Henry F. Winn

Oconee Enterprise
Friday, September 24, 1926

Another Old Veteran Responds to Final Bugle Blast of Invisible Army

Becoming over-heated because of over-exertion laboring in his garden, upsetting his already enfeebled system from which he never rallied despite all that human agency could do, Mr. Henry F. Winn, one of our oldest and most respected citizens , heeded the call of the Great Commander-in-Chief at 7 o’clock last Monday morning and, soldier that he was, again obediently took his place in the ranks of the gray-clad hosts “under the shade of the trees” with the immortal Jackson and his old invincibles of the “days that tried men’s souls.”

“Marse Henry,” as this fine old character was affectionately known to the old and young alike, and every one was his friend because he was a friend himself to everybody, had reached the honored age of eighty-five years on the 13th day of last March and during all the long eventful years he spent among us aught derogatory concerning him was ever uttered by anybody. As a barefoot boy the writer spent many happy hours in his little shoe shop, watching him expertly ply his trade, while interestingly he related his war experiences, advising our youthful mind in right-living, while pointing out the pitfalls in the pathway of youth. He loved children, always took them into his confidence, and right up to the end he delighted to have them around him equally as well as they were eager to be with him. He was youth’s friend and youth in return worshipped at his shrine.

Mr. Winn’s immediate relatives surviving are Miss Annie Winn, a daughter residing with him in the home here; another daughter, Mrs. Jim Butler of Atlanta, and a son, Rev. L.A. Winn of Statham.

Funeral services were conducted by Rev. John H. Wood of Winder, his old=time pastor, interment following in Watkinsville cemetery with the following gentlemen acting as pallbearers: C.C. Parsons, J.H. Langford, T.B. Fullilove, A.Y. Crowley, C.A. Duggan and R.M. Nicholson.

“Uncle Henry” was one of only two of three now surviving original members of the famous Troupe artillery, in which intrepid company, captained by the late gallant Henry H. Carlton, he became an expert gunner, famed throughout the length and breadth of Lee’s army for the accuracy of his three-pounder, with which it is said he could invariably hit a port=hole in the yankee fortifications with his second shot if he happened to fail in his first trial. He loved his old cannon so much and so well that he could not bear the thought of surrendering it to the enemy, so when the coder came to lay down arms, fully loaded and ready for any eventuality of peace negotiations, “Uncle Henry” affectionately buried forever from sight this engine of death on the bloody battlefields of old Virginia, where it will remain until that day when the Great I Am proclaims universal and eternal peace to the torn and bleeding hearts of restless humankind.

Farewell, old pal of mine, until that gladsome hour when we will again strike hands in friendly greeting in that world never-ending.