One remarkable thing about the memorial—an innovation that now has become almost commonplace in art—assured its success. Sheridan was presented not as the older man he lived to be, but in his prime and at a supreme moment in his career—the turn of the Federal retreat at Winchester. Gutzon pictured the moment when the general, returning from a conference with Lincoln, came galloping to meet his fleeing soldiers.
In the statue he has pulled up his horse and is waving the men back into the fight. There is fury in his eye and, as the sculptor felt, a historic phrase on his lips: “You will sleep in your tents tonight or you will sleep in hell!”
Gutzon modeled the horse and rider in clay, in the size that they would have in bronze, which was another important characteristic of his work. He never turned over a small model to others to have it enlarged by mechanical process, as was being done by some sculptors. He wanted his own modeling, the imprint of his thumb, to appear in the finished work. He wanted to get the spirit of the action and pose. If he were to expend creative effort on a sketch, he declared, he would have lost interest by the time he came to make an exact copy on a larger scale.
There has been considerable controversy over Sheridan’s ride to Winchester. Some writers, like Joseph Hergesheimer, have maintained that the wild gallop was only a mild trot. General Crosby and General Forsyth, brother officers of Sheridan, favored the accepted version. So would any cavalry officer. No matter how he might have been riding at the start, he was certainly riding as fast as the horse could take him when he came up with his defeated command. An eyewitness of the ride, Private Frederick Bullis of the New York State volunteers, reported:
I was near enough to him to touch his horse when he got there. There were lumps of foam as big as my fists on the horse’s face, and his nostrils were bleeding. Sheridan stood up in his stirrups and yelled “Face the other way! Face the other way!” He kept yelling it over and over. He was swinging his sword and swearing like a demon.
The monument was unveiled with much pomp and circumstance on November 25, 1908. Mrs. Sheridan herself pulled the cord that held the draperies in place. There was a parade of the armed forces that included every branch of the services. There were speeches by notables and concerts by brass bands. There was also a long account of the event in the Omaha Bee. The correspondent identified Gutzon Borglum as an Omaha boy, which, indeed, he once had been.
The turbulent figure of Sheridan was acclaimed as one of the greatest military statues in America. Critics noted the anatomical perfection of the horse and the faithful picturing of the general as a young man. But their praise was for the terrific action in bronze sculpture—the captured fear and climax of battle. It is hard to imagine that this memorial and the monument to President Lincoln in Newark were both the work of the same artist. Lincoln, shown in a moment of deep dejection during the Civil War when the news from the front was bad, is pathetic. He is every man’s friend just as he is every man’s other self, face to face with unhappiness, harried by disaster.
It was Lincoln’s custom to visit the War Office late at night to get the most recent dispatches, and the memorial in Newark shows him after such a call. He is sitting on a bench, his tall hat beside him, dispirited and alone. Borglum’s idea for the statue was inspired by a letter from Lincoln to a friend shortly after his election. “I could appreciate the feelings of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane.... I am now in my Garden of Gethsemane.”
Borglum received the commission to make this statue as a result of the exhibition of his marble head of Lincoln in the Capitol. Amos Van Horn, Civil War veteran and citizen of Newark, had bequeathed $150,000 for three public monuments, one to Washington, one to Lincoln and a third to the soldiers and sailors who had fought in the War between the States. He appointed three executors, chief of whom was Ralph E. Lum, a Newark lawyer who knew nothing of Borglum or his work except the Lincoln head. That seemed enough evidence. He gave the sculptor the commission for the Lincoln Memorial and thereafter was always his steadfast friend.
The work was carried out under pleasant, amicable, understanding relations. There was no competition. The executors had virtually no suggestions. They knew that Gutzon Borglum was a competent sculptor, and they left the details of the production to him. He submitted a small model which they considered and accepted. After that he made a full-sized model in clay. The location chosen for the memorial was in front of the Newark courthouse where much grading and change was needed. The city lacked a thousand dollars of enough to pay for what was needed; so Gutzon advanced the money to Park Superintendent Carl Bannwort. The architect who drew the plans for the setting was an old friend, William Price. The architect, Bannwort and Gutzon contrived to give the statue a perfect environment, and Bannwort seemed surprised to see it finished. “It’s the first time,” he said, “that I ever heard of a sculptor ever giving back a part of his own pay.”