ProetryPlace Blog 71 Presidents Day, 2015
To honor our two greatest presidents, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.
Without their wise and gallant leadership, we would not exist today as a free and united country.
Christmas Day, 1776
Washington at the Delaware’s Shore
from my book of poetry, Another Season Spent
This dark and frigid hour before the dawn
we steel ourselves with mighty, righteous prayer
to strike the redcoats unaware, perhaps
to gain a victory that sets our infant
country free. Our numbers small, we call
upon the advantage of surprise. Be still.
The fox attacks the lion in his lair
with stealth and cunning, seizing freedom’s right.
We will avenge our suffering; long months
away from home and family. Long months
with hunger gnawing at our guts. Long months
of tyrant’s threats to life and liberty.
We take our courage from adversity.
Remembering our wives, our kith and kin,
reject the awful, bitter winter freeze,
and warm our bodies and our souls with thoughts
of coming peace—tranquility. Be strong!
We hold the peace of Christmas in our hearts,
But first our war for liberty must start.
All men take up your arms and to the boats!
We cross the icy waters—quietly.
On Jersey’s shores awaits our destiny!
14 APRIL 1865
from my book of collected prose (in progress)
Miss Laura Keene is simply the most delightful thing . . . don’t you agree?
Madam, I do agree, indeed! And Mr. Taylor’s humorous script surely shows off his wonderful English wit.
We have heard the gossip from New York and Boston, but still I never dreamed Our American Cousin would be so pleasurable a play.
My mind has been captured for the time being . . . a welcome relief from our pressing matters of state.
Yes, I am happy for you, to see you in high spirits for a time, if only a brief moment. And I am so pleased that Major Rathbone and Clara Harris could join us for this occasion when General and Mrs. Grant were called away. They are so happy in their betrothal.
It is my pleasure also to have their company, Mrs. Lincoln. But I am happy they decided to stretch their legs before the intermission ends. It gives us these few unencumbered moments to chat . . . we get little enough time for that.
Our moments will never be unencumbered until this dreadful war concludes. I dream often of our future, away from wars and politics. Alone. Just we two. At peace.
You must dream for us both then, Mary. I am consumed by the present. I continue to work with all my might and determination to bring this bloody conflict to a final conclusion. Still, your enjoyment of this performance has cheered me even beyond the optimistic war news. The dark veil of your depression has been pulled aside tonight. Here, my dear, put your hand in mine.
It is true. It is a rare moment that the ghost of our young son, Willie, does not haunt me. And now fears of Robert’s danger have come to haunt me too. How could you let him go?
You must not fear and fret for Robert, my dear Mary. He is not a child as Willie was, but a full-grown man of 22 years . . . safe on the staff of General Grant and even now in Washington. I pledge he will never compound your grief.
How can you make such a pledge? You could have prevented him from enlisting with the Union. Why did you let him go?
It was his choice, not mine. Or yours.
You could have paid another to take his place. Thousands of the newly conscripted men have done so.
What then of honor, Mary? How could Robert learn of honor sending another to the war in his place?
Honor be damned!
You know he must not . . . cannot shirk. There are greater dangers than a rebel bullet.
It has been days since Lee surrendered at Appomattox. Where will the war go now?
The wearied armies of North and South are both ready to lay down their arms. Our Union forces will prevail of course. When they do so, a peace must be negotiated. Some will want to punish our southern brothers.
Yes, even some in your cabinet.
I cannot tolerate such thoughts and actions. We must ensure with the peace that our union will endure and gain new strength. We must turn our dedication to binding up the nation’s wounds, caring for the battered veterans and for their widows and for their orphans. We must not have paid this dreadful toll for naught.
Your compassion will not be commonplace, Abraham, or shared by your political foes.
Your perceptions are always true, my dear. Even my generals have questioned how to treat the defeated Southern Armies. ‘If I were in your place,’ I told them, ‘I’d let ‘em up easy. Let ‘em up easy.’ There’s been suffering enough.
Your hand feels deathly cold, Mr. Lincoln. Are you quite well?
Indeed I am, Mrs. Lincoln.
Secretary Stanton told me of your premonition of death today.
A foolish thing. It vanished as quickly as it came. Look here, the Major and Miss Harris have returned, and just in time to take their seats . . . the curtain has opened and the lights are down.
Is there someone else here . . . who entered our box just now?
My God, My God! He has shot the president!
Call for the lights! Catch hold of him, Major!
Look now, he’s leapt upon the stage. Oh, my poor husband!
Sic semper tyrannis! Sic semper tyrannis! Sic semper tyrannis!
Richard Allen Anderson 16 February 2015 http://richardandersonblogs.blogspot.com
