Memorial address delivered by Col. Ephraim F. Anderson at Antietam National Cemetery : May 30, 1870

:W«ElAfc-.-0!;iaSS

)y.r\ \ Kii,

!■: -i \])E118()N

rtn*^'

:>.', 1^70,

i.ii.VKiR]::

>'>h ANTl I'OSTK^l I'HINT.K^.^

DELIVERED BY

y^

Col. Ephraim F. Anderson.

AT

lit '^

iitiditm A Htioniil :(j^emritrg,

IsLJ^^ 30, 1870.

^ u. f

BALTIMORE:

JOHN COX, BOOK, JOB AND PO.STER PRINTER,

Corner of Gay and Lombard Streets.

S.'fe.V

Prifited at the request of Samuel I. Piper, Edirard M.

Mohley and Jolin Reielinrd, irho n:ere appointed a

Committee to soli fit a ropy for publication.

ADDRESS.

The concourse of people having reached the Cemetery
grounds, with c[uantities of flowers to scatter about the sol-
diers' graves, they assembled in front of a stand which had
been erected, when the exercises were commenced with music
and singing, followed with solemn prayer by the Rev. Wra.
M. Osborn, after which Col. Ephraim F. Anderson was in-
troduced as tlie Orator of the day, who sjioke as follows :

Ladies and Gentlemen :

We have come here to-day with evergreens and flowers to
decorate the graves of our fallen heroes. The 30th of May,
which has been designated as our "Memorial Day," is indeed
becoming a national anniversary — the saddest yet the sweet-
est of all the days we celebrate. These tender observances
help to humanize our feelings and purify our patriotism. —
Our annual pilgrimages to these sacred little mounds make
our hearts better and inspire us with a purer love of country.
While people everywhere, botli civilized and barbarous, have
fondly cherished the memory of their brave ones slain in bat-
tle, yet their tributes of sorrow and gratitude have been com-
memorative rather of their great national triumphs, or lavish-
ed upon their victorious cbieftains alone. Monuments have
been reared to the very heavens to point where battles were
fought and won, or to mark where famous leaders fell, and
pyramids have been erected for the sepulture of kings ; but
the rank and file of armies have passed unnoticed as indivi-
duals, and have been allowed to commingle their dust in shal-
low, evenly covered ditches, in forgotten or unfrequented
places.

We are not here to-day to gaze up toward the apex of some
proud pillar, as it pierces the sky ; nor are we come where

our sentiment for the dead wiU be lost in admiration of the
splendid mausoleum or' cosft]A>C5notaph. Within these cem-
etery walls five thousand of our brave defenders lie slumber-
ing, and we are come to this bivouac of our gallant dead, bring-
ing with us the bloom and fragrance of early spring-time —
beautiful flowers, delicate and tender as the emotions which
they symbolize — beautiful flowers with which God's love has
made our earth smile — beautiful flowers to be arranged by
fair hands over each humble yet honored grave. I know not
whether the departed turn back to view the honors bestowed
upon their remains, but if such be their wont, I imagine
the spirits of those whose bones repose here are hovering
about these memorial services ; and these lovely flowers are
only less grateful to them than the nation's starry flag which
they hallowed by their blood.

While this occasion is mainly in honor of the cause for
which our soldiers gave up their lives, it at the same time
engages tho tenderest afiectious of our hearts, for we are sen-
sible that those who sleep here are our sons and our brothers,
and Ave perform, though imperfectly, the sweet ofiices which
their dearer kindred would esteem their sacred privilege.

In all times, it has been a fond desire of the human race to
be buried, after death, among their kindred in the family
graveyard, where surviving friends might often stray and be-
stow their tributes of affection.

When Jacob was about to die his last thoughts went back
to the field of Machpelah, and, calling his son Joseph to his
side, he placed him under oath and said to him — " Bury me
not I pray thee in Egypt, but I will lie with my fathers, and
thou shalt carry me out of Egypt and bury me in their bury-
ing-place. * * * There they buried Abraham and Sarah,
his wife ; there they buried Isaac and Rebecca, his wife ; and
there I buried Leah." And then again, in fulfilment of
an oath, the children of Israel took up the bones of Joseph,
carrying them all along their forty years* journey through
the wilderness in order to give them final sepulture among
his people.

Our ofierings to-day are for the Union Soldier, who sleeps
among strangers far away from the family vault. But it is
pleasing to know that, though the mother and sisters may
never come to plant the white rose and train the myrtle, yet the
Soldier boy's grave is not neglected — with his life's blood he
purchased a fond mother and gentle sisters in every home-
defended by his valor, and thci/ will come, by-times, to deck

his modest tomb with choice flowers and moisten its verdure
with grateful tears.

As we stand here to-day our minds naturally go back to
the sanguinary scene enacted on this field, and also to the
events Avhich preceded and led to that memorable struggle.
The great battle of Antietara "was fought on the 17th of Sep-
tember, 1862, between the Union forces known as the Army
of the Potomac, under Gen. McClellan, and the Confederates
known as the Army of Northern Virginia, commanded by Gen.
Lee.

I shall not commence at the beginning of our military ope-
rations and follow the train of events leading up to the one
which transpired here.

It may be proper, however, to notice a few leading inci-
dents which may serve as landmarks to show us at what
point of the war this battle was fought, and also to glance
briefly at the history of the Army of the Potomac up to that
period.

One year and a half elapsed between the attack on Fort
Sumter and the date of this battle, during the whole of
which period hostilities never ceased and the contest widened
and grew in magnitude. After several small, though at that
time, important actions, including Philippi, Big Bethel and
the disastrous battle of Bull Run, Gen Mc Clellan reported to
Washington in July, 18G1, and commenced organizing the
Army of the Potomac. But it was not until the 1st of April,
1862, that he completed his task and placed that organiza-
tion in the field at Fortress Monroe. In the mean time large
armies were operating in other theatres of the war^ and start-
ling results were convulsing the public every day. In the
west Grant had given us Fort Donelson, and nearer at home
we had fought the first battle of Winchester, while at Hamp-
ton Koads our glorious little Monitor, the "Ericson," had
cleared out the exultant Merrimac and revealed to the world
a proud wonder in naval warfare.

Still another month elapsed before McClellan was prepared
to advance up the Peninsula. But the war continued to rage
elsewhere with augmented violence, and tlie country was not
Avithout stirring events. The famous battle of Shiloh and the
capture of Island No, 10 took place early in the month, and
before the close of it Farragut and Butler were in New Or-
leans.

It was about the 1st of May that the Army of the Potomac
entered actively upon its eventful career. As it moved for-

ward towards Richmond, hurling back the enemy from his
strongholds at Yorktown, Williamsburg and Fair Oaks, and
planting the stars and stripes within plain view of the rebel
capital, the eyes of the nation were withdrawn from all other
fields, and the loyal heart stood still for the issue.

It was the grandest army that had ever mana3uvered on
this continent, and combined the pride and hope of our tremb-
ling cause. It went forth with the oft-repeated " God bless
you," and was followed by the prayers of a righteous people;
and right nobly did it answer back from more than three score
bloody battle-fields, speaking back from Appomattox through
the bright rainbow of peace. It has been ascertained th at
more than one half of all our killed and wounded, both by
land and sea, during the entire war, belonged to the Army of
the Potomac. But its work was not all victories. It was des-
tined to be tried by many reverses and disasters. Soon came
the terrible seven days' battle, which terminated a fruitless
and, therefore, disastrous campaign. Though our army fail-
ed of its object and withdrew from its advanced position be-
fore Richmond, yet it cannot be said to have been whipped.
On the contrary, in every collision during the seven days'
combat the enemy was handsomely repulsed — signally so in
the closing one at Malvern Hill, where he was sent back reel-
ing from the field. I shall not presume to point out where
the responsibility of the failure of our Peninsular campaign
ought to rest. I prefer to leave that for the future historian,
who can weigh the bearings and causes more dispassionately.
Thus much I will say — it was no fault of the rank and file of
our noble army. The retreat of Gen. Pope from the Rapi-
dan put an end to our offensive operations for the time, and
September found the Army of the Potomac back within the
defences of Washington, where it had left with such high prom-
ise five months before. It was in view of our embarrassing
condition at this time that Lee conceived the idea of inva-
sion. Among other reasons assigned by him for advancing
into Maryland was, (to use his own language,) "the hope
that military success might afibrd an opportunity to aid the
citizens in any efibrts they might be disposed to make to re-
cover their liberty." But coming as he did into Western
Maryland, the loyal section of the State, he was chagrined to
find the people entertaining views on the subject of "liber-
ty" widely difierent from those held by him and his deluded
followers, and by no means disposed to make the "efibrts"
which he desired. Had he found his way into tlie lower

counties of the State, or iato the city of Baltimore, which
was one of the objective points of his campaign, he would
have been received by a population more largely impressed
with his peculiar idea of liberty, though probably not more
disposed to make the expected "efforts" for the recovery of its
supposed loss.

In addition to the prospect of inciting insurrection in Mary-
land and recruiting his forces, he trusted the moral effect of
being able to invade the territory of the Union would inspire
the rebel cause with new life and hope. He was also natu-
rally ambitious to win for his army the applause of so bold a
stroke. At the same time, particular objects were had in
view and many grand results anticipated. Disaster was
scarcely dreamed of. He had learned to despise his antago-
nist, and calculated that our army would remain harmlessly
defending the capital until reenforced by the draft which had
just been ordered, and thus allow him to range very much at
his pleasure over the great Cumberland Valley, possessing
himself of the fine cattle and newly-reaped harvest. Or,
should we attempt to check his advance by throwing our army
in his front, thereby uncovering Baltimore and Washington,
he thought it would be a light matter to cripple or destroy
our forces, and then capture one or both of these great cities.

Having placed his army on the west side of the Blue Ridge,
he intended to use that lofty mountain as a curtain, behind
which he proposed to execute a series of movements in order
to open his communications with Richmond by way of the
Shenandoah Valley ; all of which, judging from our usual
tardiness, he thought might be accomplished almost unob-
served, or at least without serious interference. But the brave
Potomac Army, that had wrestled with him along the Chica-
hominy, though wounded and travel-worn, was keeping cau-
tious pace, with one shoulder towards Baltimore and AVash-
ngton, ready to defend them when necessary, and the other
resolutely set against the insolent invader. A copy of Lee's
order, setting forth his entire plan of operations, falling into
McClellan's hands at Frederick on the 13th, he ordered an
immediate advance, and coming upon the enemy at South
Mountain, delivered battle on the 14th, and drove the rebels
up the rugged steeps and over the crest, gloriously routing
them from almost unapproachable fastnesses, and bursting
through Turner's and Crampton's Gaps like ocean waves im-
pelled by an earthquake. As those serried files came issuing
through the mountain passes and streaming down the slopes,

Lee withdrew his eyes from where they had been restiii^ witli
such sweet expectation along the beautiful and far-streaching
Cumberland valley ; for he beheld before him a terrible real-
ity burying all his bright visions. He saw at a glance that
the necessities for dropping the ofiensive were imperious. He
had either to shrink back ingloriously across the Potomac,
or defend himself on the spot. A portion of his army being
distant, operating against Harper's Ferry, the danger of an
immediate attack rendered his situation extremely critical. —
What he wanted was precious time — time for his detached
forces to rejoin him. The desired time was allowed. Har-
per's Ferry surrendered on the morning of the 15th, which
enabled the bulk of those forces to reach Sharpsburg early on
the IGth, and the remainder to approach near enough to be
relied on as a reserve, and in fact to participate in the closing
of the engagement. Hence it cannot be denied that he fought
this battle with his entire army, undiminished by any detach-
ment.

From all the facts known it appears that the two armies
here engaged were nearly equal in numerical strength — from
80,000 to 90,000 troops participating on each side. If the
Federal forces in hand were somewhat the greater, it must be
confessed that the advantage of the rebel position infinitely
more than compensated for any such disparity. Lee's line of
battle extended across the peninsula lying between the Poto-
mac river and Antietam creek, forming a sort of irregular
curve, with the flanks drawn backward and resting on those
streams. To the-ikear of the centre of this curve, near the
town of Sharpsburg, lay his reserves, where, sheltered by the
hills, they could manoeuvre unobserved, and from their near-
ness to every part of the line, could immediately reinforce any
point threatened with attack. On that part of his front which
was destined to be the arena of tlie most terrible encounter,
drooped a succession of ridges fringed with tufts of wood,
limestone ledges and stone fences, and indented witli irregu-
lar seams of gully and ravine terminating with the deep slug-
gish Antietam. On the lofty hill-crests were ranged his grim
batteries, frowning over all and trained on every stretch of
open ground over which our troops might attempt to advance.
McClellan came up with his forces on the east or left bank of
the Antietam, which, being fbrdable only at distant points,
presented a most serious obstacle in his way.

On the afternoon of the 16th, Gen. Hooker crossed the
stream at the upper bridge and ford, skirmishing and feeling

his way rigiit np to the enemy's battle line, where at night-
fall ho lay down on his arms. After dark followed Mansfield,
who formed on his lear. The evening's work had simply been
to prepare for tlie bloody business of next day. So near were
the confronting ranks that night on lying down to rest, that
tiie h^e-hreathing sleeper might have disturbed Ihc repose
of liis foe, and

"The fixed sentinels almost received
The secret, whispers of each other's wateb."

First in tlie awful p^nso of that night I imagine many a
trne heart went back in prayer to cherished ones at home ;
while others dwelh <m the incidents of the past day and the
approaching struggle of to-morrow — then all was hushed in
sleep, while the silent cannon loaded with death pointed over
the slumbering hosts. All closed their eyes, knowing that
the first beams of day would light them to battle — and thus
they awaited the dawn.

True to the inexorable purpose, the cannoneers, looking
like spectres in the dim gray of the morning, are seen stand-
ing ready at their guns ; and as the rays increase above the
horizon, revealing and brightening distant ofjects, they take
careful sight of their pieces to reassure themselves that they
are accurately aimed at the opposing lines, when suddenly
the command is given, and they thunder forth a reveille that
makes the great earth tremble — the loud notes reverberating
from hill-top to hill-top — swelling along the Antietam and
the Potomac, and dying on the ear as they roll along the
morning air. " Fall in !" says the General, and his words
are repeated along the line — ''Fall in!!" and like magic
four miles of infantry rise up as one man, ready for the onset.
Fi'om behind ridges, out-cropping ledges of rocks and rifle-
])its, frownjSthe jagged rebel front, bristling with defiance. —
Along our solid ranks the brightly polished arms glitter in
the ritsing sun, and in the front of each battallion waves the
same dear flag which our fa' hers bore over Saratoga and
Yorktown, There is no looking back, for Hooker is there,
and in their front to lead them. Still louder and fiercer
grows the artillery-roar, as battery answers back to battery,
filling the air with sci'earaing and exploding missiles. The
desultory popping of rifles along the skirmish front is follow-
ed by volleys of musketry that roll from right to left in ra-
pid succession until they flow in one long continuous roar,
smothering the voice of the cannon. For one half hour a
tempest of lead and iron beats with wasting effect against the

10

opposinf: ranks, and awful gaps are made, yet neitlier side
sway.s. Now the rebels begin to stagger, and quick as thought
the advantage is seized, and " FoRWAim" is the word. —
Meade's Pennsylvania Reserves, that noble division, the pa-
rent of so many famous generals, steps out as gallantly as
Cassar's Roman Legi'>n. On they press with a loud cheer —
that animating cheer which is alike mysterious in lending in-
visible wings and courage to the charge, and sending enfeeb-
ling apprehensions into the ranks of the assailed. On, through
the cornfields, the arena destined for the most bloody carnage
— on over fences and road, stiewing the earth with the dead
and wounded — and on, to the dark wpuds where the siiattered
remnants of the rebel columns take refuge. But as they fling
themselves against the enemy's cover they are made to shrink
back trnm the murdprous fire of his reserves — not in the pa-
nic of fliglit, but stubboi'nly do they iace the unequal encoun-
ter, dealing terrible slaughter as they yield and melt away.
Now throngli the cornfield sweep the advancing rebels — but
our fresh troops confront them and they yield back in turn,
leaving behind them a second harvest of their dead. Thus
does the battle surge and recoil over this field of reeking and
spouting gore, each moment giving new majesty and horror
to tho scene. From points on either flank the artillery pour
in their enfilading and devouring fire, and above the theatre
of bloody strife rests a dense canopy of smoke, through which
the sun looks gloomily red in the heavens. Half of the twa
great armies ai'e drawn to this spot, and by successive divi-
sions plunge madly into the wild battle gorge. Mansfield,
that gi'ay-haired warrior, sinkn down at the head of hiscorjis;
Hooker is hit and turns over his command ; Sedgwick, though
still animating his broken troops, is bleeding from tliree
wounds; and all around lie favorite officers, half covered
among the heaps of slain, flour after hour the furious cum-
bat rages. Now the fresh troops of Franklin come moving u[)
in dark heavy columns. Like an im})etuous, gathering storm
they hurry forward, swee])ing on and bursting over the field,
and bearing their resistless i'ront past the outer edge of the
battle scene, where they plant their colors victoriously. —
Four times has this bloody ground been won and lost; but
now it is won to be lost no more this day. Simultaneously
our immediate left moves in triumph over the lUgged and
broken ground, wliere fiery valor has already tossed in many
a fierce charge and countercharge. In the mean time Burn-
side fights his passage over the lower bridge, investing it im-

11

pcrishably witli his own name and covering it with a renown
like that of Lodi. Onr entire front has been advanced, and
the battle flashes and smokes for a time along the whole line
— now glimmers :-ind fades in the twilight, and dies out with
the expiring day — and stillness reigns over Antietam.

Stilled are the loud clamors which have vibrated in awful
cadences for fourteen deadly hours, but all is not hushed along
the path of havoc. The subdued murmurs of the crushed
and wounded, and the hollow groans of the dying load the
night air with sickening horrors. As squads of surviving
comrades move about in search of the missing, many a stout
heart sobs audibly at beholding, in the melancholy starlight,
the i)ale, up-turned face of some dear companion ;

" And there's a voice in the wind like a spirit's low cry,
To the muster-roll sounding- and who shall reply
For those whose wan faces glare white to the sky."

I shall not attempt to sum up the results and incidents of
the battle. All are not agreed as to what was actually
accomplished. Viewed simply as a contest for the mastery
of the field it is conceded to have terminated in favor of the
Union Army ; but the hard won advantage was not crowned
with commensurable victory. The vanquished rebels were
allowed to remain unharmed in our front for twenty-four
hours, and then to withdraw across the Potomac without the
slightest interference, or even knowledge on our part ; having
suffered a mere chastisement rather than a defeat. Official
reports show our casualties to have been about 12,500 — more
than 2,000 being killed on the field, besides those who after-
wards died of their wounds. The rebel losses were about
equal to our own.

The magnitude of this engagement may be better compre-
hended by examining it in comparison with other important
battles with which we are more or less iamiliar. If you will
refer to any history of the Revolutionary War, and add up all
the killed of the American Army in fifteen of its most im-
])ortant battles, including those of Bunker Hill, Long Island,
Brandy wine, Germantown and Monmouth, you will find that
their aggregate will not exceed the Federal killed in this one
battle of Antietam. I think it might be safely stated that the
Union killed in this single engagement was at least half as
great as the entire American loss, in killed, during the eight
years' struggle of our forefathers for independence ; and equal
to all our killed in the War of 1812, or in our War with
Mexico.

12

And calling to mind some examples from well known
decisive battles of the world, wefindtliat McClellan's sacrifice
of life here was ten times as great as that of Miltiades at
Marathan, or of Caesar at Pharsalia, and greater than the
British loss at Flodden Field, or that of the French at
Valmy. But considered as to the numbers engaged and the
duration and fierceness of the fight, the mortality at Antietam
does not appear great. Viewed only as a gigantic encounter,
and apart from its want of military consequences, it is en-
titled to rank with Austerlitz, Waterloo and Sadowa, eacli
of which was won at greater cost than Antietam. But when
we look at its unimproved and com})aratively barren result,
we are disposed to count it dearly bought. At Austerlitz
JSTapoleon pressed liis advantage to the complete overtlirow
of the allied armies, and extorted the treaty of Pres-burg ;
"Wellington carried his victory at Waterloo to the absolute
destruction of the Frencli Army, and within hi'teen days
thereafter, forced the capitulation of the city of Paris ; and
Bismark followed up his triumph at Sadowa until he crushed
the Austrian forces and dictated a new map of the continent;
but McClellan remained quiescent for six long weeks upon this
hard won field, and allowed the prostrate foe to recover and
depart in peace, refreshed and prepared for new campaigns,
and other fields.

I am not liere_, however, to criticise the conduct of General
McClellan, or to utter a word with the desire to detract from
his fame. There were grave public considerations, i'ar out-
lying the iiumediate situation, which he thought proper to
regard in determining his course. Owing to our inexperience
at that early stage of the war, too many of our military
operations were unduly influenced by matters which further
progress taught us wholly to disregard. In examining the
merits of this battle it would be unlair therefore to apply all
the tests which belong to more advanced periods of the war ;
it would be necessary to take into account all the peculiar
circumstances and bearings surrounding the case — a task
which this occasion will not indulge.

But if Antietam had no decisive effect upon the relative
condition of the armies engaged, it had its important bearing
upon the plan of military operations as well as upon the
cause of the Union. It sent the insurgent army back from
a fruitless attempt at invasion, and brought low the arrogant
assumptions of the superior valor of tlie South, It was such
a v:ct(jry for the loyal North as made the war a national

13

measure, and emboldened the government to proclaim the
policy of emancipation, thereby meeting the real issue of the
Avar. Aided by the prospective of time and the light of sub-
sequent events, we have slavery revealed to us as the great,
prime cause of the rebellion. Looking back upon all the
alleged causes which were set up, and beholding them as
they recede into the past^ one after another diminish out
of view, while human slavery — the same that was made the
corner-stone of the Confederacy — appears to tower above all,
overshadowing all.

When the result of this battle reached Mr. Lincoln he im-
mediately concluded his corrected draft of the Emancipation
Proclamation, and after submitting it to his cabinet, gave it
to the world. Said he, "I made a solemn vow before God,
that if General Lee was driven back from Maryland I would
crown the result by the declaration of freedom to the slaves."
That good man kept his righteous vow, and Lee's retreat
across the Potomac was made the signal for letting fall the
shackles from the limbs of four millions of our oppressed fel-
low men. Here, then, on this classic ground, our soldiers
stood from the rising to the setting of the sun, pleading, "with
arguments of bloody steel" the cause of a helpless race. In
answer to the two thousand lives here immolated upon the
altar of our country. Heaven's best gift of freedom came
down to bless the slave. Who then shall measure the glory
of Antietam ? It is bounded by neither time nor circum-
stance ; it belongs to Freedom, and will brighten and live
while Freedom lives.

It seems that our war had to come. There were certain
imperfections and evils existing in our government which the
growing enlightenment of our people could not always toler-
ate. They were not mere blemishes resting upon the surface
whicli might be easily removed by local application. They
entered into the body,— into the very life of the government.
They formed constituent parts of our institutions, and noth-
ing but the hot crucible of war could purge them away.

When our fathers struck for political liberty, they also
aimed at civil liberty. The same inspired instrument in
which they declared their right to assume a separate and
equal station among the powers of the earth, also asserted
that all men were created equal, and endowed with the in-
alienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happi-
ness. But having gained the nominal blessing of political
liberty, or national mdependence, they made that their pride

14

and their boast, and assigned to the inalienable and priceless
boon of civil liberty, or individual freedom, a secondary and
limited place. It followed that, notwithstanding the adop-
tion of a Constitution "in order to form a more perfect union
* * and secure the blessings of liberty," the doctrine or
idea of separate nationalities continued to be placed in the
foreground, extending with its increasing power and scope
to the commonwealths of the Union, and assuming the name
of "State sovereignty," while the nearer and dearer principle
of personal liberty, or freedom, was forced into the back-
ground, prescribed and narrowed in its application, with its
divinity taken away from it and given to slavery.

These tendencies were calculated to destroy both the Fede-
ral Government and liberty in America. In fact this deplo-
ble result had been more nearly reached than many of us were
willing to admit. Freedom was so far gone in one part of
the country that its name could not be mentioned, save at the
risk of life. If a citizen from the free North dared to name the
name of Freedom in the South, his life might pay the penal-
ty, and the General Government could not save him, or
bring his guilty murderers to justice. A government that
cannot enforce respect at home, that is too feeble to protect
the lives of its citizens under its own flag, can have little to
distinguish it from anarchy, and nothing to entitle it to the
respect of the world. The firing upon Sumter, therefore, was
no sudden outbreak against the national authority. It was
only a new step towards a long-pursued end. The elements
of destruction had reached that point by a steady progress;
and while its new and revolutionary aspect awakened the na-
tion to a sense of imminent danger, it was none the less
connected in its natural order with a long line of events run-
ning back through many years. The war commenced when
the government could not much longer exist with the evils
which centered in it, and against its life. If, therefore, our
soldiers had bled to save the government as it was, with the
forces of desti'uction still playing at its vitals, their sacrifices
Vv'ould have been without their rich reward. But the gov-
ernment has not only been saved, it has been purified, and
changed and made strong. Freedom has been lifted into the
foreground, where iicUloncd sovereignty stands, to protect the
humblest and most despised citizen in his smallest right,
wherever he may be on our wide domain.

The genius of our governmental system has been modified.
The so-called sovereign, or reserved, powers of the States,

15

which had been used to oppress the individual, are being fast
swept away. The organic law of the land is being so
amended as to extend its mighty arm over all the States, for
the equal protection of every citizen. Whereas, the former
tendencies were to narrow the enjoyment of popular rights,
and to enlarge the independent powers of the States, thus
weakening the General G-overnment; the new and more salu-
tary tendencies are to extend the liberties of the masses and to
increase the central power of the government. In this last
system there is a harmony of parts as well as of purposes.
In the enlarged liberties' of the people, and the increased
powers of the government to protect those liberties, we have
the elements which must give security both to the govern-
ment and to the governed. I am aware that, with the evil
work of State sovereignty or secession, still fresh in our
minds, there is danger of proceeding too far toward the
other extreme of centralization . But I think we have nothing
to fear .from any steps already ta.ken in that direction.

The good results of our changed condition are already
being realized. Notwithstanding the wounds_ of the war,
there is more harmony between the sections of the country
this hour than there ever was before the war. Citizens from
Massachusetts are not only permitted to sojourn in South
Carolina, but they are cordially invited there, with their
Yankee enterprise, their capital, and their sentiments, to
make it their future home. So you see, the war was
not all slaughter and desolation ; it meant freedom, harmony
and progress. It made the government stronger, purer and
better; stronger to command obedience and respect, and
better'and purer to claim the affections and support of all the

people.

The truth of its permanence has already been revolution-
izing the sentiment of the old world. The German popula-
tions have already sought a more stable and a freer system;
England is moving forward in liberal reforms ; Spain has been
struggling up out of despotism, and popular liberty is rising
in tlie ascendancy everywhere. Since we have become a
more consolidated family of States, the world is beginning to
respect us, as it never did before. Cuba, San Domingo and
the adjacent islands of the sea, look tons for a protector.
And with the respectability of our government, also grows
the respect of our citizens abroad. The American citizen is
acquiring that respect abroad which was accorded to the Ro-
man citizen, when Rome was mistress of the world. On

16

whatever shores you may be cast, and under whatever suns
you may wander, if you have in your pocket an Ameri-
can passport, your life and your liberty are sacred, for the
majesty of your country's flag is there to protect you.

In thus referring to some of the good results of the war, I
would not be understood to rejoice at that painful event in
our history. The war was met by us as a deplorable neces-
sity. All wars, wdiether foreign or domestic, are descended
to us from a barbarous age, and are shameful witnesses
against our claims to tliat genuine Christian civilization after
which all nations should aspire. They spring from ignorance
and the evil passions. Enlightenment and religion unite in
opposing all sanguinary measures. Christ taught "peace
on earth and good wnll toward men," and as men's minds
and hearts improve, wars will be less frequent in their occur-
rence, and less cruel in tlieir conduct ; but I doubt whether
they can entirely cease this side of the millennium. There
will occasionally arise such political and social conditions,
such controlling prejudices as possessed 6ur Southern people
that nothing but the crushing blows of war will ever subdue.
Our war was conceived in ignorance, prejudice, oppression
and wickedness, yet God so ruled that great good has come
out of it. And there is this consolation following all the
wars of the recent past, whether in our own or in other
lands, that they have resulted in the interest of humanity and
of liberty. Wherever the bursts of war break up the
restraints of civil rule which bind a people to old, and fre-
quently barbarous, usages, they move with the spirit of the
times and step right up into a higher civilization ; we live
in an age of progress, and the march is for universal liberty
and the brotherhood of mankind.

While we are bestowing these sad rights upon the memory
of those who perished in the cause, let us revive our grati-
tude toward the living, who have returned with shattered
forms to spend the remnant of their wasting lives among us.
The poor of all classes have claims upon our charity, but the
disabled soldier has a demand upon our generosity which
should not require the asking. He should not be allowed to
beg in the land which he helped to save by his valor and his
blood ; his wants should be anticipated l)y a grateful people.
It must be hard for one who has been a proud and gallant
soldier to be compelled to stoop for alms, and we should not
pass indifferently by when such a one needs help, thougli
he may be too ])roud to ask it.

17

Admitting that army life too often leads to bad morals and
destructive habits, yet I am led to believe that the awful
realities of the battle-field strangely dignify the character,
and improve the higher manly qualities. The soldier who
has faced death in the blaze of battle, where the flight of time is
forgotten, and the world seems swallowed up in a kind ot
electric heat, which appears to glow in a brown-red tint, kind-
ling and quickening his senses into a flame, and lighting up
every object with an ineffable brightness— the soldier who
has beeii thrilled by this mysterious fervor and yet stood
fearless and god-like", amid the cannon thunder, the howling
and crashing of shells, and the gurgling and whizzing of
death-dealing bullets, has realized a sort of emotional regen-
eration, ennobling his nature and making him a truer man.
And the soldier who has stooped over his bleeding companion,
holding the canteen to quench his burning thirst, and as life
ebbed out, bending his ear close to his lips, in order to catch
the last whispered word, that he might convey to the loved
one far away at home, has felt the vibration of" a tender
chord lying deep beneath all the common affections of the
heart— that sacred chord which links mankind with divinity.
Such experience leaves its impress upon the heart and pre-
pares it for more noble and generous impulses ; and whatever
wreck that man may become in after life, he will still bear in
his bosom that fraternal susceptibility which will make him
a true friend and very brother in distress.

It is gratifying to know that the government has provided
homes or asylums for those who are enfeebled ; yet there are
many who prefer to struggle for a livelihood in their own way,
and when they are overtaken by misfortune or want, a gen-
erous hand should be extended. They will not be with us
long ; they are dropping off like leaves in autumn-time. —
Some of them are still wearing the tattered old blue coat, but
they will soon put it off and answer to their names at
roll-call, with their comrades, on the "eternal camping
ground."

It is also our pleasing duty,— our precious privilege.to care
for the orphan children of our deceased soldiers. It is stated
in history, as proverbially true, that republics cannot stand,
and that they are ungrateful. It might as easily be shown
that they cannot stand because they are ungrateful. If,^ in
our victory over the rebellion, we presented a mighty proof of
our stability, it remains for this generation to show to the world
that the American republic is not ungrateful. In what more

18

appropriate and acceptable manner can we show our gratitude,
than by evincing an active concern for those left helpless by the
war. The tender offspring that has been robbed of the pater-
nal love and protection, should find a sheltering, cherishing
home in every household. The child of the patriot martyr
has a title to nobility. The daughter should be reared in
comfort, and cultured for the rank and station of an Ameri-
can lady, and the son should be educated and trained for
some useful and honorable pursuit in life. Whenever you
meet a little lad made fatherless by the war, call him to your
side, and, smoothing his soft brow, tell him he is your ward,
and that you feel an interest in his welfare ; it will encourage
him to think the world kind and deserving of his best efforts.
Tell him he bears a name made honorable among men ; re-
count to him the story of his father's noble deeds and sacri-
fice ; it will swell his young bosom with pride and veneration,
and implant there a love of country far more sacred and
binding than all the forms of allegiance or oaths of fealty.

I have somewhere read or heard a very tender story, part-
ly incident to this battle, which pictures a most touching in-
stance of orphanage. I will relate it substantially as I
heard it, so far as my memory goes, but without pretending
to vouch for the correctness of any of its particulars.

Among the thousands of worthv young men who left their
quiet homes in the North to join the Army of the Potomac at
its first organization, was one, James Bates, who, about the
last of December, 1861, t >ok an affectionate farewell of her
whom he had led to the altar just one month before, and
quitting his village home in the iState of New York, proceeded
to Washington, where he enlisted as a private soldier.
Serving always in the front rank of his regiment, wherever
it went, he never asked to be excused from a single hour's duty,
until on the morning before the battle of Chantilly, receiv-
ing a letter stating that his wife was the mother of a bright,
healthy son, the very image of its father, and already named
James, after the absent one, he made up his mind to apply
for permission to visit home. Fired up with pride, and feel-
ing that he, now had something more to live for and dare
for, he fought that day with Spartan courage, and performed
an act of gallantry which attracted the notice of his com-
manding officer, who at once promoted him to Sergeant, and
promised to procure for him a furlough for one month. But,
owing to our perilous situation at that time, and to the exi-
gencies of the service, leaves of absence were not granted

19

excejiting in exti;iordiuary cases, and he did not receiv^e his
until the morning after the battle of JSouth Mountain, when
he immediately wrote home announcing his crood fortune,
but stating that he could not think of leaving liis colors on
the eve of the great battle that was then iin])ending. He
assured^ them, however, that they might look for him in
the train on Friday morning, or Saturday morning at far-
thest But in the hottest of the fight at AntietanC he was
seen to fall, pierced by a half score of mortal wounds, and
his body was never identified thereafter. Friday morning came,
and at the first sound of the locomotive, the young mother was
at the railway station, with her first born, ready to jAace it in
the arras of its father. Wistfully did she gaze upon each pas-
senger as he stepped upon the platform, until finally the
train moved off again, and James had not come. Pale and
almost fainting, she was about to turn away, when she
paused to hear the list of our killeil and wounded, which a
bystander was reading aloud from the morning paper. At
that moment her ear caught the words, "Sergeant James
Bates, killed."' Clasping her infant to her bosom, she ex-
claimed, "No ! not killed, he'll come to-morrow." When
the morrow came she was again upon the platform, with the
tender babe in her arms ; but as lie did not come, the second
disappointment was too great to bear. She fell into a mono-
mania— and long after his comrades were welcomed home
from the war did she continue t(^ rise early each morning,
and taking up the child, go out to meet the train, fully
confident that James was aboard, and turning away each
time Avith the same sad disappointment, saying, "He'll come
to-morrow." And even yet, since eight years of time
have breathed over her grief to mollify it, she may be seen
occasionally, on a bright morning, hurrying to the depot,
leading her flaxen-haired little boy, and tellin": him his papa
is coming on the train. 13ut she watches for the return of
one that never wnll come back, for he tarries with his two
thousand comrades, who, with him, sunk down to rest on
this wide inhospitable couch. Serg't Bates is sleeping within
these walls, in an unknown grave, and to-day, yyu may per-
chance bestow an extra rose upon his unpretend^Mhftomb. ^^<^p'^

Oh ! who shall write each separate history o<r our heca-^
tombs of slain — the heart-breaking disappointment, the
melancholy orphanage, the reason-dethroning grief, the
crushed and wounded life, the wail of woe that answered
each bereavement. Amonsr the unwritten annals of our

20

war, are tales of pathos and of pity, far more touching,
than Romance or Fiction can weave from all the range of
Fancy. The graves of heroes slain, and loves departed,
wrinkle the faces of our hillsides and vallie^. On both sides
of the Mississippi and away across to the sea, along the
banks of the James and the Potomac, along the Cumberland
Valley in Pennsylvania, and on the mountain crests of
Maryland ; wherever you wander, there lie the fallen of our
hosts, mingling their dust with the soil which they redeemed
and saved —

'•Four hundred thousand, brave and true,
Lie dead, good friend, for me and you.' '

Then let us come here with each returning spring, and AVreathe
their little white head-boards with chaplets of flowers, and
place over the chamber of each sleeper a well-assorted
bouquet. Let us also weave garlands out of the fragrant
heliotrope, the scented rose and the sweet mignonette, that
their grateful odors may rise like holy incense above their
slumbering ashes. As the bright bloom is emblematic of
the lustre of their deeds, let the delicate perfume emblem
forth the sweet influences of peace which their pure sacrifices
have caused to breathe over our land. For gentle "Peace
has come, and come to stay—"

Around the sweeping circle of your hills

The crashing of cannon thrills

Have faded from the memory of the air ;

And summer pours from unexhausted fountains

Her bliss on yonder mountains :

The camps are tenantless, the breastworks bare :

Earth keeps no stain where hero-blood was poured :

The hornets, humming on their wings of lead,

Have ceased to sting, their angry swarms are dead.

And, harmless in the scabbard, rusts the sword."

%