Union victories were coming more frequently in the late summer and fall of 1863, although not universally, as a loss at Chickamauga and the New York draft riots would attest. But now it was time for a more somber occasion.
Because so many soldiers had perished during the three-day battle at Gettysburg, a committee was set up to dedicate a cemetery to those who died there. Committee chairman David Wills invited the President to offer “a few appropriate remarks” to “formally set apart these grounds to their sacred use.”
On a chilly November 19, Lincoln addressed the crowd after the oration by keynote speaker Edward Everett. Lincoln sat on the speaker’s platform and listened to an opening prayer, music from the Marine Band, and Everett’s two-hour discourse on “The Battles of Gettysburg.” Following another short hymn sung by the Baltimore Glee Club, Lincoln rose to speak. He finished a mere two minutes later, so fleeting that many in the crowd largely missed his dedicatory remarks.
While Everett’s much longer keynote, resplendent with neo-classical references and nineteenth-century rhetorical style, was well received, generations of elementary school students have memorized Lincoln’s brief address. The irony of Lincoln observing “the world will little note nor long remember what we say here” is not lost on history.
Lincoln’s remarks were designed both to dedicate the cemetery and redefine the objectives of the ongoing Civil War. The “four score and seven years ago” sets the beginning of the United States not at the Constitution, but the 1776 signing of the Declaration of Independence, where “all men are created equal.” Those ideals were under attack, “testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.” After honoring the men who “struggled here,” Lincoln reminds everyone still living what our role must be:
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last 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 birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
As he gave his address, Lincoln was already feeling the symptoms of variola, a mild form of smallpox, which kept him bedridden for weeks after his return to Washington. He eventually wrote out several copies of his address, including one sent to Everett to be joined with his own handwritten speech and sold at New York’s Sanitary Commission Fair as a fundraiser for wounded soldiers.
[The above is adapted from my book, Lincoln: The Man Who Saved America, available in Barnes and Noble stores now.]
But wait, there’s more. This past year I made several “Chasing Abraham Lincoln” trips, including long road trips to Kentucky/Indiana and Illinois. Check out my Chasing Abraham Lincoln thread and scroll down for stories from the road.
David J. Kent is an avid science traveler and the author of Lincoln: The Man Who Saved America, in Barnes and Noble stores now. His previous books include Tesla: The Wizard of Electricity and Edison: The Inventor of the Modern World and two e-books: Nikola Tesla: Renewable Energy Ahead of Its Time and Abraham Lincoln and Nikola Tesla: Connected by Fate.
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Abraham Lincoln was the first “selfie” nut. His first photograph was in 1846, taken only about seven years after the daguerreotype process was introduced worldwide. Talk about your early adopters. That first photograph was basically a class picture as the newly elected young 
Lincoln went on to have at least 130 photographs taken during the remainder of his life, with the final solo photograph taken in early February of 1865. Two photographs were taken after this. One was a erratically focused crowd shot of him standing on the Capitol steps giving his second inaugural address on March 4, 1964. The other was an unauthorized photo of Lincoln laying in an open casket in New York City following his assassination.
In most of the photos Lincoln sits or stands alone. One has him sitting with his youngest son Tad standing beside him gazing down at the book open in Lincoln’s lap. Perhaps the most intriguing photos are the series taken by Alexander Gardner at Antietam during Lincoln’s post-battle visit to meet with General McClellan. In one, the lanky Lincoln and the diminutive McClellan stare down each other in a group photo with other generals.
I write about Lincoln and his photographs for a few reasons. It was November 8, 1863 that Lincoln sat for a photo with his two secretaries, John Nicolay and John Hay, standing to either side. I have also recently read two books that look at the photographers most often associated with Lincoln and the Civil War: Matthew Brady and Alexander Gardner. The other of one of the books, Nicholas J.C. Pistor, will be a speaker at the upcoming Lincoln Forum in Gettysburg. The author of the second book, Richard S. Lowry, was a Forum speaker a few years ago. Both books are wonderful reads. I’m also including a section on Lincoln and photography in my “work-in-progress,” so I have a particular interest in this area.
Traveling can take you back in time (as in, history)…or it can take you away in space (as in, geography; so far no actual space travel for me). I’m about to do both.
Abraham Lincoln was the Whig candidate in 1846 and, as per a gentlemen’s agreement with other Whigs, served one term as a U.S. Congressman from December 1847 to March 1849.
“As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew,” said Abraham Lincoln in the midst of the Civil War. “
Directly across the road from the 
During my 
From here there is a short walk up a landscaped tree-line allee to the gravesite of Nancy Hanks Lincoln designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, Jr. Lincoln’s mother had died in 1818 of what was called “milk sickness,” later to be associated with cows eating the toxic white snakeroot plant. Her grave remained unmarked until a permanent marker was erected in 1879.
In the last quarter of my most recent 2000 mile road trip we met a lovely couple at a Montana rest stop. Gene and Jacque were sitting in foldable chairs next to their large RV camper when we pulled in to stretch our legs. As we talked about life I realized that very day – September 12th – was the 5-year anniversary of my science traveling life.
It is with deep regret that I mark the sudden passing of John Elliff. John was an Abraham Lincoln scholar and in many ways my mentor in the Lincoln field.
