Gettysburg

  The dead, by necessity, could not receive such tender care. Strewn over miles of the battlefield and lying out for days in the July sun, most of the dead were unrecognizable. Neither army issued “dog tags” or any formal means of identification for the soldiers at that time. Men sometimes sewed their names onto a jacket, or scribbled their names, units, and addresses onto the inside cover of a diary they often carried, but that was the only means of identification at that time. The U.S. government also did not have a formal means of notifying the next of kin that a man had fallen in battle, so many men simply disappeared, buried in mass graves with others from their unit wherever they were killed on a battlefield.

  The graves of Confederate soldiers await completion after the battle. Photo credit: Timothy H. O’Sullivan, Library of Congress.

  Samuel Wilkeson of the New York Times.

  Lieutenant Bayard Wilkeson

  Tillie and Daniel were witness to the devastation wrought upon their quiet town following the battle. Tillie ventured out with her friend Beckie Weikert on July 5, escorted by an army lieutenant, to visit the summit of Little Round Top: “As we stood upon those mighty boulders, and looked down into the chasms between, we beheld the dead lying there just as they had fallen during the struggle. From the summit of Little Round Top, surrounded by the wrecks of battle, we gazed upon the valley of death beneath. The view there spread out before us was terrible to contemplate! Dead soldiers, bloated horses, shattered cannon and caissons, thousands of small arms. In fact everything . . . was there in one confused and indescribable mass.”

  Daniel walked to the Round Tops from town the following day and noted that “the whole v countryside was covered with ruins of the battle. One of the saddest sights of the day’s visit on the field I witnessed near the Devil’s Den, on the low ground in that vicinity. There were twenty-six Confederate officers, ranking from a colonel to lieutenants, laid side by side in a row for burial. At the head of each was a board giving their names, ranks and commands to which they belonged . . . They had evidently been prepared for burial by their Confederate companions before they had fallen back, so that their identity would be preserved, and they would receive a respectable burial.”

  Among the masses of people heading toward Gettysburg after the battle were relatives of soldiers coming to search for their loved ones while there was still time. One such search immediately gripped the nation. Sam Wilkeson, a war correspondent for the New York Times, had arrived at Gettysburg on July 2, to report on the epic battle. Both of his sons were in the Union army, including Lieutenant Bayard Wilkeson of Battery G, 4th U.S. Artillery. This unit had been overrun at Barlow’s Knoll on the first day’s fighting, covering the retreat of the Eleventh Corps. Learning that his son had been killed in action Sam Wilkeson went to look for him after the battle had ceased.

  Finding his son’s mangled corpse and learning of the desperate circumstances of his death, Sam Wilkeson sat next to the body and wrote an angry dispatch to his paper: “Who can write the history of a battle whose eyes are immovably fastened upon a central figure of transcendingly absorbing interest— the dead body of an oldest born son, crushed by a shell in a position where a battery should never have been sent, and abandoned to death in a building where surgeons dared not to stay.” His writing touched the hearts of millions.

  THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER OF GETTYSBURG

  As the Gettysburg townspeople began burying the dead, the body of a Union soldier was discovered tucked off a street where he had crawled, mortally wounded, to die. His jacket had no badges, no signs of rank or unit, and his pockets contained nothing to identify him—no letters or diary. Yet in his hand he grasped a small photo of three young children. The last act of his life had been to gaze upon their faces.

  The photo came into the possession of Dr. J. Francis Bourns, a Philadelphia doctor on his way to help the wounded from the battlefield. He hoped to locate the mother of the children in the photograph by publishing a detailed description of them in all the local papers. A major story ran in the Philadelphia Inquirer on October 19, 1863, entitled, “Whose Father Was He?” As the story grew in fame and as the photo of the children was printed onto thousands of small post cards, the nation waited in suspense. Would anyone identify the children?

  Dr. Bourns soon received a letter from a woman in Portville, New York, who had not heard from her husband since the battle of Gettysburg. She requested a copy of the photograph. When she received it in the mail she looked upon the faces of her three children—Franklin, Alice, and Frederick—who were now fatherless. The woman’s name was Phylinda Humiston. Her fallen husband was Sergeant Amos Humiston of Company C, 154th New York Volunteers. Sergeant Humiston came to symbolize the thousands of missing men at Gettysburg and other battles, whose widows and orphaned children waited for them in vain.

  Sergeant Amos Humiston

  “The Children of the Battlefield, “ later identified as Frank, Frederick, and Alice Humiston.

  To My Wife

  You have put the little ones to bed dear wife

  And covered them over with care

  My Frankey Alley and Fred

  And they have said their evening prayer

  Perhaps they breathed the name of one

  Who is far in southern land

  And wished he too were there

  To join their little band

  I am very sad to tonight dear wife

  My thoughts are dwelling on home and thee

  As I keep the lone night watch

  Beneath the holly tree

  The winds are sighing through the trees

  And as they onward roam

  They whisper hopes of happiness

  Within our cottage home

  And as they onward passed

  Over hill and vale and bubbling stream

  They wake up thoughts within my soul

  Like music in a dream

  Oh when will this rebellion cease

  This cursed war be over

  And we our dear ones meet

  To part from them no more?

  —Amos Humiston, March 25th 1863

  Three years after the battle, an orphanage was established at Gettysburg—called The Homestead Association—for the benefit of children whose fathers had been killed in the service of their country. Mrs. Humiston and her children were among the first to reside at the home. James Garfield, future president of the United States, was on the board of trustees. Dr. Bourns served as the first general secretary. The founding of the orphanage was reported nationwide for a citizenry still trying to understand the meaning of the great sacrifices made during the Civil War.

  TILLIE RETURNS HOME

  Amid all the human agony and loss during those first days of July 1863, there was at least one happy homecoming as Tillie Pierce made her way back to Gettysburg and to her father’s house on Baltimore Street:

  Sometime during the forenoon of Tuesday, the 7th, in company with Mrs. Schriver and her two children, I started off on foot to reach my home.

  As it was impossible to travel the roads, on account of the mud, we took to the fields. While passing along, the stench arising from the fields of carnage was most sickening. Dead horses, swollen to almost twice their natural size, lay in all directions, stains of blood frequently met our gaze, and all kinds

  of army accoutrements covered the ground. Fences had disappeared, some buildings were gone, others ruined. The whole landscape had been changed, and I felt as though we were in a strange and blighted land.

  I hastened into the house. Everything seemed to be in confusion, and my home did not look exactly as it did when I left. Large bundles had been prepared, and were lying around in different parts of the room I had entered. They had expected to be compelled to leave the town suddenly. I soon found my mother and the rest. At first glance even my mother did not recognize me, so dilapidated was my general appearance. The only clothes I had along had by this time become covered with mud, the greater part of which was gathered the day on which we l
eft home.

  As soon as I spoke my mother ran to me, and clasping me in her arms, said: “Why, my dear child, is that you? How glad I am to have you home again without any harm having befallen you!

  DANIEL BECOMES AN ENTREPRENEUR

  Daniel and his friends realized the aftermath of the great battle would be one of a more businesslike opportunity as around 60,000 new customers were camped within the Union lines just outside town:

  My friend “Gus” Bentley met me on the street and told me that down at the Hollinger warehouse where he was employed they had a lot of tobacco. “We hid it away before the Rebs came into town, “ he continued, “and they did not find it. We can buy it and take it out and sell it to the soldiers.” Like all boys of those days we had little spending money but we concluded we would try and raise the cash in some way.

  I went to my mother and consulted her about it and she loaned me ten dollars. Gus also got ten, all of which we invested in the tobacco. It was in large plugs—Congress tobacco, a well known brand at that time. With an old-fashioned tobacco cutter we cut it up into ten cent pieces and each of us took a basket full and started out Baltimore Street to the cemetery, the nearest line of battle.

  The soldiers helped us over the breastworks with our baskets and in a short time they were empty and our pockets filled with ten-cent pieces. The soldiers told us to go home and get some more tobacco, that they would buy all we could bring out. We made a number of trips, selling out each time, and after disposing of all our supply, and paying back our borrowed capital, we each had more money than we ever had before in our lives.

  Young Daniel would play an even more important role in the recovery efforts in the following weeks, though:

  In the days following the battle, the firm of Fahnestock Brothers received numerous inquires about wounded soldiers who were scattered over the field in the hospitals hastily set up at points most conveniently located to take care of the casualties. With Mrs. E. G. Fahnestock, I frequently rode back and forth among these stations, either in buggy or on horseback, looking for wounded men about whom information was sought. Sometimes it was difficult to locate them. We made other trips to the hospitals in the college and seminary buildings also. Frequently on these trips were included supplies of delieacte’s for the men. So it was that the people of Gettysburg assisted in every way in solving the problems that arose incident to the great battle.

  THE PLAN FOR A NATIONAL CEMETERY

  Plans for a national cemetery for the Union dead were put into action soon after the battle. Pennsylvania Governor Andrew Curtin ordered his agent, attorney David Wills, to acquire the Evergreen Cemetery and its surrounding land as a final resting place for more than 3,000 Union soldiers. William Saunders, a famous landscape architect, was commissioned to design the cemetery. He placed the fallen in rows of sweeping arcs, giving each state equal prominence. In early November, Union remains were transferred from their original burial sites to the graves within the cemetery.

  David Will.

  Pennsylvania Governor Andrew Curtin. Photo credit: Matthew Brady, Library of Congress.

  William Saunders

  A dedication for the Soldiers National Cemetery was planned for November 19, 1863, and David Wills invited the statesman Edward Everett, a premier orator of that time, to give the keynote speech. Only three weeks before the dedication, Wills also invited President Lincoln to attend and give “a few appropriate remarks” following Everett’s speech.

  Lincoln began planning his remarks with care. He looked to the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution for inspiration. The American people would expect him to provide some kind of meaning to their great sacrifices in a war nearing its third year with no end in sight. Lincoln would be speaking to a nation that would decide in one year if they would re-elect him as president. Many had underestimated Lincoln in the past, but no one realized he was about to make the greatest speech in American history, in just 272 words.

  Chapter Seven

  November 19, 1863—

  “The Gettysburg, Address”

  The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present.

  As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.

  —Abraham Lincoln

  President Lincoln left Washington by train headed for Gettysburg at noon on November 18, 1863. He was accompanied by his two secretaries, John Nicolay and John Hay, three members of his Cabinet including Secretary of State William H. Seward, and other dignitaries. Mary Todd Lincoln remained behind caring for their youngest son Tad who had fallen ill.

  Lincoln was also not feeling well as he departed Washington. During the train ride he mentioned to Hay that he felt weak. Lincoln would later be diagnosed with a mild case of small pox. Yet the president was determined he would not allow illness to affect the delivery of his speech at Gettysburg.

  Abraham reading to his son Tad. Photo credit: Library of Congress.

  Army officer E. W. Andrews, who traveled with Lincoln that day, remembered that “during the ride to Gettysburg the president placed everyone who approached him at his ease, relating numerous stories, some of them laughable, and others of a character that deeply touched the hearts of his listeners.” But behind the lighthearted conversations, Lincoln was under the immense pressures of his duties as president during a war that was growing increasingly unpopular.

  William Wallace “Willie” Lincoln

  Gettysburg had been an opportunity to end the war, yet Lee had escaped over the Potomac back to Virginia and safety. The war and the endless suffering of millions continued. A distraught Lincoln had blamed Meade (perhaps unfairly) after the battle and told Secretary Hay, “Our Army held the war in the hollow of their hand and they would not close it.” With Lee’s army still successfully defending Richmond, however, Lincoln faced the real possibility that the American people would lose the will to see the war through to victory.

  Now Lincoln would be making a speech at a dedication of the final resting place for thousands of his soldiers who had fallen at Gettysburg. Many people in the North were calling for an end to the war, supporting Lincoln’s political rival George C. McClellan to form a new administration in 1864. to negotiate peace with the Confederacy. If that happened, everything Lincoln had worked for—the preservation of the union, the abolishment of slavery, and the sacrifices of millions of people—would have been in vain.

  Mary Todd Lincoln. Photo credit: Matthew Brady, Library of Congress.

  “He comes to me every night, and stands at the foot of my bed with the same sweet, adorable smile he has always had; he does not always come alone; little Eddie is sometimes with him ... You cannot dream of the comfort this gives me. When I thought of my little son in immensity, alone, without his mother to direct him, no one to hold his little hand in loving guidance, it nearly broke my heart.”

  —Mary Todd Lincoln

  Foremost among his thoughts that day, though, must have been for his ten-year-old son Tad. Only a year earlier, in February 1862, Tad and his older brother William had contracted typhoid fever while living at the White House. Tad survived the ordeal, but William did not. His death was a devastating loss to the President and his wife, who had already lost their second son Edward when he was only four years old, in 1850. In her grief, Mary Todd was pushed beyond the limits of her sanity and never fully recovered.

  William’s death also pushed Lincoln into a deep depression that he kept hidden from most. Hay wrote that the president “was profoundly moved by [William’s] death, though he gave no outward sign of his trouble, but kept about his work the same as ever. His bereaved heart seemed afterwards to pour out its fullness on his youngest child.” The great pressures of his official duties, the loss of his son, and the worsening instability of his wife inspired Lincoln into a closer relationship with God. His letters and speeches increasingly revealed that Lincoln turned to his faith for guidance.

  A year earlier Lincoln had wr
itten to a friend, Eliza Gurney, that “If I had had my way, this war would never have been commenced; if I had been allowed my way, this war would have ended before this, but we find it still continues; and we must believe that He permits it for some wise purpose of his own, mysterious and unknown to us; and though with our limited understandings we may not be able to comprehend it, yet we cannot but believe that He who made the world still governs it.”

  Lincoln knew there was a great weariness among the people. The Confederacy showed no signs of surrendering their cause for independence. Lincoln knew what he was asking by continuing the war: The deaths from battle and disease, the orphaned children and widowed mothers, the total destruction of land and property—Americans slaughtering Americans—would continue.

  Lincoln also knew what pain and suffering meant. He knew what it was like to lose a son. But with the future of the country at stake and with a chance to end slavery, Lincoln would not accept a compromised peace. A year earlier he had written to William Seward, “I expect to maintain this contest until successful, or till I die, or am conquered, or my term expires, or Congress or the country forsakes me.”

  There is a legend that Lincoln jotted down his Gettysburg speech on the back of an envelope on the train the day of the dedication. That, of course, is simply a tall tale. He had known about the invitation to speak at the dedication of the cemetery for some time. Lincoln was a master of the English language and he would craft his speeches and letters with painstaking care, often making several drafts and asking those closest to him for their advice. This speech, though, he kept to himself, only asking William beward to review it with him the evening before the dedication ceremony. Lincoln knew he would be speaking after a long oration by Edward Everett and had kept his comments to just a few words. The speech, written on a few loose papers, was kept in his pocket.