sunlight and death were
upon the earth – no one was
wholly rational
All the way through there were two lines of action going on: the visible one, out in the open, where there were flags and rumbling guns and marching men to be seen, and the invisible one which affected and colored all the rest. Sunlight and death were upon the earth in the spring of 1862, and no one was wholly rational.
On the surface, everything was fine. Nearly two hundred thousand young men had been drilled, disciplined, clothed, armed, and equipped. They innocently thought themselves veterans. They had roughed it for a whole autumn and winter under canvas, knew what it was like to sleep on bare ground in the rain, had learned the intricate, formalized routines by which marching columns transformed themselves into battle lines, and they had been brought to a razor edge of keenness. The great unpredictable that lay ahead of them seemed a bright adventure, for in the 1860s cynicism was not a gift which came to youth free, in advance; it had to be earned, and all illusions had to be lost the hard way.
From Mr. Lincoln’s Army by Bruce Catton (Doubleday & Co., Garden City, NY, 1951).
I got my first Bruce Catton book, Mr. Lincoln’s Army, the book this excerpt comes from when I was around 10 years old.
My Grand father found a pile of books that were being thrown out by the Church Library and he snatched it, telling the folks in charge that he had a grand son who wanted it.
And I did.
I did want it.
Even though I had never heard of it, I knew I wanted it.
I know I read and I have read it several times since, but I cannot imagine what this passage meant to me when I was 10.
Everything, to me, about the Civil War was a bright adventure and maybe still is today.
It remains a bright adventure even after reading the best description of serving in a war, the speech of the deaf old gentleman from Fayetteville, Mr. McRae at the Wilkes’ barbeque in Gone with the Wind when he said, “You fire-eating young bucks, listen to me. You don’t want to fight. I fought and I know. Went out in the Seminole War and was a big enough fool to go to the Mexican War, too. You all don’t know what war is. You think it’s riding a pretty horse and having the girls throw flowers at you and coming home a hero. Well, it ain’t. No, sir! It’s going hungry, and getting the measles and pneumonia from sleeping in the wet. And if it ain’t measles and pneumonia, it’s your bowels. Yes sir, what war does to a man’s bowels—dysentery and things like that—”
But I digress.
What I wonder about today is what would Bruce Catton made of the current state of affairs in the politics of the United States.
After decades of studying and writing about the Civil War Catton wrote, “The dismaying world we confront was given its vast intricacy and its perilous speed by human beings for the benefit of human beings. The one basic resource we have always had to rely on is the innate intelligence, energy and good will of the human race. It is facing an enormous challenge, but then it always has; and it meets each one only to confront another. If now we give way to the gloom of the apostles of catastrophe we are of course in the deepest sort of trouble. The old reliance is at our service. It can bear us up if we put our full weight on it.”
Right now, at this point, it seems that sunlight and death are upon the earth and no one is wholly rational.
We are facing an enormous challenge, but then we always have; and we meet each one only to confront another.
If now we give way to the gloom of the apostles of catastrophe we are of course in the deepest sort of trouble.
The old reliance is at our service.
It can bear us up if we put our full weight on it.
No Haiku For You 