From the Pontotoc (Miss.) Examiner.
The Late Lieut. Richard A. Palmer.
The announcement of the untimely death of this worthy citizen and gallant officer, has filled our community with the deepest regret and profoundest sorrow.
Rarely in the history of our town, have tidings of grief cast a shadow of deeper gloom than has been visible for some days past upon the consciences of his numerous friends. He fell at the post of duty in the terrible and bloody conflict near Manassas, on the 21st of July, in the defense of all that is dear and sacred in the Southern heart.
The deceased was borne in Yorkville, S. C., on the 31st of September, 1833, and graduated with high distinction in 1852, at the “Citadel Academy” in Charleston.
Soon after graduation, he was chosen professor in the “St. John’s Military and Classical Institute,” at Spartanburg, in his native State, and subsequently was engaged as instructor in an Institution in Marietta, Ga. Late in the autumn of 1858, he settled in the town of Pontotoc, Miss., where he soon took charge of the Mathematical Department of the Male Academy, and had for some time under his tuition and faithful training many of those gallant youth, who in the recent day of battle ever rallied at his voice and sustained him in his last and fatal struggle. In the year 1860, he became associated with the “Presbyterial Female Institute” of this place, and in this connection, by the gentleness of his manners, the kindness of his discipline, and the purity of his heart, he won for himself the lasting affection of all with whom he was associated. At his country’s call he abandoned the class room of his choice for the sterner duties of the tented field. At the organization or the “Pontotoc Minute Men,” 2d Mississippi Regiment, Colonel Faulkner’s, he was chosen 1st Lieutenant, and in due time, by his high attainments, untiring efforts and superior drill, he raised his company to a degree of military discipline second to none under Gen. Johnson’s command. Near the close of that desperate struggle, where personal valor and heroic effort triumphed over fearful odds, and almost at the very moment, that the shout of victory proclaimed the routing of the foe, a comrade fell at his side. – True to the purer and holier instincts of his nature, our lamented friend and christian hero, while bending over and breathing words of comfort and consolation into the ear of the bleeding soldier, was pierced by a minnie ball, entering below his arm, ranging upward and lodging in his neck. He was borne at once from that scene of carnage, by kind and devoted friends, to a place of safety – and, at his request, was soon conveyed to Manassas Junction.
As he was borne along he spoke composedly of the fatal nature of his wound, the unerring certainty of his death, and of the blessed hope of immortal life, which cheered his heart in that hour of bitter trial. Sending messages of love to those he held most dear, he requested to be raised from his reclining posture, that he might once more look out upon the verdant grove and smiling fields, in contrast with the recent scenes of gore – and thus while resting his aching head upon the bosom of his friend his ransomed spirit rook its flight. His remains were becomingly interred in a retired, quiet spot, south of the Junction, near a kind and generous woman’s cottage. Around his grave were gathered his brave associates in arms, a devoted brother, and many of his faithful Yorkville friends, who shed the tear of sorrow over his earthly but honored tomb.
He had been for many years a member of the Episcopal Commission, but some months before he left this place, he attached himself to the Presbyterian Church by a renewed profession of his faith in Christ.
In that faith he constantly lived, and triumphantly died. Long will his memory be cherished by his numerous friends, who were won by the lustre of his manly virtues and sterling worth.
Brie as was his life, it was full of usefulness and promise. He died a martyr in a glorious cause. Around his honored name will ever circle a halo of unfading glory. For,
“To the Hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Death’s voice sounds like a prophet’s wounds;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.”
“We tell they doom without a sigh,
For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s –
Out of the few immortal names
That were not born to die.”
A. H. C.
Yorkville (SC) Enquirer, 8/29/1861
Harry Smeltzer
Bull Runnings 
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