would make mush out of in our tin cups, or bake in half canteens and eat it greedily, without anything, not even salt. When we made it into mush we put a good deal of water in it, in order to make as much filling as possible. The same kind of rations were issued to all alike, whether sick or well.
"Let us see for a moment what amount of food other nations allow soldiers: 'Prussia gives hers 50 ounces of food per day; Turkey, 42; England, 45; America, 50. The amount allowed our men captured by Great Britain in the War of 1812 was 32 ounces, besides what our Government supplied. At Andersonville the food allowed, according to evidence of prisoners and others, varied from 6 to 16 ounces of solid food per man, the average being less than 10 ounces. So ravenous had we become by starvation that many would eat their rations half-cooked; this would soon cause sickness, and the poor, emaciated comrades would be lie in the hot sun with no shelter whatever, no blankets or warm clothing in which to keep warm at night, no medicine to relieve their sufferings; thus they would lie for days, and sometimes would beg their comrades to kill them. If they had any clothing on that was worth anything when they died, it was taken off by those who hadn't any scarcely. A small strip of paper was pinned to their shirts with name, company, regiment and date of death written upon it. They were then carried in blankets to the south gate by some of their comrades and there left. I have frequently counted from 70 to 80 dead bodies in a row, remaining there until morning. On the 23d day of August 127 died, or one man every 11 minutes. There were in that month over 30,000 prisoners confined there, and death claimed 99 daily, and in September 90. through the cruelty of Gen. John H. Winder, who was then Commissary General of prisoners of war, and Capt. Henri Wirz, 13,174 of our comrades died there. If all were placed side by side, allowing 20 inches to the man, it would make a row of dead four and one-third miles long, or nearly three rows from the north part of our city limits to the south part. Thousands of those who died might be living to-day if they had only taken oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy; but no! rather than the Union be dissolved, rather than turn traitor and desert the old flag under which they had fought so bravely on many a battle-field, they chose to stay there and die. While I was in Millan Prison the rebel officers would frequently came in and urge us to take the oath of allegiance and enlist in their army, telling us that our Government refused to exchange prisoners, etc. A soldier from some Ohio regiment jumped upon a stump and said, 'No! before we will enlist in your army or desert our country's flag we will see your Southern Confederacy so deep in the bottomless pit of hell that it will take a search warrant from Almighty God to fine it.'
"This was very strong, forcible language to use, but it was our sentiment, although death was staring us in the face. The coarse food we got, without any vegetables, caused many to have the scurvy in its worse form. the gums would become raw, the teeth loose,the arms and limbs swollen to twice their natural size; they would turn as black as coal, and after a few days of intense suffering would pass away. The last and only act of kindness one comrade could do for another was to give him a little cold water. This was most faithfully done by those who were able. The strongest and hardiest of prisoners were soon reduced to mere skeletons; some would die before they were there three weeks. The thought of home and friends, the craving for food all day, the suffering that was all around, the torturing dreams by night, caused many to become insane. In my dreams at night I would imagine that dainty dishes, everything that a person could desire to eat, were before me. I would wake up to find myself cold and half starved, and could only get relief by crying like a child. Of all the starvation, torture and suffering that prisoners of war ever received from the hands of their enemies, history cannot produce a darker record than that of Andersonville.
"How well Gen. John H. Winder fulfilled his promise when he said, 'I am going to build a pen here that will kill more Yankees than can be destroyed in the front,' those 13,714 marble slabs,
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placed at the heads of our noble dead by our Government since the war, will testify. On the 25th day of November we were told that 1,000 sick would be paroled. I told my companion that I was going to get out if I could. I was very weak and could not endure prison life much longer, and thought it no disgrace to get away from there in any way except taking the oath of allegiance; that I would never do if I had to leave my body in Southern soil. Although so reduced in flesh that I could hardly walk, having been reduced from 150 pounds to 85 in four months, yet I succeeded in getting to the examining surgeon, who asked me what was the matter with me. I told him that I had scurvy, and that my time was out; it was a falsehood, but I thought it time to be out of there. He told me to go on. I didn't stop to ask which way he wanted me to go, but I went with the crowd that I thought was going to 'God's country.' That night we gave our names, company, regiment and State, and took an oath not to take up arms against the Confederacy until duly exchanged. The next day we steamed down the Savannah River and were taken on board a steamer. Oh! how glad we were when once more under the folds of the old flag. Some cursed the rebels and called them all kinds of names until completely exhausted; others cheered and shouted wept and prayed, and rejoiced in every way, because we were again free, and would soon see 'home and friends once more.' When we landed at Annapolis the ladies present each of us with a towel, fine comb, paper, envelope and pencil. It was not long till I wrote, something like this: 'Dear Mother: I am still alive, will be home soon.' My strength failed me; I signed my name and gave it to the ladies. This was a very short letter, but it was long enough to cause my mother's heart to rejoice at the though of seeing her only son once more, who, she thought, was numbered with the dead. Twenty-four years have passed since then, yet those horrible prison scenes are still in my memory. You may ask us to forget and forgive the past. God knows we forgive them, but we cannot forget. When reason is dethroned, or this hand has not the strength to grasp that of a comrade, when this heart ceases to beat—then we will forget, but not till then."
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