The Battle-summer of 1863--A Turn of the Tide--Lee's Invasion of
Pennsylvania--A Threatening Crisis--Change of Union
Commanders--Meade succeeds Hooker--The Battle of
Gettysburg--Lincoln's Anxiety during the Fight--The Retreat of
Lee--Union Victories in the Southwest--The Capture of
Vicksburg--Lincoln's Thanks to Grant--Returning
Cheerfulness--Congratulations to the Country--Improved State of
Peeling at the North--State Elections of 1863--The Administration
Sustained--Dedication of the National Cemetery at
Gettysburg--Lincoln's Address--Scenes and Incidents at the
Dedication--Meeting with Old John Burns--Edward Everett's
Impressions of Lincoln.
Midsummer of 1863 brought a turn in the tide of military affairs. It
came none too soon for the safety of the nation. The repeated reverses
to the Union arms ending with the shocking disasters at Fredericksburg
and Chancellorsville--although slightly relieved by the costly success
of Stone River--had seemed to throw the chances of war in favor of the
South; and the Union cause was at the crisis of its fate. But now
fortune smiled upon the North, and its lost hope and lost ground were
regained at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. These great battles are justly
regarded as marking the turning-point of the war. It was yet far from
finished; there remained nearly two years of desperate fighting, with
heroic struggles and terrible sacrifice of life, before the end should
come. But from this time the character of the struggle seemed to change.
The armies of the South fought, not less desperately, but more on the
defensive; and their final overthrow was in all human probability
chiefly a question of time.
Emboldened by his success at Chancellorsville in May, General Lee again
assumed the offensive, and recrossed the Potomac river into Maryland.
Late in June he invaded Pennsylvania, and occupied a position
threatening Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. The situation was
most critical. If Lee could once more beat the Army of the Potomac, as
he had done so many times, these three great cities, and even New York,
might be at his mercy. The feeling in Washington is reflected in entries
made at the time in Mr. Welles's Diary. "Something of a panic pervades
the city," says Mr. Welles. "Singular rumors reach us of Rebel advances
into Maryland. It is said they have reached Hagerstown, and some of them
have penetrated as far as Chambersburg in Pennsylvania.... The city is
full of strange, wild rumors of Rebel raids in the vicinity and of
trains seized in sight of the Capital. The War Department is wholly
unprepared for an irruption here, and J.E.B. Stuart might have dashed
into the city to-day [June 28] with impunity.... I have a panic
telegraph from Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania, who is excitable and
easily alarmed, entreating that guns and gunners may be sent from the
Navy Yard at Philadelphia to Harrisburg without delay.... I went again,
at a late hour, to the War Department, but could get no facts or
intelligence from the Secretary. All was vague, opaque, thick darkness.
I really think Stanton is no better posted than myself, and from what
Stanton says am afraid Hooker does not comprehend Lee's intentions nor
know how to counteract them. It looks to me as if Lee was putting forth
his whole energy and force in one great and desperate struggle which
shall be decisive."
Following Lee, the Army of the Potomac, under General Hooker, also
recrossed the Potomac, and pursued the enemy by a somewhat parallel
route, but keeping carefully between him and Washington. The occasion
was one calling for the best resources of a great military commander;
and General Hooker, realizing his unfitness for the responsibility,
asked to be relieved of the command. Thus was thrown upon the President
the hazardous necessity of changing commanders upon the very eve of a
great battle. It was a terrible emergency. Even the stout-hearted
Stanton was appalled. He afterward stated that when he received the
despatch from Hooker, asking to be relieved, his heart sank within him,
and he was more depressed than at any other moment of the war. "I could
not say," said Mr. Stanton, "that any other officer knew General
Hooker's plans, or the position even of the various divisions of the
army. I sent for the President to come at once to the War Office. It was
in the evening, but the President soon appeared. I handed him the
despatch. As he read it his face became like lead, and I said, 'What
shall be done?' He replied instantly, '_Accept his resignation._'"
Immediately an order was sent to Major-General George G. Meade, one of
the most efficient of the corps commanders of the Army of the Potomac,
appointing him to the chief command. Meade was a quiet, unassuming man,
very unlike Hooker. Three days after assuming command, he led his army
against the Southern host at Gettysburg, where, after a most bloody and
memorable battle of three days' duration (July 1, 2, and 3, 1863), was
won the first decisive victory in the history of the gallant Army of the
Potomac. Lee retired, with disastrous losses, across the Potomac to
Virginia; and Washington and the North breathed free again.
Senator Chandler of Michigan, speaking of the terrible strain on Lincoln
during the progress of the battle of Gettysburg, said: "I shall never
forget the painful anxiety of those few days when the fate of the nation
seemed to hang in the balance; nor the restless solicitude of Mr.
Lincoln, as he paced up and down the room, reading despatches,
soliloquizing, and often stopping to trace the position of the
contending armies on the map which hung on the wall; nor the relief we
all felt when the fact was established that victory, though gained at
such fearful cost, was indeed on the side of the Union."
Amidst the murk and gloom of those dark days in Washington, when the
suspense was breathless and the heart of the nation responded in muffled
beats to the dull booming of the cannon of Meade and Lee at Gettysburg,
an episode occurred, with Lincoln as the central figure, which reveals
perhaps more poignantly than any other in his whole career the depths of
feeling in that tender and reverential soul. On Sunday evening, July
4,--the fourth day of that terrible battle, with nothing definite yet
known of the result,--the President drove out in a carriage, in company
with two daughters of Secretary Stanton, to the line of defenses near
Arlington. It was toward sundown; and a brigade of troops were forming
in position for an evening parade or review. The commander of the
brigade, General Tannatt, recognizing the President and his party, rode
up to the carriage and invited them to witness the parade. The President
assented. His face was drawn and haggard in its expression of anxiety
and sorrow. As it was Sunday evening, some of the regimental bands
played familiar religious pieces. The President, hearing them, inquired
of General Tannatt if any of his bands could play "Lead Kindly Light."
Then in a low voice and with touching accents he repeated, as if to
himself, the familiar lines--never more expressive or appropriate than
now,--
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on.
* * * * *
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene,--one step enough for me.
As the sweet strains of the familiar hymn floated on the evening air,
Lincoln's sad face became sadder still, and tears were seen coursing
down his cheeks. What emotions were his, who can tell, as he thought of
that great battle-field not far away, its issues yet unknown, its ground
still covered with dead and wounded soldiers whose heroic deeds--to use
his noble words spoken a few months later on that historic field--"have
consecrated it far above our power to add or detract."
General Tannatt, who knew Lincoln well and had spoken with him many
times, never saw him again; and his view of that tragic, tear-wet face
remains to him a vivid and precious memory.[H]
While the eyes of the nation were fastened upon the great drama being
enacted near the capital, events scarcely less momentous were occurring
in the Southwest. The campaign against Vicksburg, the great Confederate
stronghold on the Mississippi river, had been in active progress, under
the personal command of General Grant, for several months. The
importance of this strategic point was fully understood by the enemy,
and it was defended most stubbornly. At first Grant's plans proved
unsuccessful; the cutting of canals and opening of bayous failed--as
President Lincoln had expected and predicted. But these failures only
served to develop the unsuspected energy of Grant's character and the
extent of his military resources. He boldly changed his entire plan of
operations, abandoned his line of communication, removed his army to a
point _below_ Vicksburg and attacked the city in the rear. With dogged
persistence he pressed forward, gaining point by point, beating off
General Johnston's forces on one side and driving Pemberton before him
into Vicksburg; until finally, by the aid of Admiral Porter's gunboats
on the Mississippi, he had entirely invested the city. Gradually and
persistently his lines closed in, pushed forward by assault and siege;
until Vicksburg accepted its doom, and on the 4th of July, 1863,--the
day of Lee's retreat from Gettysburg,--the city and garrison surrendered
to the victorious Grant.
Lincoln's exuberant joy over the capture of Vicksburg is revealed in an
entry made at the time in Mr. Welles's Diary. "I was handed a despatch
from Admiral Porter, communicating the fall of Vicksburg on the Fourth
of July," says Mr. Welles. "I immediately returned to the Executive
Mansion. The President was detailing certain points relative to Grant's
movements on the map to Chase and two or three others, when I gave him
the tidings. Putting down the map he rose at once, said he would drop
these topics, and added, 'I myself will telegraph this news to General
Meade.' He seized his hat, but suddenly stopped, his countenance beaming
with joy; he caught my hand, and throwing his arm around me, exclaimed,
'What can we do for the Secretary of the Navy for this glorious
intelligence? He is always giving us good news. I cannot, in words, tell
you my joy over this result. It is great, Mr. Welles, it is great!' ...
We walked the lawn together. 'This,' said he, 'will relieve Banks. It
will inspire me.'"
The Union victories at Vicksburg and Gettysburg caused great rejoicing
at the North, and gave added zest to the celebration of the national
patriotic holiday. President Lincoln, mindful of the "almost
inestimable services," as he termed them, of General Grant, and as it
was his wont to do in such circumstances, made haste to acknowledge his
own and the country's indebtedness to the man who had accomplished a
great deed. He addressed to the conqueror of Vicksburg the following
letter:
EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D.C.
July 13, 1863.
MAJOR-GENERAL GRANT.
MY DEAR GENERAL:--I do not remember that you and I ever met
personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the
almost inestimable services you have done the country. I write to
say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of
Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did--march the
troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and
thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope
that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition, and
the like, could succeed. When you got below, and took Port Gibson,
Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river,
and join General Banks, and when you turned northward, east of the
Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the
personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong.
Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.
An officer who was the first from Grant's army to reach Washington after
the surrender of Vicksburg, has recorded the circumstances of his
interview with the President. "Mr. Lincoln received me very cordially,"
says this officer, "and drawing a chair near to himself and motioning me
to be seated said, 'Now I want to hear all about Vicksburg.' I gave him
all the information I could, though he appeared to be remarkably well
posted himself. He put to me a great many questions in detail touching
the siege, the losses, the morale of the army, its sanitary condition,
the hospital service, and General Grant. Said he: 'I guess I was right
in standing by Grant, although there was great pressure made after
Pittsburg Landing to have him removed. I thought I saw enough in Grant
to convince me that he was one on whom the country could depend. That
'unconditional surrender' message to Buckner at Donelson suited me. It
indicated the spirit of the man."
It is interesting to note that before the capture of Vicksburg the
protracted campaign had occasioned no little dissatisfaction with
General Grant; the President had been importuned to remove him, and had
much formidable opposition to encounter in his determination to stand by
him. Only a few days before the capitulation of the beleaguered city,
Senator Wade of Ohio--"Bluff Ben Wade," as he was termed--called upon
the President and urged Grant's dismissal; to which Lincoln
good-naturedly replied, "Senator, that reminds me of a story." "Yes,
yes," rejoined Wade petulantly, "that is the way it is with you, sir,
all _story--story_! You are the father of every military blunder that
has been made during the war. You are on your road to h--l, sir, with
this Government, and you are not a mile off this minute." Lincoln calmly
retorted, "Senator, that is just about the distance from here to the
Capitol, is it not?" The exasperated Wade grabbed his hat and rushed
angrily from the White House.
It is not pleasant to record that the cordial and generous
congratulations to Grant for his achievements at Vicksburg were in
marked contrast to the rather grudging recognition of Meade's much more
important and hard-won victory at Gettysburg. In the latter case the
despatches from Washington took the form not so much of acknowledgments
of what had been done as of complaints at what had not been done. It is
hard to believe that the President dictated, or even authorized, the
ill-timed and peevish despatch sent to General Meade[I] by the
inopportune Halleck, a few days after the battle of Gettysburg, in which
the victor on that desperate field is officially informed that "the
escape of Lee's army has created great dissatisfaction in the mind of
the President, and it will require an active and energetic pursuit to
remove the impression that it has not been sufficiently active before."
To this extraordinary message Meade at once made a simple and manly
rejoinder in which he said: "Having performed my duty conscientiously
and to the best of my ability, the censure of the President, as conveyed
in your despatch, is in my judgment so undeserved that I feel compelled
most respectfully to ask to be immediately relieved from the command of
this army." Halleck replied, rather ineptly, that his despatch had not
been intended as a censure, but as a "stimulus," and was not regarded as
a sufficient cause for Meade's request to be relieved. When one thinks
of the ill-fortunes of the Army of the Potomac under previous
commanders, and of the unlikelihood of finding a successor to Meade as
capable as he had shown himself to be, one shudders at the chances of
what might have happened had another change of leaders been forced upon
that long-suffering and now victorious army. General Meade did not press
his resignation after Halleck's conciliatory telegrams, and remained in
immediate command of the Army of the Potomac until the close of the
war--Grant's accession to the chief command of all the armies having
marked the end of the well-meant but often ill-advised and troublesome
interference with military affairs from Washington.
Mr. Isaac R. Pennypacker, in his Life of General Meade, speaks of
Halleck and other prominent officials in Washington in these terms:
"Possessing much of the skill of the lawyer and disputant, Halleck was
without military ability. The Secretary of War, like many other men who
exercise vast power, was not great enough to refrain from the use of his
authority in matters where his knowledge and experience did not qualify
him to form the soundest views. Acting with these military authorities
were men like Wade and Chandler, whose patriotism was of the exuberant
kind, whose judgment in military affairs was without value, but whose
personal energy impelled them to have a controlling hand, if possible,
in the conduct of the war."
Lincoln's dissatisfaction with General Meade after the battle of
Gettysburg was due, as we now see, to his elation over the splendid
victory for the Union, his intense desire for further and overwhelming
successes, and his failure (a quite natural one) to realize that what
might seem desirable and feasible viewed from Washington might look very
different to the practical and experienced men actually on the ground
and familiar as he could not be with all the factors in the
situation.[J] "He thought," wrote General Halleck in an explanatory
letter sent to Meade two weeks after his despatch of censure, "that
Lee's defeat was so certain that he felt no little impatience at his
unexpected escape." Among military authorities, such a retreat as that
of Lee after Gettysburg is hardly regarded as an "escape." If it were,
then great must be the fault of Lee as a general in allowing the
defeated armies of Burnside and Hooker to "escape" after the battles of
Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, where their repulse was much worse
than was Lee's at Gettysburg. That Lincoln's first feelings of
disappointment and dissatisfaction with General Meade were greatly
modified with fuller knowledge of the actual situation after the battle
of Gettysburg is shown by a remark made by him to Senator Cameron,
referring to Meade: "Why should we censure a man who has done so much
for his country because he did not do a little more?" And if any debt
of recognition or of gratitude yet remained due from him, it was more
than paid a few months later in the unsurpassed tribute at Gettysburg to
"the brave men, living and dead," who gained the victory on that
hallowed field.
The improved condition of public affairs, and the increasing
cheerfulness of the President, after the victories at Gettysburg and
Vicksburg, are exhibited in a letter written by him a few weeks later to
friends at Springfield, Illinois, who had urgently invited him to attend
"a mass-meeting of Unconditional Union men" at his old home. In this
letter he took occasion to declare his sentiments on various questions
paramount at the time. Among these was the subject of a compromise with
the South, against which he argued with great force and feeling. Again,
he defended the Emancipation Proclamation, a measure to which many Union
men were still unreconciled. He referred also to the arming of the
negroes as a just and wise expedient; finally concluding with these
expressive and felicitous words:
The signs look better. The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to
the sea. Thanks to the great Northwest for it; nor yet wholly to
them. Three hundred miles up they met New England, Empire,
Keystone, and Jersey, hewing their way right and left. The sunny
South, too, in more colors than one, also lent a helping hand. On
the spot, their part of the history was jotted down in black and
white. The job was a great national one, and let none be slighted
who bore an honorable part in it. And while those who have cleared
the great river may well be proud, even that is not all. It is hard
to say that anything has been more bravely and well done than at
Antietam, Murfreesboro, Gettysburg, and on many fields of less
note. Nor must Uncle Sam's web-feet be forgotten. At all the
watery margins they have been present, not only on the deep sea,
the broad bay, and the rapid river, but also up the narrow, muddy
bayou, and wherever the ground was a little damp they have been and
made their tracks. Thanks to all. For the great Republic--for the
principle it lives by and keeps alive--for man's vast
future--thanks to all. Peace does not appear so distant as it did.
I hope it will come soon and come to stay; and so come as to be
worth the keeping in all future time. It will then have been proved
that among freemen there can be no successful appeal from the
ballot to the bullet, and that they who take such appeal are sure
to lose their case and pay the cost. And there will be some black
men who can remember that, with silent tongue, and clinched teeth,
and steady eye, and well-poised bayonet, they have helped mankind
on to this great consummation; while I fear there will be some
white ones unable to forget that with malignant heart and deceitful
speech they have striven to hinder it. Still, let us not be
over-sanguine of a speedy final triumph. Let us be quite sober. Let
us diligently apply the means, never doubting that a just God, in
His own good time, will give us the rightful result.
In a public proclamation, issued October 3, the President gives more
formal expression to his satisfaction and gratitude, and calls upon the
loyal people of the Union to unite in a day of thanksgiving for the
improved prospects of the country.
The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the
blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these
bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to
forget the source from which they come, others have been added
which are of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to
penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible
to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a
civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes
seemed to invite and provoke the aggressions of foreign states,
peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been
maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony
has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military
conflict, while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the
advancing armies and navies of the Union. The needful diversion of
wealth and strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the
national defense has not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the
ship. The axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the
mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have
yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has
steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in
the camp, the siege, and the battle-field; and the country,
rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is
permitted to expect a continuance of years with large increase of
freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand
worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the
Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins,
hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and
proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully
acknowledged, as with one heart and voice, by the whole American
people. I do, therefore, invite my fellow-citizens in every part of
the United States, and also those who are at sea, and those who are
sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last
Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and prayer to
our beneficent Father, who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend
to them that, while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him
for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with
humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience,
commend to His tender care all those who have become widows,
orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in
which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the
interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the
nation, and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the
divine purposes, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony,
tranquility, and union.
The brightening prospects of the Union cause quickly produced a better
state of feeling at the North. In the fall elections of 1863, every
State except New Jersey gave solid majorities on the Republican side,
thus strengthening the administration and giving the President welcome
assurances of popular approval. He had awaited with special anxiety the
returns from Ohio, where the contest was fraught with peculiar
significance. The Democrats had chosen for their candidate the notorious
peace-at-any-price Vallandigham, against whom the Republicans had placed
John Brough of Cleveland. On the night of the election, about ten
o'clock, a message clicked on the wires in the telegraph office of the
latter city, saying, "Where is John Brough? A. Lincoln." Brough was at
hand, and directly the electric voice inquired, "Brough, about what is
your majority now?" Brough replied, "Over 30,000." Lincoln requested
Brough to remain at the office during the night. A little past midnight
the question came again from Lincoln, "Brough, what is your majority by
this time?" Brough replied, "Over 50,000." And the question was thus
repeated and answered several times, with rapidly increasing majorities,
till five o'clock in the morning, when the question came again, "Brough,
what is your majority now?" The latter was able to respond, "Over
100,000." As soon as the words could be flashed back over the wire,
there came: "_Glory to God in the highest. Ohio has saved the Nation. A.
Lincoln_."
The day after the election in Ohio (October 14, 1863) Lincoln said to
Secretary Welles that he had felt more anxiety in regard to the results
than he had in 1860 when he was chosen President. He could not have
believed four years ago, he said, that one genuine American would or
could be induced to vote for such a man as Vallandigham. Yet he had been
made the candidate of a large party, and received a vote that is a
discredit to the country. Mr. Welles adds: "The President showed a good
deal of emotion as he dwelt on this subject."
After the battle of Gettysburg, a portion of the ground on which the
engagement was fought was purchased by the State of Pennsylvania for a
burial-place for the Union soldiers who were slain in that bloody
encounter. The tract included seventeen and a half acres adjoining the
town cemetery. It was planned to consecrate the ground with imposing
ceremonies, in which the President, accompanied by his Cabinet and a
large body of the military, was invited to assist. The day appointed was
the 19th of November; and the chief orator selected was Massachusetts'
eloquent son, Hon. Edward Everett. Following him it was expected that
the President would add some testimonials in honor of the dead.
Lincoln and Everett were representatives of two contrasting phases of
American civilization: the one, an outgrowth of the rough pioneer life
of the West; the other, the product of the highest culture of the East.
They had met for the first time on this memorable day. Everett's oration
was a finished literary production. Smooth, euphonious, and elegant, it
was delivered with the silvery tones and the graceful gestures of a
trained and consummate speaker. When he had finished, and the applause
that greeted him had died away, the multitude called vociferously for an
address from Lincoln. With an unconscious air, the President came
forward at the call, put his spectacles on his nose, and read, in a
quiet voice which gradually warmed with feeling, while his careworn face
became radiant with the light of genuine emotion, the following brief
address:
Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this
continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a
great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so
conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great
battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of
that field as a final resting-place of those who here gave their
lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and
proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot
dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The
brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated
it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will
little note nor long remember what we _say_ here, but it can never
forget what they _did_ here. It is for us, the living, rather, to
be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here
have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here
dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these
honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which
they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this
nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that
government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not
perish from the earth.
The simple and sublime words of this short address shook the hearts of
the listeners, and before the first sentence was ended they were under
the spell of a mighty magician. They stood hushed, awed, and melted, as
the speaker enforced the solemn lesson of the hour, and brought home to
them, in plain unvarnished terms, the duty which remained for them to
do--to finish the work which the dead around them had given their lives
to carry on. It was one of the briefest of the many speeches with which
Lincoln had swayed the impulses and opinions of crowds of his
fellow-men, but it is the one which will be remembered above all others
as hallowed by the truest and loftiest inspiration. As the final
sentence ended, amid the tears and sobs and cheers of the excited
throng, the President turned to Mr. Everett, and, grasping his hand,
exclaimed with sincerity, "I congratulate you on your success." Mr.
Everett responded in the fervor of his emotion, "Ah, Mr. President, how
gladly would I exchange all my hundred pages to have been the author of
your twenty lines!"
Of all Lincoln's public utterances, this is unquestionably the most
remarkable. The oration, brief and unpretending as it is, will remain a
classic of the English language. "The Westminster Review," one of the
foremost of the great English quarterlies, said of it: "It has but one
equal, in that pronounced upon those who fell in the first year of the
Peloponnesian War; and in one respect it is superior to that great
speech. It is not only more natural, fuller of feeling, more touching
and pathetic, but we know with absolute certainty that _it was really
delivered_. Nature here takes precedence of art--even though it be the
art of Thucydides."
"An illustration of the difference between oratory and inspiration" is
Mr. John Bigelow's happy characterization of the Gettysburg address. "It
was," he adds, "one of the most momentous incidents in the history of
the Civil War. It may be doubted whether anything had then, or has
since, been said of that national strife conceived upon a higher and
wiser spiritual plane.... It is perhaps, on the whole, the most enduring
bit of eloquence that has ever been uttered on this continent; and yet
one finds in it none of the tricks of the forum or the stage, nor any
trace of the learning of the scholar, nor the need of it."
Major Harry T. Lee, who was himself a participant in the battle of
Gettysburg and occupied a seat on the platform at the dedication, says
that the people listened with marked attention through the two hours of
Everett's noble and scholarly oration; but that when Lincoln came
forward, and in a voice burdened with emotion uttered his simple and
touching eulogy on "the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here,"
there was scarcely a dry eye in the whole vast audience.
Mr. John Russell Young, afterwards U.S. Minister to China, was present
at the Gettysburg dedication, and says: "I sat behind Mr. Lincoln while
Mr. Everett delivered his oration. I remember the great orator had a way
of raising and dropping his handkerchief as he spoke. He spoke for two
hours, and was very impressive, with his white hair and venerable
figure. He was a great orator, but it was like a bit of Greek
sculpture--beautiful, but cold as ice. It was perfect art, but without
feeling. The art and beauty of it captured your imagination and
judgment. Mr. Everett went over the campaign with resonant, clear,
splendid rhetoric. There was not a word or a sentence or a thought that
could be corrected. You felt that every gesture had been carefully
studied out beforehand. It was like a great actor playing a great
part.... Mr. Lincoln rose, walked to the edge of the platform, took out
his glasses, and put them on. He was awkward. He bowed to the assemblage
in his homely manner, and took out of his coat pocket a page of
foolscap. In front of Mr. Lincoln was a photographer with his camera,
endeavoring to take a picture of the scene. We all supposed that Mr.
Lincoln would make rather a long speech--a half-hour at least. He took
the single sheet of foolscap, held it almost to his nose, and in his
high tenor voice, without the least attempt at effect, delivered that
most extraordinary address which belongs to the classics of literature.
The photographer was bustling about, preparing to take the President's
picture while he was speaking, but Mr. Lincoln finished before the
photographer was ready."
It is stated that when President Lincoln reached the town of Gettysburg,
on his way to attend the exercises at the cemetery, he inquired for "Old
John Burns," the hero of the battle of Gettysburg, who left his farm and
fought with the Union soldiers upon that bloody field. The veteran was
sent for; and on his arrival the President showed him marked attention,
taking him by the arm and walking with him in the procession through the
streets to the cemetery.
Edward Everett, who was associated with Lincoln during these two or
three days, says of the impression the President made on him: "I
recognized in the President a full measure of the qualities which
entitle him to the personal respect of the people. On the only social
occasion on which I ever had the honor to be in his company, viz., the
Commemoration at Gettysburg, he sat at the table of my friend David
Willis, by the side of several distinguished persons, foreigners and
Americans; and in gentlemanly appearance, manners, and conversation, he
was the peer of any man at the table."