by Dan Gutman
About midway through the parade line, two smiling boys jumped in front of Julia and Isabel. They were the same boys who had been flirting with them the night before.
“Well, hello again!” the taller one said cheerfully. “We hoped we would see you ladies here. I hope you enjoyed the bread.”
“Isn’t it a most spectacular day for a parade?” asked the shorter one. “If you two would care to join us, we’re fixin’ to—”
“Can’t talk now,” Julia shouted as she hustled past the boys. Then, feeling a little guilty about taking their bread, Julia added, “My cell is 617-555-0143. Text me!”
The two boys stared blankly at the girls as they disappeared into the crowd.
“You realize, of course,” Isabel told Julia, “that the telephone hasn’t been invented yet. And there won’t be any cell phones or text messages for over a hundred years.”
“That’s their problem,” Julia replied.
The four rushed toward the front of the parade as it continued down Baltimore Street. The road split after a few blocks, and the leaders of the parade turned at Emmitsburg Road to enter Soldiers’ National Cemetery. Hundreds of people were already there, having come early to stake out positions close to the speaker’s platform.
This cemetery, I want you to know, was different from most military cemeteries. Usually, the officers are buried in one section and the foot soldiers in a separate section. But in the Soldiers’ National Cemetery, everyone was treated equally. The graves were grouped by state. So all the fallen soldiers from Massachusetts, for example, were buried in one area, and all the ones from New Jersey in another area. Of the eighteen states that were represented, the one with the most graves was New York. Almost a quarter of all the graves belonged to soldiers from that state.
As they entered the cemetery, the Flashback Four were careful not to step on any graves. It was important to show respect for the dead, which was what this day was all about. A group of soldiers held up a banner honoring their comrades who had died in the battle.
Two men ushered President Lincoln and his little horse toward the speaker’s platform, where he dismounted, and then the horse was led away. The stage was made of wood, about three feet high and the size of a large room. Three rows of chairs had been set up on it, with ten chairs in each row. Gradually they were filled with dignitaries, including the governors of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Indiana, Maine, Maryland, Ohio, and West Virginia. At the front of the stage was a small wooden table with a pitcher of water on it.
Luke noticed that there was no podium, and more importantly, no microphone. In 1863, public speakers had to project their voice if they wanted to be heard. That could be a problem for the video Luke was planning to shoot.
President Lincoln took his seat—a high-backed rocking chair—in the middle of the front row. Secretary of State Seward sat to his left. The seat on his other side was empty, for the time being.
At the side of the stage, a line of newspaper reporters were already waiting with pencils and paper in hand, ready to jot down every word spoken. Scattered around the crowd were several photographers, setting up their big, bulky cameras. Seeing them reminded Luke of the importance of his mission. None of those photographers was going to capture Lincoln delivering the Gettysburg Address. So he would have to.
“You nervous?” David asked Luke.
“Yeah, a little. I don’t want to mess this up.”
David patted Luke on the shoulder.
A band played a somber dirge to set the mood. The crowd pushed forward as more people filled the cemetery grounds. There must have been fifteen or twenty thousand all together. The Flashback Four were all jammed together. It looked like it would be impossible to move.
The music came to an end. There was restless anticipation throughout the crowd. The people sensed that the ceremony was about to begin. Luke held the camera low but at the ready. He wanted to wait until the last possible moment to hold it up in the air.
A clergyman, the Reverend Thomas Stockton, walked to the front of the stage. The men in the crowd removed their hats without being told. Luke and David followed suit. A hush fell over the cemetery.
“Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name . . .”
At the end of the Lord’s Prayer, Reverend Stockton praised the Union soldiers who had fought so bravely at Gettysburg.
“As the trees are not dead, though their foliage is gone,” he said, “so our heroes are not dead, though their forms have fallen.”
A choir sang a hymn that was unfamiliar to the Flashback Four, but the crowd knew it well and joined in. Some people were moved to tears.
The reverend went back to his seat at the back of the stage. Luke got ready to raise the camera, expecting President Lincoln to stand up and deliver the Gettysburg Address. But he didn’t.
Instead, an elderly, white-haired man emerged from a small tent not far from the stage. He was escorted up the steps and over to the empty seat on Lincoln’s right. When he sat down, everyone else on the stage rose from their seats as a sign of respect, including the president.
“Who’s the old dude?” Luke whispered in David’s ear.
“Beats me. He’s sure making a grand entrance.”
The old dude was Edward Everett, who was actually the featured speaker of the day. You probably thought the main attraction was Abraham Lincoln. Most people think that. But the president was only asked to give a few “appropriate remarks” at the dedication. It was Edward Everett who was to give the main speech. He’s nearly forgotten now, but in his day Everett was one of the most famous orators in the world.
You’re probably wondering, reader, why Everett made such a grand entrance. The truth is that he had bladder problems, and needed to use the bathroom frequently. A little toilet had been set up inside the tent so the great man would not have to interrupt the ceremonies to pee.
Luke relaxed a bit and put the camera down as Everett stood up and walked slowly to the center of the stage. The audience quieted down. Everett rested his speech on the small table in front of him, but he never looked at it. He began to speak from memory. . . .
“Standing beneath this serene sky, overlooking these broad fields . . .”
Edward Everett began his speech by talking about how the ancient Greeks had honored their soldiers who died in wars. It was difficult to hear his voice, especially for those unlucky enough to be at the back of the crowd. A few people near the stage began relaying the words—sentence by sentence—to people behind them, so the speech got passed through the crowd, like a game of telephone.
“This might be a problem,” Luke whispered to Isabel. “I don’t know if the camera is going to pick up Lincoln’s voice from this distance.”
“Let’s try to get closer,” she replied.
Holding hands to stay together, the Flashback Four elbowed their way past the people in front of them, causing a few dirty looks and stepped-on toes. Onstage, Edward Everett was going on and on about the Battle of Gettysburg, describing every thrust and parry, every strategic move by the Union and Confederate armies, with great emotion. It looked like he was settling in for the long haul.
Luke decided it would be a good idea to test the camera again. He turned it on and held it up, but not so high that it would attract attention from the rest of the crowd, who had never seen such a device.
It looked like the video and audio were coming through fine. Luke flashed a quick thumbs-up sign to the others. He was now in a good position for filming.
Everett went on talking at length about the Battle of Gettysburg. After an hour, he was showing no signs of reaching the end. Still, the audience hung on to his every word. People had longer attention spans in those days.
“Is this guy ever going to wrap it up?” Julia whispered.
“He might die of old age first,” David cracked.
Bzzz. Isabel felt the TTT vibrating in her pocket.
DID YOU TAKE THE SHOT? Miss Z asked.
SOME OLD GUY IS TALKING,
Isabel typed back.
Everett had finished his description of the battle and had moved on to discuss what was going to happen after the Civil War was over. He took fifteen minutes to basically predict that America would be stronger than ever.
As I’m sure you know, standing for a long period of time is hard on your legs and back. The crowd seemed to be getting restless, and as an experienced orator, Everett could sense it. He had started talking at noon, and had been at it for nearly two hours. It was warmer outside now. People were removing their coats. Some had already left the grounds and gone home. Everett started to wind down his speech.
Behind him, President Lincoln took a pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on. Then he pulled out three sheets of paper—the same sheets Julia had found in his room the day before.
“This is it,” David whispered to Luke. “Be ready.”
Lincoln appeared to be nervous as he looked over what he had written. The address he was about to deliver was not just some howdy-do-folks, nice-to-be-here kind of speech. It was serious stuff. Thousands of Americans had already died in this awful war, and thousands more would die before it was over. People had lost their sons, their brothers, and their fathers. The president wanted to explain to the citizens why such a terrible price needed to be paid to fight against their own countrymen. He returned the sheets of paper to his pocket.
You may be wondering, reader, if Lincoln mentioned slavery in his Gettysburg Address. He didn’t. Not once. But that’s what the speech was about. The outcome of the war would determine whether or not a nation that was dedicated to the idea that all men are created equal could survive.
Without saying it out loud, Lincoln was about to tell the crowd—and the nation—that America could have slavery or liberty, but not both. Having liberty doesn’t mean you have the liberty to enslave other people. Having freedom doesn’t mean you have the freedom to take away somebody else’s freedom.
Essentially, Lincoln would be proposing a new nation. And he would be telling Americans—mostly white Americans—that this new nation was worth fighting for.
Finally, after two solid hours of nonstop talking, Edward Everett wrapped things up.
“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.”
The crowd rewarded the old man with a thunderous ovation. Or maybe they were just happy that he was finished talking. Lincoln shook Everett’s hand and thanked him. Everett was helped off stage, where he trudged over to his little tent to use the bathroom. He had been holding it in for a long time.
“Okay, you gotta be quick,” David whispered to Luke. “Once Lincoln starts talking, the whole thing will be over in two minutes.”
“I know, dude. I know,” Luke said, gripping the camera tightly.
It looked like the president was about to stand up, but instead, the Baltimore Glee Club sang another hymn. Then, some guy with a top hat announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States of America.”
Lincoln removed his hat, put it on the floor under his seat, and stood up. The crowd applauded enthusiastically as he walked to the front of the stage. The battlefield where those soldiers had fought so bravely was spread out in front of him. Behind him was their final resting place. He stood silent for a moment, his hands clasped together and his head bowed.
Luke turned on the camera.
Or, he tried to turn on the camera, anyway. He was fumbling with the buttons.
“Something’s wrong!” he muttered under his breath.
“What do you mean something’s wrong?” Julia asked, alarmed.
“It won’t turn on!” Luke said.
“Did you push the right button?” David asked.
“Of course I pushed the right button!” Luke said as he frantically fiddled with the camera. “I’m not stupid!”
Lincoln waited for the applause to die down. Then he took the three sheets of paper out of his pocket and unfolded them. He didn’t put his speech on the table, the way Everett had. He held it in his hand.
A hush fell over the crowd. Lincoln had a solemn look on his face. Luke was still fumbling with the camera.
“Four score and seven years ago . . .”
“You missed the beginning!” Julia said to Luke, poking him.
“our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal . . .”
Lincoln was speaking very slowly and clearly, in a Kentucky accent. Meanwhile, Luke and the others were freaking out.
“Why do they make these things so hard to use?” Luke muttered.
“I thought you knew how to use the thing!” Julia said.
“I did.”
Cheers and applause washed over the audience when Lincoln spoke the words “all men are created equal.” He had to stop and wait until the hubbub trailed off before he could continue.
“Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure . . .”
His speech was mostly memorized, but the president glanced down at his papers several times. He spoke without making gestures.
Sweat was dripping down Luke’s forehead as he tried to get the camera to work.
“I should have brought my cell phone,” Julia said. “We would have the video right now.”
“Maybe the battery’s dead,” Isabel guessed.
“How can it be dead?” Luke asked. “I didn’t use it at all, hardly.”
“Batteries drain even when you don’t use them,” said David.
Lincoln glanced up briefly to scan the crowd before continuing.
“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 . . .”
“You should have charged up the battery,” Julia told Luke.
“Where was he gonna charge it?” David replied. “You see any electrical outlets around here?”
“Maybe I had the camera on the whole time Everett was talking,” Luke grumbled.
“Why would you do that?” asked Isabel.
“I didn’t do it on purpose! Stop yelling at me! You’re not helping!”
A lady next to the Flashback Four put a finger to her lips and shot them a disapproving look.
“Shhhhh!” she said.
“But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract . . .”
The crowd broke into applause again, causing Lincoln to stop.
“Hurry up!” Julia whispered to Luke. “Figure it out!”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
“Forget the video!” David whispered. “It’s too late now. Put it on still pictures and try to turn it on. We gotta get the shot for Miss Z, at least.”
“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here . . .”
Lincoln swept his hand in a wide circle across the field of graves. For a moment, he was choked up. The crowd applauded again. People nodded their heads in agreement.
Time was running out. Luke’s hands had become slippery as he fumbled with the camera.
“Miss Z is gonna freak out!” Isabel whispered.
“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 . . .”
More applause.
“I give up,” Luke said. “It’s dead. I can’t make it work.”
“Don
’t give up!” Isabel said. “You can do this!”
“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 . . .”
There were only a few seconds left in the speech.
“that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain . . .”
Applause.
Luke gnashed his teeth. All the preparation and everything they had been through since they arrived at Gettysburg had been for nothing. And they wouldn’t be able to come back to try again because the Board could only send them to a specific time period once.
“that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom . . .”
Suddenly, for reasons unexplained, the little screen on the camera lit up.
“It’s working!” Luke said.
“Quick! Take a still shot!” David said. “He’s almost done!”
Luke held the camera up in the air over his head and pointed it in the direction of Abraham Lincoln.
“and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the . . .”
As the president spoke the final word of the Gettysburg Address, Luke pushed the button.
“That young man has a weapon!” somebody shouted.
“He’s trying to shoot the president!”
“Grab him!”
CHAPTER 19
A HEAP OF TROUBLE
THREE BURLY BODYGUARDS CAME RUNNING OVER and pounced on Luke before he could get off another shot.
“Stop! Wait! Oww, you’re hurting me!” he hollered as they wrestled him to the ground.
When David, Isabel, and Julia tried to pull the bodyguards off Luke, they were swatted away like mosquitoes.
Meanwhile, President Lincoln had finished delivering the Gettysburg Address to a tremendous ovation, which drowned out the commotion going on just twenty feet in front of him. He was escorted from the stage, shaking hands with many of the dignitaries in the front row.
