ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S GREATEST SPEECH.

Otago Witness, Issue 2690, 4 October 1905, Page 78

ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S GREATEST SPEECH.

(T. P.'s Weekly.)

T left Lincoln and his comrades last week at that moment when they were sUuting for the spot where tho ceremony of open ing the cemetery on the bloody and heroic field of Gettysburg was to take place. John Russell Young — as my readers know — was one of the procession ; and he does not give, as "v^e have Been, a very flattering des'cripi'on. "Tine- pio'cc^sion from the town." he writes, "was a ragged affair, we all seeming to get there as be.»L we could." He follows this up with this further description : —

It was tuboiit 11 o'clock when we got undiear way — cavalry soldiers, statesmen, Governors from ether States, wounded soldiers, country folks who knew all about the battle, and teeming with, nairatives of its horror and glory. . . A rude platform looked over the Deld. On one side art the journalists ; the eminent

people had the other side, the Presi-

dent coming kite. To add to the irony of this eventful scene, it opened m a somewhat squalid little scrimmage. It was over "a Democratic reporter who did not admire Lincoln, and insiF'ted upon standing near the front with his hat on and., smoking a cigar, and jeering now and then at tie ceremonies." If he be still extant — which is very unlikely, for he did not belong to a rac© that was long-lived in his day and gene.ration-^-hiow that reporter must loqk Sack on the strango case in which. 119 placed himself on that day. For the moment let us dismiss the poor creature — standing with covered head in the presence of one- of the mightiest men, and, though he did not know it, about to hear one of thegreatest utterances in history — let us dismiss him- or his abashed ghost by the statement tha* in the end he was threatened with violence if he did not bshave himself better; "and there was nothing unseemly to disturb the President's reception." VHI. But it was a long time ybef ore the President was allowed to make that speech •which is now immortal. First there was the- chaplain, the Rev. Mr Stockton, to let off a long harangue and multitudiraus , and resonant prayers. Mr Ruesell Young gives a picture of the man. of God, half pathetic, half ludicrous ; eulogistic, yet slyly satirical. "His face was thin and worn like on© gone in disease, the great eyes .peering out from under his finely arched forehead . . staring bent upon futurity." His "eloquence" was "of tropical luxuriance" : The adjectives, the invocations, the metaphors, the superb incisive command of speech, the current of thought like some steady, densely -flowing, ever-shiii' ing stream; the- wind®, the stars, the Hebrew anthology, the mythology of the Greeks, Nature, the gardens of roses, j whatever typified beauty, sensibility, piety, peace, all came forth m the sermons of this extraordinary man — eloquence tumbling suddenly into metaphysics and transcendentalism, and the intonations co strangely moving — ■

"Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, Whose righteousnesa endureth forever." From all of which it will be seen, that our poor Abe Lincoln — probably suffering under a brand-new suit of shiny clothes, and dumbfounded by all this learning — • had terrible rivals to faoe on this great day. But let us to the orator 3f the day, who, after all, is muciu more formidable than even the inspired though turgid clergyman. j.'o our Everett, then. IX. "The sun was at meridian when Everett arose, and there was as much welcome as the sun qpuld give on a starn November day." For two whole hours did the orator speak, "bareheaded and in the. open air" :

He spoke without notes. Now and then he would take a sip of water, and

at times the white- cambric handkerchief would come into oratorical plaj. . . . He was graceful with his hands. They were never in his way, as is often the case with undeveloped orators. An effective way of impressively raising them and gently bringing them together as they came down — this I recall — this and the handkerchief , (gjvhieh at times he would drop from one hand

into tine other, as I used to see Disraeli

do in the House of Commons. The oration was like the man ; it was a cambric handkerchief oration, if I may use the expression. There was scarcely an allusion to the fact -that they were standing on the battlefield of Gettysburg — "our Marathon." as Mr Russell i'oung well call's it ; that perhaps would have been too familiar, and too vulgar. '' The orator came from the past," says Mr Young. "Gettysburg was as far from him then as it is from us to-daj r " ; which will show what a highly genteel orator and oration the people wore privileged to hear that day. And so the orator of the cambric handkerchief went on steadily to the bitter end of the two hours' oration, until at la.st he had done; "there was a moment of rustle, hands extended in congratulation, the President and Secretary of State among the first, then loving hands carefully enfolding and wrapping him up m shelter from the insidious purposes of the cold November air." It was a tremendous success, as we have seen ; the whole thing was just like £ scene in the French Chamber of Deputies when some orator has descended from the tribune after many bursts of parliamentary eloquence. Nobody seemed for a moment to think that there was one there on that day

■"■ "Men and Memories : Personal Reminiscences." Bj John Russell Young. Edited by his wife. May D. Russell Young. Two volumes. (P. Tennyson iNeely, New York.)

who indght have a power of great utterance — of even greater utterance than the cultivated and pcihoiarly man with the cambric handkerchief, who was "so graceful with his hands" ; and who was so splendidly genteel, so far remote from these rcirgh men around him, and especially from that gawky, ill shapen, awkward, unscholarly rail-splitter whom the blind chance- of fort an c and the vulgar tastes of a democracy had placed for the moment above his betters. X. So Tihen that great orator with the cambric handkerchief had finished his two hours' oration, "the music ran on a bit." Then, perhaps to the surprise of manj-, the President rose to has feet. One can underotand the shock that some people j might have felt at seeing this unlettered j and plain man venture to follow that wonderful oration — two hours long, "so cold, so chaste, so exquisitely beautiful," to use the adjectives of Mr Russell Young. And even the way in which Lincoln rose was calculated to augment the impression of the poor contrast he would make with that refined scholar who had just sat down. ! "Deliberate, hesitating, awkward." writcj j Russell Young, '' ' Mte a telescope drawing ! out,' as I heard someone say, the large, j bundled up figure twisting aaid adjusting j itself into reasonable condition." And then occurred this seene — for which my i readers wall have been prepared by the i descriptions I gave in my article last week ! of Lincoln's appearance and manner on public occasions .-

He stood an instant waiting for the cheers to cease amd the music to exhaust its echoes, slowly adjusted his glasses, and took from his pocket what seemed to be a page of ordinary foolscap paper, quietly unfolded it, looked for the place, ;uM began to read. . . I had an easy , time of it with Stockton and Everett;" prayer and oration in type. But what woiidd the Presided do? "... Would he speak an hour? Woiuld he speak from notes and memory, or read an address? To my surprise, almost it seemed before Lincoln had bagun to sp3#k, he turned and sat down. Surely theia five or six lines of shorthand were not all. Hurriedly bending over the aisle, I asked if that was all. "Yes, for the present," he answered. He did not think he could say any more. What follows is even more interesting. As my readers may know, there was no uttearan.oß of Lincoln ever created th© sensation which was made by the one ho delivered at the moment I am describing ; but it is a curious and certain fact that ihe address did not excite much notice from the audience to which it was first d^ivered. I have been told this by one of those who were present — my late friend, Ward Lamon, who was once a law partner and afterwards an intimate friend of Lincoln—indeed, the man who was mainly responsible for the safety of Ms person in Washington, a hotbed of possible assassins during the fever of the Civil War. The testimony of Russell Young is the same. I take up again his description of the memorable scene :

Lincoln, as I was- saying, when he arose, adjusted his glasses, and, taking out the single sheet of paper, held it eloso to his face. He began, at one© in a high key — voice archaic, strident, ■ almost in a shi'iek. He spoke slowly, with deliberation', l-eading right straight on. . . The report . . . which appeared war, studded with "applause," but I dc not remember the applause., and «un afraid that the appreciative -reposter was more than generous — may have put in the applause himself a,s a personal expression of opinion. Nor, in fact, was there any distinct emotion among those around me on the platform after the prayer, and when Lincoln was speaking, but one of sympathy for the forlorn photographer who failed to take his picture. This enterprising artist . . . had managed to place his camera, in front of the President. . • But the President was nob a good subject. Whether conscious or not of the honour thus impending he drove on with his speech, ever holding the paper before the face, the disniay-ed photographer vainly hoping for one glimpse of the face. And as the President summarily turrecl to sit down he 'desperately uncovered the camera, but too late. The fliibh of sunshine brought him nothing. There was a general ripple of laughter at his dismay. I have read many narratives of the scenes, of the emotions produced by the President's address, the transcendent awe that feil upon everyone wiio hrard these most mighty and everliving words, to h& remembered with pride through the ages. I have read of the tears tha.t fell, amd the solmen hush, as tlio-ug'h in a cathedral solemnity hi the most holy moment of the sacrifice. I may pause here for a moment to make tho obsevsatioa as one. who has seem and had to describe many dramatic and momentous scenes in my time — that this is just what usually happens. The inner and intense drama of things is rarely apparent at the moment when they are being enacted ; and all descriptions which represent momentous scenes as having been dramatic and as being realised in their significance at the moment of their being enacted ought to be dismissed as probably clue to the imagination of the chronicler or to bis after reflections when he was going over again the scene he is de&crib ing. But let me go on :

Mr Lincoln was an orator. . . But he needed to warm up to his subject. . . . At Gettysburg he only spoke three or four minutes. The long oration of Everett had made tha people restless. Bite of the crowd had broken away, amd were wandering off toward the battle scenes. We were tired and chilly, and even the November &un did ■not take the place of the wrap*. Lincoln, as I said, began at once in a high, strident key. as one ts h > had lit lie io say, and aa oi.ld say it co as to be seen

p,nd heird. The two emotion-- of that memorable scene first the vonJerfu! prayer a.s chanted by the chaplain, the rich Hebrew plua^es and intonations reverberating like organ music, and the dismay of the pvj*' artist, who, failing to outline the President's picime, was fain to bundle up his took and take his barren journey home. XI. A(nd there is added on to this description by Mr Russell Young a note from one of' his friends vho was also present; it eorrobor.vtes the e^uement that tha •üb&equent accounts of the thrill,* nnd emotions which the speech is declared to have made when it was delivered are all inventions. And then there is just this little touch added, which is truly delightful: it completes one's mental picture c-f what Lincoln looked like on this great occasion; it will ha seen how homely he rem-nned through it all : how he wa^ "still the plain, simple-, country lawyer raised in the backwood^: fresh from the cnith. Tiie writing of the letter speaks of Lincoln "putting on a pair of spectacles with short bows, clasping on the temples just behind the eyes.' 1 Is it not delicious? Can you not see the tall, awkward, gawky, plain dressed man. and those old-fashioned rustic spectacles, just the kind that perchance Lincoln's ne'er-do-well father used to wear in the long evenings when, under the light of a tallow candle, he leant over Ms Bibls or his inextricable and unsatisfactory HtUo accounts ! XII. .. And now I give the reader the great utterance that was spoken in such unpromising fashion and amid such neglectful and unappreciative surroundings ; here it is: Four score and seven years ai'o our fathers brought forth on Ihis continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, 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 the nation might live. It is altogether fitting? and proper that we mould do this. But in a large sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who have struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what we did' here. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to tiie unfinished work which they who fought there have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before vs — that from these who are dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the 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 bivth of freedom, and that government of the people bjr the people, for the

people, shall not perish from the earth. That is the speech ; is it not a wondrous speech? It is one of those immortal sayings that — to use the words of an American, poet — ti ill ring for ever down the corridors of time. Hotj simply it stands there — like some great column of rough but imperishable and indestructible granite. How characteristic it is of the man who uttered! it — also a column of rough but imperishable and indestructible granite. And beneatn its long shadow, how obscure and little ana frail appear all the other men and things and utterances of that day — ■ ths parson with Hebrew anthology and mythology of the Greeks and eloquence "of tropical luxuriance" ; and even the distinguished scholar with his classic coldness and even his cambric handkerchief ; and his oration of two long hours. Which indeed is a lesson in the art — of sirnpikiw over artifice ; of the simple language that speaks from the heart over the polished and icy periods that are elaborated in the study.

And yet it was the parson and tho man with the combric handkerchief- that were the oratorical successes of the day. And! poor, simple Abe Lincoln, with his big rustic spectacles, and his sheet of foolscap, and his strident voice, sank back perchance in his seat, knowing as little as any of the fine gentleman around him that on, that day he had said something tha-. would live a~i lonp as tho skie-. nr.demer t!i vhose frowning November light he siboke. — > T. P.