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One hundred and forty years ago tonight, a man shot Abraham Lincoln in the back of his head. He had been enjoying the theatrical comedy, My American Cousin, in Ford’s Theater.
As most Americans know, Lincoln died at dawn the next day. His death came less than a week after Lee surrendered at Appomattox, and on the same day that General Johnston asked for terms from General Sherman in Raleigh.
One hundred and forty years ago tonight, a man shot Abraham Lincoln in the back of his head. He had been enjoying the theatrical comedy, My American Cousin, in Ford’s Theater.
As most Americans know, Lincoln died at dawn the next day. His death came less than a week after Lee surrendered at Appomattox, and on the same day that General Johnston asked for terms from General Sherman in Raleigh.
Savoring the relief that victory brought after four desperately stressful years, Lincoln took a carriage ride with his wife that last morning. He remarked to her that he felt alive for the first time in many years. He talked of visiting Europe, California, and the Rocky Mountains after his Presidency. With the incredible weather we are having today, it is easy to imagine how he must have felt. A day like today makes a person want to make big, wonderful plans.
Around this time in April every year, I think more about the Civil War than I usually do. It was in this month that the conflict began and ended. Each year of the war, April marked the time when the roads were drying out, which meant that the summer campaign season was only weeks away. The armies would be busy striking their winter camps, refitting their equipment, and thousands of horses would be returning from their winter grazing lands, far from the front. Men would be preparing to die.
All this activity took place amidst the incredibly beauty and mild climate of Virginia in the springtime. When I visit the Civil War battlefields and historical markers, my imagination allows me to be feel connected to the events that happened there. There is nothing supernatural about what I am talking about. I read the stories, understand who was where and when, and then I orient myself to the present landscape. If you look close enough, you can often see the trenches and rifle pits. In certain locations throughout Virginia, bullet holes can still be seen on the sides of houses. The Crater in Petersburg is one of my favorite spots.
With the exception of minor skirmishes in five or six locations, Lincoln’s assassination was the last, violent lurch of the four year cataclysm that rocked the United States to its core. The reverberations are still with us, all throughout our society. I can hear the ringing well, especially in Virginia, and especially in April.
The Factual Dog does not go much for poetry. We leave that in more capable hands. So we urge our readers not to come to expect it too often. Today is different. We will end with something written long ago to mark the events of April 14-15, 1865.
O Captain! My Captain!
Around this time in April every year, I think more about the Civil War than I usually do. It was in this month that the conflict began and ended. Each year of the war, April marked the time when the roads were drying out, which meant that the summer campaign season was only weeks away. The armies would be busy striking their winter camps, refitting their equipment, and thousands of horses would be returning from their winter grazing lands, far from the front. Men would be preparing to die.
All this activity took place amidst the incredibly beauty and mild climate of Virginia in the springtime. When I visit the Civil War battlefields and historical markers, my imagination allows me to be feel connected to the events that happened there. There is nothing supernatural about what I am talking about. I read the stories, understand who was where and when, and then I orient myself to the present landscape. If you look close enough, you can often see the trenches and rifle pits. In certain locations throughout Virginia, bullet holes can still be seen on the sides of houses. The Crater in Petersburg is one of my favorite spots.
With the exception of minor skirmishes in five or six locations, Lincoln’s assassination was the last, violent lurch of the four year cataclysm that rocked the United States to its core. The reverberations are still with us, all throughout our society. I can hear the ringing well, especially in Virginia, and especially in April.
The Factual Dog does not go much for poetry. We leave that in more capable hands. So we urge our readers not to come to expect it too often. Today is different. We will end with something written long ago to mark the events of April 14-15, 1865.
O Captain! My Captain!
by Walt Whitman
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
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