Sheridan's 20 Mile Ride

Writing about words in my last essay motivates me to want to illustrate the motivating power of words in my own life and in the lives of those who gave their ‘last full measure of devotion.’ 

Some years ago my wife and I read together one of James A. Michener’s early works, The Bridge at Andau.  It was that book that a few years ago took us to Budapest, Hungary to witness the place where the brave people of Hungary, in 1956, put up the resistance against the powerful Russian invaders and occupiers. I think in the back of our minds we made the resolve that should we have to some day show such courage as did those people, we had the example before us.  We would do as they did if the circumstances demanded it.  We were glad their heroism was put down in words. 

On another occasion we read Michael Shaara’s superb Pulitzer Prize-winning Civil War classic, The Killer Angels.  We were highly impressed with the character, leadership and accomplishments of Union General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain at Gettysburg.   This book, too, took us on a journey—this time to Gettysburg to get the feel of this turning-place in American history.  

There is another Civil War general whose life and accomplishments—and especially leadership—came to light for me by the words of a poet.  Thomas Buchanan Read, the chronicler of the life of Union army General Phillip Sheridan, created a poem “Sheridan’s Ride.”

 General Sheridan had rapidly risen through the army ranks from a lieutenant because his great personal traits and leadership abilities proved he could move men. He had been given the command of the Union Army of the Shenandoah but was called to Washington D.C. for consultation when a surprise attack was made on his troops in his absence.  When the battle began,  Sheridan was twenty miles away at Winchester, but when he heard the report of the artillery where he had left his army he immediately responded.  But he did not reach the battlefield until his soldiers were already in retreat.  However, the sight of their general heading back into the battle instead away from it gave his men new courage and a greater faith.  As he rode up the valley at full gallop his soldiers turned and followed him to victory.    I end with Thomas Read’s stirring words of Sheridan and his steed:

Up from the South at break of day,

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,

The affrighted air with a shudder bore,

Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain’s door,

The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,

Telling that battle was on once more,

            And Sheridan twenty miles away.

            And wider still those billows of war

Thundered along the horizon’s bar;

And louder yet into Winchester rolled

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,

Making the blood of the listener cold,

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,

            With Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,

A good, broad highway leading down;

And there, through the flush of the morning light,

A steed as black as the steeds of night

Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight;

As if he knew the terrible need,

He stretched away with his utmost speed;

Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay

            With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs thundering South,

The dust, like smoke from the cannon’s mouth;

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster.

Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster,

The heart of the steed and the heart of the master

Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,

Impatient to be where the battlefield calls;

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,

            With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet the road

Like an arrowy alpine river flowed,

And the landscape sped away behind

Like and ocean flying before the wind,

And the steed, like a barque fed with furnace ire,

Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire.

But lo! He is hearing his heart’s desire;

He is snuffling the smoke of the roaring fray,

            With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw were the groups

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;

What was done? What to do? A glance told him both,

Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line ‘mid a storm of huzzas,

And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because

The sight of the master compelled it to pause.

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;

By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril’s play,

He seemed to the whole great army to say,

“I have brought you Sheridan all the way

                         From Winchester down to save the day!”

Hurrah! Hurrah for Sheridan!

Hurrah! Hurrah for horse and man!

And when their statues are placed on high,

Under the dome of the Union sky,

The American soldier’s Temple of Fame;

There with the glorious general’s name,

Be it said, in letters both bold and bright

            “Here is the steed that saved the day,

By carrying Sheridan into the fight,

            From Winchester, twenty miles away!”

Will words building resolve propel us someday
 to take our ‘twenty mile ride’ into the fray
 so we can do our part and help ‘save our day’? 
 I pray so.