The Perfect Tribute | Page 8

Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
ended clearly, deliberately:
"'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.'"
There was deep stillness in the hospital ward as there had been stillness
on the field of Gettysburg. The soldier's voice broke it. "It's a
wonderful speech," he said. "There's nothing finer. Other men have
spoken stirring words, for the North and for the South, but never before,

I think, with the love of both breathing through them. It is only the
greatest who can be a partisan without bitterness, and only such to-day
may call himself not Northern or Southern, but American. To feel that
your enemy can fight you to death without malice, with charity--it lifts
country, it lifts humanity to something worth dying for. They are
beautiful, broad words and the sting of war would be drawn if the soul
of Lincoln could be breathed into the armies. Do you agree with me?"
he demanded abruptly, and Lincoln answered slowly, from a happy
heart.
"I believe it is a good speech," he said.
The impetuous Southerner went on: "Of course, it's all wrong from my
point of view," and the gentleness of his look made the words charming.
"The thought which underlies it is warped, inverted, as I look at it, yet
that doesn't alter my admiration of the man and of his words. I'd like to
put my hand in his before I die," he said, and the sudden, brilliant,
sweet smile lit the transparency of his face like a lamp; "and I'd like to
tell him that I know that what we're all fighting for, the best of us, is the
right of our country as it is given us to see it." He was laboring a bit
with the words now as if he were tired, but he hushed the boy
imperiously. "When a man gets so close to death's door that he feels the
wind through it from a larger atmosphere, then the small things are
blown away. The bitterness of the fight has faded for me. I only feel the
love of country, the satisfaction of giving my life for it. The
speech--that speech--has made it look higher and simpler--your side as
well as ours. I would like to put my hand in Abraham Lincoln's--"
The clear, deep voice, with its hesitations, its catch of weakness,
stopped short. Convulsively the hand shot out and caught at the great
fingers that hung near him, pulling the President, with the strength of
agony, to his knees by the cot. The prisoner was writhing in an attack
of mortal pain, while he held, unknowing that he held it, the hand of his
new friend in a torturing grip. The door of death had opened wide and a
stormy wind was carrying the bright, conquered spirit into that larger
atmosphere of which he had spoken. Suddenly the struggle ceased, the
unconscious head rested in the boy's arms, and the hand of the Southern
soldier lay quiet, where he had wished to place it, in the hand of
Abraham Lincoln.

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