grave by nearly all of our company and part of the garrison. He was buried with all the honors of war that is awarded to the departed soldiers; and I am free to say that he died fully prepared to meet his God. A breach is made in our company's ranks, a hero is gone to his long home.
"How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
With all then-country's wishes blest;
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold.
Returns to bless their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy feet have ever trod;
There honor comes, a pilgrim gray.
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And friendship will, awhile, repair,
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there."
There is nothing more affective, solemn and imposing than a military funeral. To listen to the roll of the muffled tumbor (drum), and the mournful music; after the slow, steady and solemn tread of the escort, their arms and regimental colors hung with crape. All conspires to render it a touching scene as it passes on, and at the grave, when the remains of the departed comrade are laid in their final resting place, there is something thrilling and sad, even in the report of the musketry, as the escort discharges their farewell volley over his lowly couch.
Sunday, September 12, 1847.—This morning Robert Eurick, Alburtus Welsh and myself took a walk to Jacob Banner's grave, and put a neat head-board at its head, with the name of Jacob Banner, Co. C, First Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers, cut in the boards. After which Mr. Alburtus Welsh, a bosom friend of the deceased, took a sketch of his grave and surrounding scenery.
The marking and naming of the head-board and sketching of the grave and scenery is done in case the friends of Mr. Banner wishing to take up his body, to take it to his native hills; so that there can be no mistake in taking up the wrong body.
