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History of Wetzel County, West Virginia
by John C. McEldowney, Jr., 1901

Pages 59-77
HON. JOHN F. LACEY.

John F. Lacey, representative in Congress from the Sixth Iowa
district, was born May 30, 1841, on the Williams farm, just above New
Martinsville, Va. (now West Virginia). In 1855 he moved to Iowa, and
has made his home in Mahaska county ever since. At the beginning of
the Civil War, in May, 1861, he enlisted as a private in Company "H,"
Third Iowa Infantry; afterward made a corporal. He was taken prisoner
at the battle of Blue Mills, Mo., in September, 1861, and was paroled
with General Mulligan's command at Lexington, Mo., soon after. The
President issued an order for the discharge of all paroled prisoners,
not then deeming it proper to recognize the Confederates by exchange.
Mr. Lacey was discharged under this order. In 1862 an exchange of
prisoners was agreed on, which released all discharged men from their
parole, and Mr. Lacey at once re-enlisted as a private in Company
"D," Thirty-third Iowa Infantry. He was soon promoted to the rank of
sergeant-major of the regiment, and in May, 1863, was appointed first
lieutenant of Company "C." Colonel Samuel A. Rice, of the Thirtythird
Iowa, was made a brigadier-general, and Mr. Lacey was appointed by
President Lincoln as assistant adjutant-general of volunteers on his
staff. General Rice was killed at the battle of Jenkins Ferry, Ark.,
and Mr. Lacey was then assigned to the same position on the staff of
Maj. Gen. Frederick Steele, in which capacity he served until his
muster-out in September, 1865. He participated in the following
battles: Blue Mills, Helena, Little Rock, Terre Noir, Elkin's Ford,
Prairie d'Anne, Poison Springs, Jenkins Ferry, Siege of Mobile and
storming of Blakeley. He was struck with a minie ball in the battle
of Jenkins Ferry, but his ponche turned the ball aside and prevented
any injury. His horse was killed under him by a shell in the battle
of Prairie d'Anne.

Major Lacey's advancement was continuous, and although he was only
twenty-four years of age at his discharge, he had in nearly four
years' service done duty as a private, corporal, sergeant-major,
first lieutenant, adjutant-general of a brigade, adjutant general of
a division, adjutant general of a corps, adjutant general of General
Steele's command (15,000 strong) in the Mobile campaign, and finally
as adjutant general of Steele's Army of Observation (of 42,000 men)
on the Rio Grande.

Mr. Lacey's education was obtained in the public schools and private
academies. He was admitted to the bar in 1865, and has continually
practiced law ever since, having enjoyed a very extensive practice in
the State and Federal courts. He is the author of "Lacey's Railway
Digest," which includes all the rail way cases in the English
language up to 1885; also author of "Lacey's Iowa Digest." He served
in the Iowa Legislature in 1870, and afterward as alderman and city
solicitor of Oskaloosa for a term each.

Notwithstanding his long service in Congress, he has retained his
love for his profession, and kept up his connection with his law
practice. He represented the sixth Iowa district in the Fifty-first,
Fifty-third, Fifty-fourth, Fifty-fifth and Fifty-sixth Congresses. He
is now a member of the Fifty-ninth Congress. This district has long
been a political battle ground, and Mr. Lacey has had a hard contest
in each of the campaigns in which he has been engaged. His opponents
were General Weaver, Mr. White, Mr. Taylor and Mr. Steck, in these
various campaigns. Though active in political affairs, Mr. Lacey has
always preferred to be known through his chosen profession, rather
than as a politician.

An old and eminent member of the State bar and one of Mr. Lacey's
most intimate professional associates, submits this estimate of his
character:

"As a lawyer, Mr. Lacey easily ranks among the leading lawyers of the
State. His greatest success in life has been at the bar, and he still
holds a good practice, although for ten years a member of Congress.
His success has been attained largely by his indomitable energy and
industry. He is particularly strong as a trial lawyer, being full of
resources. When driven from one position he will seize another so
quickly and support it by such ready reference to authorities, that
he frequently bewilders his opponents and wins out on a new line,
which seems to come to him by intuition as the trial progresses. As
an advocate to the jury, he is not severely logical, not confining
himself strictly to a mere reference to the evidence, but takes a
wider range, and by illustrations drawn from literature or history,
he retains the interest of the jury, while at the same time
emphasizing some feature of the case."

Major Lacey is one of the Wetzel county boys who went west to grow up
with the country. His father, John M. Lacey, was one of the first
settlers of New Martinsville. He came to the town when it became the
county seat and built the house now owned by Mr. McCaskey,
immediately east of the court house. Major Lacey and Philip G. Bier
both filled positions as assistant adjutant generals of volunteers.
They were in the same class at school at New Martinsville when little
boys. Dr. John Thomas Booth, now of Concinnati, Ohio, was one of this
same class. Dr. Booth was a surgeon in the Spanish war, and a Union
soldier in the Civil War.

Mr. Lacey's mother was Eleanor Patten, daughter of Isaac Patten, of
Captine creek, Belmont county, Ohio. She is held in pleasant memory
by the old settlers. Major Lacey's parents both died in Iowa.

Robert W. Lacey, an uncle of John P., formerly lived in New
Martinsville. He died in Pasadena, California, a few years ago. His
widow is the sister of Mrs. Dr. Young, of New Martinsville.

Rev. J. J. Dolliver, father of Senator J. P. Dolliver, of Iowa, used
to spend much of his time when a bachelor, at the home of John M.
Lacey, who was an active leader in the Methodist church.

Williams R, Lacey, the youngest son of John M. Lacey, was born in New
Martinsville, and was named after the Williams family, who lived
north of the town, and who were ardent friends of the Laceys.
Williams R. is now the law partner of his brother, and is one of the
most prosperous and successful business men in Iowa.

Mr. Lacey, in 1865, married Miss Martha Newell, of Oskaloosa. They
have two daughters living, Eleanor, who is the wife of James B.
Brewster, of San Francisco, and Berenice, who is now a young lady.
Raymond, their only son, and Kate, another daughter, died in
childhood.

We here give an address delivered by John F. Lacey, at Des Moines,
Iowa, May 31, 1897:

FROM BULL RUN TO APPOMATTOX.

Comrades and Fellow Citizens:

I have come a long distance in compliance with the courteous
invitation of my comrades of Kinsman and Crocker Posts to address you
on this memorial day. To-day is a flower festival for the dead
designed by General Logan, when he was the Commander in Chief of the
Grand Army of the Republic.

Kinsman's and Crocker's names suggest memories of the past which
bring pride and pleasure to every citizen of Des Moines, and of our
whole State as well. Kinsman fell in battle, leading the 23d Iowa,
but Crocker, though he died young, still lived to see victory crown
our national cause.

We meet on this day with no political purpose, but lay aside all
partisanship and forget for the time all matters of difference upon
which we may be divided.

We assemble each year on this sad but pleasing memorial to pass the
old story down the line to another generation, and to keep alive the
spirit of fraternity, charity and loyalty.

The new corn comes out of the old fields, and new lessons may always
be learned by turning our eyes again upon the past. Let us again
revive

               "The memory of what has been
                But never more will be."

Every institution is the lengthened shadow of some great man who has
passed away. Our people have been led to greatness by the hand of
liberty.

The war was the penalty of a great wrong. Individuals sometimes
escape punishment in this world, because death claims them before the
day of retribution comes. But not so with nations—they cannot escape.
The wrong of slavery required atonement, and severe, indeed, was the
punishment that was meted out.

The men who fought against us recognized their first allegiance as
due to their States, and the soldier of the Union with a broader view
felt that his country was the whole Union. The war destroyed slavery
and again restored the old sentiment of Patrick Henry when he said:
"I am no longer a mere Virginian, I am an American."

We could not partition this Union. We could not divide the
Mississippi. Bunker Hill and Yorktown were the heritage of the whole
people.

We could not divide Yankee Doodle, nor could we distribute among the
dismembered States the flag of our forefathers.

When the war began in 1861 we were twenty-six millions of freemen and
four millions of slaves. In 1897 we are seventymillions, and all
freemen.

When the body of Jefferson Davis was disinterred and removed to
Richmond, the funeral train was witnessed by thousands as it passed
through many States upon its long and final journey, but no slave
looked upon that procession.

As I glance over this splendid audience here to-day I cannot help but
feel that a country filled with such people is worth fighting for,
and, if need be, worth dying for.

Kinsman died thirty-four years ago, but his name lingers upon all our
tongues. Crocker passed to the great beyond later, but his name is
still upon all our lips. The preservation of such a country is worth
all that it cost in treasure, blood and tears.

There must be an appearance of right in everything to keep wrong in
countenance, and our brothers of the South fought for their opinions
with a zeal and earnestness that no men could have shown had they not
felt that their cause was just. It is to-day the most pleasing of all
things to hear one of these men say, "I now see that the result was
for the best. I am glad that slavery has disappeared." Even Jefferson
Davis in his history attempts to prove that the cause of the war was
not slavery but the tariff. The day of peace and reconciliation has
come, and no heart to-day in all this throng beats with anything but
love for all who live under our flag. It is not mere emotional and
meaningless sentimentalism, but brotherly kindness between the
sections that were. There are no sections now.

Two ships may sail in opposite directions, moved by the same wind.
But the course of all our people has now been directed to the same
common goal. We meet in an era of reconciliation. The Grand Army has
no vindictiveness. I will recall the war to-day, but will not seek to
revive any of its bitterness. We should not forget it, but we should
seek to keep alive none of its animosities.

If I bring back any of its horrors it is to the end that we may
better appreciate peace. We renew the past to shun its errors.

The body of our great commander, Grant, has recently been enshrined
in a new tomb erected by the free will offering of the people in the
greatest city of our land, upon the beautiful Riverside Drive on the
banks of the Hudson.

Napoleon lies in state under the gilded dome of the Invalides and his
mausoleum is full of the inscriptions of his victories from Lodi to
Marengo, from Austerlitz to Pena and Wagram, and even the abominable
carnage of Essling is there commemorated.

But the silent commander of the Union army has a more noble
inscription than if the names of all his battles had been there
recorded. Over the door are his simple and touching words,

                   "Let us have peace."

Grant's victories made peace not only possible but permanent upon the
only sure basis of union. The Potomac joins friendly States instead
of separating hostile nations. It does not form a bloody boundary as
the Tweed so long separated the land of our ancestors.

Grant should have been buried near Sheridan at Arlington with no
sentinel but the stars, surrounded by the soldiers who had died under
his command. Amid the stir and living bustle of the great metropolis
his solitary grave seems lonely.

His example will live; obstinacy is the sister of constancy, and he
never despaired of the Republic.

On a day like this we all recall such names as Lincoln, Grant,
Sherman and Sheridan, but these names often all embrace our
collective idea of the men whom they led. Their names typify their
private soldiers. Thomas was the "Rock of Chickamaugua," because he
knew how to command men who were brave enough to be led.

Buckner complained at Donelson of the demand for "unconditional
surrender" as ungenerous terms. But he found that no terms were
needed in surendering to so generous a foe. Grant was dangerous in
fight, but he was kindness itself in victory.

When Lincoln's dead face was covered by Stanton, the great war
secretary said, "He belongs to the ages." So with all the dead whom
we commemorate to-day. Time mitigates sorrow and adds to the glory of
events.

Michael Angelo buried his Cupid so that it might pass for an antique.
Now a work of Michael Angelo is as precious as if made by Phidias
himself.

The time of was is now sufficiently remote to be reviewed without
prejudice. Who cares now for the assaults of Junius upon Lord
Mansfield? Dennis made a burden of the life of Alexander Pope. All we
know of him now is that he fretted Pope, and that his name was
Dennis.

Who now heeds the abuse that was heaped upon the head of the mighty
and patient Lincoln?

Rancor is dead with the dead, and malice does not go beyond the four
edges of the grave.

We speak of these men because it is more interesting and profitable
to study the example of an illustrious man than an abstract
principle.

When Lord Nelson was signaled to retreat at Copenhagen he turned the
blind eye, that he lost at Calvi, towards the signal and said that he
was unable to make it out, and justified his disobedience by a great
victory.

The people, young and old, are gracious to the soldiers of every war.
Early in the present century a veteran who fought at Stony Point was
indicted for some violation of law. His attorney succeeded in getting
the fact in evidence that the defendant had distinguished himself in
that battle and made good use of it in his address to the jury. The
verdict announced that "We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty
because he fought at Stony Point." The court refused to receive the
verdict in such a form, and the jury again retired and brought in
another verdict of simple acquittal. But as they were about to retire
the foreman said to the court, "Your honor, I am directed to say that
it was lucky for the defendant that he fought at Stony Point."' The
same spirit has always actuated a free people, When Aaschylus was
being tried and his life hung in the balance, his brother stepped
forward and drew aside the prisoner's cloak and showed the stump of
the arm that he had lost in the defence of his country. The mute
appeal was stronger than any spoken words, and the prisoner went
free.

At this time the period we commemorate seems as remote to the new
generation as the battles of ancient Greece and Rome. We think of the
men who fought in the Revolution and the war of the Rebellion as old.
It is hard to realize how young these men were.

I occasionally go into the museum of the dead letter office at
Washington and look over the album of war photographs which were
taken from the unclaimed letters of that day. The young features of
those soldiers look out from the past as a revelation. The sight of
the kind and boyish faces from the school and farm, the shop or the
store, and the new ready-made, misfit uniforms in which they were
clad carried me back to the days when as a boy I went to the front
with comrades such as these. Two brothers sitting side by side in
their army clothings sent their picture to their friends, but in
vain.

A young sergeant standing by the side of his little sister is among
these lost photographs, and the fresh young face and curls of the
girl of thirty-five years ago would make us think that one of our own
daughters had sat for the picture, were it not for the fact that she
is clad in the fashions of another generation.

Another young private and a lady who is evidently his wife look out
from the dead past in this album in the museum; and for hours you may
gaze and find the youthful eyes of the boys of 1861 again looking at
you. But we glance in the glass as we pass out and may well say:

                 "Time has stolen a march on me,
                  And made me old unawares."

We may take an invoice of our gains and losses but our years never
decrease.

When invited by Kinsman and Crocker Posts to address you on this
occasion I was about to take a few days' journey through the battle
fields of Virginia. These once horrid scenes are now as placid as the
prairies of our own loved and beautiful Iowa, save where the
earthworks remain as monuments of the past. Peace covers over the
field with living green, and seeks to obliterate even the memories of
blood.

In all ages a lion and a mound have thought to be a proper memorial
for one of these historic battlefields.

The Greeks at Cheronea twenty-two hundred years ago marked that fatal
scene with a mound over the graves of their dead and surmounted it
with a lion, the broken remains of which are there at this day.

Where Napoleon's old guard died at Waterloo is a gigantic mound two
hundred feet high and surmounted by the great Belgian lion, cast from
captured cannon.

When I visited that spot a few years ago the straw of a dove's nest
hung from the lips of the lion and peace had taken possession of the
very symbol of war. At Cheronea a traveler says he found the honey of
a wild bee in the mouth of the broken statue, as Sampson found the
honey in the carcass of a dead lion in days of old.

We are strong enough to preach and practice the gospel of peace and
arbitration. Speed the day when the prophesy of Isaiah may be
fulfilled:

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie
down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling
together; and a little child shall lead them.

"And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down
together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.

"And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the a3p; and the
weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice den.

"They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain; for the
earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover
the sea."

So in the once hostile and bloody fields of Virginia all now is
peace, but the scarred bosom of the earth still tells the story of
1861 to 1865.

Perhaps it would interest the young people as well as the old
soldiers to hear some brief description of these well known scenes.

The soldier of the west by such a visit will better realize the
heroism of his comrade in arms in the eastern armies. No one can look
over the scene of the conflicts in Virginia without according to our
comrades of that army the full mead of praise which brothers should
always award to the achievements of each other.

As a crow flies it is only 120 miles from Bull Run to Appomattox.
Measured in time it was a journey of nearly four years.

Measured in blood and tears it was a thousand years.

The journey was by various and devious routes; through mud and mire,
through sunshine and through storm, through summer heats and winter
snows, through dangers by flood and fire, through dangers by stream
and wood, through sickness and sorrow; and bjT the wayside death
always stalked grimly and claimed his own.

Twice did Bull Run witness the defeat of the cause of tne National
Union. It was indeed a fatal field to the federal army. When we
approached that historic spot from Manassas Junction we met a large
number of negro children on the road in holiday attire going to the
"breaking up of school."

Had Appomattox not closed what Bull Run so disastrous'y began there
would have been no school for these colored boys and girls. They were
the living evidences, of the changes that were brought about by the
fearful journey which the Union troops traveled before the
humiliation of Bull Run was atoned for by "peace with honor" at
Appomattox. The two hundred years of enforced ignorance must now be
compensated by the privileges of education.

President Lincoln came into the Nation's capital in the night to take
the oath of his high office.

Sumter was the scene of the first encounter, but it was at Bull Run
that the greatness of the contest upon which we had entered first was
realized.

The confederates gave this battle the more euphonious name of
Manassas. It was their victory, and they had a right to name it, but
yet in history it will no doubt remain as Bull Run until the end of
time.

In the open field at Henry's farm we were reminded of the struggle
that here terminated in defeat to the national cause. Here General
Bee was killed, and before he fell he pointed to General Jackson's
brigade and said: "There stands Jackson like a stone wall," and ever
after the brigade was called by the name suggested, and its gallant
commander was known as "Stonewall Jackson."

It is not far to Chancellorsville, where two years later this
confederate fell upon the battle field, and as his life ebbed away,
murmured, "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of
the trees." The spot at Chancellorsville is marked with a granite
monument, and the confederate' soldier, Captain Talioferro, who
pointed it out to me with tears in his eyes: "I loved that man. I was
wounded four times while I was under his command. I mourned his death
then, but I see it all now. It is all for the best. If he had lived
the Union could not have been restored. It is better as it is."
Whilst I do not believe that one man, however great, could have made
the success of the rebellion sure, yet it is true, not excepting Lee
himself, there was no man whose life was so vital to the rebel cause
as that of Stonewall Jackson.

But to return to Bull Run battle field. Standing where Jackson was
wounded, the Henry house is near by. An old lady, Mrs. Henry, was in
that house when the first battle began. She was bed-ridden, and
eighty-five years of age. No one thought there would be a battle
there, but supposed it would.

At Richmond the marks of war abound, and the approaches and defences
are still shown by trenches and parapets.

In all these Virginia battle-grounds the pits showing the empty
graves of soldiers whose remains had been transferred to some
national cemetery are to be seen on every hand as a horrid reminder
of the past.

Petersburg, with its ten months siege, invited our careful attention,
and the remains of the ghastly crater where so many men, white and
black, were slaughtered as they huddled together in the deep hole,
from which they could neither advance nor retreat.

At Spottsylvania we met a party of Virginia school girls who had come
twenty-five or thirty miles to see the famous region, and they were
looking at the fine monument built by the Sixth Corps to commemorate
the death of Segwick, their commander general. We told them that we
were going on to Appomattox, and they said they were glad the war was
over, but that they could not bear to think of looking at Appomattox.

Staying over night at a hospitable home near the Wilderness, we were
entertained with accounts of dark days of the war. One lady told us
with some of the old tone of remonstrance how the Yankees drove away
her cattle against her indignant protest.

An old confederate who joined in the conversation said their soldiers
were much more considerate and honest, for when they went to
Gettysburg they paid or offered to pay for everything — in
confederate money.

But let us hasten on to the end where peace spreads her wings again,
where Grant gave back to Lee's army their cavalry and artillery
horses to use in plowing the neglected fields of the South. He
treated them as our countrymen and then and there laid deep the
foundation of respect and confidence that, let us fondly hope, will
grow stronger and more cemented with the coming years.

Now and then some discordant bray is heard in the general peace, and
some one not particularly noted in the war seems ready to fight it
all over again now after it has passed into history. But fortunately
this sentiment is small and growingless and less.

In the last congress a fire eating congressman wanted to try it on
again, and announced that he was ready to renew the contest on a
moment's notice, when one of my confederate friends came over to me
and, rolling up his sleeve, said: "Do you see that saber cut?"
Turning his face he then showed me a bullet scar near his ear and
said: "I have two more of these mementoes on my left leg, and I have
got through with my part of it, and the gentleman now speaking may
fight it out alone next time, as he did not do much of it when he had
the chance."

The Appomattox field is marked with tablets, so that in a visit there
you may know when you are standing upon the exact spot where one of
the great events of that memorable scene occurred.

Speculative vandalism has done its work and the Surrender House has
been torn down and the brick and lumber marned and piled up ready for
removal to some other place, there to be again set up as a show house
to be exhibited for gain.

But the memories of Appomattox cannot thus be removed. The house at
some distant city would be out of place. Appomattox Mountain could
not be seen from its doors. Here a marker shows where Grant and Lee
met; there another where the famous apple tree once stood; another
where Grant set up his headquarters for the last time in the presence
of an armed foe; here Lee read his last orders to his troops as they
massed around him; and most interesting of all, here is marked the
place where the hostile arms were stacked to be used no more against
brethren forever.

Best of all there is no great charne' house at Appomattox. Nineteen
graves show that the confederate armies gathered their dead together
there, and in doing so they found one skeleton in blue that by
oversight had not been removed to a distant national cemetery, and
this Union soldier now lies buried side by side in the little
cemetery of the confederate dead, and his grave is annually decorated
with those of the men with whom he died on this historic field.

As we turn from the scene where the curtain rang down thirty-two
years ago upon the final act of the greatest drama the world has ever
seen, the full moon rose and soon "The woods were asleep and the
stars were awake," and only the note of the whip-poor-will dusturbed
the solemn silence.

In looking around to-day over this assembly we mourn more and more
the friends of our youth. Where are our comrades of 1861? Where are
those who broke ranks with us in 1865? We meet some of them here
today, grizzled and gray, and with young hearts yet, but alas, how
many have fallen out by the way!

  We miss and mourn them,

              "And the stately ships go on
                To their haven under the hill,
              But, O for the touch of a vanished hand,
                And the sound of a voice that is still.
              Break, break, break,
                At the foot of thy crags, oh Sea—
              But the tender grace of a day that is dead
                Will never come back to me."

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