Part 13 (2/2)
WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH.
August, 1864.
PINE AND PALM
(GRANT AND LEE)
Charles Francis Adams in address before Chicago Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa, June 17, 1902.
I NOW come to what I have always regarded--shall ever regard as the most creditable episode in all American history,--an episode without a blemish,--imposing, dignified, simple, heroic. I refer to Appomattox.
Two men met that day, representative of American civilization, the whole world looking on. The two were Grant and Lee,--types each. Both rose, and rose unconsciously, to the full height of the occasion,--and than that occasion there has been none greater. About it and them, there was no theatrical display, no self-consciousness, no effort at effect. A great crisis was to be met; and they met that crisis as great countrymen should.
That month of April saw the close of exactly four years of persistent strife,--a strife which the whole civilized world had been watching intently. Then, suddenly, came the dramatic climax at Appomattox, dramatic I say, not theatrical,--severe in its simple, sober, matter-of-fact majesty. The world, I again a.s.sert, has seen nothing like it; and the world, instinctively, was at the time conscious of the fact.
I like to dwell on the familiar circ.u.mstances of the day; on its momentous outcome; on its far-reaching results. It affords one of the greatest educational object lessons to be found in history; and the actors were worthy of the theater, the auditory, and the play.
A mighty tragedy was drawing to a close. The breathless world was the audience. It was a bright, balmy April Sunday in a quiet Virginia landscape, with two veteran armies confronting each other; one game to the death, completely in the grasp of the other. The future was at stake. What might ensue? What might not ensue? Would the strife end then and there? Would it die in a death-grapple, only to reappear in that chronic form of a vanquished but indomitable people, writhing and struggling, in the grasp of an insatiate but only nominal victor?
The answer depended on two men,--the captains of the contending forces.
Think what then might have resulted had these two men been other than what they were,--had the one been stern and aggressive, the other sullen and unyielding. Most fortunately for us, they were what and who they were,--_Grant and Lee. Of the two, I know not to which to award the palm._ Instinctively, unconsciously, they vied not unsuccessfully each with the other, in dignity, magnanimity, simplicity.
THE CONQUERED BANNER
LIKE several other poems of renown, ”The Conquered Banner” was written under stress of deep emotion.
Abram J. Ryan (Father Ryan) had been ordained as a Catholic priest.
Shortly after his ordination he was made a chaplain in the Confederate army.
When the news came of General Lee's surrender at Appomattox he was in his room in Knoxville, where his regiment was quartered.
He bowed his head upon the table and wept bitterly.
He then arose and looked about him for a piece of paper, but could find nothing but a sheet of brown paper wrapped about a pair of shoes.
Spreading this out upon the table, he, ”in a spirit of sorrow and desolation” as expressed in his own words, wrote upon it ”The Conquered Banner.”
The following morning the regiment was ordered away, and the poem upon the table was forgotten. To the author's surprise it appeared over his name, in a Louisville paper, a few weeks later, having been forwarded to the paper by the lady in whose house he had stopped in Knoxville.
The poem was widely copied, and was read at gatherings throughout the South with ardor and often with tears.
As an expression of sorrow without bitterness it is considered a fine example.
THE CONQUERED BANNER
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