Chapter V: Conclusion (4)

In the Mexican war there were only twenty-one engagements, in which the Americans lost 1,049 killed and 3,420 wounded—a total of 4,469. At the famous battle of Palo Alto, the American loss, in killed and wounded, aggregated only 174; at Monterey, 488; at Buena Vista, 723; at Cerro Gordo, 250; and at Molino del Rey, 787.

The aggregate casualties of the American troops in all previous wars were less than those of the Union army at each of the great battles of Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Chicamauga or Spottsylvania, and hardly reached one-half the casualties of Grant’s campaign through the Wilderness, or Sherman’s campaign against Atlanta.

I am not citing these facts to depreciate the importance of previous wars, and certainly I would be the last person to depreciate the patriotism and valor of the soldiers who took part in them. I reverence the memory of the “embattled farmers” who, on the village green at Lexington, “fired the shot heard round the world;” I honor the soldiers who, from behind the cotton-bales at New Orleans, taught the trained soldiers of Great Britain a new lesson of war; and I glory in the fame which our little army won on the red fields of Mexico. But I want to make plain and clear the fact that the war for the Union was immeasurably greater than any struggle of modern times, not only in the vast armies it called into being, but in the heroism and patriotism it inspired, and the momentous results depending on its issue.

Why, too, should not the sentiments and prejudices of the late civil war be perpetuated? The war saved the Union and emancipated a race. And in that single sentence what volumes of precious history, what glorious records of heroism, sacrifices and patriotism are condensed! What a noble lifting of all that is exalting in human nature, what a splendid record of patient devotion to duty, what self-forgetfulness and magnificent courage does it stand for! What centuries of human progress does it typify! It was a war for Freedom and National Unity. It was not waged for conquest, nor glory, nor ambition. It was a war to preserve, for all the generations of men, the priceless heritage of self-government. It was a war to vindicate the majesty of outraged law. It was a war to maintain this Republic as a beacon-light for all the world. It was a war, as the greatest of its martyrs said, waged “that a government of the people, by the people, for the people, should not perish from the earth.”

For the existence of the Grand Army, and for the reunions in which it delights to take part, no apology is, therefore, necessary. They should be kept up because they _do_ preserve the memories of the war; because they _do_ perpetuate the sentiments, the emotions, and even the prejudices of that glorious struggle. They were noble sentiments, pure emotions, honest and patriotic prejudices, those born of the country’s great peril and happy deliverance, and no true soldier, no true American, should be ashamed of them.

Let us, then, keep up the Grand Army, and our camp-fires, our reunions, our social gatherings. They typify a comradeship that should touch and warm every soldier’s heart. In all the years since the final muster-out, there have been no such friendships formed as were those cemented in the early mornings long ago, when the boys fell in and answered “Here” to the orderly’s call; or during the dusty and exhausting marches when the white pikes stretched so wearily long, and the evening camp-fires were so near and yet so far; or amid the sulphurous smoke of battle, when they “closed up on the colors” as the line dwindled away before the hot and furious fire of the enemy. The comradeship that springs from such associations and scenes as these, is worth preserving.

This is the great “Soldier State” of the Union—the State which began the civil war six years before any other State had enlisted a regiment. Kansas sent more men to swell the ranks of the Union army, in proportion to population, than any other State; it had a larger percentage of its soldiers killed or wounded in battle than any other State. One-twelfth of its present total population served in the ranks of the Union army. For Kansas was not only the first cause of the war, but the new home to which the veterans turned their footsteps when their marches and battles were over. Every regiment that served in the army of the Republic has contributed its quota to swell this magnificent population, and there are men sitting around quiet hearthstones in every county of the State who can give personal recollections of every march, every campaign, every battle of the war, from Bull Run to Bentonville. In this audience, I have no doubt, are men who have been participants in every great battle of the Rebellion.

Here in Kansas, too, is a generation of young men and women who have in their veins the blood of heroes and patriots. In this audience are hundreds of young men and women whose baby eyes witnessed sad partings, when their fathers hurried away to join the company mustering in the village square. Here are matrons who were young wives, sweethearts or sisters then, and who, busy with household cares, heard the faint throbbing of the far-away drum, and days and weeks before a word was spoken, read in the troubled but resolute eyes of husbands, lovers, and brothers the thought that was busy in their brains—the thought of a stricken country, sadly needing men. They knew, these patient, loving women, what was coming, and in the silence of their rooms, in loneliness and bitter tears, they prayed that, if possible, the shadow of this great grief might be lifted from their home; and that those nearest and dearest to them might remain, to lighten their cares and brighten their daily life. But when at last the word was spoken, a race of self-sacrificing and heroic women stood side by side in patriotic devotion with a race of heroic men, and the whole world learned, as the long procession of weary months and years went by, that the men and women of ’76 had worthy successors in the men and women of ’61 and ’65.

The “boys” of twenty-three years ago are men of mature age; the men of that day are growing old. The faded and tattered battle-flags they followed are preserved in the State-houses. The old sword or musket hanging over the mantel is rusty with age. Every year the ranks are thinning. Wounds and disease, the legacy of battle-field, march and bivouac, are doing their sure work. The glad picture they saw, looking forward through the lurid smoke and flame of battle, as the reward of all their toils and sacrifices—the picture of a mighty Nation, compact, prosperous, free, and respected by all the Nations of the earth—has been fully realized. There is no limit to the power, no measure to the wealth, of the redeemed and enfranchised Republic. Only the memories of a heroic struggle are left us. But until the last survivors of the Grand Army that marched and fought with Lyon, Blunt, McClellan, Rosecrans, Meade, Sheridan, Thomas, Sherman, and Grant, are finally mustered out, let them preserve their comradeship, and keep forever fresh and fair in their hearts the glorious recollections and still more glorious principles of the far-away days when they were soldiers of the Republic.

_Soldiers of the Union!_ again I bid you welcome. I welcome you, as citizens of this great State, to its Capital. I welcome you as patriot heroes, who, during the darkest days the Republic has ever known, gladly and proudly periled health and life to save it from destruction. I welcome you as the men whose strong arms and brave hearts gave Freedom to the Slave, and made this land, in fact as well as in name, a land of Liberty. And with my whole heart I salute you in Fraternity, Charity, and Loyalty, and welcome you as comrades.

THE KANSAS NATIONAL GUARD.

Address of welcome, delivered to the Kansas National Guard, at
Topeka, September 29, 1885.

SOLDIERS OF THE KANSAS NATIONAL GUARD: In a recent story by a well-known American author, the characters engage in an after-dinner discussion concerning the war of the Rebellion, and one of them remarks that the astonishing fact connected with it was the superabundance of heroism it revealed. Then he asks his son: “How many young men do you know who would think it sweet to die for their country?” Very modestly the young man replies: “I can’t think of a great many at the moment, sir.” Whereupon, his uncle, a gallant soldier during the war, says: “Nor could I in 1861; nevertheless they were there.”

The occasion is wanting now, but as “they were there” in 1861, so I have faith to believe that any great cause would find them now. I can remember hearing dolorous orators, in the years just preceding the outbreak of the Rebellion, bewailing the degeneracy of the times, and declaring that heroism and patriotism were things of the past. The flash of the gun at Sumter revealed not only the Nation’s peril, but its strength and glory. In a month, farms and workshops were deserted, and the peaceful North, transfigured by the splendor of its passion, became a Nation of warriors.

In the story to which I have already referred, one of the characters, after quietly telling an incident of a desperate battle, in which his regiment sustained a severe loss, says, with intense feeling: “I don’t want to see any more men killed in my time.” This sentiment will, I feel confident, be approved by every soldier of the late war. Certainly, I hope that no occasion for calling the “Kansas National Guard” into active service may ever arise. But I am sure that if such an occasion did come, you would be equal to its duties and its responsibilities. Some of you know what war is. You learned it on fields where the earth trembled with the shock of contending hosts. Most, if not all of you, have in your veins the blood of men who were soldiers and heroes. And I am confident that, if you were called upon in any emergency demanding an illustration of true soldierly qualities, you would prove yourselves worthy successors of the men of 1861–5.

I hope you will continue to maintain an efficient organization. I congratulate you on the proficiency you have already attained in drill and discipline. This year, for the first time, the State has made some provision for maintaining a well-organized military force, and this encouragement ought to increase your interest in the organizations to which you belong, and your activity in discharging your duties as members of the Kansas National Guard. The instruction you receive as soldiers, the drill and discipline to which you subject yourselves, are not without their uses, even in times of profound peace. Every man who has been drilled as a soldier is physically benefited by such exercise; and the lessons of obedience, of respect for law, of promptness in the discharge of duty, of faithfulness, patriotism and courage, that are the inspiration of soldierly conduct—these lessons will be of value to you in every relation of life.

It gives me pleasure to meet you. I trust your brief sojourn in camp will be not only instructive, but pleasant, to one and all of you. Your general officers are all trained and experienced soldiers, who served their country faithfully and honorably in time of war, and your Major General left a leg on one of the battle-fields of the late civil war. Many of your field and line officers are also experienced soldiers. They are thus thoroughly qualified, by habits and education, to instruct you in your duties, and I have no doubt they will take pride and pleasure in doing so.

And now, soldiers of the National Guard, remember that you are here on duty. Be prompt in responding to every order; preserve discipline in your camp; and so conduct yourselves, when absent from it, as to bring no reproach on the uniform you wear. You voluntarily put it on. Try to honor it by the manliness of sobriety; by the grace and pride of duty faithfully performed; and by the walk and conduct of a true soldier, who, honoring the badge of his service, never fails to honor himself.

WELCOMING ADDRESS.

Address of welcome, to the Select Knights, A. O. U. W., at Topeka,
October 13, 1885.

GENTLEMEN: When requested by the local committee, some weeks ago, to welcome to Kansas the Select Knights of the A. O. U. W., I very willingly assented. For, although not a member of your organization, I knew enough of its purposes, and of the principles on which it is founded, to assure me not only that it was worthy of the respect of all good citizens, but that it worthily represented, in its membership, the best citizenship of the United States and Canada.

The ceremonial addresses of this occasion are, however, only the outward manifestation of the cordial welcome with which the people of Kansas will greet you. The real welcome will be extended in the outstretched hands, in the open doors, in the generous hearts of your friends and brothers throughout this Commonwealth.

Human nature demands society and friendship. The impulses which lead men to band themselves together in associations, are far deeper than any tendencies to individualism and isolation. Out of this craving for fellowship has grown your Order, and all other societies of similar structure. It is not a very “Ancient” organization, unless, as I have heard it said, this country of ours has lived a full century during the past twenty-five years. But it has grown and prospered until its lodges are scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and its membership is over 150,000. This is the best possible evidence that the Order of United Workmen deserves to live. The American people, fond as they are of organized fellowship and society, are intelligent, discriminating and practical, and no organization having unworthy aims or ideas, can long survive among them.

I congratulate you, heartily, upon the prosperous condition of your Order. I congratulate you on the harmony and enthusiasm prevailing in your ranks, and on the manifest interest and pride that is felt, by all of your members, in the preservation and growth of your organization. And I welcome you, sincerely and cordially, to Kansas.

A quarter of a century ago William H. Seward said that in the future “men will go up to Kansas as they go up to Jerusalem.” Whether you came here in this spirit or not, you feel something of its inspiration before you go away from our borders. I warn you, here and now, that there is irresistible fascination in the atmosphere of Kansas. The history, the growth, the prosperity of this State are all exceptional. Not yet twenty-five years of age, Kansas has outstripped, in population, wealth and all the elements of an advanced civilization, more than half the States of the Union. This State has carried off the first prizes at the International Expositions at Philadelphia and New Orleans. It leads the procession in the reports of the National Agricultural Department. It has built nearly five thousand miles of railway to carry to market the largest crops ever grown on American soil. It has assailed ignorance with seven thousand school-houses. Of its 270,000 voters, at least 110,000 were soldiers during the civil war. The map of the Continent was disfigured by a desert—these people touched it with the magic wand of industry and enterprise, and lo! a garden blossoms in its stead. To populate a county thirty miles square within six months, and round out the half-year with a fight over the county seat between six towns, or to build a fair-sized city within a twelvemonth—these achievements may seem like a fiction, but they have been realities in Kansas. Beware, I say to you again, lest you catch the contagious enthusiasm of Kansas, and, telegraphing for your wives and children to come by the next train, return to your old homes no more. I don’t want to break up the A. O. U. W. in other States, by transferring you at once to Kansas, and so I give you this friendly warning.

But whether you come as visitors, to enjoy, for a brief time, our hospitality, or as immigrants to become permanent citizens, I bid you welcome, thrice welcome to Kansas. I know you will like Kansas, and I am equally certain that Kansas will like you. We are all glad that you came here to hold your biennial conclave, and, speaking not only for your special hosts, the United Workmen of Topeka, but for the large-hearted people of Kansas, I can say:

“Sirs, you are very welcome to our house;
It must appear in other ways than words,
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.”

THE IRISH NATIONAL LEAGUE.

Address, on taking the Chair, at a meeting of the Irish National
League, held at Topeka, November 5, 1885.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: I accepted the invitation given me by your Committee, to preside at this meeting, not because I have any fitness for or experience in the discharge of such duties, but because I wished to testify, by my presence here, my hearty sympathy with the cause of good government for Ireland.

I wish to say, however, frankly and with emphasis, that I do not agree with all those who, in this country, profess devotion to Ireland. I hold in unspeakable abhorrence any man, or association of men, who, either in Ireland, America, or any other land, perpetrate revolting crimes in the sacred name of Liberty, or who believe, or pretend to believe, that any good cause or noble purpose can be promoted by assassination, or by that weapon of cowardly hate and brutality—dynamite.

But if I understand the purposes and principles for which Charles Stewart Parnell and his followers are contending, in Ireland, they are those which, in America, have enlisted all the zeal and energy of my youth, and all the devotion of my manhood. The Irish leader is seeking to facilitate the ownership of the soil by its occupants. The first political campaign in which I was old enough to take an interest, was waged to open the public domain to the people under the beneficent provisions of the Homestead act. The Irish leader is contending for the right of every man to vote for those who are to make laws for his government, and this right, in America, I have advocated and defended with unfaltering devotion. The Irish leader is contending, in Ireland, for protection to home industries, and this policy, in America, has commanded my ardent support. The same ideas and principles that have controlled my action in America would make me, if in Ireland, a Nationalist. And surely the Irish people, who have fought so gallantly for Liberty in every land, have a just right to expect the sympathy of liberty-loving people, the world over, in their struggle for just laws and better government.

The American people, too, have a personal interest in the Irish leader. For more than half a century his grandfather was one of the most distinguished officers of our navy. He was at Tripoli, with Decatur; and he commanded, during some of her most famous battles, the renowned frigate Constitution, “Old Ironsides.”

The grandson of Rear Admiral Charles Stewart has established his right to leadership in Ireland by his courage, his energy, his ability, and, above all, by his patience and moderation. A greater Irishman than he once said that “the only Liberty that is valuable is a liberty connected with order.” This truth Parnell has kept steadily in view. To temper the hot blood and restrain the fiery zeal of the Irish people, and at the same time to retain their confidence, to command their devotion, and wisely direct their struggle for justice—this has indeed been a delicate and difficult task. But Parnell has been equal to it. His sobriety, his self-command, his clearness and soundness of judgment, have been conspicuously illustrated at every stage of the contest he has waged, and these qualities have been supplemented by ardent public spirit, and a courage and constancy no danger could daunt, no disaster could turn from its purpose.

Many years ago the greatest of Irish orators, Daniel O’Connell, in a speech in Exeter Hall, London, said: “Americans, I send my voice careering like the thunder-storm across the Atlantic, to tell South Carolina that God’s thunderbolts are hot, and to remind the negro that the dawn of his redemption is drawing near.”

In the same spirit, with equal earnestness, and, let us hope, with something of O’Connell’s prophetic vision, let this meeting send across the Atlantic its greeting to Charles Stewart Parnell, and to all those who, with him, are striving to secure justice, good government, and a fair chance in the battle of life for the Irish people.

THE SCHOOL TEACHER.

Address before the State Teachers’ Association, held at Topeka,
December 28th, 1885.

MR. CHAIRMAN, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: During my school days I frequently heard, and occasionally took part in, animated debates as to the relative influence and usefulness of the pen or the sword, the lawyer, the doctor, or the minister. I do not remember that the labor of the teacher was ever discussed in these eager, if somewhat callow, controversies. Yet, if any thoughtful, intelligent man were asked to pass judgment upon the comparative value of human activities, I am sure he would make answer that the public educator leads all the rest.

I do not say this, teachers of Kansas, because I am in your presence. Nor do I say it in any spirit of flattery. I am speaking of the duties, responsibilities and opportunities of your profession, rather than of the individuals who are engaged in teaching. For, I regret to say, I have known teachers who were no better qualified to guide, instruct and inspire the boys and girls in their charge than a painted Indian is fitted to illustrate the virtues and graces of true Christian life and character. But the incompetency or unworthiness of individual teachers does not detract in the least degree from the statement I make, that there is no occupation so important in the economy of the State, no profession so far-reaching and universal in its influence on society, as that of the public educator.

Some one has said that there is nothing on this earth so pure and plastic as a human soul and mind fresh from the hands of its Creator. Guileless, questioning, impressionable, its bright young eyes looking fearlessly into the unfathomable future, the child comes to the teacher to be armed and trained for the hard, stern duties of this busy, care-burdened, practical world. How shall it be developed to true manhood and womanhood? How shall the ideals of its fresh, unconscious childhood be conformed to the real in humanity without making the child either a pert, superficial prig, a carping, sneering, skeptical pedant, or a visionary, incapable theorist? These are the questions to which the teacher must make reply.

I do not assume that I can aid you in solving these problems. I wish only to present to you, as clearly and as earnestly as possible, the grave responsibilities you have assumed. The wisest and greatest men in all ages and countries have exalted the profession of the teacher. “Public education,” said Napoleon, “should be the first object of government.” Burke declared that “education is the chief defense of nations.” Edward Everett affirmed that “education is a better safeguard of liberty than a standing army.” Horace Mann said that “school-houses are the republican line of fortifications.” Emerson defined education as “the arming of the man.” These declarations are self-evident truths. No intelligent persons will dispute them. And you, teachers of Kansas, realizing the importance of your responsibilities, as I have no doubt you do, ought to realize also the necessity of fitting yourselves for the work you have undertaken.

In the charming stories of that great master of English fiction, Charles Dickens, there are sketches of schools, scholars and teachers that every public educator might read with profit. I am confident we have no Yorkshire schools and schoolmasters in Kansas—schools in which every young affection, every kindly sympathy, every hopeful aspiration, was flogged and starved to death. I hope, too, that we have no schools like that in which poor little Paul Dombey was crammed to an untimely grave—schools in which the studies “went round like a mighty wheel, and the young gentlemen were stretched upon it.” But I fear that mechanical schoolmasters of the Bradley Headstone class, and schools like that of David Copperfield, with its unwholesome smells, its dirty floors and its ink-stained walls, are not wholly unknown in this country. Let us hope they are very few, and growing fewer as the years go on. Kansas people take just pride in saying that the best building in every town, village or neighborhood in the State is the school-house, and it is pleasant to believe that the young life within them all is as sweet, as happy and as healthful as the flowers, the birds, and the air of our prairies. In the “Old Curiosity Shop” there is a picture, homely but delightful, of a school whose influences would run like a golden thread through the life of every child brought within their scope. You remember it, I am sure—the picture of the simple-hearted, kindly old teacher, whose thoughts went wandering across the fields to the bedside of the scholar he loved; the patient, faithful old master whose rollicking boys were one and all the children of his heart and hopes; the shrewd and sympathetic old man who, when the forbidden shouts and laughter of his pupils on the playground jarred upon his mournful thoughts, said: “It’s natural, thank Heaven, and I’m very glad they didn’t mind me.”

The way to the heart of a child is not difficult to find, and the teacher who is at once friend, confidant, sympathizer and instructor, has found it, and thus lightened not only his own burdens but those of his pupils. The true teacher, the successful educator, the really great master, is one who stimulates the ambition of his scholars, and, with ready tact and helpful sympathy, awakens and develops all that is best and brightest in their natures. It was his kindness and sympathy, no less than his great learning, that gave Arnold of Rugby his world-wide fame. It was his enthusiastic love for his work no less than his wisdom that gave Horace Mann his high rank as an educator.

But I am detaining you too long. I gladly discharge the pleasant duty assigned me, and cordially welcome you to the Capital. That sturdy old Scotch statesman, Fletcher of Saltoun, writing to the Earl of Montrose, two hundred years ago, said: “I knew a very wise man that believed that, if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.” I welcome you, teachers of Kansas, as men and women who could say, with far more truth: “In educating the boys and girls of the State, we inspire its sentiment, control its business, direct its enterprise, and make its laws.” No one could aspire to a nobler, greater work than yours, and in assembling here you make manifest the fact that you realize the vast importance of your duties. I trust your meeting will be pleasant and instructive, and that you will one and all return to your homes inspired with renewed ardor for your work, and with larger, broader, more exalted views of its great dignity and greater responsibilities. To those here assembled, and to all the faithful, earnest teachers of Kansas, I address Shakespeare’s language:

“I praise the Lord for you; and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you. You are good members of the Commonwealth.”

ADDRESS.

Delivered in the Grand Opera House, Topeka, Jan. 6, 1886, at
installation of officers of Lincoln Post, G. A. R., and other
organizations.

COMRADES OF THE GRAND ARMY, LADIES OF THE RELIEF CORPS, AND MEMBERS OF THE SONS OF VETERANS: I was somewhat surprised, while reading the papers this morning, to see in the program of this evening’s ceremonies, that I was announced for an address. I entered a mental protest against this detail for extra duty. I do not know what I have done to deserve it. I was invited to act as “Master of Ceremonies” on this occasion. I did not understand, in accepting the invitation, that the Master of Ceremonies was expected to make a speech. I felt very much, when I read that announcement, as did a soldier at Chicamauga. The battle was just opening; the artillery was thundering at the distant fords; the crackle of the more deadly musketry was swelling to the roar of a close conflict; and a regiment of our troops was moving forward, in line, through the forest. Suddenly a rabbit started from his cover, and ran as only a frightened rabbit can run, away from the advancing lines. A soldier, expressing, I have no doubt, the general sentiment of his comrades, shouted out: “Run, you white-tailed little rascal, run; if I hadn’t any more pride than you have, I’d run, too.” When I saw the announcement referred to, I felt like running.

I wanted also to say a few words to the committee that took this unwarranted liberty. I should like to express my opinion of their action, but it might not, here and now, be exactly the right thing to do. A few years ago Judge Hugh L. Bond, of Maryland, told me that shortly after the war he went to North Carolina with a party of Boston gentlemen who contemplated the establishment of some important industries in that section. The natives were unreconstructed and sullen. One of them owned a fine water power. The dam was there, at the mill site; but the mill—well, you know the rest of this. Judge Bond said that while the others of the party were looking around the place, he engaged the owner in conversation, and among other questions he asked: “What became of your mill?” The native replied: “It was burned by _Mister_ Sherman.” Said Bond, affecting astonishment: “_Mister_ Sherman, _Mister_ Sherman—why, who is _Mister_ Sherman?” The native looked askance at him, and slowly drawled out: “Wall, Mister, he war a man what made hisself powerful unpopular around this neighborhood a few years ago.”

I know a committee that was “powerful unpopular” with me this morning. Indeed, I think that for a few moments, I would have liked to _conciliate_ that committee somewhat after Gen. Butler’s idea. Col. E. W. Hincks, of the Sixth Massachusetts, explained this idea to me, some years ago. During the fall or winter of 1861, he was under Gen. Butler’s command, and received one day an order to make a scout through the surrounding country, and to report at headquarters for instructions. He reported, and, receiving from the General minute directions touching his route, duties, etc., turned to leave, when he remembered that nothing had been said about how the inhabitants were to be dealt with. So he said: “General, how shall I treat the people?” “Oh,” replied Butler, carelessly, “conciliate ’em; conciliate ’em.” Col. Hincks saluted, and started off. He had his hand on the door-knob, when Butler suddenly asked: “Young man, do you know how to conciliate an enemy?” The Colonel turned and doubtfully replied: “I do not know, General, whether I understand what you mean.” “Well,” said Butler, “the _right way_ to _conciliate_ an enemy is to take him by the throat and choke him until his eyes bulge out.”

I was, however, honored by the invitation I received to act as Master of Ceremonies on this occasion. Lincoln Post of the G. A. R. is the largest Grand Army organization in the West—probably the largest in the country. Its members represent every army, every corps, and probably every division and brigade of the Union Army. Always enthusiastic, always ready for duty, preserving fresh and fair the inspiration that warmed their hearts and nerved their arms a quarter of a century ago, and maintaining unbroken the ties of comradeship which united them when they touched elbows in the long line of patriot heroes stretching from the Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic—it is indeed an honor to be called by such a Post, to preside at the installation of its officers.

None the less do I appreciate the honor of acting as Master of Ceremonies at the installation of the officers of the Relief Corps. I have often thought that, after all, it was the patriotic women of the country who had the hardest part to bear during the long and dreadful years of the war. The excitement of a soldier’s life, the changing scenes of march and camp, the inspiration of comradeship, the pride of duty well performed, the sustaining power of organization and numbers—all these were denied them. Powerless except to suffer, voiceless except to pray, and yet patient, self-sacrificing and brave, mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts of this land felt every shot that echoed on the battle-fields of the war as a wound, and staggered under the load of every hardship or privation our soldiers were called upon to endure. The women at home were just as true patriots and heroes as the men at the front:

“The maid who binds her warrior’s sash
With smile that well her pain dissembles,
The while beneath her drooping lash
One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles;
Though Heaven alone records the tear,
And fame shall never know her story,
Her heart has shed a drop as dear
As e’er bedewed the field of glory.

“The wife who girds her husband’s sword,
’Mid little ones who weep and wonder,
And bravely speaks the cheering word,
What though her heart be rent asunder,
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts of death around him rattle,
Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er
Was poured upon the field of battle.

“The mother who conceals her grief
While to her breast her son she presses,
Then breathes a few brave words and brief,
Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,
With no one but her secret God
To know the pain that weighs upon her,
Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod
Received on Freedom’s field of honor.”

The boys, too,—the sons of Veterans—the young men and lads in whose veins runs the blood of the heroes who saved the Republic; the rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed young fellows who are your legitimate successors, my comrades,—what shall I say of them? The Grand Army will vanish as the years go by. Day by day its ranks will shrink and dwindle, as they did, years ago, before the fire of the enemy. They cannot be filled by recruiting. But I rejoice that such an organization as the Sons of Veterans will survive, to keep green and fair the deeds of their fathers, and to preserve the heritage of free government that their fathers maintained. The blood of patriot fathers warms the hearts of patriot sons, and I have faith to believe that any emergency demanding such sacrifices as those the people of this country were called upon to make from 1861 to 1865, would find millions of young men ready to brave all, suffer all, give all, for Liberty and the Republic.

“Mother Earth, are the heroes dead?
Do they thrill the soul of the years no more?
Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red
All that is left of the brave of yore?
Are there none to fight as Theseus fought,
Far in the young world’s misty dawn?
Or to teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught?
Mother Earth, are the heroes gone?

“Gone? In a grander form they rise.
Dead? We may clasp their hands in ours,
And catch the light of their clearer eyes,
And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers.
Wherever a noble deed is done,
’Tis the pulse of a hero’s heart is stirred;
Wherever the Right has a triumph won,
There are the heroes’ voices heard.

“Their armor rings on a fairer field
Than the Greek or the Trojan ever trod:
For Freedom’s sword is the blade they wield,
And the light above is the smile of God.
So in his isle of calm delight
Jason may sleep the years away;
For the heroes live, and the skies are bright,
And the world is a braver world to-day.”

Commander-in-Chief, Comrades of the Grand Army, and ladies and gentlemen, I await your pleasure.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF KANSAS.

Address delivered at the Quarter-Centennial Celebration of the
Admission of Kansas, Topeka, January 29, 1886.

MR. CHAIRMAN, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: In Grecian mythology it is related that Zeus, warned by an oracle that the son of his spouse, Metis, would snatch supremacy from him, swallowed both Metis and her unborn child. When the time of birth arrived, Zeus felt a violent pain in his head, and in his agony requested Hephæstus to cleave the head open with an ax. His request was complied with, and from the brain of the great god sprang Athena, full-armed and with a mighty war-shout. She at once assumed a high place among the divinities of Olympus. She first took part in the discussions of the gods as an opponent of the savage Ares. She gave counsel to her father against the giants; and she slew Enceladus, the most powerful of those who conspired against Zeus, and buried him under Mt. Ætna. She became the patron of heroism among men, and her active and original genius inspired their employment. The agriculturist and the mechanic were under her special protection, and the philosopher, the poet and the orator delighted in her favor. The ægis was in her helmet, and she represented the ether—pure air. She was worshipped at Athens because she caused the olive to grow on the bare rock of the Acropolis. She was also the protectress of the arts of peace among women. She bore in her hand the spool, the spindle and the needle, and she invented and excelled in all the work of women. She was the goddess of wisdom and the symbol of thought; she represented military skill and civic prudence. In war she was heroic and invincible; in peace she was wise, strong, inventive, and industrious.

THE ATHENA OF AMERICAN STATES.

Kansas is the Athena of American States. Thirty-six years ago the Slave Oligarchy ruled this country. Fearing that the birth of new States in the West would rob it of supremacy, the Slave Power swallowed the Missouri Compromise, which had dedicated the Northwest to Freedom. The industrious North, aroused and indignant, struck quick and hard, and Kansas, full-armed, shouting the war-cry of Liberty, and nerved with invincible courage, sprang into the Union. She at once assumed a high place among the States. She was the deadly enemy of Slavery; she gave voice and potency to the demand for its abolition; and she aided in burying Secession in its unhonored grave. The war over, she became the patron, as she had been during its continuance the exemplar, of heroism, and a hundred thousand soldiers of the Union found homes within the shelter of her embracing arms. The agriculturist and the mechanic were charmed by her ample resources and inspired by her eager enterprise. Education found in her a generous patron, and to literature, art and science she has been a steadfast friend. Her pure atmosphere invigorated all. A desert disfigured the map of the Continent, and she covered it with fields of golden wheat and tasseling corn. She has extended to women the protection of generous laws and of enlarged opportunities for usefulness. In war she was valiant and indomitable, and in peace she has been intelligent, energetic, progressive and enterprising. The modern Athena, type of the great Greek goddess, is our Kansas.

THE CHILD OF A GREAT ERA.

It is not a long lapse of time since the 29th of January, 1861. A boy born during that eventful year cast his first Presidential vote at the last election. But no other period of the world’s history has been so fertile in invention, so potential in thought, so restless and aggressive in energy, or so crowded with sublime achievements, as the quarter-century succeeding the admission of Kansas as a State. During that period occurred the greatest war the world has ever known. An industrious, self-governed, peace-loving people, transfigured by the inspiration of patriotism and freedom, became, within a twelvemonth, a Nation of trained and disciplined warriors. Human slavery, entrenched for centuries in law, tradition, wealth, and the pride of race, was annihilated, and five million slaves were clothed with the powers and responsibilities of citizenship. The continent was girdled with railroad and telegraph lines. In 1860 there were only 31,186 miles of railway in the United States; there are now fully 130,000 miles. Less than 50,000 miles of telegraph wires were stretched at the date of the admission of Kansas; there are now nearly 300,000 miles. The telephone and the electric light are fruits of this period, and the improvements and inventions in farm implements, in books and newspapers, in all the appliances of mechanical industry, and in the arts and sciences, have revolutionized nearly every department of human activity.

When this marvelous era dawned upon the world, Kansas was a fiction of the geographers. On the map of our country it was marked as a desert, and the few explorers who had penetrated its vast solitudes described it as an arid and sandy waste, fit only for the wild bison or the wilder Indian. There it had lain for centuries, voiceless and changeless, waiting for the miracle of civilization to touch and transform it.

The passage of the Kansas-Nebraska bill made Kansas the central figure in a tremendous conflict. It became not only the child of a marvelous epoch, and heir to all the progress, the achievements and the glory of that epoch, but it stood for an idea; it represented a principle; and that idea and principle thrilled the heart and awakened the conscience of the Nation. That a State cradled amid such events, schooled during such a period, and inspired by such sentiments, should, in its growth and development, illustrate these mighty energies and impulses, was inevitable. The Kansas of to-day is only the logical sequence of the influences and agencies that have surrounded, shaped and directed every step and stage of the State’s material and administrative progress.

NOT THE HISTORIAN.

I am not, however, the historian of this occasion. Very properly the committee assigned to my honored predecessor, the first Governor of the State—who has been with and of it during all the lights and shadows of thirty-one revolving years—the duty of presenting an historical sketch of the difficulties and dangers through which Kansas was “added to the stars,” and became one of the brightest in the constellation of the Union. To me was allotted another task—that of presenting, as briefly and as clearly as I am able, the material development of Kansas, and her present condition and position. It is at once a delightful and a difficult task. The growth of Kansas is a theme which has always enlisted my interest and excited my pride. But I cannot hope to present any adequate picture of the Kansas you know so well—the Kansas of your love and of your faith; the imperial young State, at once the enigma and the wonder of American commonwealths.

THREE PERIODS OF DEVELOPMENT.

The development of Kansas, it seems to me, has had three periods, which may properly be called the decades of War, of Uncertainty, and of Triumph. From 1855 to 1865, Kansas was an armed camp. The border troubles, outbreaking late in 1854, continued until the Rebellion was inaugurated. Kansas, in fact, began the war six years before the Nation had fired a shot, and the call to arms in 1861 found here a singularly martial people, who responded with unparalleled enthusiasm to the President’s demands for men. In less than a year ten full regiments were organized, and before the close of the war Kansas had sent over twenty thousand soldiers to the field, out of a population of but little more than a hundred thousand. Fields, workshops, offices and schools were deserted, and the patient and heroic women who had kept weary vigils during all the dark and desolate days of the border troubles, now waited in their lonely home for tidings from the larger field of the civil war.

It is doubtful whether Kansas increased, either in population or wealth, from 1861 to 1864. But the young State grew in public interest and reputation, and when the heroic men, whose valor and patriotism had saved the Republic, began to be mustered out, Kansas offered an inviting field for their energy, and they came hither in great numbers. The population of the State, which was 107,206 in 1860, had increased to 140,179 in 1865. The assessed value of its property increased from $22,518,232 to $36,110,000 during the same period, and the land in farms from 1,778,400 to 3,500,000 acres. It was not a “boom,” nor was it stagnation and decay. Yet it is probable that nearly the whole of the growth shown by these figures dates from the spring of 1864.

The real development of Kansas began in 1865, and it has known few interruptions since. The census of 1870 showed a population of 364,399—an increase of 124,220 in five years, or nearly double the population of 1865. Railroad building also began in 1865, and 1,283 miles were completed by 1870. The home-returning soldiers and the railroads came together. Immigrants to other States came in slow-moving canal boats or canvas-covered wagons, but they came to Kansas in the lightning express, and most of them went to their claims in comfortable cars drawn by that marvel of modern mechanism, the locomotive. Our State has never had a “coon-skin cap” population. It is the child of the prairies, not of the forest. It has always attracted men of intelligence, who knew a good thing when they saw it. They brought with them the school, the church and the printing-press; they planted an orchard and a grove as soon as they had harvested their first crop; and if they were compelled to live in a dug-out the first year or two, they were reasonably certain to own a comfortable house the third.

THE PERIOD OF UNCERTAINTY.

The period from 1865 to 1875 was, however, a period of uncertainty. Kansas remained an experiment. The drouth and grasshopper invasion of 1860, a menacing memory for many years, had just begun to grow dim when the drouth of 1873 and the still more disastrous drouth and locust invasion of 1874 revived its recollection, and intensified the uncertainty it had inspired. The intervening years were not, it is true, without their exaltation and triumphs. Luxuriant harvests followed the disaster of 1860, year after year in unbroken succession, until 1873, and we indulged in much jubilant boasting and self-gratulation over our fruitful soil, our benign climate, and our gracious seasons. But over and through it all brooded and ran a feeling of question or uncertainty, which manifested itself in many ways. The newspapers, while affecting to sneer at those who did not believe Kansas to be a country where rains always came just when they were wanted, nevertheless recorded every rain with suspicious prominence. Even the corner-lot speculator watched the clouds while he was denouncing the slanderers who asserted that Kansas was “a dry country.” “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” might have been said of the Kansans who, from 1865 to 1875, vehemently maintained that the normal condition of Kansas was that of a quagmire.

And in the midst of it all came 1873 and 1874, with their twin devastations and calamities. A fierce sun rose and set for months in a cloudless sky; the parched earth shrank and cracked; and the crops withered and shriveled in winds as hot as the breath of a furnace. But as if the destruction thus wrought was not enough, out from the northwest came clouds of insects, darkening the sun in their baleful flight, and leaving the very abomination of desolation wherever they alighted. It was then that the bravest quailed, and our sturdiest farmers abandoned all hope. Thousands of people, now among our most prosperous citizens, would have sold everything they possessed for one-sixth of its value, during the year 1874, and abandoned the State forever. But they could find no purchasers, even at such a price.

Somehow—and I mention the fact to their everlasting credit—many of the newspapers of Kansas never lost heart or hope during that distressful season. They lauded the State more earnestly, if possible, than ever before. They asserted, with vehement iteration, that the season was exceptional and phenomenal. They exhorted the people to keep up courage, and confidently predicted abundant harvests next year. And to their influence more than any other, is due the fact that Kansas survived the drouth and grasshopper invasion of 1874 with so little loss of population.

THE PERIOD OF TRIUMPH.

The period of triumph began in 1875. While the world was still talking of our State as a drouth-powdered and insect-eaten country, Kansas was preparing for the Centennial, and getting ready for a great future. And in 1876, she sprang into the arena of Nations with a display of her products and resources which eclipsed them all, and excited the wonder and admiration of the whole civilized earth.

From that time to this the development of Kansas has never known a halt, nor have the hopes of our citizens ever been troubled by a doubt. More permanent and costly homes have been builded, more stately public edifices have been reared, more substantial improvements have been made on farms and in towns, more wealth has been accumulated, during the decade beginning in 1875, than during the two previous decades. No citizen of Kansas, from that day to this, has ever written a letter, made a speech, or talked at home or abroad, with his fellow-citizens or with strangers, without exalting the resources and glorifying the greatness of the State. No Legislature, since that time, has ever doubted the ability of the State to do anything it pleased to do.

A new Kansas has been developed during that period. The youth of 1875 has grown to the full stature and strength of confident and intelligent manhood. The people have forgotten to talk of drouths, which are no more incident to Kansas than to Ohio or Illinois. They no longer watch the clouds when rain has not fallen for two weeks. The newspapers no longer chronicle rains as if they were uncommon visitations. A great many things, besides the saloons, have gone, and gone to stay. The bone-hunter and the buffalo-hunter of the plains, the Indian and his reservations, the jay-hawker and the Wild Bills, the Texas steer and the cowboy, the buffalo grass and the dug-outs, the loneliness and immensity of the unpeopled prairies, the infinite stretching of the plains, unbroken by tree or shrub, by fence or house—all these have vanished, or are rapidly vanishing. In their stead has come, and come to stay, an aggressive, energetic, cultured, sober, law-respecting civilization. Labor-saving machines sweep majestically through fields of golden wheat or sprouting corn; blooded stock lazily feed in meadows of bluestem, timothy, or clover; comfortable houses dot every hill-top and valley; forests, orchards and hedge-rows diversify the loveliness of the landscape; and where isolation and wildness brooded, the majestic lyric of prosperous industry is echoing over eighty-one thousand square miles of the loveliest and most fertile country that the sun, in his daily journey, lights and warms. The voiceless Sphynx of thirty years ago has become the whispering-gallery of the continent. The oppressed Territory of 1855, the beggared State of 1874, has become a Prince, ruling the markets of the world with opulent harvests.

THE FACTS OF THE CENSUS.

I am not, in thus exalting the growth and prosperity of Kansas, speaking recklessly, as I shall show by statistics compiled from the census and agricultural reports of the United States and our own State. Figures are always dry, I know. But when they tell the pleasant story of the march of civilization into and over a new land, surely they cannot fail to interest men and women who have themselves marched with this conquering army of industry and peace.

THE GROWTH OF KANSAS WITHOUT PARALLEL.