USA > Virginia > Arlington County > Arlington County > Historic Arlington. A history of the National cemetery from its establishment to the present time > Part 9
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„ ond these sections and the groves of trees in which they stand is an open -level containing about a hundred acres of ground. At the end of this open space is the reconstructed earthwork, Fort McPherson, one of the most interesting points at Arlington.
At the lower end of section F are located the graves of G. W. P. Custis and his wife. They are marked by two simple stone shafts, erected by their daughter, Mrs. R. E. Lee. These monu- ments form the only divergence from the monotonous style of gravestones that mark the graves of the dead soldiers to be found in the section. On the monument erected to Mr. Custis is the in- scription :
GEORGE WASHINGTON PARKE CUSTIS. Born April 30, 1781. Died October 10, 1857. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."
On the monument dedicated to the memory of Mrs. Custis are these words :
MARY L. CUSTIS. Born, April 22, 1788. Died, April 13, 1853.
There is another interesting memorial of the Custis family on the hillside north of the mansion. It is an old tomb that con- tains the remains of Mrs. Mary Randolph, a relative of Mrs. Cus- tis. On it is the following inscription :
Sacred to the memory of Mrs. Mary Randolph. Her intrinsic worth needs no eulogium.
The deceased was born the 9th of August, 1762, at Ampthill, near Richmond, Vir- ginia, and died the 23d of January, 1828, in Washington city,
a victim to maternal love and duty. As a tribute of filial gratitude this momument is dedicated to her exalted virtues by her youngest son. Requiescat in pace.
This description is intended to convey to the mind of the reader some idea of the extent of the national cemetery and the location ot the different sections into which it is divided. But, as already stated, interest in the historic old place centers about the mansion itself and the grounds immediately adjoining. Here assemble, annually, the veterans of the late war to deck with loving hands the graves of dead comrades. Here, also, words of fervent elo-
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quence are uttered in commemoration of the valor of those who fell in battle, and here the visitor finds most to attract attention ..
. The mansion is surrounded by a broad driveway, smoothly paved, and from this well-kept walks lead in and out among beds of flowers. Directly south of the house is a large garden, in which the flower beds are arranged to represent badges of the different army corps. The names of Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Garfield, and others also appear in floral letters.
In the centre of this plot stands what is known as the Temple of Fame. It is a circular structure and is composed of eight col- umns, surmounted by a dome, which rests on an octagonal cornice of stone-work. Set in this cornice are the names Washington, Lincoln, Grant, and Farragut. There is also an illustrious name on each of the pillars, as follows : McPherson, Sedgwick, Rey- nolds, Humphreys, Garfield, Mansfield, Thomas, and Meade.
Immediately west of the Temple of Fame is the sarcophagus which contains the remains of 2,111 unknown dead. This is one of the most touching sights at the national cemetery. The ob- long pile of granite, simple almost to rudeness in its design, has within it remains of those whose death is still a mystery to their friends and loving relatives. The bodies were picked up here and there upon the corpse-strewn battle-fields, and, unknown by any, were numbered among that large class that has never been identified. All that tells the story of their deaths is a simple inscription upon the stone telling why it was erected. Their val- orous deeds ; their sufferings ere death had come to give them their release; even the honor which accrues to those who do their duty well, is in this case all comprehended in the sterile term, unknown.
Just beyond the sarcophagus is the rostrum and the amphi- theatre, where the Decoration Day exercises are held. The ros- trum is a raised platform of stone, classical and picturesque in design. It resembles in appearance the remains of some old Grecian temple. An ornamental block of polished marble serves as a reading-desk, while twelve stone columns support a level roof of lattice-work, which is thickly covered with creeping vines. The amphitheatre is formed by a circular embankment of earth, which encloses a space large enough to contain about 1,500 people. The earthen embankment is sheltered by trellis-work
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which supports luxuriant grape and other vines. The amphi- theatre and rostrum are used on Decoration Days, in the Grand Army services, and at these services at Arlington have been uttered some of the most eloquent Decoration Day addresses.
So intimately connected with the national cemetery at Arling- ton is the observance of Memorial Day that a few pages devoted to a description of its origin and beautiful customs, with an ac- count of some of the most noted Decoration Day orations, must form a concomitant part of a complete history of Arlington.
CHAPTER IX.
DECORATION DAY AND ITS CUSTOMS-SOME NOTED ORATIONS-LINCOLN'S GETTYSBURG ADDRESS-INGERSOLL'S PROSE-POEM OVER THE SOLDIER DEAD.
Decoration Day, with its customs, was the natural outcome of a nation's sorrow and gratitude. Nowhere is the origin of the cus- tom of strewing graves with flowers more beautifully described than in the eloquent and impressive address of Chauncey M. De- pew, delivered on the 30th of May, 1879, when he said :
When the war was over, in the South, where under warmer skies and with more poetic temperaments symbols and emblems are better understood than in the practical North, the widows, mothers, and children of the Confederate dead went out and strewed their graves with flowers ; at many places the women scattered them impartially also over the unknown and unmarked resting-places of the Union soldiers. As the news of this touching tribute flashed over the North it roused, as nothing else could have done, national amity and love, and allayed sec- tional animosity and passion. It thrilled every household where there was a vacant chair by the fireside and an aching void in the heart for a lost hero whose remains had never been found ; old wounds broke out afresh, and in a mingled tempest of grief and joy the family cried, " Maybe it was our darling ! " Thus out of sorrows common alike to North and South came this beautiful custom. But Decoration Day no longer belongs to those who mourn. It is the common privilege of us all, and will be celebrated as long as gratitude exists and flowers bloom.
John S. Wise, in a speech some years ago, declared that the tenderest and most touching legacy of the war was that sentiment of common pity and humanity to which the women gave expres- sion in a Southern cemetery when they decked the graves of Con- federate and of Federal soldiers with impartial hand.
The idea was at first rather slow at taking root, but the Grand Army posts throughout the Union adopted the custom as a pecu- liar and legitimate function of the organization, and by common consent fixed upon the 30th of May as a day upon which they · should pay tribute to their lost comrades with the fresh, pure blossoms of the vernal month.
The custom of honoring the memory of fallen heroes by the proper observance of Memorial Day has since its inaugura- tion added to the literary treasures of America a number of burn-
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ing, eloquent orations that will always stand forth as specimens of the best efforts of our country's greatest orators. Foremost among these must undoubtedly be placed the address of Col. Robert G. Ingersoll delivered on Decoration Day at Indianapolis, before the " Boys in Blue," an organization which has since been merged into the Grand Army of the Republic.
It followed soon after the splendid and instantaneous fame which he gained as an orator by the speech in placing Mr. Blaine in nomination and added greatly to that oratorical repute. Col. Ingersoll said some years later that it was not true, as had been reported, that the address was impromptu. The writing of it had required only a few moments, but the composition of it had been a matter of years. After his service in the army Col. Ingersoll used to recall, with poetic enthusiasm, scenes which, when they occurred, had seemingly not made much impression on his mind. He remembered his comrades who had fallen, and recalled some pathetic incident of army life. The magnificent patriotism of the time was revealed to him, after the battles had been fought and the Union established, in the light of the poetic fancy that characterizes Ingersoll's best orations, and there came to his mind now and then epigrams, kernels of thought expressed in the imagery of the poet, and he retained them in his memory. Thus little by little he composed that speech. It was the work of years, and when he was invited to deliver the address he found that the address was ready to be delivered and only awaited the occa- sion.
The quotation already given, descriptive of the origin of Me- morial Day, is from the notable Decoration Day address of Chauncey M. Depew, delivered at the Metropolitan Opera House in 1879. Depew had a magnificent audience. He had accepted the invitation rather reluctantly, but as he began preparing his address he became fascinated with his subject. Many of those who have heard Depew are of the opinion that it was the finest oration ever delivered by him. It differed entirely from the ad- dress of Ingersoll, which was really a prose poem. Depew's address was the speech of a statesman inspired to lofty and solemn sentiments through the contemplation of the heroes whose achieve- ments he was to celebrate. Col. Ingersoll, who heard the address, pronounced it one of the finest specimens of eulogy every deliv- ered by an American.
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Perhaps one of the most noteworthy of Decoration Day ad- dresses was delivered by Gen. Garfield at Arlington. Many of those who heard it were familiar with Garfield's oratory. He was singularly felicitous when speaking on a subject involving the higher order of sentiment, and in the Arlington address he reached probably his finest oratorical achievement, at least on a subject not political.
After all, bearing in mind the great orations that have been de- livered on Decoration Day or on the occasions of the dedications of Federal cemeteries, no effort can be compared with the brief address delivered by President Lincoln on the 19th of November, 1863, at the dedication of the national cemetery at Gettysburg. Decoration Day was unknown then. The war was not over. Grant had not been long the commanding General. It was in- tended to make the Gettysburg ceremonial a conspicuous event, to fix the eyes of the North upon it, and, if possible, inspire those who were fighting for the Union with new hopes and firmer pur- poses. For that reason President Lincoln consented to go to Get- tysburg, and, as he said, say something appropriate to the occasion. The orator of the day was Edward Everett, one of the greatest of American orators. Mr. Everett prepared his oration with greater care than he had been accustomed to bestow on his previous ad- dresses. No orator ever took more pains with the composition of his speeches or more patiently drilled himself with respect to the elocution and oratorical graces that should embellish delivery. Mr. Everett believed that the Gettysburg address was to be the oration of his life, and the one, perhaps, by which he would be best known to posterity.
President Lincoln, on the contrary, spent no time on the com- position of his address, and it may almost be called an impromptu.
The story of its preparation has been told by Mr. Edward Mc- Pherson, who, as a member of Congress, representing the Gettys- burg district, escorted President Lincoln from Washington to Gettysburg. The President seemed to be in one of his moods of sorrow when they entered the cars, and McPherson, who was fa- miliar with Mr. Lincoln's varying expressions of countenance, thought that the President was burdened that day with a sense of mighty responsibilities, and was saddened by the reflection that the struggle to maintain the Union had cost hundreds of thousands
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of lives. After leaving Baltimore Mr. Lincoln seemed to brighten up, and he took from his pocket two or three sheets of commer- cial note-paper, on which had been written with lead pencil what seemed to be some fragmentary comments. Mr. Lincoln took out his glasses, read the memoranda, and made one or two trifling corrections. He said that he had jotted down a few things which had occurred to him to say, because it was expected, he be- lieved, that he would say something. He was inclined to think that Mr. Everett's oration would be in every way worthy of the event, and he spoke in praise of Everett as a patriot and an ora- tor. 'When the time came for Mr. Lincoln to deliver his address he rose, put. on his spectacles, took the few sheets of note-paper from his pocket, and read the address in that manner of his which at first sight seemed almost ungainly and became impressive as he proceeded with his speech. Comparatively few of the great throng present were able to hear it. Most of those who did were not especially impressed by the speech ; but a few men realized that they had listened to an address which was sure to become a classic, and, perhaps, would be regarded as the most perfect ex- ample of English prose address ever produced by an American.
Mr. Everett's oration was stately, dignified, elegant, but formal. He had written it on the models of the best English and Ameri- can orations, and had pronounced it according to the rules of elo- cution. It sounded well ; it was impressive when heard, but it has been forgotten practically. Nearly a month passed before the country realized what a gem of oratory Mr. Lincoln's address was. It was so short that less than ten minutes were required for the reading of it, and, being short, was published in almost every
newspaper in the country. Men recognized its extraordinary merits. James Russell Lowell pronounced it in sublimity of thought, appropriateness of ideas, solemnity of sentiment, and purity of English the finest specimen of oratory, English or Amer- ican, and that view was reiterated by the English critics. It fur- nished the ideas for thousands of Decoration Day addresses which have since been delivered, and it has been utilized by the professors of rhetoric in schools and colleges. Mr. Lincoln was astonished when he learned the opinion of the ablest men regard- ing the oration, and he could only explain the exalted view taken of it by saying he had spoken as he felt.
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The oration is as follows :
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate-we cannot consecrate-we cannot hallow-this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.
The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedi- cated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thins far so nobly advanced. It is, rather, for us to be here dedicated to the great task re- maining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause to 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.
The following extract is from the address of Col. Ingersoll heretofore referred to :
The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the sound of preparation-the music of the boisterous drums-the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see thousands of assemblages and hear the appeals of orators ; we see the pale cheeks of women and the flushed faces of men ; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We lose sight of them no more. We are with them when they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see them part with those they love. Some are walking for the last time in quiet woody places with the maidens they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet vows of eternal love as they linger- ingly part forever. Others are bending over cradles kissing babes that are asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of old men. Some are parting with mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts again and again, and say nothing; and some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave words spoken in the old tones to drive away the awful fear. We see them part. We see the wife stand- ing in the door with the babe in her arms-standing in the sunlight-at the turn of the road a hand waves-she answers by holding high in her loving hands the child. He is gone, and forever.
We see them all as they march proudly away under the flaunting flags, keep- ing time to the wild grand music of war-marching down the streets of the great cities-through the towns and across the prairies-down to the fields of glory to do and to die for eternal right.
We go with them one and all. We are by their side on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain, on all the weary marches.
We stand guard with them in the wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are with them in ravines running with blood-in the furrows of old fields. We are with them between contending hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the life-
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blood ebbing slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them pierced by balls and torn with shells in the trenches of forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge, where men became iron with nerves of steel.
We are with them in the prisons of hatred and famine, but human speech can never tell what they endured.
We are at home when the news comes that they are dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man bowed with the lost grief.
The past rises before us, and we see four millions of human beings governed by the lash-we see them bound hand and foot-we hear the strokes of cruel whips- we see the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps. We see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty unspeakable. Outrage infinite !
Four million bodies in chains-four million souls in fetters. All the sacred re- lations of wife, mother, father, and child trampled beneath the brutal feet of might, and all this was done under our own beautiful banner of the free.
The past rises before us. We hear the roar and shriek of the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall. There heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we see men and women and children. The wand of progress touches the auction-block, the slave-pen, and the whipping-post, and we see homes and firesides, and school- houses and books, and where all was want and crime and cruelty and fear we sec the faces of the free.
These heroes are dead. They died for liberty-they died for ns. They are at rest. They sleep in the land they made free, under the flag they rendered stain- less, under the solemn pines, the sad hemlocks, the tearful willows, the embrac- ing vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless alike of sun- shine or storm, each in the windowless palace of rest. Earth may run red with other wars-they are at peace. In the midst of battle, in the roar of conflict, they found the serenity of death. I have one sentiment for the soldiers living and dead-cheers for the living and tears for the dead.
Among the familiar sights of Washington are the long, black lines of crows that every evening in winter are seen flying in sombre silence from out the northeast toward their nests in the forest wilds at Arlington. The gathering of these black cohorts among the trees in the city of the dead is cleverly described in the following bit of word-painting, by Philander Stansbury, in " Short Stories :"
THE BLACK CROWS OF ARLINGTON.
Westand upon the terraced heights of Fort Myer, having the wide- spread panorama of Washington before us. Between us and the city lies the broad river, now glowing with the last rays of the setting sun, and mirroring in its glassy surface the tall, white shaft of the peerless monument. At our feet, almost, rise the stately tops of the oaks of Arlington-the camp of the dead. To these oaks comes every evening at sunset a countless army of crows, to
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bivouac in safety and peace beneath the protection of the National Government.
Are they the spirits of those whose bones are mouldering be- neath those serried ranks of ugly contract stones ?
Who knows ?
Silently they gather from every point. From the horizon banked with rosy-tinted clouds, they gradually emerge in twos and threes, in tens, in companies, in regiments, in brigades, in divisions, all converging upon the common rendezvous, the oaks of Ar- lington.
Now all but a few belated birds have reached the well-beloved spot, and, settling down among the lofty tree-tops, they elamor, man-like, for space, where space is ample for a thousand times their number. At length their noise is stilled, and, as the sun's red face sinks from sight behind the distant hills, the hush of evening settles upon the scene.
Now from the fort behind us breaks out the bugle call which marks the close of yet another day, and then a flash, and the deep sound of the sunset gun goes booming out over the placid river and echoes back to us from the purpling hills beyond. At the sound, with a wild clamor like that of suffering souls in purga- tory, the whole of that sable army rise from their places among the trees, and, circling hurriedly through the air, give vent in loud caws to their surprise and terror.
But soon they sink again to their accustomed roost.
The last flush fades from the western horizon.
The evening star emerges, phoenix-like, from the dying glory of the sun.
The spirit of silence descends upon the place. The dead of Arlington may rest in peace.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 00025034077
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