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Updated: May 27, 2025
NAYS Messrs. Ancona, Bergen, Boyer, Coffroth, Dawson, Dennison, Eldridge, Finck, Glossbrenner, Aaron Harding, Harris, Hogan, Edwin N. Hubbell, James M. Humphrey, Latham, Le Blond, Marshall, McCullough, Niblack, Nicholson, Noell, Phelps, Radford, Samuel J. Randall, William H. Randall, Raymond, Ritter, Rogers, Ross, Rosseau, Shanklin, Sitgreaves, Smith, Strouse, Taber, Taylor, Thornton, Trimble, Whaley, Winfield, and Wright 41.
If he had thrown his whole force upon Curtis's right flank at the point where McCullough fought and was overwhelmed by Davis's Division, there would have been great danger of our Army being defeated, or at least forced to the rear. There was no strategy nor tactics in this battle; it was simply men standing up and giving and taking, and the one that stood the longest won the battle.
The two forces of McCullough and Price were separated by a high ridge by the name of Pea Ridge, over which it was impracticable for them to connect, and, therefore, the two attacks were separate and not in concert. General McCullough, in attacking from the west, struck General Jeff C. Davis's Division. Davis had a Division of troops that had been thoroughly drilled.
McCullough had always been supremely great in characters requiring the delineation of madness Virginius, King Lear, Othello. Whether this had anything to do with the final tragedy cannot be said, but in 1884, while playing at Chicago, he broke down in the midst of a performance, and had to be led from the stage. His mind was gone; he never rallied, and ended his days in an asylum for the insane.
The President received Henry with great kindness, and told him to inform me that the whole matter had been more skillfully and successfully managed than anything in this line since the war began. He also said, that he and the Secretary of War could breathe freer since they had learned the fate of the cargo of the Will-o'-the-Wisp, and that McCullough and M ears had their deserts.
Price complained bitterly of his inability to obtain any aid from McCullough, stating that if he could obtain it he could march into northern Missouri and hold the State, and recruit there an Army of Missourians; which, from my experience in the State, I have no doubt he would have done if he could have moved there and held his position.
It is a coincidence that Edwin L. Davenport and John McCullough, also honoured names in American stage history, were born on the same day in the same month with Edwin Booth, though in different years.
The letter contained a minute description of Dr. Blackman and Professor McCullough. Certain reliable officers were at once detailed and dispatched to New York, with proper authority to arrest either or both of these men, if they or either of them should chance to enter that city. The President talked freely with me after this was done, asking me many questions about the feelings of the people.
The illimitable tenderness, back of the sweet dignity, in the betrothal of Virginia to Icilius; the dim, transitory, evanescent touch of presentiment, in the forecasting of the festival joys that are to succeed the war; the self-abnegation and simple homeliness of grief for the dead Dentatus; the alternate shock of freezing terror and cry of joy, in the camp scene closing with that potent repression and thrilling outburst, "Prudence, but no patience!" a situation and words that call at once for splendid manliness of self-command and an ominous and savage vehemence; the glad, saving, comforting cry to Virginia, "Is she here?" that cry which never failed to precipitate a gush of joyous tears; the rapt preoccupation and the exquisite music of voice with which he said, "I never saw thee look so like thy mother, in all my life"; the majesty of his demeanour in the forum; the look that saw the knife; the mute parting glance at Servia; the accents of broken reason, but unbroken and everlasting love, that called upon the name of the poor murdered Virginia; and then the last low wail of the dying father, conscious and happy in the great boon of death those, as McCullough gave them, were points of impressive beauty, invested with the ever-varying light and shadow of a delicate artistic treatment, and all the while animated with passionate sincerity.
Allison, but " "Crawl down, I say, George, it's Clay tellin' you!" And the change was made without further delay. Five miles farther up the road John McCullough and two friends lay in ambush all that day and far into the night, with ready Winchesters, awaiting Allison. But he never came.
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