Speech delivered at the Reunion of the Society of the First Regiment, Kansas Volunteers, at Atchison, August 10th, 1881.

Fellow-Soldiers: It is reported that an old Roman once said: “If I were not a Roman citizen, I would be a Greek.” This is an anniversary of the First Kansas, and upon such an occasion, and in a similar spirit, I declare that if I was not an Eighth Kansas man, I would like to be a First Kansas man.

This is especially a reunion of the First Kansas, but to their festival, with true soldierly fellowship, they have invited all other soldiers who care to join in celebrating the anniversary of one of the most desperate battles of the war, and especially all who have, not exactly “drank from the same canteen,” but served in the same commands.

With the exception of my own regiment, I had, during the war, a more familiar acquaintance with the First than with any other body of Kansas troops. And the First represented, probably more than any other regiment, that magnificent uplifting of national pride, patriotism and enthusiasm which succeeded the first shot at Sumter. No man who cannot remember the spirit of that hour can have any conception of the fierce, strong, irresistible outburst which flowed over the whole land when the flash of that gun revealed the Nation’s danger. There was more coolness and deliberation, and no doubt quite as much sincere patriotism and noble consecration to a great cause, in the formation of regiments under subsequent calls. But the men who responded to Abraham Lincoln’s first call for 75,000 men, represented, more than any others, the passionate resentment and white-heat enthusiasm of that most startling and momentous event in American history. To them belonged the soldiers of the First Kansas.

And the regiment nobly sustained the promise of its rapturous and wonderful organization. Within two weeks after the Governor had called for volunteers the regiment had its full complement of companies; in ten days more it was in Missouri; within a month after it was sworn into service it had formed a junction with General Lyon at Grand River; and in but little more than two months it had taken part in one of the most desperate and bloody battles of the war, losing over one-third of its effective force, and by its unflinching courage, determination and coolness, reflecting imperishable honor upon the name of the State.

Its subsequent career was alike creditable and distinguished. It participated in thirty battles and skirmishes; the tramp of its feet was heard in eight different States, from the Missouri to the Gulf; it marched over six thousand miles; it followed the flag it loved during the revolving seasons of three long, gloomy and eventful years; it made history wherever it went, and did its full share in the work of suppressing rebellion and annihilating slavery; and finally, when the term of its service was concluded, a large number of its soldiers reËnlisted as veterans, to see the war through to the end.

The soldiers who served in its ranks have a just right to be proud of the record of their regiment, and to unite, on such an occasion as this, in reviving the incidents and events of their comradeship. Into no living man’s life, probably, will ever come such a lifting of noble emotion as that which swept over our land twenty years ago, and sent the flower of our youth and manhood hurrying off to the war. What eager, exciting, restless, passionate days those were! Probably not one of you had the faintest conception of the reality of war. Most of you thought it would be over in six months or a year. We all forgot that the men arrayed against us were Americans, and that the war was to be the old, old story of Greek meeting Greek. Most of you thought, no doubt, as nearly all volunteers did, that you might be cheated out of a chance to meet the “insolent foe,” by a sudden collapse of the Confederacy, and the hanging of a man named Davis on the sourest of sour-apple trees. Few imagined that the weary months would roll on, until the three years’ term of enlistment should expire, and still another year must elapse before Appomattox came. But you did your duty through it all, fulfilling every obligation you had made.

And herein, I have always thought, the American volunteer exhibited the noblest qualities and the truest heroism. A battle is a terrible ordeal, but it never lasts long. It is the weary march, the silent vigils of the picket-line, the cheerless bivouac, the dull monotony of camp duties, the hard fare, the long procession of days dragging through spring, summer, autumn and winter—it is all of these, crowded full of discomfort, and fatigue, and hardship, and exposure, which wear upon the patience, endurance and courage of a soldier, and are the most severe tests of true soldierly qualities. There were many regiments in the volunteer army during the war that lost but few men in battle, but returned home with ranks as thin as if they had been decimated in many a fierce contest.

“They need no praise whose deeds are eulogy,” and the men of the First Kansas—those gathered here to-day, and those sleeping in their lonely graves throughout the South—have a monument that will endure forever; the stately monument of a reunited, free, happy and prosperous country. This was the glad picture which was imprinted upon their hearts when they consecrated themselves to the cause of Union and Liberty; this is the reward they won for themselves and their posterity; this is the inspiration of the gathering here to-day; this will be the theme of historians and poets centuries hence; and this will be the pride and consolation of one and all when you hear the bugle sounding “lights out” for the last time on earth.