No action of the battle itself has been more variously reported than the
visit of President Lincoln at the time of the dedication of the National
Cemetery on November 19, 1863. A wise collector and judge among many
conflicting accounts is Dr. William E. Barton, noted Lincoln scholar,
who in his “Lincoln at Gettysburg” has assembled all available material.
Dr. Barton gives various interesting reasons why Lincoln chose to come
to Gettysburg, though his presence was not very earnestly desired by the
committee of arrangements. His ability as anything but a political
speaker had not been demonstrated, and it was feared that he might spoil
the occasion. Until two weeks before the dedication, the only invitation
sent him was one of the printed circulars mailed to all national
officials, congressmen, and others.
[Illustration: National Monument.—On the site of National Monument
stood the platform from which Abraham Lincoln delivered his immortal
address]
He was eager, Dr. Barton thinks, to see the field of Gettysburg. He had
rejoiced in the victory, and had deplored with equal earnestness Meade’s
cautious policy in making no pursuit. He wished to urge the people to
renewed devotion to the cause which at that moment did not look
altogether promising. He wished also, Dr. Barton believes, to counteract
the impression made by a cruel slander which had wide circulation. Again
and again newspapers inimical to him had published an account of his
visit to the Antietam battlefield a year earlier, asserting that he had
asked his friend Ward Hill Lamon to sing a ribald song as they drove
about among the unburied dead.
[Illustration: Lincoln Memorial.—Memorial in honor of Lincoln’s
Address
Henry K. Bush-Brown, Sculptor]
Lincoln turned a deaf ear to most slanders, but this touched him to the
quick. It was not unlikely that he longed to prove the libel false by a
visit to another battlefield. The story continued to be told, however,
throughout his life.
Following is Ward Hill Lamon’s account of the visit to Gettysburg, from
his “Recollections of Lincoln.” It is the opinion of the author of this
book, an eye-witness, that the reception which Lamon describes had other
causes than failure to value Lincoln’s words. The address was intended
to be merely a simple dedication which would not naturally be followed
by applause. The audience had stood through the address of Edward
Everett which occupied two hours, and through a prayer and musical
numbers in addition. Many of the crowd were turning away—they turned
back and listened earnestly, but with no impulse to applaud.
At the time of the dedication, Mr. Lamon was chief marshal of the parade
and was with Lincoln on the platform when the address was delivered.
Lamon writes:
... A day or two before the dedication of the National Cemetery at
Gettysburg, Mr. Lincoln told me that he would be expected to make a
speech on the occasion; that he was extremely busy, and had no time
for preparation; and that he greatly feared he would not be able to
acquit himself with credit, much less to fill the measure of public
expectation. From his hat (the usual receptacle for his private notes
and memoranda) he drew a sheet of foolscap, one side of which was
closely written with what he informed me was a memorandum of his
intended address. This he read to me, first remarking that it was not
at all satisfactory to him. It proved to be in substance, if not the
exact words, what was afterwards printed as his famous Gettysburg
speech.
After its delivery on the day of commemoration, he expressed deep
regret that he had not prepared it with greater care. He said to me on
the stand, immediately after concluding the speech: “Lamon, that
speech won’t scour! It is a flat failure, and the people are
disappointed.” (The word “scour” he often used in expressing his
conviction that a thing lacked merit, or would not stand the test of
close criticism or the wear of time.) He seemed deeply concerned about
what the people might think of his address; more deeply, in fact, than
I had ever seen him on any public occasion. His frank and regretful
condemnation of his effort, and more especially his manner of
expressing that regret, struck me as somewhat remarkable; and my own
impression was deepened by the fact that the orator of the day, Mr.
Everett, and Secretary Seward both coincided with Mr. Lincoln in his
unfavorable view of its merits.
[Illustration: The Rostrum.—From the vine-draped Rostrum many famous
speakers have addressed the throngs that visit Gettysburg on
Memorial Day]
The occasion was solemn, impressive, and grandly historic. The people,
it is true, stood apparently spellbound; and the vast throng was
hushed and awed into profound silence while Mr. Lincoln delivered his
brief speech. But it seemed to him that this silence and attention to
his words arose more from the solemnity of the ceremonies and the
awful scenes which gave rise to them, than anything he had said. He
believed that the speech was a failure. He thought so at the time, and
he never referred to it afterwards, in conversation with me, without
some expression of unqualified regret that he had not made the speech
better in every way.
On the platform from which Mr. Lincoln delivered his address, and only
a moment after it was concluded, Mr. Seward turned to Mr. Everett and
asked him what he thought of the President’s speech. Mr. Everett
replied, “It is not what I expected from him. I am disappointed.” Then
in his turn Mr. Everett asked, “What do you think of it, Mr. Seward?”
The response was, “He has made a failure, and I am sorry for it. His
speech is not equal to him.” Mr. Seward then turned to me and asked,
“Mr. Marshal, what do you think of it?” I answered, “I am sorry to say
that it does not impress me as one of his great speeches.”
In the face of these facts it has been repeatedly published that this
speech was received by the audience with loud demonstrations of
approval; that “amid the tears, sobs, and cheers it produced in the
excited throng, the orator of the day, Mr. Everett, turned to Lincoln,
grasped his hand and exclaimed, ‘I congratulate you on your success!’
adding in a transport of heated enthusiasm, ‘Ah, Mr. President, how
gladly would I give my hundred pages to be the author of your twenty
lines!’” Nothing of the kind occurred. It is a slander on Mr. Everett,
an injustice to Mr. Lincoln, and a falsification of history. Mr.
Everett would not have used the words attributed to him, in the face
of his own condemnation of the speech uttered a moment before, without
subjecting himself to the charge of being a toady and a hypocrite; and
he was neither one or the other.
As a matter of fact, the silence during the delivery of the speech,
and the lack of hearty demonstrations of approval immediately after
its close, were taken by Mr. Lincoln as certain proof that it was not
well received. In that opinion we all shared. If any person then
present saw, or thought he saw, the marvelous beauties of that
wonderful speech, as intelligent men in all lands now see and
acknowledge them, his superabundant caution closed his lips and stayed
his pen. Mr. Lincoln said to me after our return to Washington, “I
tell you, Hill, that speech fell on the audience like a wet blanket. I
am distressed about it. I ought to have prepared it with more care.”
Such continued to be his opinion of that most wonderful of all his
platform addresses up to the time of his death.