, April 11, 1794; brother of the preceding; graduated at Harvard in 1811; and was ordained pastor of the
in 1819.
from 1841 to 1845; president of Harvard from 1846 to 1849; and succeeded Daniel Webster as
in November, 1852.
He was in the United States Senate from March, 1853, until May, 1854, when he retired to private life on account of feeble health.
He took great interest in the efforts of the women of the
.
He wrote and spoke much, and by his efforts procured a large amount of money, and the estate was purchased.
He was nominated for the Vice-Presidency of the
was a rare scholar and finished orator, and was one of the early editors of the
, Jan. 15, 1865.
battle-field, on Nov. 19, 1863:
Standing beneath this serene sky, overlooking these broad fields now reposing from the labors of the waning year, the mighty
Alleghanies dimly towering before us, the graves of our brethren beneath our feet, it is with hesitation that I raise my poor voice to break the eloquent silence of God and nature.
But the duty to which you have called me must be performed; grant me, I pray you, your indulgence and your sympathy.
It was appointed by law in
Athens that the obsequies of the citizens who fell in battle should be performed at the pub-
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lie expense, and in the most honorable manner.
Their bones were carefully gathered up from the funeral pyre where their bodies were consumed, and brought home to the city.
There, for three days before the interment, they lay in state, beneath tents of honor, to receive the votive offerings of friends and relatives— flowers, weapons, precious ornaments, painted vases, wonders of art, which, after 2,000 years, adorn the museums of modern
Europe—the last tributes of surviving affection.
Ten coffins of funeral cypress received the honorable deposit, one for each of the tribes of the city, and an eleventh in memory of the unrecognized, but not, therefore, unhonored, dead, and of those whose remains could not be recovered.
On the fourth day the mournful procession was formed; mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, led the way, and to them it was permitted, by the simplicity of ancient manners, to utter aloud their lamentations for the beloved and the lost; the male relatives and friends of the deceased followed; citizens and strangers closed the train.
Thus marshalled, they moved to the place of interment in that famous Ceramicus, the most beautiful suburb of
Athens, which had been adorned by
Cimon, the son of
Miltiades, with walks and
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fountains and columns—whose groves were filled with altars, shrines, and temples— whose gardens were kept forever green by the streams from the neighboring hills, and shaded with the trees sacred to
Minerva and coeval with the foundations of the city—whose circuit enclosed
the olive grove of Academe,
. . . Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Trilled his thick-warbled note the summer long,
whose pathways gleamed with the monuments of the illustrious dead, the work of the most consummate masters that ever gave life to marble.
There, beneath the overarching plane-trees, upon a lofty stage erected for the purpose, it was ordained that a funeral oration should be pronounced by some citizen of
Athens, in the presence of the assembled multitude.
Such were the tokens of respect required to be paid at
Athens to the memory of those who had fallen in the cause of their country.
For those alone who fell at
Marathon a peculiar honor was reserved.
As the battle fought upon that immortal field was distinguished from all others in Grecian history for its influence over the fortunes of
Hellas—as it depended upon the event of that day whether
Greece should live, a glory and a light to all coming time, or should expire, like the meteor of a moment—so the honors awarded to its martyr-heroes were such as were bestowed by
Athens on no other occasion.
They alone, of all her sons, were entombed upon the spot which they had rendered famous.
Their names were inscribed upon ten pillars erected upon the monumental tumulus which covered their ashes (where, after 600 years, they were read by the traveller
Pausanias), and although the columns, beneath the hand of time and barbaric violence, have long since disappeared, the venerable mound still marks the spot where they fought and fell—
That battle-field where Persia's victim-horde
First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword.
And shall I, fellow-citizens, who, after an interval of twenty-three centuries, a youthful pilgrim from the world unknown to ancient
Greece, have wandered over that illustrious plain, ready to put off the shoes from my feet, as one that stands on holy ground—who have gazed with respectful emotion on the mound which still protects the dust of those who rolled back the tide of Persian invasion, and rescued the land of popular liberty, of letters, and of arts, from the ruthless foe—stand unmoved over the graves of our dear brethren, who so lately, on three of these all important days which decided a nation's history—days on whose issue it depended whether this august republican Union, founded by some of the wisest statesmen that ever lived, cemented with the blood of some of the purest patriots that ever died, should perish or endure— rolled back the tide of an invasion, not less unprovoked, not less ruthless, than that which came to plant the dark banner of Asiatic despotism and slavery on the free soil of
Greece?
Heaven forbid!
And could I prove so insensible to every prompting of patriotic duty and affection, not only would you, fellow-citizens, gathered many of you from distant States, who have come to take part in these pious offices of gratitude—you respected fathers, brethren, matrons, sisters, who surround me—cry out for shame, but the forms of brave and patriotic men who fill these honored graves would heave with indignation beneath the sod.
We have assembled, friends, fellow-citizens, at the invitation of the executive of the
central State of Pennsylvania, seconded by the governors of seventeen other loyal States of the
Union, to pay the last tribute of respect to the brave men who, in the hard-fought battles of the first, second, and third days of July last, laid down their lives for the country on these hillsides and the plains before us, and whose remains have been gathered into the cemetery which we consecrate this day. As my eye ranges over the fields whose sods were so lately moistened by the blood of gallant and loyal men, I feel, as never before, how truly it was said of old that it is sweet and becoming to die for one's country.
I feel, as never before, how justly from the dawn of history to the present time men have paid the homage of their gratitude and admiration to the memory of those who nobly sacrificed their lives that their
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fellow-men may live in safety and in honor.
And if this tribute were ever due, to whom could it be more justly paid than to those whose last resting-place we this day commend to the blessing of Heaven and of men?
For consider, my friends, what would have been the consequences to the country, to yourselves, and to all you hold dear, if those who sleep beneath our feet, and their gallant comrades who survive to serve their country on other fields of danger, had failed in their duty on those memorable days.
Consider what, at this moment, would be the condition of the
United States if that noble Army of the Potomac, instead of gallantly and for the second time beating back the tide of invasion from
Maryland and
Pennsylvania had been itself driven from these wellcontested heights, thrown back in confusion on
Baltimore, or trampled down, discomfited, scattered to the four winds.
What, in that sad event, would have been the fate of the
Monumental City, of
Harrisburg, of
Philadelphia, of
Washington, the capital of the
Union, each and every one of which would have lain at the mercy of the enemy, accordingly as it might have pleased him, spurred by passion, flushed with victory, and confident of continued success, to direct his course?
For this we must bear in mind—it is one of the great lessons of the war, indeed of every war—that it is impossible for a people without military organization, inhabiting the cities, towns, and villages of an open country, including, of course, the natural proportion of non-combatants of every sex and of every age, to withstand the inroads of a veteran army.
What defence can be made by the inhabitants of villages mostly built of wood, of cities unprotected by walls, nay, by a population of men, however high-toned and resolute, whose aged parents demand their care, whose wives and children are clustering about them, against the charge of the war-horse whose neck is clothed with thunder—against flying artillery and batteries of rifled cannon planted on every commanding eminence—against the onset of trained veterans led by skilful chiefs?
No, my friends, army must be met by army, battery by battery, squadron by squadron; and the shock of organized thousands must be encountered by the firm breasts and valiant arms of other thousands, as well organized and as skilfully led. It is no reproach, therefore, to the unarmed population of the country to say that we owe it to the brave men who sleep in their beds of honor before us, and to their gallant surviving assciates, not merely that your fertile fields, my friends of
Pennsylvania and
Maryland, were redeemed from the presence of the invader, but that your beautiful capitals were not given up to the threatened plunder, perhaps laid in ashes,
Washington seized by the enemy, and a blow struck at the heart of the nation.
Who that hears me has forgotten the thrill of joy that ran through the country on the 4th of July—auspicious day for the glorious tidings, and rendered still more so by the simultaneous
fall of Vicksburg—when the telegraph flashed through the land the assurance from the
President of the
United States that the Army of the Potomac, under
General Meade, had again smitten the invader?
Sure I am that with the ascriptions of praise that rose to Heaven from twenty million of freemen, with the acknowledgments that breathed from patriotic lips throughout the length and breadth of
America, to the surviving officers and men who had rendered the country this inestimable service, there beat in every loyal bosom a throb of tender and sorrowful gratitude to the martyrs who had fallen on the sternly contested field.
Let a nation's fervent thanks make some amends for the toils and sufferings of those who survive.
Would that the heartfelt tribute could penetrate these honored graves!
In order that we may comprehend, to their full extent, our obligations to the martyrs and surviving heroes of the Army of the Potomac, let us contemplate for a few moments the train of events which culminated in the battles of the first days of July.
Of this stupendous rebellion, planned, as its originators boast, more than thirty years ago, matured and prepared for during an entire generation, finally commenced because for the first time since the adoption of the
Constitution, an election of
President had been effected
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without the votes of the
South (which retained, however, the control of the two other branches of the government), the occupation of the national capital, with the seizure of the public archives and of the treaties with foreign powers, was an essential feature.
This was, in substance, within my personal knowledge, admitted, in the winter of 1860-61, by one of the most influential leaders of the rebellion; and it was fondly thought that this object could be effected by a bold and sudden movement on the 4th of March, 1861.
There is abundant proof, also, that a darker project was contemplated, if not by the responsible chiefs of the rebellion, yet by nameless ruffians, willing to play a subsidiary and murderous part in the treasonable drama.
It was accordingly maintained by the rebel emissaries in
England, in the circles to which they found access, that the new American minister ought not, when he arrived, to be received as the envoy of the
United States, inasmuch as before that time
Washington would be captured, and the capital of the nation and the archives and muniments of the government would be in the possession of the
Confederates.
In full accordance also with this threat, it was declared by the rebel
Secretary of War, at
Montgomery, in the presence of his chief and of his colleagues, and of 5,000 hearers, while the tidings of the assault on
Sumter were travelling over the wires on that fatal 12th of April, 1861, that before the end of May “the flag which then flaunted the breeze,” as he expressed it, “would float over the dome of the
Capitol at
Washington.”
At the time this threat was made the rebellion was confined to the cotton-growing States, and it was well understood by them that the only hope of drawing any of the other slave-holding States into the conspiracy was in bringing about a conflict of arms, and “firing the heart of the
South” by the effusion of blood.
This was declared by the
Charleston press to be the object for which
Sumter was to be assaulted; and the emissaries sent from
Richmond, to urge on the unhallowed work, gave the promise, that, with the first drop of blood that should be shed,
Virginia would place herself by the side of
South Carolina.
In pursuance of this original plan of the leaders of the rebellion, the capture of
Washington has been continually had in view, not merely for the sake of its public buildings, as the capital of the
Confederacy, but as the necessary preliminary to the absorption of the border States, and for the moral effect in the eyes of
Europe of possessing the metropolis of the
Union.
I allude to these facts, not perhaps enough borne in mind, as a sufficient refutation of the pretence, on the part of the rebels, that the war is one of selfdefence, waged for the right of self-government.
It is in reality a war originally levied by ambitious men in the cottongrowing States, for the purpose of drawing the slave-holding border States into the vortex of the conspiracy, first by sympathy—which in the ease of
southeastern Virginia,
North Carolina, part of
Tennessee, and
Arkansas, succeeded—and then by force, and for the purpose of subjugation,
Maryland,
western Virginia,
Kentucky,
eastern Tennessee,
Missouri; and it is a most extraordinary fact, considering the clamors of the rebel chiefs on the subject of invasion, that not a soldier of the
United States has entered the States last named, except to defend their Union-loving inhabitants from the armies and guerillas of the rebels.
In conformity with these designs on the city of
Washington, and notwithstanding the disastrous results of the invasion of 1862, it was determined by the rebel government last summer to resume the offensive in that direction.
Unable to, force the passage of the
Rappahannock, where
General Hooker, notwithstanding the reverse at
Chancellorsville, in May, was strongly posted, the
Confederate general resorted to strategy.
He had two, objects in view.
The first was by a rapid movement northward, and by manoeuvring with a portion of his army on the east side of the
Blue Ridge, to tempt
Hooker from his base of operations, thus leading him to uncover the approaches to
Washington, to throw it open to a raid by
Stuart's cavalry, and to enable
Lee himself to cross the
Potomac in the neighborhood of
Poolesville and thus fall upon the capital.
This plan of operations was wholly frustrated.
The design of the rebel general was promptly discovered
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by
General Hooker, and, moving with great rapidity from
Fredericksburg, he preserved unbroken the inner line, and stationed the various corps of his army at all the points protecting the approach to
Washington, from
Centerville up to
Leesburg.
From this vantage ground the rebel general in vain attempted to draw him. In the mean time, by the vigorous operation of
Pleasonton's cavalry, the cavalry of
Stuart, though greatly superior in numbers, was so crippled as to be disabled from performing the part assigned it in the campaign.
In this manner
General Lee's first object, namely, the defeat of
Hooker's army on the south of the
Potomac, and a direct march on
Washington, was baffled.
The second part of the
Confederate plan, which is supposed to have been undertaken in opposition to the views of
General Lee, was to turn the demonstration northward into a real invasion of
Maryland and
Pennsylvania, in the hope that, in this way,
General Hooker would be drawn to a distance from the capital, and that some opportunity would occur of taking him at a disadvantage, and, after defeating his army, of making a descent upon
Baltimore and
Washington.
This part of
General Lee's plan, which was substantially the repetition of that of 1862, was not less signally defeated, with what honor to the arms of the
Union the heights on which we are this day assembled will forever attest.
Much time had been uselessly consumed by the rebel general in his unavailing attempts to outmanoeuvre
General Hooker.
Although
General Lee broke up from
Fredericksburg on June 3, it was not till the 24th that the main body of his army entered
Maryland.
Instead of crossing the
Potomac, as he had intended, east of the
Blue Ridge, he was compelled to do it at Sheppardstown and
Williamsport, thus materially deranging his entire plan of campaign north of the river.
Stuart, who had been sent with his cavalry to the east of the
Blue Ridge to guard the passes of the mountains, to mask the movements of
Lee, and to harass the
Union general in crossing the river, having been very severely handled by
Pleasonton at Beverly Ford,
Aldie, and
Upperville, instead of being able to retard
General Hooker's advance, was driven himself away from his connection with the army of
Lee, and was cut off for a fortnight from all communications with it—a circumstance to which
General Lee in his report alludes more than once with evident displeasure.
Let us now rapidly glance at the incidents of the eventful campaign:
A detachment from
Ewell's corps, under
Jenkins, had penetrated on June 15 as far as
Chambersburg.
This movement was intended at first merely as a demonstration, and as a marauding expedition for supplies.
It had, however, the salutary effect of alarming the country; and vigorous preparations were made not only by the general government, but here in
Pennsylvania and in the sister States, to repel the inroad.
After two days passed at
Chambersburg,
Jenkins, anxious for his communications with
Ewell, fell back with his plunder to
Hagerstown.
Here he remained for several days, and then, having swept the recesses of the
Cumberland Valley, came down upon the eastern flank of the
South Mountain, and pushed his marauding parties as far as
Waynesboro.
On the 22d the remainder of
Ewell's corps crossed the river and moved up the valley.
They were followed on the 24th by
Longstreet and
Hill, who crossed at
Williamsport and Sheppardstown and, pushing up the valley, encamped at
Chambersburg on the 27th.
In this way the whole rebel army, estimated at 90,000 infantry, upward of 10,000 cavalry, and 4,000 or 5,000 artillery, making a total of 105,000 of all arms, was concentrated in
Pennsylvania.
Up to this time no report of
Hooker's movements had been received by
General Lee, who, having been deprived of his cavalry, had no means of obtaining information.
Rightly judging, however, that no time would be lost by the
Union army in the pursuit, in order to detain it on the eastern side of the mountains in
Maryland and
Pennsylvania, and thus preserving his communications by the way of
Williamsport, he had, before his own arrival at
Chambersburg, directed
Ewell to send detachments from his corps to
Carlisle and
York.
The latter detachment, under
Early, passed through this place on June 26.
You need not,
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fellowcitizens of
Gettysburg, that I should recall to you those moments of alarm and distress, precursors as they were of the more trying scenes which were so soon to follow.
As soon as
General Hooker perceived that the advance of the
Confederates into the
Cumberland Valley was not a mere feint to draw him away from
Washington, he moved rapidly in pursuit.
Attempts, as we have seen, were made to harass and retard his passage across the
Potomac.
These attempts were not only altogether unsuccessful, but were so unskilfully made as to place the entire Federal army between the cavalry of
Stuart and the army of
Lee. While the latter was massed in the
Cumberland Valley,
Stuart was east of the mountains, with
Hooker's army between, and
Gregg's cavalry in close pursuit.
Stuart was, accordingly, compelled to force a march northward, which was destitute of strategical character, and which deprived his chief of all means of obtaining intelligence.
Not a moment had been lost by
General Hooker in the pursuit of
Lee. The day after the rebel army entered
Maryland, the
Union army crossed the
Potomac, at Edward's Ferry, and by the 28th of June lay between
Harper's Ferry and Frederick.
The force of the enemy on that day was partly at
Chambersburg, and partly moving on the
Cashtown road in the direction of
Gettysburg, while the detachments from
Ewell's corps, of which mention has been made, had reached the
Susquehanna, opposite
Harrisburg and
Columbia.
That a great battle must soon be fought no one could doubt; but in the apparent, and perhaps real, absence of plan on the part of
Lee, it was impossible to foretell the precise scene of the encounter.
Wherever fought, consequences the most momentous hung upon the result.
In this critical and anxious state of affairs,
General Hooker was relieved, and
General Meade was summoned to the chief command of the army.
It appears to my unmilitary judgment to reflect the highest credit upon him, upon his predecessor, and upon the corps commanders of the Army of the Potomac, that a change could take place in the chief command of so large a force on the eve of a general battle—the various corps necessarily moving on lines somewhat divergent, and all in ignorance of the enemy's intended point of concentration—and that not an hour's hesitation should ensue in the advance of any portion of the entire army.
Having assumed the chief command on the 28th,
General Meade directed his left wing, under
Reynolds, upon Emmettsburg, and his right upon New Windsor, leaving
General French, with 11,000 men, to protect the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and convoy the public property from
Harper's Ferry to
Washington.
Buford's cavalry was then at this place, and
Kilpatrick's at
Hanover, where he encountered and defeated the rear of
Stuart's cavalry, who was roving the country in search of the main army of
Lee. On the rebel side,
Hill had reached
Fayetteville, on the
Cashtown road, on the 28th, and was followed on the same road by
Longstreet, on the 29th.
The eastern side of the mountain, as seen from
Gettysburg, was lighted up at night by the camp-fires of the enemy's advance, and the country swamped with his foraging parties.
It was now too evident to be questioned that the thunder-cloud, so long gathering in blackness, would soon burst on some part of the devoted vicinity of
Gettysburg.
June 30 was a day of important preparations.
At half-past 11 o'clock in the morning
General Buford passed through
Gettysburg upon a reconnoissance in force, with his cavalry, upon the
Chambersburg road.
The information obtained by him was immediately communicated to
General Reynolds, who was, in consequence, directed to occupy
Gettysburg.
That gallant officer accordingly, with the 1st Corps, marched from Emmettsburg to within 6 or 7 miles of this place, and encamped on the right bank of Marsh's Creek.
Our right wing, meantime, was moved to
Manchester.
On the same day the corps of
Hill and
Longstreet were pushed still farther forward on the
Chambersburg road, and distributed in the vicinity of Marsh's Creek, while a reconnoissance was made by the
Confederate General Petigru up to a very short distance from this place.
Thus at night, fall on June 30 the greater part of the
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rebel force was concentrated in the immediate vicinity of two corps of the
Union army, the former refreshed by two days passed in comparative repose and deliberate preparations for the encounter, the latter separated by a march of one or two days from their supporting corps, and doubtful at what precise point they were to expect an attack.
And now the momentous day, a day to be forever remembered in the annals of the country, arrived.
Early in the morning of July 1 the conflict began.
I need not say that it would be impossible for me to comprise, within the limits of the hour, such a narrative as would do anything like full justice to the all-important events of these three great days, or to the merit of the brave officers and men of every rank, of every arm of the service, and of every loyal State, who bore their part in the tremendous struggle—alike those who nobly sacrificed their lives for their country, and those who survive, many of them scarred with honorable wounds, the objects of our admiration and gratitude.
The astonishingly minute, accurate, and graphic accounts contained in the journals of the day, prepared from personal observation by reporters who witnessed the scenes and often shared the perils which they describe, and the highly valuable “notes” of
Professor Jacobs, of the university in this place, to which I am greatly indebted, will abundantly supply the deficiency of my necessarily too condensed statement.
General Reynolds, on arriving at
Gettysburg in the morning of the 1st, found
Buford with his cavalry warmly engaged with the enemy, whom he held most gallantly in check.
Hastening himself to the front,
General Reynolds directed his men to be moved over the fields from the Emmettsburg road, in front of
McMillan's and
Dr. Schumucker's under cover of the
Seminary Ridge.
Without a moment's hesitation, he attacked the enemy, at the same time sending orders to the 11th Corps (
General Howard's) to advance as promptly as possible.
General Reynolds immediately found himself engaged with a force which greatly outnumbered his own, and had scarcely made his dispositions for the action when he fell, mortally wounded, at the head of his advance.
The command of the 1st Corps devolved on
General Doubleday, and that of the field on
General Howard, who arrived at 11.30 with
Schurz's and
Barlow's divisions of the l1th Corps, the latter of whom received a severe wound.
Thus strengthened, the advantage of the battle was for some time on our side.
The attacks of the rebels were vigorously repulsed by
Wadsworth's division of the 1st Corps, and a large number of prisoners, including
General Archer, were captured.
At length, however, the continued reinforcement of the
Confederates from the main body in the neighborhood, and by the divisions of
Rhodes and
Early, coming down by separate lines from Heidlersberg and taking post on our extreme right, turned the fortunes on the day. Our army, after contesting the ground for five hours, was obliged to yield to the enemy, whose force outnumbered them two to one; and towards the close of the afternoon
General Howard deemed it prudent to withdraw the two corps to the heights where we are now assembled.
The greater part of the 1st Corps passed through the outskirts of the town, and reached the hill without serious loss or molestation.
The 11th Corps and portions of the 1st, not being aware that the enemy had already entered the town from the north, attempted to force their way through Washington and Baltimore streets, which, in the crowd and confusion of the scene, they did, with a heavy loss in prisoners.
General Howard was not unprepared for this turn in the fortunes of the day. He had in the course of the morning caused
Cemetery Hill to be occupied by
General Steinwehr with the 2d Division of the 11th Corps.
About the time of the withdrawal of our troops to the hill
General Hancock arrived, having been sent by
General Meade, on hearing of the death of
Reynolds, to assume the command of the field until he himself could reach the front.
In conjunction with
General Howard,
General Hancock immediately proceeded to post troops and to repel an attack on our right flank.
This attack was feebly made and promptly repulsed.
At nightfall our troops on the hill, who had so gallantly sustained themselves during the toil and peril of the day, were cheered by the arrival of
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General Slocum with the 12th Corps and of
General Sickles with a part of the 3d.
Such was the fortune of the first day, commencing with decided success to our arms, followed by a check, but ending in the occupation of this all-important position.
To you, fellow-citizens of
Gettysburg, I need not attempt to portray the anxieties of the ensuing night.
Witnessing as you have done with sorrow the withdrawal of our army through your streets, with a considerable loss of prisoners—mourning as you did over the brave men who had fallen, shocked with the widespread desolation around you, of which the wanton burning of the
Harman House had given the signal—ignorant of the near approach of
General Meade, you passed the weary hours of the night in painful expectation.
Long before the dawn of July 2 the new
commander-in-chief had reached the ever-memorable field of service and glory.
Having received intelligence of the events in progress, and informed by the reports of
Generals Hancock and
Howard of the favorable character of the position, he determined to give battle to the enemy at this point.
He accordingly directed the remaining corps of the army to concentrate at
Gettysburg with all possible expedition, and breaking up his headquarters at
Taneytown at 10 P. M., he arrived at the front at one o'clock in the morning of July 2.
Few were the moments given to sleep during the rapid watches of that brief midsummer's night, by officers or men, though half of our troops were exhausted by the conflict of the day, and the residue wearied by the forced marches which had brought them to the rescue.
The full moon, veiled by thin clouds, shone down that night on a strangely unwonted scene.
The silence of the graveyard was broken by the heavy tramp of armed men, by the neigh of the war-horse, the harsh rattle of the wheels of artillery hurrying to their stations, and all the indescribable tumult of preparation.
The various corps of the army, as they arrived, were moved to their positions, on the spot where we are assembled and the ridges that extend southeast and southwest; batteries were planted and breastworks thrown up. The 2d and 5th Corps, with the rest of the 3d, had reached the ground by 7 A. M.; but it was not till two o'clock in the afternoon that
Sedgwick arrived with the 6th Corps.
He had marched 34 miles since nine o'clock of the evening before.
It was only on his arrival that the
Union army approached an equality of numbers with that of the rebels, who were posted upon the opposite and parallel ridge, distant from a mile to a mile and a half, overlapping our position on either wing, and probably exceeding by 10,000 the army of
General Meade.
And here I cannot but remark on the Providential inaction of the rebel army.
Had the contest been renewed by it at daylight on July 2, with the 1st and 11th Corps exhausted by the battle and the retreat, the 3d and 12th weary from their forced march, and the 2d, 5th, and 6th not yet arrived, nothing but a miracle could have saved the army from a great disaster.
Instead of this, the day dawned, the sun rose, the cool hours of the morning passed, the forenoon and a considerable part of the afternoon wore away, without the slightest aggressive movement on the part of the enemy.
Thus time was given for half of our forces to arrive and take their place in the lines, while the rest of the army enjoyed a much-needed half-day's repose.
At length, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, the work of death began.
A signal-gun from the hostile batteries was followed by a tremendous cannonade along the rebel lines, and this by a heavy advance of infantry, brigade after brigade, commencing on the enemy's right against the left of our army, and so onward to the left centre.
A forward movement of
General Sickles, to gain a commanding position from which to repel the rebel attack, drew upon him a destructive fire from the enemy's batteries, and a furious assault from
Longstreet's and
Hill's advancing troops.
After a brave resistance on the part of his corps, he was forced back, himself falling severely wounded.
This was the critical moment of the second day, but the 5th and a part of the 6th Corps, with portions of the 1st and 2d, were promptly brought to the support of the 3d.
The struggle was fierce and murderous, but by sunset our success was decisive, and the enemy was driven back
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in confusion.
The most important service was rendered towards the close of the day, in the memorable advance between
Round Top and
Little Round Top, by
General Crawford's division of the 5th Corps, consisting of two brigades of the Pennsylvania Reserves, of which one company was from this town and neighborhood.
The rebel force was driven back with great loss in killed and prisoners.
At eight o'clock in the evening a desperate attempt was made by the enemy to storm the position of the 11th Corps on
Cemetery Hill; but here, too, after a terrible conflict, he was repulsed with immense loss.
Ewell, on our extreme right, which had been weakened by the withdrawal of the troops sent over to support our left, had succeeded in gaining a foothold within a portion of our lines, near
Spangler's Spring.
This was the only advantage obtained by the rebels to compensate them for the disasters of the day, and of this, as we shall see, they were soon deprived.
Such was the result of the second act of this eventful drama—a day hard fought, and at one moment anxious, but, with the exception of the slight reverse just named, crowned with dearly earned but uniform success to our arms, auspicious of a glorious termination of the final struggle.
On these good omens the night fell.
In the course of the night
General Geary returned to his position on the right, from which he had hastened the day before to strengthen the 3d Corps.
He immediately engaged the enemy, and, after a sharp and decisive action, drove them out of our lines, recovering the ground which had been lost on the preceding day. A spirited contest was kept up all the morning on this part of the line; but
General Geary, reinforced by
Wheaton's brigade of the 6th Corps, maintained his position, and inflicted very severe losses on the rebels.
Such was the cheering commencement of the third day's work, and with it ended all serious attempts of the enemy on our right.
As on the preceding day, his efforts were now mainly directed against our left centre and left wing.
From eleven till half-past 1 o'clock all was still, a solemn pause of preparation, as if both armies were nerving themselves for the supreme effort.
At length the awful silence, more terrible than the wildest tumult of battle, was broken by the roar of 250 pieces of artillery from the opposite ridges, joining in a cannonade of unsurpassed violence—the rebel batteries along two-thirds of their line pouring their fire upon
Cemetery Hill and the centre and left wing of our army.
Having attempted in this way for two hours, but without success, to shake the steadiness of our lines, the enemy rallied his forces for a last grand assault.
Their attack was principally directed against the position of our 2d Corps.
Successive lines of rebel infantry moved forward with equal spirit and steadiness from their cover on the wooded crest of
Seminary Ridge, crossing the intervening plain, and, supported right and left by their choicest brigades, charged furiously up to our batteries.
Our own brave troops of the 2d Corps, supported by
Doubleday's division and
Stannard's brigade of the 1st, received the shock with firmness; the ground on both sides was long and fiercely contested, and was covered with the killed and the wounded; the tide of battle flowed and ebbed across the plain, till, after “a determined and gallant struggle,” as it is pronounced by
General Lee, the rebel advance, consisting of two-thirds of
Hill's corps and the whole of
Longstreet's, including
Pickett's division, the elite of his corps, which had not yet been under fire, and was now depended upon to decide the fortune of this last eventful day, was driven back with prodigious slaughter, discomfited and broken.
While these events were in progress at our left centre, the enemy was driven, with considerable loss of prisoners, from the strong position on our extreme left, from which he was annoying our forces on
Little Round Top. In the terrific assault on our centre
Generals Hancock and
Gibbon were wounded.
In the rebel army,
Generals Armistead,
Kemper,
Petigru, and
Trimble were wounded, the first named mortally, the latter also made prisoner;
General Garnett was killed, and 3,500 officers and men made prisoners.
These were the expiring agonies of the three days conflict, and with them the battle ceased.
It was fought by the
Union army with courage and skill, from the first cavalry skirmish on Wednesday
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morning to the fearful rout of the enemy on Friday afternoon, by every arm and every rank of the service, by officers and men by cavalry, artillery, and infantry.
The superiority of numbers was with the enemy, who were led by the ablest commanders in their service; and if the
Union force had the advantage of a strong position, the
Confederates had the advantages of choosing the time and place, the prestige of former victories over the Army of the Potomac, and of the success of the first day. Victory does not always fall to the lot of those who deserve it, but that so decisive a triumph, under circumstances like these, was gained by our troops I would ascribe, under Providence, to that spirit of exalted patriotism that animated them and a consciousness that they were fighting in a righteous cause.
All hope of defeating our army, and securing what
General Lee calls “the valuable results” of such an achievement having vanished, he thought only of rescuing from destruction the remains of his shattered forces.
In killed, wounded, and missing he had, as far as can be ascertained, suffered a loss of about 37,000 men—rather more than one-third of the army with which he is supposed to have marched into
Pennsylvania.
Perceiving that his only safety was in rapid retreat, he commenced withdrawing his troops at daybreak on the 4th, throwing up field-works in front of our left, which, assuming the appearance of a new position, were intended probably to protect the rear of his army in their retreat.
That day—sad celebration of the 4th of July for the army of
Americans—was passed by him in hurrying off his trains.
By nightfall the main army was in full retreat on the
Cashtown and Fairfield roads, and it moved with such precipitation that, short as the nights were, by daylight the following morning, notwithstanding the heavy rain, the rear-guard had left its position.
The struggle of the last two days resembled in many respects the
battle of Waterloo; and if, on the evening of the third day,
General Meade, like the
Duke of
Wellington, had had the assistance of a powerful auxiliary army to take up the pursuit, the rout of the rebels would have been as complete as that of Napoleon.
Owing to the circumstance just named, the intentions of the enemy were not apparent on the 4th.
The moment his retreat was discovered, the following morning, he was pursued by our cavalry on the
Cashtown road and through the
Emmettsburg and
Monterey passes, and by
Sedgwick's corps on the
Fairfield road; his rear-guard was briskly attacked at
Fairfield; a great number of wagons and ambulances were captured in the passes of the mountains; the country swarmed with his stragglers, and his wounded were literally emptied from the vehicles containing them into the farm-houses on the road.
General Lee, in his report, makes repeated mention of the
Union prisoners whom he conveyed into
Virginia, somewhat overstating their number.
He states also that “such of his wounded as were in a condition to be removed” were forwarded to
Williamsport.
He does not mention that the number of his wounded which were not removed, and left to the
Christian care of the victors, was 7,540, not one of whom failed of any attention which it was possible under the circumstances of the case to afford them; not one of whom, certainly, has been put upon Libby prison fare, lingering death by starvation.
Heaven forbid, however, that we should claim any merit for the exercise of common humanity!
Under the protection of the mountain ridge, whose narrow passes are easily held, even by a retreating army,
General Lee reached
Williamsport in safety, and took up a strong position opposite to that place.
General Meade necessarily pursued with the main army, by a flank movement, through
Middletown, Turner's Pass having been secured by
General French.
Passing through the
South Mountain, the
Union army came up with that of the rebels on the 12th, and found it securely posted on the heights of
Marsh Run.
The position was reconnoitred, and preparation made for an attack on the 13th.
The depth of the river, swollen by the recent rains, authorized the expectation that the enemy would be brought to a general engagement the following day. An advance was accordingly made by
General Meade on the morning of the 14th; but it was soon found that the rebels had escaped in the
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night with such haste that
Ewell's corps forded the river where the water was breast high.
The cavalry, which had rendered the most important services during the three days, and in harassing the enemy's retreat, was now sent in pursuit, and captured two guns and a large number of prisoners.
In an action which took place at
Falling River,
General Petigru was mortally wounded.
General Meade, in further pursuit of the rebels, crossed the
Potomac at
Berlin.
Thus again covering the approaches to
Washington, he compelled the enemy to pass the
Blue Ridge at one of the upper gaps; and in about six weeks from the commencement of the campaign
General Lee found himself again on the south side of the
Rappahannock, with the probable loss of about a third part of his army.
Such, most inadequately recounted, is the history of the ever-memorable three days, and of the events immediately preceding and following.
It has been pretended, in order to diminish the magnitude of this disaster to the rebel cause, that it was merely the repulse of an attack on a strongly defended position.
The tremendous losses on both sides are a sufficient answer to this misrepresentation, and attest the courage and obstinacy with which, in three days, battle was waged.
Few of the great conflicts of modern times have cost victors and vanquished so great a sacrifice.
On the
Union side there fell, in the whole campaign, of generals killed,
Reynolds,
Weed, and
Zook, and wounded,
Barlow,
Barnes,
Butterfield,
Doubleday,
Gibbon,
Graham,
Hancock,
Sickles, and
Warren; while of officers below the rank of general, and men, there were 2,834 killed, 13,709 wounded, and 6,643 missing. On the
Confederate side there were killed on the field, or mortally wounded,
Generals Armistead,
Barksdale,
Garnett,
Pender,
Petigru, and
Semmes, and wounded,
Heth,
Hood,
Johnson,
Kemper,
Kimball, and
Trimble.
Of officers below the rank of general, and men, there were taken prisoners, including the wounded, 13,621, a number ascertained officially.
Of the wounded in a condition to be removed, of the killed, and of the missing, the enemy has made no return.
They were estimated, from the best data which the nature of the case admits, at 23,000.
General Meade also captured three cannon and forty-one standards, and 24,978 small-arms were collected on the battlefield.
I must leave to others, who can do it from personal observation, to describe the mournful spectacle presented by these hillsides and plains at the close of the terrible conflict.
It was a saying of the
Duke of
Wellington that, next to a defeat, the saddest thing is a victory.
The horrors of the battle-field after the contest is over, the sights and sounds of woe-let me throw a pall over the scene, which no words can adequately depict to those who have not witnessed it, and on which no one who has a heart in his bosom can bear to dwell.
One drop of balm alone, one drop of heavenly, life-giving balm, mingles in this bitter cup of misery.
Scarcely had the cannon ceased to roar when the brethren and sisters of Christian benevolence, ministers of compassion, angels of pity, hasten to the field and the hospital to moisten the parched tongue, to bind the ghastly wounds, to soothe the parting agony alike of friend and foe, and to catch the last whispered messages of love from dying lips.
“Carry this miniature back to my dear wife, but do not take it from my bosom till I am gone.”
“Tell my little sister not to grieve for me; I am willing to die for my country.”
“Oh that my mother were here!”
When, since Aaron stood between the living and the dead, were there ever so gracious a ministry as this?
It has been said that it is characteristic of
Americans to treat women with a deference not paid to them in any other country.
I will not undertake to say whether this is so; but I will say that, since this terrible war has been waged, the women of the loyal States, if never before, have entitled themselves to our highest admiration and gratitude.
And now, friends, fellow-citizens, as we stand among these honored graves, the momentous question presents itself, which of the two parties to the war is responsible for all this suffering, for the dreadful sacrifice of life—the lawful and constituted government of the
United States, or the ambitious men who have rebelled against it?
I say “rebelled” against it, although Earl Russell, the
British
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secretary of state for foreign affairs, in his recent temperate and conciliatory speech in
Scotland, seems to intimate that no prejudice ought to attach to that word, inasmuch as our English forefathers rebelled against Charles I. and James II., and our American fathers rebelled against George III.
These certainly are venerable precepts, but they prove only that it is just and proper to rebel against oppressive governments.
They do not prove that it was just and proper for the son of James II.
to rebel against George I.; or his grandson,
Charles Edward, to rebel against George II.; nor, as it seems to me, ought these dynastic struggles, little better than family quarrels, to be compared with this monstrous conspiracy against the American Union.
These precedents do not prove that it was just and proper for the “disappointed great men” of the cotton-growing States to rebel against “the most beneficent government of which history gives us any account,” as the
Vice-President of the
Confederacy in November, 1860, charged them with doing.
They do not create a presumption even in favor of the disloyal slave-holders of the
South, who, living under a government of which
Mr. Jefferson Davis, in the session of 1860-61, said that it was “the best government ever instituted by man, unexceptionally administered, and under which the people have been prosperous beyond comparison with any other people whose career has been recorded in history,” rebelled against it because their aspiring politicians, himself among the rest, were in danger of losing their monopoly of its offices.
What would have been thought by an impartial posterity of the
American rebellion against George III.
if the colonists had at all times been more than equally represented in Parliament, and
James Otis and
Patrick Henry and
Washington and
Franklin and the Adamses and Hancock and
Jefferson, and men of their stamp, had for two generations enjoyed the confidence of the sovereign and administered the government of the empire?
What would have been thought of the rebellion against Charles I. if
Cromwell and the men of his school had been the responsible advisers of that prince from his accession to the throne, and then, on account of a partial change in the ministry, had brought his head to the block and involved the country in a desolating war for the sake of dismembering it and establishing a new government south of the
Trent?
What would have been thought of the
Whigs of 1688 if they had themselves composed the cabinet of James II., and been the advisers of the measures and the promoters of the policy which drove him into exile?
The Puritans of 1640 and the
Whigs of 1688 rebelled against arbitrary power in order to establish constitutional liberty.
If they had risen against Charles and James because those monarchs favored equal rights, and in order themselves “for the first time in the history of the world” to establish an oligarchy “founded on the cornerstone of slavery,” they would truly have furnished a precedent for the rebels of the
South, but their cause would not have been sustained by the eloquence of
Pym or of
Somers, nor sealed with the blood of
Hampden or
Russell.
I call the war which the
Confederates are waging against the
Union a “rebellion,” because it is one, and in grave matters it is best to call things by their right names.
I speak of it as a crime, because the
Constitution of the United States so regards it, and puts “rebellion” on a par with “invasion.”
The constitution and law, not only of
England, but of every civilized country, regards them in the same light; or, rather, they consider the rebel in arms as far worse than the alien enemy.
To levy war against the
United States is the constitutional definition of treason, and that crime is by every civilized government regarded as the highest which citizen or subject can commit.
Not content with the sanction of human justice, of all the crimes against the law of the land it is singled out for the denunciation of religion.
The litanies of every church in Christendom whose ritual embraces that office, as far as I am aware, from the metropolitan cathedrals of
Europe to the humblest mission chapels in the islands of the sea, concur with the
Church of
England in imploring the
Sovereign of the universe, by the most awful adjurations which the heart of man can conceive or his tongue utter, to “deliver us from sedition, privy conspiracy, and rebellion.”
And reason
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good; for while a rebellion against tyranny—a rebellion designed, after prostrating arbitrary power, to establish free government on the basis of justice and truth—is an enterprise on which good men and angels may look with complacency, an unprovoked rebellion of ambitious men against a beneficial government, for the purpose—the avowed purpose—of establishing, extending, and perpetuating any form of injustice and wrong, is an imitation on earth of that foul revolt of “the infernal serpent” against which the
Supreme Majesty of heaven sent forth the armed myriads of His angels, and clothed the right arm of
His Son with the three-bolted thunders of omnipotence.
Lord Bacon, in the “true marshalling of the sovereign decrees of honor,” assigns the first place to the conditores imperiorum—founders of states and commonwealths; and, truly, to build up from the discordant elements of our nature— the passions, the interests, and the opinions of the individual man, the rivalries of family, clan, and tribe, the influence of climate and geographical position, the accidents of peace and war accumulated for ages—to build up from these oftentimes warring elements a well-compacted, prosperous, and powerful state, if it were to be accomplished by one effort or in one generation would require a more than mortal skill.
To contribute in some notable degree to this, the greatest work of man, by wise and patriotic counsel in peace and loyal heroism in war, is as high as human merit can well rise; and far more than to any of those to whom
Bacon assigns this highest place of honor, whose names can hardly be repeated without a wondering smile—Romulus,
Cyrus, Caesar, Gothman, Ismael—it is due to our
Washington as the founder of the American Union.
But if to achieve, or help to achieve, this greatest work of man's wisdom and virtue gives title to a place among the chief benefactors, rightful heirs of the benedictions of mankind, by equal reason shall the bold, bad men who seek to undo the noble
Work—eversores imperiorum, destroyers of states, who for base and selfish ends rebel against beneficent governments, seek to overturn wise constitutions, to lay powerful republican unions at the foot of foreign thrones, to bring on civil and foreign war, anarchy at home, dictation abroad, desolation, ruin—by equal reason, I say—yes, a thousand-fold stronger—shall they inherit the execrations of the ages.
But to hide the deformity of the crime under the cloak of that sophistry which strives to make the worse appear the better reason, we are told by the leaders of the rebellion that in our complex system of government the separate States are “sovereign,” and that the central power is only an “agency” established by those sovereigns to manage certain little affairs, such, forsooth, as peace, war, army, navy, finance, territory, and relations with the native tribes, which they could not so conveniently administer themselves.
It happens, unfortunately for this theory, that the federal Constitution (which has been adopted by the people of every State of the
Union as much as their own State constitutions have been adopted, and is declared to be paramount to them) nowhere recognizes the States as “sovereigns” —in fact, that by their names it does not recognize them at all; while the authority established by that instrument is recognized, in its text, not as an “agency,” but as “the government of the
United States.”
By that Constitution, moreover, which purports in its preamble to be ordained and established by “the people of the
United States,” it is expressly provided that “the members of the
State legislatures, and all executive and judicial officers, shall be bound by oath or affirmation to support the
Constitution.”
Now it is a common thing, under all governments, for an agent to be bound by oath to be faithful to his sovereign; but I never heard before of sovereigns being bound by oath to be faithful to their agency.
Certainly I do not deny that the separate States are clothed with sovereign powers for the administration of local affairs; it is one of the most beautiful features of our mixed system of government.
But it is equally true that, in adopting the federal Constitution, the States abdicated by express renunciation all the most important functions of national sovereignty, and, by one comprehensive, self-denying clause, gave up all
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right to contravene the
Constitution of the United States.
Specifically, and by enumeration, they renounced all the most important prerogatives of independent States for peace and for war—the right to keep troops or ships-of-war in time of peace, or to engage in war unless actually invaded; to enter into compact with another State or a foreign power; to lay any duty on tonnage or any impost on exports or imports without the consent of Congress; to enter into any treaty, alliance, or confederation, to grant letters of marque or reprisal, and to emit bills of credit; while all these powers and many others are expressly vested in the general government.
To ascribe to political communities, thus limited in their jurisdiction, who cannot even establish a postoffice on their own soil, the character of independent sovereignty, and to reduce a national organization, clothed with all the transcendent powers of government, to the name and condition of an “agency” of the States, proves nothing but that the logic of secession is on a par with its loyalty and patriotism.
Oh, but the “reserved rights” ! And what of the reserved rights?
The Tenth Amendment of the
Constitution, supposed to provide for “reserved rights,” is constantly misquoted.
By that amendment “the powers not delegated to the
United States by the
Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.”
The “powers” reserved must of course be such as could have been, but were not, delegated to the
United States—could have been, but were not, prohibited to the States; but to speak of the right of an individual State to secede, as a power that could have been.
though it was not, delegated to the
United States, is simply nonsense.
But, waiving this obvious absurdity, can it need a serious argument to prove that there can be no State right to enter into a new confederation reserved under a constitution which expressly prohibits a State to “enter into any treaty, alliance, or confederation,” or any “agreement or compact with another State or a foreign power” ? To say that the
State may, by enacting the preliminary farce of secession, acquire the right to do the prohibited things—to say, for instance, that though the States in forming the
Constitution delegated to the
United States, and prohibited to themselves, the power of declaring war, there was by implication reserved to each State the right of seceding and then declaring war; that, though they expressly prohibited to the States and delegated to the
United States the entire treaty-making power, they reserved by implication (for an express reservation is not pretended) to the individual States— to
Florida, for instance—the right to secede, and then to make a treaty with
Spain retroceding that Spanish colony, and thus surrendering to a foreign power the key to the
Gulf of Mexico—to maintain propositions like these, with whatever affected seriousness it is done, appears to me egregious trifling.
Pardon me, my friends, for dwelling on these wretched sophistries.
But it is these which conducted the armed hosts of rebellion to your doors on the terrible and glorious days of July, and which have brought upon the whole land the scourge of an aggressive and wicked war—a war which can have no other termination compatible with the permanent safety and welfare of the country but the complete destruction of the military power of the enemy.
I have, on other occasions, attempted to show that to yield to his demands and acknowledge his independence, thus resolving the
Union at once into two hostile governments, with a certainty of further disintegration, would annihilate the strength and the influence of the country as a member of the family of nations; afford to foreign powers the opportunity and the temptation for humiliating and disastrous interference in our affairs; wrest from the
Middle and Western States some of their great natural outlets to the sea and of their most important lines of internal communication; deprive the commerce and navigation of the country of two-thirds of our sea-coast and of the fortresses which protect it; not only so, but would enable each individual State— some of them with a white population equal to a good-sized northern county; or rather the dominant party in each State, to cede its territory, its harbors, its fortresses, the mouths of its rivers, to any foreign power.
It cannot be that the people of the loyal States—that 22,000,000 of
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brave and prosperous freemen—will, for the temptations of a brief truce in an eternal border war, consent to this hideous national suicide.
Do not think that I exaggerate the consequences of yielding to the demands of the leaders of the rebellion.
I understate them.
They require of us, not only all the sacrifices I have named, not only the cession to them, a foreign and hostile power, of all the territory of the
United States at present occupied by the rebel forces, but the abandonment to them of the vast regions we have rescued from their grasp—of
Maryland, of a part of
eastern Virginia, and the whole of
western Virginia; the sea-coast of
North and
South Carolina,
Georgia, and
Florida;
Kentucky,
Tennessee, and
Missouri;
Arkansas and the larger portion of
Mississippi,
Louisiana, and
Texas—in most of which, with the exception of lawless guerillas, there is not a rebel in arms; in all of which the great majority of the people are loyal to the
Union.
We must give back, too, the helpless colored population, thousands of whom are perilling their lives in the ranks of our armies, to a bondage rendered tenfold more bitter by the momentary enjoyment of freedom.
Finally, we must surrender every man in the southern country,
white or
black, who has moved a finger or spoken a word for the restoration of the
Union, to a reign of terror as remorseless as that of Robespierre, which has been the chief instrument by which the rebellion has been organized and sustained, and which has already filled the prisons of the
South with noble men, whose only crime is that they are not the worst of criminals.
The South is full of such men.
I do not believe there has been a day since the election of
President Lincoln when, if an ordinance of secession could have been fairly submitted, after a free discussion, to the mass of the people in any single Southern State, a majority of ballots would have been given in its favor.
No; not in
South Carolina.
It is not possible that the majority of the people, even of that State, if permitted, without fear or favor, to give a ballot on the question, would have abandoned a leader like
Petigru, and all the memories of the Gadsdens, the Rutledges, and the
Cotesworth Pinckneys, of the Revolutionary and constitutional age, to follow the agitators of the present day.
Nor must we be deterred from the vigorous prosecution of the war by the suggestion continually thrown out by the rebels, and those who sympathize with them, that, however it might have been at an earlier stage, there has been engendered by the operations of the war a state of exasperation and bitterness which, independent of all reference to the original nature of the matters in controversy, will forever prevent the restoration of the
Union and the return of harmony between the two great sections of the country.
This opinion I take to be entirely without foundation.
No man can deplore more than I do the miseries of every kind unavoidably incident to the war. Who could stand on this spot and call to mind the scenes of the first days of July without any feeling?
A sad foreboding of what would ensue, if war should break out between North and South, has haunted me through life, and led me, perhaps too long, to tread in the path of hopeless compromise, in the fond endeavor to conciliate those who were predetermined not to be conciliated.
But it is not true, as it is pretended by the rebels and their sympathizers, that the war has been carried on by the
United States without entire regard to those temperaments which are enjoyed by the law of nations, by our modern civilization, and by the spirit of Christianity.
It would be quite easy to point out, in the recent military history of the leading
European powers, acts of violence and cruelty in the prosecution of their wars to which no parallel can be found among us. In fact, when we consider the peculiar bitterness with which civil wars are almost invariably waged, we must justly boast of the manner in which the
United States have carried on the contest.
It is, of course, impossible to prevent the lawless acts of stragglers and deserters, or the occasional unwarrantable proceedings of subordinates on distant stations; but I do not believe there is in all history the record of a civil war of such gigantic dimensions where so little has been done in the spirit of vindictiveness
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as in this war, by the government and commanders of the
United States; and this notwithstanding the provocation given by the rebel government by assuming the responsibility of wretches like
Quantrell, refusing quarter to colored troops, and scourging and selling into slavery free colored men from the
North who fell into their hands, by covering the sea with pirates, refusing a just exchange of prisoners, while they crowded their armies with paroled prisoners not exchanged, and starving prisoners of war to death.
In the next place, if there are any present who believe that, in addition to the effect of the military operations of the war, the confiscation acts and emancipation proclamations have embittered the rebel beyond the possibility of reconciliation, I would request them to reflect that the tone of the rebel leaders and rebel press was just as bitter in the first months of the war, nay, before a gun was fired, as it is now. There were speeches made in Congress, in the very last session before the outbreak of the rebellion, so ferocious as to show that their authors were under the influence of a real frenzy.
At the present day, if there is any discrimination made by the
Confederate press in the affected scorn, hatred, and contumely with which every shade of opinion and sentiment in the loyal States is treated, the bitterest contempt is bestowed upon those at the
North who still speak the language of compromise, and who condemn those measures of the administration which are alleged to have rendered the return of peace hopeless.
No, my friends, that gracious Providence which overrules all things for the best, “from seeming evil still educing good,” has so constituted our natures that the violent excitement of the passions in one direction is generally followed by a reaction in an opposite direction, and the sooner for the violence.
If it were not so, if injuries inflicted and retaliated of necessity led to new retaliations, with forever accumulating compound interest of revenge, then the world, thousands of years ago, would have been turned into an earthly hell, and the nations of the earth would have been resolved into clans of furies and demons, each forever warring with his neighbor.
But it is not so; all history teaches a different lesson.
The Wars of the Roses in
England lasted an entire generation, from the battle of
St. Albans, in 1455, to that of
Bosworth Field, in 1485.
Speaking of the former,
Hume says: “This was the first blood spilt in that fatal quarrel, which was not finished in less than a course of thirty years; which was signalized by twelve pitched battles; which opened a scene of extraordinary fierceness and cruelty; is computed to have cost the lives of eighty princes of the blood; and almost entirely annihilated the ancient nobility of
England.
The strong attachments which, at that time, men of the same kindred bore to each other, and the vindictive spirit which was considered a point of honor, rendered the great families implacable in their resentments, and widened every moment of the breach between the parties.”
Such was the state of things in
England under which an entire generation grew up; but when Henry VII., in whom the titles of the two houses were united, went up to
London after the battle of
Bosworth Field, to mount the throne, he was everywhere received with joyous acclamations, “as one ordained and sent from heaven to put an end to the dissensions” which had so long afflicted the country.
The great rebellion in
England of the seventeenth century, after long and angry premonitions, may be said to have begun with the calling of the Long Parliament.
in 1640, and to have ended with the return of Charles II., in 1660; twenty years of discord, conflict, and civil war; of confiscation, plunder, havoc; a proud hereditary peerage trampled in the dust; a national Church overturned, its clergy beggared, its most eminent prelate put to death; a military despotism established on the ruins of a monarchy which had subsisted 700 years, and the legitimate sovereign brought to the block; the great families which adhered to the
King proscribed, impoverished, ruined; prisoners of war—a fate worse than starvation in
Libby—sold to slavery in the
West Indies; in a word, everything that can embitter and madden contending factions.
Such was the state of things for twenty years; and yet, by no gentle transition, but suddenly, and “when the restoration
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of affairs appeared hopeless,” the son of the beheaded sovereign was brought back to his father's blood-stained throne, with such “unexpressible and universal joy” as led the merry monarch to exclaim, “He doubted it had been his own fault he had been absent so long, for he saw nobody who did not protest he had ever wished for his return.”
“In this wonderful manner,” says
Clarendon, “and with this incredible expedition, did God put an end to a rebellion that had raged for twenty years, and had been carried on with all the horrible circumstances of murder, devastation, and parricide that fire and sword in the hands of the most wicked men in the world [it is a royalist that is speaking] could be instruments of, almost to the devastation of two kingdoms, and the exceeding defacing and deforming of the third. ... By these remarkable steps did the merciful hand of God, in this short space of time, not only bind up and heal all those wounds, but even made the scar as indiscernible as, in respect of the deepness, was possible, which was a glorious addition to the deliverance.”
In
Germany the wars of the Reformation and of Charles V., in the sixteenth century, the Thirty Years War in the seventeenth century, the Seven Years War in the eighteenth century, not to speak of other less celebrated contests, entailed upon that country all the miseries of intestine strife for more than three centuries. At the close of the lastnamed war—which was the shortest of all, and waged in the most civilized age— “an officer,” says Archenholz, “rode through seven villages in
Hesse, and found in them but one human being.”
More than 300 principalities, comprehended in the empire, fermented with the fierce passions of proud and petty states; at the commencement of this period the castles of robber-counts frowned upon every hill-top; a dreadful secret tribunal whose seat no one knew, whose power none could escape, froze the hearts of men with terror through the land; religious hatred mingled its bitter poison in the seething caldron of provincial animosity; but of all these deadly enmities between the states of
Germany scarcely the memory remains.
There are controversies in that country at the present day, but they grow mainly out of the rivalry of the two leading powers.
There is no country in the world in which the sentiment of national brotherhood is stronger.
In
Italy, on the breaking up of the
Roman Empire, society might be said to be resolved into its original elements— into hostile atoms, whose only movement was that of mutual repulsion.
Ruthless barbarians had destroyed the old organizations, and covered the land with a merciless feudalism.
As the new civilization grew up, under the wing of the
Church, the noble families and the walled towns fell madly into conflict with each other; the secular feud of pope and emperor scourged the land; province against province, city against city, street against street, waged remorseless war with each other from father to son, till
Dante was able to fill his imaginary hell with the real demons of
Italian history.
So ferocious had the factions become that the great poet-exile himself, the glory of his native city and of his native language, was, by a decree of the municipality, condemned to be burned alive if found in the city of
Florence.
But these deadly feuds and hatreds yielded to political influences, as the hostile cities were grouped into states under stable governments; the lingering traditions of the ancient animosities gradually died away, and now
Tuscan and
Lombard, Sardinian and Neapolitan, as if to shame the degenerate sons of
America, are joining in one cry for a united
Italy.
In
France, not to go back to the civil wars of the League in the sixteenth century and of the Fronde in the seventeenth; not to speak of the dreadful scenes throughout the kingdom which followed the revocation of the edict of
Nantes; we have, in the great revolution which commenced at the close of the last century, seen the blood-hounds of civil strife let loose as rarely before in the history of the world.
The reign of terror established at
Paris stretched its bloody Briarean arms to every city and village in the land; and if the most deadly feuds which ever divided a people had the power to cause permanent alienation and hatred, this surely was the occasion.
But far otherwise the fact.
In
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seven years from the fall of Robespierre, the strong arm of the youthful conqueror brought order out of this chaos of crime and woe; Jacobins whose hands were scarcely cleansed from the best blood of
France met the returning emigrants, whose estates they had confiscated and whose kindred they had dragged to the guillotine in the imperial ante-chambers; and when, after another turn of the wheelof-fortune, Louis XVIII.
was restored to his throne, he took the regicide
Fouche, who had voted for his brother's death, to his cabinet and confidence.
The people of loyal
America will never ask you, sir, to take to your confidence or admit again to share in the government the hard-hearted men whose cruel lust of power has brought this desolating war upon the land, but there is no personal bitterness felt even against them.
They may live, if they can bear to live after wantonly causing the death of so many of their fellow-men; they may live in safe obscurity beneath the shelter of the government they have sought to overthrow, or they may fly to the protection of the governments of
Europe — some of them are already there seeking, happily in vain, to obtain the aid of foreign power in furtherance of their own treason.
There let them stay.
The humblest dead soldier that lies cold and stiff in his grave before us is an object of envy beneath the clods that cover him in comparison with the living man—I care not with what trumpery credentials he may be furnished—who is willing to grovel at the foot of a foreign throne for assistance in compassing the ruin of his country.
But the hour is coming, and now is, when the powers of the leaders of the rebellion to delude and inflame must cease.
There is no bitterness on the part of the masses.
The people of the
South are not going to wage an eternal war for the wretched pretexts by which this rebellion is sought to be justified.
The bonds that unite us as one people, a substantial community of origin, language, belief, and law (the four great ties that hold the societies of men together) ; common national and political interests; a common history; a common pride in a glorious ancestry; a common interest in this great heritage of blessings; the very geographical features of the country; the mighty rivers that cross the lines of climate, and thus facilitate the interchange of natural and industrial products, while the wonder-working arm of the engineer has levelled the mountain-walls which separate the
East and the
West, compelling your own Alleghanies, my
Maryland and
Pennsylvania friends, to open wide their everlasting doors to the chariot-wheels of traffic and travel—these bonds of union are of perennial force and energy, while the causes of alienation are factitious and transient.
The heart of the people, North and South, is for union.
Indications, too plain to be mistaken, announce the fact, both in the east and the west of the States in rebellion.
In
North Carolina and
Arkansas the fatal charm at length is broken.
At
Raleigh and
Little Rock the lips of honest and brave men are unsealed, and an independent press is unlimbering its artillery.
When its rifled cannon shall begin to roar, the hosts of treasonable sophistry, the mad delusions of the day, will fly like the rebel army through the passes of yonder mountain.
The weary masses of the people are yearning to see the dear old flag again floating upon their capitols, and they sigh for the return of the peace, prosperity, and happiness which they enjoyed under a government whose power was felt only in its blessings.
And now, friends, fellow-citizens of
Gettysburg and
Pennsylvania, and you from remote States, let me again, as we part, invoke your benediction on these honored graves.
You feel, though the occasion is mournful, that it is good to be here.
You feel that it was greatly auspicious for the cause of the country that the men of the
East and the men of the
West, the men of nineteen sister States, stood side by side on the perilous ridges of the battle.
You now feel it is a new bond of union that they shall lie side by side till a clarion, louder than that which marshalled them to the combat, shall awake their slumbers.
God bless the
Union; it is dearer to us for the blood of the brave men which has been shed in its defence.
The spots on which they stood and fell; these pleasant heights; the fertile plains beneath them; the thriving village whose streets so lately rang
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with the strange din of war; the fields beyond the ridge, where the noble
Reynolds held the advancing foe at bay, and, while he gave up his own life, assured by his forethought and self-sacrifice the triumph of the two succeeding days; the little stream which winds through the hills, on whose banks in after time the wondering ploughman will turn up the fearful missiles of modern artillery;
Seminary Ridge, the
Peach Orchard, Cemetery,
Culp and
Wolf Hill,
Round Top,
Little Round Top—humble names, henceforward dear and famous, no lapse of time, no distance of space, shall cause you to be forgotten.
“The whole earth,” said
Pericles, as he stood over the remains of his fellow-citizens who had fallen in the first year of the
Peloponnesian War, “the whole earth is the sepulchre of illustrious men.”
All time, he might have added, is the millennium of their glory.
Surely I would do no injustice to the other noble achievements of the war, which have reflected such honor on both arms of the service, and have entitled the armies and the navy of the
United States, their officers and men, to the warmest thanks and the richest rewards which a grateful people can pay. But they, I am sure, will join us in saying, as we bid farewell to the dust of these martyr heroes, that wheresoever throughout the civilized world the accounts of this great warfare are read, and down to the latest period of recorded time, in the glorious annals of our common country there will be no brighter page than that which relates the battles of
Gettysburg.