Delivered in the Grand Opera House, Topeka, Jan. 6, 1886, at
installation of officers of Lincoln Post, G. A. R., and other
organizations.
COMRADES OF THE GRAND ARMY, LADIES OF THE RELIEF CORPS, AND MEMBERS OF
THE SONS OF VETERANS: I was somewhat surprised, while reading the papers
this morning, to see in the program of this evening’s ceremonies, that I
was announced for an address. I entered a mental protest against this
detail for extra duty. I do not know what I have done to deserve it. I
was invited to act as “Master of Ceremonies” on this occasion. I did not
understand, in accepting the invitation, that the Master of Ceremonies
was expected to make a speech. I felt very much, when I read that
announcement, as did a soldier at Chicamauga. The battle was just
opening; the artillery was thundering at the distant fords; the crackle
of the more deadly musketry was swelling to the roar of a close
conflict; and a regiment of our troops was moving forward, in line,
through the forest. Suddenly a rabbit started from his cover, and ran as
only a frightened rabbit can run, away from the advancing lines. A
soldier, expressing, I have no doubt, the general sentiment of his
comrades, shouted out: “Run, you white-tailed little rascal, run; if I
hadn’t any more pride than you have, I’d run, too.” When I saw the
announcement referred to, I felt like running.
I wanted also to say a few words to the committee that took this
unwarranted liberty. I should like to express my opinion of their
action, but it might not, here and now, be exactly the right thing to
do. A few years ago Judge Hugh L. Bond, of Maryland, told me that
shortly after the war he went to North Carolina with a party of Boston
gentlemen who contemplated the establishment of some important
industries in that section. The natives were unreconstructed and sullen.
One of them owned a fine water power. The dam was there, at the mill
site; but the mill—well, you know the rest of this. Judge Bond said that
while the others of the party were looking around the place, he engaged
the owner in conversation, and among other questions he asked: “What
became of your mill?” The native replied: “It was burned by _Mister_
Sherman.” Said Bond, affecting astonishment: “_Mister_ Sherman, _Mister_
Sherman—why, who is _Mister_ Sherman?” The native looked askance at him,
and slowly drawled out: “Wall, Mister, he war a man what made hisself
powerful unpopular around this neighborhood a few years ago.”
I know a committee that was “powerful unpopular” with me this morning.
Indeed, I think that for a few moments, I would have liked to
_conciliate_ that committee somewhat after Gen. Butler’s idea. Col. E.
W. Hincks, of the Sixth Massachusetts, explained this idea to me, some
years ago. During the fall or winter of 1861, he was under Gen. Butler’s
command, and received one day an order to make a scout through the
surrounding country, and to report at headquarters for instructions. He
reported, and, receiving from the General minute directions touching his
route, duties, etc., turned to leave, when he remembered that nothing
had been said about how the inhabitants were to be dealt with. So he
said: “General, how shall I treat the people?” “Oh,” replied Butler,
carelessly, “conciliate ’em; conciliate ’em.” Col. Hincks saluted, and
started off. He had his hand on the door-knob, when Butler suddenly
asked: “Young man, do you know how to conciliate an enemy?” The Colonel
turned and doubtfully replied: “I do not know, General, whether I
understand what you mean.” “Well,” said Butler, “the _right way_ to
_conciliate_ an enemy is to take him by the throat and choke him until
his eyes bulge out.”
I was, however, honored by the invitation I received to act as Master of
Ceremonies on this occasion. Lincoln Post of the G. A. R. is the largest
Grand Army organization in the West—probably the largest in the country.
Its members represent every army, every corps, and probably every
division and brigade of the Union Army. Always enthusiastic, always
ready for duty, preserving fresh and fair the inspiration that warmed
their hearts and nerved their arms a quarter of a century ago, and
maintaining unbroken the ties of comradeship which united them when they
touched elbows in the long line of patriot heroes stretching from the
Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic—it is indeed an honor to be called by
such a Post, to preside at the installation of its officers.
None the less do I appreciate the honor of acting as Master of
Ceremonies at the installation of the officers of the Relief Corps. I
have often thought that, after all, it was the patriotic women of the
country who had the hardest part to bear during the long and dreadful
years of the war. The excitement of a soldier’s life, the changing
scenes of march and camp, the inspiration of comradeship, the pride of
duty well performed, the sustaining power of organization and
numbers—all these were denied them. Powerless except to suffer,
voiceless except to pray, and yet patient, self-sacrificing and brave,
mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts of this land felt every shot
that echoed on the battle-fields of the war as a wound, and staggered
under the load of every hardship or privation our soldiers were called
upon to endure. The women at home were just as true patriots and heroes
as the men at the front:
“The maid who binds her warrior’s sash
With smile that well her pain dissembles,
The while beneath her drooping lash
One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles;
Though Heaven alone records the tear,
And fame shall never know her story,
Her heart has shed a drop as dear
As e’er bedewed the field of glory.
“The wife who girds her husband’s sword,
’Mid little ones who weep and wonder,
And bravely speaks the cheering word,
What though her heart be rent asunder,
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts of death around him rattle,
Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er
Was poured upon the field of battle.
“The mother who conceals her grief
While to her breast her son she presses,
Then breathes a few brave words and brief,
Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,
With no one but her secret God
To know the pain that weighs upon her,
Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod
Received on Freedom’s field of honor.”
The boys, too,—the sons of Veterans—the young men and lads in whose
veins runs the blood of the heroes who saved the Republic; the
rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed young fellows who are your legitimate
successors, my comrades,—what shall I say of them? The Grand Army will
vanish as the years go by. Day by day its ranks will shrink and dwindle,
as they did, years ago, before the fire of the enemy. They cannot be
filled by recruiting. But I rejoice that such an organization as the
Sons of Veterans will survive, to keep green and fair the deeds of their
fathers, and to preserve the heritage of free government that their
fathers maintained. The blood of patriot fathers warms the hearts of
patriot sons, and I have faith to believe that any emergency demanding
such sacrifices as those the people of this country were called upon to
make from 1861 to 1865, would find millions of young men ready to brave
all, suffer all, give all, for Liberty and the Republic.
“Mother Earth, are the heroes dead?
Do they thrill the soul of the years no more?
Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red
All that is left of the brave of yore?
Are there none to fight as Theseus fought,
Far in the young world’s misty dawn?
Or to teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught?
Mother Earth, are the heroes gone?
“Gone? In a grander form they rise.
Dead? We may clasp their hands in ours,
And catch the light of their clearer eyes,
And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers.
Wherever a noble deed is done,
’Tis the pulse of a hero’s heart is stirred;
Wherever the Right has a triumph won,
There are the heroes’ voices heard.
“Their armor rings on a fairer field
Than the Greek or the Trojan ever trod:
For Freedom’s sword is the blade they wield,
And the light above is the smile of God.
So in his isle of calm delight
Jason may sleep the years away;
For the heroes live, and the skies are bright,
And the world is a braver world to-day.”
Commander-in-Chief, Comrades of the Grand Army, and ladies and
gentlemen, I await your pleasure.