grandest armies ever mustered upon this
continent, competing side by side with the best and bravest of the Union
Army against the flower of the Confederacy, the best and bravest of
Lee's army, and losing nothing in the contrast. Never again while time
lasts will the doubt arise as in 1861, "Will the Negro fight?" As a
problem, it has been solved; as a question, it has been answered; and as
a fact, it is as established as the eternal hills. It was the Negroes
who rang up the curtain upon the last act of the bloody tragedy at
Petersburg, Va., June 15, 1864, and they who rang it down at Clover
Hill, Va., April 9, 1865. They were one of the strong fingers upon the
mighty hand that grasped the giant's throat at Petersburg and never
flexed until the breath went out at Appomattox. In this period it would
take page on page to recount their deeds of valor and their glorious
victories.

See them on the 15th of June, 1864, carrying the out-post at Baylor's
field in early morning, and all that long, hot, summer day advancing, a
few yards at a time, then lying down to escape the fire from the works,
but still gradually creeping nearer and nearer, until, just as the sun
went down, they swept like a tornado over the works and started upon a
race for the city, close at the heels of the flying foe, until
mistakenly ordered back. Of this day's experience General Badeau writes:
"No worse strain on the nerves of troops is possible, for it is harder
to remain quiet under cannon fire, even though comparatively harmless,
than to advance against a storm of musketry." General W. F. "Baldy"
Smith, speaking of their conduct, says: "No nobler effort has been put
forth to-day, and no greater success achieved than that of the colored
troops."

* * * * *

Or, again, at the terrible mine explosion of July 30, 1864, on the
Petersburg line, and at the fearful slaughter of September 29, 1864, at
New Market Heights and Fort Harrison. On this last date in the Fourth
United States Colored Troops, out of a color-guard of twelve men, but
one came off the field on his own feet. The gallant flag-sergeant,
Hilton, the last to fall, cried out as he went down, "Boys, save the
colors"; and they were saved.

* * * * *

Some ten or more years later, in Congress, in the midst of a speech
advocating the giving of civil rights to the Negro, General Butler said,
referring to this incident:

"There, in a space not wider than the clerk's desk, and three hundred
y