Think of the inventions, the improvements that changed the hut to the cabin, the cabin to the house, the house to the palace, the earthen floors and bare walls to carpets and pictures—that changed famine to feast—toil to happy labor and poverty to wealth.
Think of the cost.
Think of the separation of families—of boys and girls leaving the old home—taking with them the blessings and kisses of fathers and mothers. Think of the homesickness, of the tears shed by the mothers left by the daughters gone. Think of the millions of brave men deformed by labor now sleeping in their honored graves.
Think of all that has been wrought, endured and accomplished for our good, and let us remember with gratitude, with love and tears the brave men, the patient loving women who subdued this land for us.
Then think of the heroes who served this country; who gave us this glorious present and hope of a still more glorious future; think of the men who really made us free, who secured the blessings of liberty, not only to us, but to billions yet unborn.
This country will be covered with happy homes and free men and free women.
To-day we remember the heroic dead, those whose blood reddens the paths and highways of honor; those who died upon the field, in the charge, in prison-pens, or in famine's clutch; those who gave their lives that liberty should not perish from the earth. And to-day we remember the great leaders who have passed to the realm of silence, to the land of shadow. Thomas, the rock of Chickamauga, self-poised, firm, brave, faithful; Sherman, the reckless, the daring, the prudent and the victorious; Sheridan, a soldier fit to have stood by Julius Cæsar and to have uttered the words of command; and Grant, the silent, the invincible, the unconquered; and rising above them all, Lincoln, the wise, the patient, the merciful, the grandest figure in the Western world. We remember them all today and hundreds of thousands who are not mentioned, but who are equally worthy, hundreds of thousands of privates, deserving of equal honor with the plumed leaders of the host.
And what shall I say to you, survivors of the death-filled days? To you, my comrades, to you whom I have known in the great days, in the time when the heart beat fast and the blood flowed strong; in the days of high hope—what shall I say? All I can say is that my heart goes out to you, one and all. To you who bared your bosoms to the storms of war; to you who left loved ones to die, if need be, for the sacred cause. May you live long in the land you helped to save; may the winter of your age be as green as spring, as full of blossoms as summer, as generous as autumn, and may you, surrounded by plenty, with your wives at your sides and your grandchildren on your knees, live long. And when at last the fires of life burn low; when you enter the deepening dusk of the last of many, many happy days; when your brave hearts beat weak and slow, may the memory of your splendid deeds; deeds that freed your fellow-men; deeds that kept your country on the map of the world; deeds that kept the flag of the Republic in the air—may the memory of these deeds fill your souls with peace and perfect joy. Let it console you to know that you are not to be forgotten. Centuries hence your story will be told in art and song, and upon your honored graves flowers will be lovingly laid by millions' of men and women now unborn.
Again expressing the joy that I feel in having met you, and again saying farewell to one and all, and wishing you all the blessings of life, I bid you goodbye.*
* At the last reunion of the Eleventh Illinois Cavalry, the
Colonel's old regiment, and the soldiers of Peoria county,
which Mr. Ingersoll attended, a little incident happened
which let us into the inner circle of his life. The meeting
was held at Elmwood. While the soldier were passing in
review the citizens and young people filled all the seats in
the park and crowded around the speaker's stand, so as to
occupy all available space. When the soldiers had finished
their parade and returned to the park, they found it
impossible to get near the speaker. Of course we were all
disappointed, but were forced to stand on the outskirts of
the vast throng.
As soon as he ceased speaking, Mr. Ingersoll said to a
soldier that he would like to meet his comrades in the hall
at a certain hour in the afternoon. The word spread quickly,
and at the appointed hour the hall was crowded with
soldiers. The guard stationed at tue door was ordered to let
none but soldiers pass into the hall. Some of the comrades,
however, brought their wives. The guards, true to their
orders, refused to let the ladies pass. Just as Mr.
Ingersoll was ready to speak, word came to him that some of
the comrades' wives were outside and wanted permission to
pass the guard. The hall was full, but Mr. Ingersoll
requested all comrades whose wives were within reach to go
and get them. When his order had been complied with even
standing room was at a premium. When Mr. Ingersoll arose to
speak to that great assemblage of white-haired veterans and
their aged companions his voice was unusually tender, and the
wave of emotion that passed through the hall cannot be told
in words. Tears and cheers blended as Mr. Ingersoll arose
and began his speech with the statement that all present
were nearing the setting sun of life, and in all probability
that was the last opportunity many of them would have of
taking each other by the hand.
In this half-hour impromptu speech the great-hearted man,
Robert G. Ingersoll, was seen at his best. It was not a
clash of opinions over party or creed, but it was a meeting
of hearts and communion together In the holy of holies of
human life. The address was a series of word-pictures that
still hang on the walls of memory. The speaker, in his most
sympathetic mood, drew a picture of the service of the G. A.
R., of the women of the republic, and then paid a beautiful
tribute to home and invoked the kindest and greatest
influence to guard his comrades and their companions during
the remainder of life's journey.
We got very close to the man that day, where we could see
the heart of Mr. Ingersoll. I have often wished that a
reporter could have been present to preserve the address.
Imagine four beautiful word-paintings entitled, "The Service
of the G. A. R.," "The Influence of Noble Womanhood," "The
Sacredness of Home," and "The Pilgrimage of Life." Imagine
these word-paintings as drawn by Mr. Ingersoll under the
most favorable circumstances, and you have an idea of that
address. Mr. Ingersoll the Agnostic is a very different man
from Mr. Ingersoll the man and patriot. I cannot share the
doubts of this Agnostic. I cannot help admiring the man and
patriot.—The Rev. Frank McAlpine, Peoria Star, August 1,
1895.