Ohio History Journal

VICTOR GILBREATH*

 

 

BY C. B. GALBREATH

The war with Mexico, like all others, had its side-

lights, its personal triumphs, privations and tragedies

among the men in the ranks. Of course, for the most

part these are lost to history. Occasionally, however,

through some accidental circumstance these are lifted to

the public view and endued with a degree of enduring

fame not usually accorded to the central figure of the

story.

The War of 1812 had its James Bird1; the war with

Mexico had its Victor Gilbreath. The former was made

famous through a ballad that became a folk-song a cen-

tury ago; the latter has found an enduring place in lit-

erature through a lyric by one of the greatest of Amer-

ican poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Just why Longfellow chose "Victor Galbraith" as a

subject worthy of his pen does not seem to be a matter

of record.  The poem appeared in Putnam's Monthly

Magazine in 1855, without comment or explanatory

statement. The latest Cambridge edition of Longfel-

low's poems contains only this editorial note:

Victor Galbraith was a bugler in a company of volunteer

cavalry and was shot in Mexico for some breach of discipline. It

is a common superstition among soldiers that no balls will kill

them unless their names are written on them. The old proverb

says: "Every bullet has its billet".

* From The History of Ohio, by C. B. Galbreath, Vol. I, pp. 590-594.

1 See Ohio Archaeological and Historical Publications, Vol. XX, pp.

418-421.

(575)

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576      Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications Victor Gilbreath has often been thought an imagin- ary character. The fact that he was a real personage and a native of Ohio is ample warrant for this sketch, especially since the site of the humble home in which he was born at Middletown, this state, is marked by a mon-

ument erected by the local lodge of one of the prominent fraternal orders of the United States. There has been issued in printed form, with a cut of Victor Gilbreath's birthplace on the front cover, a neat pamphlet containing what purports to be a true story of

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Victor Gilbreath                577

"Victor Gilbreath." It is well written, in popular style.

The opening paragraphs are an index to the entire story:

The terrors of the siege had subsided, the soldiers had de-

parted, the plains of Monterey no longer resounded with the roar

of musketry, the clash of arms or the wild alarms of cruel war.

The forces of General Ampudia were scattered in flight.

The city had surrendered to the Army of General Taylor, which

now pursued its onward course to greater conquests and more

glorious achievements.

The land was desolate, the ravages of war having left its

trail of ruin. The blackness of despair threw a shadow of gloom

over city and country far and near.

The birds had left their accustomed haunts and fled afar;

the stillness of life cast a depressing influence over all. Monterey

was indeed a stricken city. But while suffering from its wounds

the proud spirit of the native, though subdued, was not broken.

He would hide his scars, he would efface the marks that told of

disaster, that no trace of the invader's heel should mar the en-

vironment of the Castilian in the land of the Montezumas.

The substance of the story as related in the pam-

phlet is to the effect that "Victor Galbraith", a musician

and a lover of music, because of his association with a

lady minstrel of Portuguese birth, who came from the

City of Monterey with a harp, to play and sing for the

American soldiers, was supposed to have been a spy;

and it was reported that Victor Gilbreath had imparted

to her army secrets which she reported to the enemy.

On this false charge he was court-martialed, found

guilty of treason, and executed. This is the basis of the

romantic story as related by the author of the pamphlet.

The true story is somewhat different. To begin

with, the central figure of this tragic event was not Vic-

tor Galbraith or Victor Gilbraith, but Victor Gilbreath

-- an immaterial variant, but worthy of note in this con-

nection. He was born in Middletown, Ohio, about the

year 1823. The late Governor James E. Campbell

Vol. XXXV -- 37

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578     Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications

stated that his mother was a pupil in the school attended

by Victor Gilbreath and that he had frequently heard

her speak of him; that she said he was a harmless, good-

natured sort of fellow, but that she did not quite under-

stand why the great Longfellow should write a poem

about him.

The Gilbreath family moved to Mineral Point, Wis-

consin, in 1841. Victor was a tailor by trade and be-

cause of his musical talent and social qualities, became

a general favorite with the young people of the place.

The instrument of which he was especially fond was the

flute.

Early in 1843 the family moved to Galena, Illinois.

Here the drink habit into which he had fallen grew upon

him and new associates led him to gambling. At the

opening of the war with Mexico, Albion T. Crow, of

Galena, organized Company F of the First Regiment of

Illinois Volunteers for service. Gilbreath wished to

join the company and was urged to do so by Captain

Crow, against the protests of Gilbreath's mother, who

feared that his drink habit would prove his ruin in the

army. Crow, who knew his failing, promised to look

carefully after him and see that no harm came to him

because of his infirmity. So long as he was under Cap-

tain Crow all went well.

The company was discharged at Camargo, and Gil-

breath re-enlisted as bugler in Captain Gaston Means'

company of volunteer cavalry. And now began his

troubles, which later reached a tragic culmination.

Though good-natured when sober, Gilbreath was violent

when under the influence of drink. His new captain

made no allowance for this and evidently considered him

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Victor Gilbreath             579

a disturbing element, which he undoubtedly was when

intoxicated, rather than a real menace to the life of the

captain. The result was that he was court-martialed,

found guilty of habitual drunkenness and threatening

the life of his captain, and the order was issued for his

execution. He did not deny the charges of which he

was found guilty, but truly stated that he had committed

the offenses only when he was under the influence of

drink.

The romantic story of the lady minstrel has little

foundation in fact. Gilbreath was not executed for "re-

vealing army secrets" or for "treason". The execution

"under the walls of Monterey" on December 27, 1847,

seems to have been not only a tragic but a gruesome af-

fair. "He fell before the firing squad," we are told,

"and was placed in his coffin, which was left uncov-

ered". Before the hour for burial, his comrades were

horrified to see him arise with the blood streaming from

his wounds and call for a drink of water. This was

given him, after which he pleaded to be shot and relieved

of his pain. A second volley from the firing squad was

effective. Perhaps it should be added here that, sobered

by his impending fate, Victor Gilbreath met death with

firmness and composure.

The poem by Longfellow, so far as it relates to the

execution, is a vivid description of what actually oc-

curred. By special permission from the publishers it is

here quoted in full:

Victor Galbraith

Under the walls of Monterey

At daybreak the bugles began to play,

Victor Galbraith!

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580       Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications

 

In the mists of the morning damp and gray,

These were the words they seemed to say:

"Come forth to thy death,

Victor Galbraith!"

Forth he came, with a martial tread;

Firm was his step, erect his head;

Victor Galbraith!

He who so well the bugle played,

Could not mistake the words it said;

"Come forth to thy death,

Victor Galbraith!"

He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky,

He looked at the files of musketry,

Victor Galbraith!

And he said with a steady voice and eye,

"Take good aim; I am ready to die!"

Thus challenges death

Victor Galbraith.

Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red,

Six leaden balls on their errand sped;

Victor Galbraith

Falls to the ground; but he is not dead;

His name was not stamped on those balls of lead,

And they only scath

Victor Galbraith.

 

Three balls are in his breast and brain,

But he rises out of the dust again,

Victor Galbraith!

The water he drinks has a bloody stain;

"Oh kill me, and put me out of my pain!"

In his agony prayeth

Victor Galbraith.

 

Forth dart once more those tongues of flame,

And the bugler has died a death of shame,

Victor Galbraith!

His soul has gone back to whence it came

And no one answers to the name,

When the sergeant saith,

"Victor Galbraith!"

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Victor Gilbreath                 581 Under the walls of Monterey By night a bugle is heard to play, Victor Galbraith! Through the mists of the valley damp and gray The sentinels hear the sound, and say, "That is the wraith Of Victor Galbraith!"2

In concluding his contribution on the subject of this sketch, the writer of the pamphlet to which reference has been made says: And now the grave has closed over all who acted a part in that eventful day, the curtain of oblivion is drawn on the scene and Victor Galbraith, whose bugle blast echoes down the passing years, through the poet's narrative of his tragic death, is held in remembrance only through the traditions that cluster around his name in the old home town. 2 This poem is here printed by permission of the publishers, Houghton Mifflin Company.

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582      Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications The stone on which his name is inscribed and which marks the location of the paternal roof, is one that the government re- jected in the erection of the federal building, hard by the old homestead, and it therefore becomes a fitting monument to one who had mistakenly suffered the same treatment from his native country as that of the stone erected to his memory. His grave, unknown and unmarked in the fields of Mexico, the rejected stone mid the scenes he knew and loved stands the only monument to his memory, and the traveler on his way over the Dixie Highway, seeking places of historic interest, as he stands over the stone beside the Elks' temple in Middletown, will recall the pathetic story of Victor Galbraith, sleeping peacefully in an unknown grave on the plain of Monterey. Victor Gilbreath did not "mistakenly" suffer. He was the victim of a habit that then found little restraint in the army and he died under a discipline that was not tempered by the mercy of later times.

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