The air was filled with the
joyous notes of the lark, and the linnet and the black-cap
warbled among the hedgerows. Here where once had dwelt the
peasant, the cuckoo called from the evergreens and nightingales
made the evening breeze vocal with their rapturous notes. This
wealth of flowers and song only served to call up bitter
memories for, alas! how many brave hearts lay sleeping in that
vast abode of the dead, all unmindful of the beauty of flower or
joy of song about them.
Slowly we made our way from the flower gardens to the French
cemetery, where thousands of valiant Poilus who had said: "they
shall not pass" were sleeping. We saw where the hand of
affection had planted the fleur-de-lis or hung beautiful bead-
wrought wreaths upon the crosses until this abode of the dead
resembled a vast flower garden.
Just to the west and divided by a narrow road, our own American
heroes were resting. Here we reverently paused and placed a
wreath of ivy inwrought with flowers, upon the grave of Lieut.
Lady and another on that of our own Ambrose Schank as a last
loving tribute to all who had so dearly purchased the peace we
now enjoy. While thinking of those other dear friends, Corporal
Edgar Browder, of Chicago, and Lieut. Erk Cottrell, of
Greenville, Ohio, who perished nobly upon the field of duty, we
felt the significance of the words of the poet:
"In Flanders fields the poppies grow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from falling hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high;
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."
If you are approaching Gettysburg for the first time you cannot
help but admire those even swells that stretch away from South
Mountain like an emerald sea. No doubt you will begin to wonder
where the town is situated as you advance. Numerous low ridges
are crossed and at last the famous town lies before you.
What a charming situation it has! Vast waves of undulating
meadow and farm land appear with fields of gleaming grain and
clamps of elm, oak and maple to break its smoothly flowing
billows. Farther away rise higher treeless ridges or wooded
slopes, but all alike are smoothly flowing.
Looking out over the land in a northwestern direction on a
bright day you can see South Mountain, "forerunner of the
sierrated Alleghanies," looming up between the town and
Cumberland Valley. Back of it the serried ranks of the
Alleghanies rise in hazy indistinctness and blend imperceptibly
with the blue along the far horizon.
You will soon discover the two ridges that are so important from
a military point of view. These ridges are about one mile apart,
although in some places they approach much nearer each other.
Cemetery Ridge slopes very gently to a more level tract of
ground when you compare it to the undulating land about it. "You
will discover that the ridges have stopped short here, forming
headlands above the lower swells. Two roads ascend this hill and
the ascent is not difficult. It does not seem to you as being a
formidable stronghold." Gettysburg is located here; its houses
extend to the brow of the hill and the cemetery is located upon
the brow itself.
Looking across the valley you will see the western ridge with
its fringe of deciduous trees. These grow along the entire crest
of the hill. They effectually hide the view in that direction.
Rising from its setting of trees at a point opposite the town
you will observe the cupola of the Lutheran Seminary from which
the ridge took its name - Seminary Ridge.
Both ridges are comparatively level at the top and the
undulating slopes of both are very easy of ascent. Only far down
the valley will you find them cut up by ravines and water
courses.
Rising like giant sentinels off some distance from the ends of
Cemetery Ridge are those hills whose possession meant victory or
defeat. The northern-most group consists of that memorable trio
of Wolf's, McAllister's and Culp's Hills. There is a slender and
low ridge joining Cemetery Ridge and Culp's Hill which seems to
be thrown behind the ridge.
Between Culp's Hill and Wolf's Hill flows Rock Creek. It is very
shallow and winds through a wild ravine. What news it could tell
of those three days of fighting if we were able to interpret its
rippling music. But the vast numbers who listened to its softly
murmured notes have long since gone, borne down the rippling
stream of Time, from which there is no returning.
Here we learned why the soldiers made such a desperate attempt
to secure Culp's Hill, for what use would it have been to get
Cemetery Hill and leave a back door open, as it were, for the
enemy to pass through.
Here in spring the ravine is gay with the blossoming dogwood and
the redbud fills the place with its royal purple.
As we gazed at the many fine monuments on this, the best marked
and most beautiful of ail battlegrounds in the world, we thought
of the terrible waste of life.
