10/26/2026
"You of the North have had drawn for you with a master's hand the picture of vour returning armies. You have heard how they came back to you marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory in a nation's eyes.
"Will you bear with me while I tell you of another army that sought its home at the close of the late war-an army that marched home in defeat and not in victory, in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory that equalled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes home? Confederate soldier, as buttoning
"Let me picture to you the footsore up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half starved, heavy hearted, enfeebled by want and wounds; having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, and, lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find-let me ask you, who went to your homes eager to find in the welcome you had justly earned full payment for four years' sacrifice-- what does he (the Confederate soldier) find when, having followed the battle-stained cross against overwhelming odds, dreading death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the home he left so prosperous and beautiful? "He finds his home in ruins , his stock killed, his slaves free, his barns empty, his trade destroved, his money worthless, his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders.
"What does he do-this hero in gray with a heart of gold? Does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day, Surely God, who has stripped him of his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so overwhelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches into the furrow; horses that charged Federa] guns marched before the plow, and fields that ran with blood in April were green with the harvest in June.'
Quote from the historic speech delivered before the England Society in New York City, 12 December, 1886, by Henry W. Grady of Atlanta Ga.: