Governor Cummins, Mr.
President, Gentlemen of the Iowa Commission, and my Comrades:
I am glad to say, from Iowa (for such we all are) comrades
of both contending armies who once fought each other on this field in enmity,
but now meet as friends, and ready to move, if necessary, against a world in
arms in defense of that flag, which Governor Cummins has so eloquently
apostrophised.
When the great battle was fought here so many years ago, the
battle in which the men to whose memories this monument has been erected as a
testimonial which they so justly deserve, at the time of this battle, it was in
no man’s mind, perhaps, that such a thing as this would be done, and least of
all was it expected by the men who are thus honored. I, who was then upon the
other side, who stood in hostility, if not in hatred, against these fallen
heroes, could not have believed then that I would be asked, nearly half a
century later, to assist in such a ceremony, and that I would do so earnestly
and gladly, with no feeling to mar the pride with which I might remember the valor
and devotion exhibited here, except, perhaps, the recollection that these
qualities were displayed in civil war; that American soldiers died upon this
field in fraternal strife, and not fighting in generous rivalry against a
common foe. Nevertheless, in the light of a better understanding which the
lapse of years has brought us, we can look back upon that time with more of
pride than of sorrow, and with admiration for the courage displayed by our
comrades, both of the north and south.
In that terrible ordeal we learned that we were truly the
same people, and must remain the same nation. We who fought for the Confederacy
discovered that this Union can not and shall not be destroyed; you who fought
for its preservation learned that its maintenance would be valueless unless the
just rights of all the states be respected. Civil war is a stern school, a
dreadful school, but it teaches a discipline and imparts a knowledge which can
be acquired, perhaps, in no other way. In that sharp and stern experience, we learned
much, as I have said, that was of benefit. It accomplished much of good. All
misunderstanding, all sectional misconstruction and jealousy and antagonism
were removed from American life and eliminated from the conduct of national
affairs, and we realize now that, as a people, we have been fitted by that
lesson — painful as it was — to confront and deal successfully with other
problems perhaps as grave and dangerous, which may confront us or our children
in the unknown future.
But at any rate, we who are here today, and especially those
of us who have survived that terrible struggle — veterans of both contending
armies, are grateful for the deeds done by the men who then fought here, and
who now lie sleeping yonder, and we are stimulated to the fulfillment of higher
duties.
And assembled upon this consecrated ground, this field made
memorable by brave achievement in the past which shall serve to exalt and to
influence the national spirit and character, we can more fully realize the
value and full meaning of patriotic sacrifice. The lives that were lavished
here were not given in selfish effort for fame or preferment; not even for the
glory and aggrandizement of the country of which those who gave them were
citizens, but in the honest belief that such sacrifice was necessary to the
safety and protection of the land which had borne them.
We often hear comment made upon an occasion like this that
it is a strange spectacle which is presented, when the men who confronted each
other in civil war, forgetting the resentment which such a conflict might be
expected to have created, gather to render mutual tribute of honor and
affection to the dead. It is strange in one respect — strange in that it is
novel. In all the history of the nations with which we are best acquainted,
with whose annals we are most familiar, we find for it no precedent. Just such
a thing has never occurred before. Not even in the record of our British
ancestors, who more than any other people have been familiar with the exercise
of political toleration and amnesty, has just such a thing as this occurred. A
war was waged in which an entire people virtually participated — a people of
the same blood, of the same speech, sharing the same history, cherishing and
loving the same traditions, determined to preserve the same form of government,
entertaining in the main the same ideas of the purpose of political
institutions; and yet these same people suddenly rushed to arms, and for four
years stood against each other in furious and bloody anger. Thousands of lives
were lost, the fiercest animosity aroused, and yet, within the span of a single
generation almost, all that passion has been allayed. Wrath has given place to
amity, and the heroism of both those who wore the gray and those who wore the
blue have become the common heritage of a reunited country. I can make no
logical presentation of this subject. I believe that the story of this war, its
causes and conduct, will furnish the historian and to the thoughtful student of
history a lesson and a theme far surpassing anything in civil strife which the
world has ever witnessed, of earnest purpose and determination. It was the
precursor, the forerunner of the greatness which this country has since
achieved. In the first place, it was the most stupendous civil war of which
mankind has any record, and, by the eternal, if we Americans have to fight, we
want such a war as no other nation has had. It should have been the biggest
fight that men ever made.
When we consider the means employed to conduct it, the
strength of the armies placed in the field, the immense extent of territory
over which it was fought, it far exceeds in magnitude any struggle of like
nature which the world has ever seen. I might say that a new people had arisen
up upon the face of the earth.
Now, it would be neither timely nor appropriate to discuss
the causes which induced the war. It is enough to say that I do not believe
that history furnishes an example of any other great war which was fought out
simply as a matter of sentiment — a conflict of ideas. I do not mean to say
that there were not grave and important issues at stake, but I do mean to say
that, looking back upon the past, all of us can understand and believe that all
of those issues, economic and political, could have been settled and adjusted
really with little difficulty, certainly with no serious difficulty, but for
the stubborn spirit and unyielding pride of opinion of the people of both
sections; men who were willing to make any sacrifice rather than yield — that
was the difficulty in the way of avoiding this war. And looking back upon it I
can see, and all of us can see, that it ought to have been avoided. We should
not have been cutting each other's throats, yet that old Anglo-Saxon instinct
drove us into the conflict. The battle of Shiloh was the first really great
battle fought in the war, and it was a remarkable battle in some respects. In
that battle, for the first time, these Americans, living on different sides of
an imaginary line, found out that they were exactly alike. They were all
Americans. We on my side used to boast that one Confederate could whip five
Yankees, but we changed our minds before the war was over, and I think the
Yankees found some of their ideas respecting us also inaccurate. The fact is
that here, in this battle, were people of the same blood who had been living
apart for some time and had lost their former acquaintance, and met again here
for the first time. They did not shake hands, it is true. They met in a
different manner, but were reminded of something that they had forgotten; that
they were of the same breed and temper. Yankee and Reb found upon the other
side his long lost brother, with the strawberry mark on his arm.
Now, as I have said, taking up the sentimental aspect, it is
a very remarkable thing when you come to think of it, and it is what gives to
it more than anything else, its peculiar characteristic. It will be a great
lesson to us. In that regard, it was different from anything in modern times.
Other nations fight about some practical matter, about territory or for some
commercial advantage. We fought, as I have said, simply in that stubborn
conflict of ideas and opinions. In that respect it resembles more than anything
I can think of the European wars immediately succeeding the Lutheran
Reformation, when religious sentiment was the chief factor in the strife. Not
only had we the greatest civil war in its material aspect, as I have said, that
the world ever saw, but never before was there ever a war brought on by such
merely sentimental provocation. Other nations and other peoples have had their
civil wars, and with those races which have wrought most effectively for human
progress which have been able to impress themselves most strongly upon history,
such conflicts have been the sternest. It was probably inevitable in the very
process of our national development that we should have our civil war. It may
be that we have reason to congratulate ourselves that it came when it did. No
matter who was wrong and who was right. No matter what we may surmise about the
political aspects which induced it. No matter what historians may say about the
motives of the statesmen who were responsible for it — no blame can be rightly
attributed, no word of reproach can justly be spoken against the soldiers who
fought in that war; against the men who stood in the ranks and met the brunt of
the battle. They had not sought it, but they accepted it with all its dangers,
with all its sacrifices, with all its inevitable sorrows.
“Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die.”
Governor Cummins has spoken of one thing: that the men in
the war were so young — mere boys — and this is very true, as we know. Most of
you who were in the war were boys yourselves. These young men responded to the
call, and rushed to arms in defense of the land that had borne them. Think of
the wide extent of territory from which they came, all animated by the same
feeling, the same sentiment, the same purpose — the highest that men can feel —
from the forests of Michigan, from your own prairies of Iowa, from the green
fields of Kentucky and Tennessee, from the hills of Vermont, and from the wild
plains of Texas, gathered here to battle and slaughter. And where are they now,
those boys who wore the blue and the gray? Battle and march have passed, privation and
hardship have been endured unflinchingly; the home left, never to be seen
again, that the country might be defended, and the boy has looked no more into
the loving eyes of his mother. Loosed like young eagles, for their first flight
between the mountain and the sky — where are they now? Many of them lie on
innumerable battlefields, in unknown graves. The soldiers of the Union are
gathered together in that beautiful cemetery, by the banks of the river over
which floats the flag which they followed. The Confederate dead remain where
they fell, in the glades of the forest. All of these resting places are
consecrated by affection and honor. About them cluster memories and associations
which are tender and loving. And “Glory guards with solemn round this bivouac
of the dead.”
SOURCE: Alonzo Abernathy, Editor, Dedication
of Monuments Erected By The State Of Iowa, p. 256-61
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