Lincoln, the unknown

172 • LINCOLN THE UNKNOWNhis eyes with tears. So Lamon, to break the spell of Lincoln'smelancholy, struck up a humorous negro melody.That was all there was to the incident. It was perfectly harmless,and very pathetic. But Lincoln's political enemies distortedit and lied about it and tried to make it a national disgrace.They made it appear like a gross indecency. The New York"World" repeated some version of the scandal every day foralmost three months. Lincoln was accused of cracking jokesand singing funny songs on the battle-field where "heavy detailsof men were engaged in burying the dead."The truth is that he had cracked no jokes at all, that he hadsung no songs, that he had been miles away from the battlefieldwhen the incident occurred, that the dead had all beenburied before that, and rain had fallen upon their graves. Suchwere the facts. But his enemies didn't want facts. They werelusting for blood. A bitter cry of savage denunciation sweptover the land.Lincoln was deeply hurt. He was so distressed that he couldnot bear to read these attacks, yet he didn't feel that he oughtto answer them, for that would merely dignify them. So hesuffered in silence, and when the invitation came to speak atthe dedication of the Gettysburg cemetery, he welcomed it.It was just the opportunity he desired to silence his enemies andpay his humble tribute to the honored dead.The invitation came late, and he had only a crowded fortnightin which to prepare his speech. He thought it over duringhis spare moments—while dressing, while being shaved, whileeating his lunch, while walking back and forth between Stanton'soffice and the White House. He mused upon it whilestretched out on a leather couch in the war-office, waiting forthe late telegraphic reports. He wrote a rough draft of it on apiece of pale-blue foolscap paper, and carried it about in thetop of his hat. The Sunday before it was delivered he said:"I have written it over two or three times, but it is not finished.I shall have to give it another lick before I am satisfied."He arrived in Gettysburg the night before the dedication. Thelittle town was filled to overflowing. Its usual population ofthirteen hundred had been swelled to almost thirty thousand.The weather was fine; the night was clear; a bright full moonrode high through the sky. Only a fraction of the crowd couldfind beds; thousands paraded up and down the village untildawn. The sidewalks soon became clogged, impassable; so hun-