by Angela Moody
President Lincoln didn’t smile, but his expression softened and the corners of his mouth lifted a little. He raised his fingers to his hat brim and nodded at her, as though they shared a private joke.
Mr. Wills turned to find out who caught his guest’s attention, and he too, bowed his head and touched his hat to Tillie.
A military entourage clattered along behind the President.
The front door opened, and the rest of her family joined her on the step.
“You missed it! The President just rode by, and you missed it!”
“Well, we got out here as fast as possible before you pulled the door off its hinges.” Mother adjusted her bonnet.
An open carriage drove by with Mr. Everett, the key speaker, inside. A young woman sat next to him, fussing over the old man. Though a mild day for mid-November, he wore a heavy blanket like a shawl around his shoulders. The woman tucked another warm covering about his hips, using her body to shield him from the wind.
“Is he Mr. Everett?” Sam’s voice held a mix of awe and disappointment. In honor of the orator’s visit, Mother made him read a series of Mr. Everett’s old speeches and lectures. “He’s so old.”
“He’s eight-six.” Father put his hat on his head. “He has a right to look old. He’s an extremely sick man. He shouldn’t be out here.”
Mother and Maggie murmured sounds of pity for Mr. Everett.
Tillie studied his appearance. The old man did appear uncomfortable in his greatcoat and blanket over his shoulders and one about his legs. The woman did her best to tuck blankets around him and use her body to shield him from the wind.
“She must be his daughter.” Mother’s eyes rested on her. “I understand he travels nowhere without her.”
“Why didn’t they provide a closed carriage for him?” Maggie gazed with sympathy as they rode by. “The poor man.”
Once the conveyance passed, the parade swept the Pierces in. At the back, martial music now played “Marching Along”.
Tillie bounced on her toes to the lively tune. She sang the last of the refrain. “For God and for country, we are marching along.”
Sam picked up the tune and joined in, “Marching along, we are marching along. Gird on the armor, and be marching along. Lincoln’s”—he substituted the President’s name for the original, McClellan—“our leader, he’s gallant and strong. For God and for country, we are marching along.”
Tillie grinned at him, surprised by his clear tenor. She’d never heard him sing before. She only sang when certain the music would drown out her voice.
He grinned back.
After crossing Washington Street, they entered the still incomplete, wrought-iron gates of the new National Soldier’s Cemetery. Even unfinished, a grand design took shape.
They laid the cemetery on a hexagonal plot of land, in a D-shaped pattern. Each Northern state, allotted a block of graves, lay within the semicircle. Handwritten signs on sticks indicated the location of each state.
They entered the gates. Mounds of dirt, still smelling of disturbed earth lay beside open pits waiting for their recipient, and markers indicated graves not yet dug, and would have to wait until spring.
“Still a lot of work to do.” Maggie scanned the area.
A new wrought-iron fence separating Evergreen Cemetery from the National Soldier’s Cemetery stood half-complete.
Maggie indicated a couple standing near the Pennsylvania marker. “There are the Sandoes. I think I’ll go over and speak to them.” She left, wending her way through the crowd.
“There’s President Lincoln with Governor Curtin and Mr. Seward.” Tillie shielded her eyes from the weak sun and gazed at the platform on which the dignitaries seated themselves, laughing and talking with each other.
She grabbed her father’s arm and smiled up at him, eyes shining. “Mr. Lincoln tipped his hat to me when they passed the house!”
Father squeezed her shoulder. “Good for you.”
She scanned the program in her hand. “At least seventeen governors are here, as well as many senators and congressmen.”
On the podium, Secretary Seward spoke to the President as he made himself comfortable.
Around the cemetery, strangers searched for their beloved’s gravesite. Tillie focused on one woman, whose physical appearance reminded her of Mrs. Greenly. When the woman found a grave, she dropped to her knees in grief, while her husband stood by in silence. Many others turned away, devastated, when they did not find what they sought.
“Those poor, poor mothers and wives.” Mother shook her head. “It’s enough to break one’s heart. I wonder how Mrs. Greenly is faring.”
The band played “The Battle Hymn Of The Republic”, its up-tempo sweeping the crowd as people wept over the mounds of earth.
“Come.” Father took Mother’s elbow and put his other hand on Tillie’s back, between her shoulder blades. “Let’s look around, shall we?” He directed his family away from the sight of so many people mourning their loved ones.
The “Battle Hymn Of The Republic” ended with a flourish, and the band played a more solemn tune, “May God Save the Union”.
The mood of the tune grabbed her, and Tillie sang along.
“May God save the Union! God grant it may stand,
The pride of our people, the boast of our land;
Still, still ’mid the storm may our banner float free,
Unrent and unriven o’er earth and o’er sea.”
The coronets and trumpets took over the sad tune. Tillie let the music fill her.
“May God save the Union! The Red, White and Blue,
Our States keep united the dreary day through;
Let the stars tell the tale of the glorious past,
And bind us in Union forever to last.”
The crowd picked up the tune, and before the third verse, even those on the podium sang. At the final verse, the crowd raised their voices and almost shouted the words.
“May God save the Union! Still, still may it stand
upheld by the strength of the patriot hand,
to cement it our Fathers ensanguined the sod,
to keep it we kneel to a merciful God.”
The last notes drifted away on the breeze as the crowd hushed and migrated toward the platform.
Reverend Stockton rose and began his invocation. He raised his hands over his head calling upon the presence of the Lord. “Oh, God our Father,” he intoned, “For the sake of the Son, our Savior, inspire us with thy spirit and sanctify us to the right fulfillment of the duties of this occasion…”
Tillie stopped on a small rise of land where she could see between the shoulders of two tall men in front of her. She clasped her hands together beneath her cloak and an excited shiver ran down her body. Reverend Stockton’s deep baritone carried over the crowd, fitting the occasion. “…Looking back to the dark days of fear and of trembling, and the rapture of relief that came after, we multiply our thanksgivings and confess our obligations to renew and perfect our personal and social consecration to thy service and glory…”
Heads bowed in supplication. Every man present had removed his cap as the reverend’s voice carried over the silent, respectful crowd. Feeling a bit like her old self, Tillie lowered her head and closed her eyes as she let Reverend Stockton’s voice flow over her and fill her soul.
“…Oh, Lord, our God, bless us. Oh our Father, bless the bereaved, whether absent or present. Bless our sick and wounded soldiers and sailors. Bless all our rulers and people. Bless our army and navy. Bless the efforts to suppress this rebellion and bless all the associations of this day, and place, and scene forever. As the trees are not dead, though their foliage is gone, so our heroes are not dead though their forms have fallen. In their proper personality they are all with thee…”
The sun found a chink in the clouds and shone on the platform, seeming to illuminate Reverend Stockton with ethereal light as if God himself listened and approved.
A murmur rippled through the cro
wd as the reverend finished and sat down.
The marine band played through a quick tune as Edward Everett rose and shuffled to the podium. He took his time getting his notes out of his coat pocket and putting his spectacles on his nose before turning to the bandleader and nodding. The music stopped.
Tillie clapped as hard as everyone else did. She exchanged excited grins with Sam.
When ready, Mr. Everett took hold of the lapels of his coat and surveyed the crowd and grounds. A hushed silence fell over the listeners.
Tillie’s heart pounded, and she clasped her hands together, waiting for his words to fall on her ears. Mr. Everett tipped his face to the shaft of sunlight, as though peering through the clouds, seeking divine assistance. He lowered his face and began:
“Standing beneath this serene sky, overlooking these broad fields now reposing from the labors of the waning year, the mighty Alleghenies 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 called me must be performed; grant me, I pray you, your indulgence and your sympathy.” Even at the age of eight-six, and though sickly, his strong orator’s voice resonated, carrying to the mass of people waiting, as if to receive manna from heaven.
A shiver of excitement shot through Tillie. She too read his speeches in honor of his visit.
He began speaking of funeral rites and customs of ancient Greece, expounding on a battle in ancient Athens. Tillie’s brow creased, and she tilted her head, trying to keep up with his logic. What did ancient Greece have to do with what happened here? She and Sam glanced at each other.
“What in the world?” Sam mouthed.
Tillie shrugged. “He’s just getting started. I’m sure it’ll get better,” she whispered in Sam’s ear. She crossed her arms, shifted her weight, and turned back to Mr. Everett.
As his speech continued, he brought the battle of ancient Athens into sharp relief, and again, she thrilled to the excitement of his oration.
“…That battlefield where Persia’s victim hoard first bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas’ sword.”
So caught up in his oration, Tillie could almost imagine the blade sliding between her rib cage. She breathed in deep.
“We have assembled, friends, fellow citizens, at the invitation of the Executive of the great 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.”
Tillie nodded in unconscious agreement. Men fought and died here, and they should honor them.
She scanned the crowd and saw a woman pull a handkerchief out of her reticule and dab at her eyes. A man slipped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple.
Mr. Everett talked about the days of Secession, addressing the issues surrounding secession, and brought the crowd forward to July. Tillie leaned forward, eyes locked on him, mouth open slightly. He told her things she didn’t know before, or never took the time to put into the grander scheme of the war. He came to June thirtieth.
Such an exciting day, the day the soldiers came to town. In her mind’s eye, the river of blue flowed up Washington Street and through town. She reached over and clasped Sam’s hand. He squeezed and let go.
“And now the momentous day, a day to be forever remembered in the annals of the country, arrived. Early in the morning on the first of July 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 those 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.”
Mr. Everett went on to describe the fighting on the second and third days as well. Sweeping his arm across the fields of Gettysburg, he let his voice ring out over the crowd. She thrilled to the cadence and rhythm of his words.
He turned to the crux of the war, and once again, she found herself learning something. He spoke of the Constitution, explaining how the South did not have the Constitutional right to secede. He explained the power of the Federal Government, established by the People of the United States. Not by individual states, but the people. He spoke of the rightness and justice of putting the rebellion down.
“And now, friends, fellow-citizens of Gettysburg and Pennsylvania, and you from remoter States, let me again, as we part, invoke a benediction on these honored graves…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 the nineteen sister States, stood side by side, on the perilous ridges of the battle…God bless the Union; it is dearer to us for the blood of brave men which has been shed in its defense.”
Too bad she didn’t have a handkerchief to wipe her wet eyes. Instead, she used a corner of her cloak cuff. As she tilted her head to wipe her face, her gaze caught Father using a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.
Mr. Everett’s speech lasted two hours, though the time flew past. A moment of hushed silence greeted its end. Then the crowd broke into wild applause. Mr. Everett bowed his head, acknowledging them, before shuffling back to his seat. His daughter rose and helped him to sit.
The military band played through a quick rendition of “Lincoln And Liberty”. The last notes drifted away on the breeze as Mr. Lincoln rose, extending his hand to Mr. Everett, who half rose and shook the President’s hand.
Mr. Lincoln towered over the podium. With his left hand, he reached into his coat pocket for his speech while holding his spectacles in his right hand. Then he reached up and removed his hat. With his hat in his hand, he couldn’t unfold his speech. He started to put his hat back on, but seemed to change his mind. The wind picked up and almost snapped his speech out of his hand. He half turned first to the right and then to the left.
People around Tillie snickered. Men shook their heads. “Our fearless leader,” the man next to her spoke in a low voice to his companion. They laughed.
Tillie glared at him, but he didn’t glance in her direction.
Mr. Seward rose and took the President’s hat saying something as he did so. The President smiled and answered. Mr. Seward sat back down, crossed his legs, plopped the top hat on his lap, and folded his arms.
Again, President Lincoln surveyed his audience. In his high tenor voice, he began to speak. “Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation: conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
“What is this claptrap?” a man muttered, taking swift notes. A card in his hat brim identified him as a reporter.
Tillie’s brow creased.
“Now—” The President’s voice sailed over the crowd. “We are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.”
“The man’s a fool,” the reporter next to her muttered, but he didn’t stop his writing.
His companion shook his head. “Of course it’s fitting and proper. That’s why we’re here.”
They laughed together.
Tillie scowled and sidled closer to Father. He put his arm around her and squeezed, as though to say, don’t worry, they’re the fools. She laid her head on his arm, grateful he understood her.
“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 co
nsecrated it, far above our poor powers 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 advanced. 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 the Government of the people,” Mr. Lincoln stressed the last line of his speech.
“By the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
He turned to sit back down to a smattering of applause.
Tillie raised her hands to clap. Was he done? Mr. Everett went on for two hours. Mr. Lincoln only two minutes.
“Mr. Lincoln certainly doesn’t mince words, does he?” Father said a chuckle in his voice. “I believe I just heard the shortest speech ever from a politician.”
“James, don’t be disrespectful.” Mother frowned at him, though her eyes sparkled. “Although, I must say, after Mr. Everett, I expected a bit more.”
“Looks like Mr. Seward is going to speak now.” Sam pointed to the podium.
Mr. Seward jumped to his feet, as though he realized, as the President seemed not to, the crowd anticipated more. He pulled his notes from his pocket and began speaking, but people drifted away.
With a sense of anticlimax, Tillie walked beside Father. They went to the Pennsylvania section of graves and looked at the wooden markers naming the men lying beneath.
Many people wandered the gravesites of the various other states, perhaps looking for loved ones, perhaps just looking. Would this be their one and only trip to Gettysburg? Their only chance to say goodbye to a dear one? She didn’t know, but as her gaze roamed the field, she spied Mrs. Schriver, holding her daughter’s hands and talking to Beckie at the far end of the Pennsylvania section. Sadie waved at Tillie. Tillie smiled and waved back.
Their terrible row over the petticoat and her many angry and unkind thoughts toward Beckie pricked her conscience. She never apologized for her part in their argument.
