THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC.
Speech at the opening of the “Soldiers’ Fair and Festival,” Topeka, January 28, 1885.
“Now abideth Faith, Hope and Charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity.”
In no age, and among no other people, have these virtues been so signally illustrated as they have been in our own age and by the people of the United States.
Faith in the Republic, in the grandeur of its power, in the beneficence of its institutions, and in the freedom, humanity and justice of its rule—this sentiment animated and inspired the soldiers of the Union during the long and dreadful years of the late civil war.
The glad picture of a country saved, disenthralled and enfranchised—this was the hope, imprinted on their hearts, that made their long marches less wearisome, that shortened the lonely hours of the night watch, and that nerved their arms amid the smoke of battle.
And the greatest of these virtues has been illustrated, during the two decades since the war, by the quick, unfailing and generous response of the people to every appeal made in behalf of those who thus risked health and life that the Republic might be preserved.
The inspiration that prompts and organizes such a charity as this, in which you, ladies and gentlemen of Topeka, have engaged, is in every sense honorable to the Capital City. Kindly consideration of the needs and sufferings of the poor or unfortunate is always a gracious sentiment. But it is doubly so when it has for its object the relief of men who once periled their lives for their country, and I am honored by the part you have allotted me, to formally open this fair and festival.
In the bustle, rush and interest of personal and public activities, the people sometimes forget how immeasurable is the debt of gratitude the Republic owes to the soldiers. I have, now and then, heard good citizens bewailing the burden of our pension list, and thoughtlessly declaring that Congress was extravagantly generous in the pensions given those who were disabled in the service. It is probably true that in some instances the generosity of the Government has been imposed upon. But would any young man in this assemblage consent to lose an arm for thirteen dollars a month, or a leg for thirty-two dollars a month, or to go through life blind and helpless for seventy-two dollars a month? Measure the sacrifice with the pension, and no true-hearted, right-thinking man or woman will say that the Government has done more than justice to its disabled soldiers.
Nor should it be forgotten, in considering the obligation of the people and the Government to the soldiers, that there was a time, not many years ago, when everything in this country—its Government, its lands, its money—was absolutely at the mercy of the army. When, at the close of the late civil war, the men who had followed Grant, and Sherman, and Thomas, and Meade, marched in review down Pennsylvania avenue, in Washington, on their bayonets rested all control, all law, all public authority. They had only to say to Congress, “These States we have conquered are ours; divide their territory and give us patents for it,” and it would have been done. They had only to say to the President, Congress, and people: “We have each earned pensions of one hundred dollars a month—enact such a law,” and it would have been enacted. Or if they had declared, “Give every soldier’s widow or orphan one thousand dollars a year,” where was the power to say nay? The Government? It was their strong and steady columns. The Congress? They could have sent a Corporal with his guard and brushed it away as you would a fly from your hand. The Constitution? It was a mere faded parchment, as dry and useless as a last year’s bird’s nest, if these men in faded blue uniforms, marching with their tattered flags—these men who had looked death in the face on dozens of battle-fields—had so decreed. But they used their great power with the chivalry of heroes and the unselfishness of patriots. They demanded nothing of the country they had saved. Quietly and modestly they returned to the peaceful homes and walks they had left, and took up again the broken threads of their old life.
Thousands of these soldiers contracted, during their service, the seeds of diseases that were only developed years afterward. The surgeon of my own Regiment, an old and capable physician, once told me that every man in the army marching to Atlanta under Sherman, would sooner or later suffer from the effects of the exposures and hardships of that trying campaign.
And for unfortunates of this character, whose disabilities were developed long after the war, the Government provides no pensions. Death may result, but the widows and orphans of such soldiers can claim no bounty from the country. For the relief of these soldiers, their widows and orphans, private benevolence must be appealed to. And this is the purpose of your organization. It is an object that should enlist the sympathies of all, and I sincerely trust that the largest measure of success may reward your efforts, and that a fund, ample for the purposes indicated, may be provided.