Speech at the opening of the “Soldiers’ Fair and Festival,” Topeka,
January 28, 1885.
“_Now abideth Faith, Hope and Charity, these three; but the greatest
of these is Charity._”
In no age, and among no other people, have these virtues been so
signally illustrated as they have been in our own age and by the people
of the United States.
Faith in the Republic, in the grandeur of its power, in the beneficence
of its institutions, and in the freedom, humanity and justice of its
rule—this sentiment animated and inspired the soldiers of the Union
during the long and dreadful years of the late civil war.
The glad picture of a country saved, disenthralled and enfranchised—this
was the hope, imprinted on their hearts, that made their long marches
less wearisome, that shortened the lonely hours of the night watch, and
that nerved their arms amid the smoke of battle.
And the greatest of these virtues has been illustrated, during the two
decades since the war, by the quick, unfailing and generous response of
the people to every appeal made in behalf of those who thus risked
health and life that the Republic might be preserved.
The inspiration that prompts and organizes such a charity as this, in
which you, ladies and gentlemen of Topeka, have engaged, is in every
sense honorable to the Capital City. Kindly consideration of the needs
and sufferings of the poor or unfortunate is always a gracious
sentiment. But it is doubly so when it has for its object the relief of
men who once periled their lives for their country, and I am honored by
the part you have allotted me, to formally open this fair and festival.
In the bustle, rush and interest of personal and public activities, the
people sometimes forget how immeasurable is the debt of gratitude the
Republic owes to the soldiers. I have, now and then, heard good citizens
bewailing the burden of our pension list, and thoughtlessly declaring
that Congress was extravagantly generous in the pensions given those who
were disabled in the service. It is probably true that in some instances
the generosity of the Government has been imposed upon. But would any
young man in this assemblage consent to lose an arm for thirteen dollars
a month, or a leg for thirty-two dollars a month, or to go through life
blind and helpless for seventy-two dollars a month? Measure the
sacrifice with the pension, and no true-hearted, right-thinking man or
woman will say that the Government has done more than justice to its
disabled soldiers.
Nor should it be forgotten, in considering the obligation of the people
and the Government to the soldiers, that there was a time, not many
years ago, when everything in this country—its Government, its lands,
its money—was absolutely at the mercy of the army. When, at the close of
the late civil war, the men who had followed Grant, and Sherman, and
Thomas, and Meade, marched in review down Pennsylvania avenue, in
Washington, on their bayonets rested all control, all law, all public
authority. They had only to say to Congress, “These States we have
conquered are ours; divide their territory and give us patents for it,”
and it would have been done. They had only to say to the President,
Congress, and people: “We have each earned pensions of one hundred
dollars a month—enact such a law,” and it would have been enacted. Or if
they had declared, “Give every soldier’s widow or orphan one thousand
dollars a year,” where was the power to say nay? The Government? It was
their strong and steady columns. The Congress? They could have sent a
Corporal with his guard and brushed it away as you would a fly from your
hand. The Constitution? It was a mere faded parchment, as dry and
useless as a last year’s bird’s nest, if these men in faded blue
uniforms, marching with their tattered flags—these men who had looked
death in the face on dozens of battle-fields—had so decreed. But they
used their great power with the chivalry of heroes and the unselfishness
of patriots. They demanded nothing of the country they had saved.
Quietly and modestly they returned to the peaceful homes and walks they
had left, and took up again the broken threads of their old life.
Thousands of these soldiers contracted, during their service, the seeds
of diseases that were only developed years afterward. The surgeon of my
own Regiment, an old and capable physician, once told me that every man
in the army marching to Atlanta under Sherman, would sooner or later
suffer from the effects of the exposures and hardships of that trying
campaign.
And for unfortunates of this character, whose disabilities were
developed long after the war, the Government provides no pensions. Death
may result, but the widows and orphans of such soldiers can claim no
bounty from the country. For the relief of these soldiers, their widows
and orphans, private benevolence must be appealed to. And this is the
purpose of your organization. It is an object that should enlist the
sympathies of all, and I sincerely trust that the largest measure of
success may reward your efforts, and that a fund, ample for the purposes
indicated, may be provided.