294 The Fourth Of July

THE FOURTH OF JULY A SPEECH BY JOHN A. MARTIN July 4,1856 Transcribed by Ernst F. Tonsing, PhJ>. Thousand Oaks, California July 11,2004 [This long speech—thirteen manuscript pages—is filed in the archives of the Kansas State Historical Society, Topeka, Kansas. It is a Fourth of July address for a Sunday school, probably in Brownsville, Pennsylvania, his home. Which year this speech took place is not indicated. Writing to his sister, Belle, in Brownsville, Pennsylvania, on June 14, 1857, Martin says, "I have received an invitation from the S. [Sunday] School to be present at the celebration, and to deliver an address on the occasion." Yet, on July 19, 1857, he apologizes for missing the event as he could not obtain a replacement for his work on the Pittsburgh Commercial Journal. The following summer, 1858, will see him in Atchison, Kansas Territory. Therefore, the speech must have been delivered before his employment in Pittsburgh, July 4,1856, and this is confirmed internally. The handwriting is typical of the early nineteenth century—flowing, rounded and evenly spaced. The few strike-outs are evidence of the command of the subject possessed by the seventeen-yearold John A. Martin, but the awkward phrases, overloaded sentences and extended series of fragments reveal his immaturity. [Two themes appear frequently in this document, the struggle to achieve freedom, and, through the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the extension of this freedom to all—the dungeons of Europe, the workshops of England, the vassals of France, and the American slaves in their fields. Martin was to dedicate the next nine years of his youth in the endeavor to rid America of the latter, shameful blemish on its high ideals. -Ernst F. Tonsing] From the fierce turmoils [sic] and hot strifes [sic] of the passing week, we have assembled to day, in this shady grove, to celebrate, as a Sunday school, the great anniversary of the birthday of Freedom. I appear before you on this occasion not as an instructor to discant on things common and dear alike to all, but at the numerous solicitations which have been extended to me, not only by our minister, but by our superintendant and others connected with the school. You will not expect me, therefore, if you even give me credit for trying to interest you for a few moments, to address you in the language, nor unfold to you thoughts peculiar to the halls of learning, and should I fail to do justice to the subject, or entertain my hears [sic], you will except my youth as my apology, and view me as one whose chief teacher has been the rugged world, and whose little [h]all of knowledge has been gathered amid its rude jostles and stern encounters. Eighty years ago, this day, a band of stern and devoted men were assembled together.

The objects for which they had met were the most stupendous in results which this world has ever been in the theatre or witness. A nation's bondage or a nation's freedom—a nation's birth or a nation's death, were some of the mighty interests which claimed their attention, and which they were gathered to deliberate upon. The life, the liberty, the property, the reputation; all that they hold near and dear, were staked upon the hazzard [sic] of a die. To those not personally engaged in this great assemblage, it would be impossible to realize the momentous importance of the meeting. The representatives of 13 weak and feeble colonies, just struggling into existence, are, one by one, subscribing their names to a massave [sic] parchment, which will either make the world free, or stretch their necks upon a giblet. It is finished. The great magna charta of human rights, declaring "all men born free and equal," is subscribed. The old State House bell is chiming forth the song of freedom's birthday—speaking to the city and to the world— piercing the dungeons of Europe, the work shops of England.—the vassal-fields of France.—bidding the slave look up from his work and know himself a man—shaking kings upon their crumbling thrones—ringing the knell of priest-craft, and "proclaiming liberty to all the land and the inhabitants thereof." The eyes of the old world are now fixed intently upon the star of hope, that is slowly rising in the new—and as the star, which eighteen centuries ago, took its solitary flight through the heavens, until it rested over the place where lay the infant saviour in his manger, bearing the glad tidings of man's moral salvation, so this star beamed forth the signal light to warn him of his civil and political redemption, and to announce the great truth of the equality of man. On this day, therefore, religiously devoted to freedom, by the signing of the declaration, it becomes us, as lovers of our country and of the liberty we now enjoy, to turn our attention, with a grateful enthusiasm, to the scenes of their sufferings, their revolts, and their victories, and to celebrate this day, with emotions of joy and patriotism, for the unexampled love of freedom they displayed. But as this, like every other memorable event, derives its importance from its results, it may be proper to turn back the pages of history, a few centuries, and examine some of the events preceding it. We are yonder, on the bleak and barren rock of Plymouth, gazing towards the rising sun. Far over the waters we behold a white speck glimmering in the horizon. Nearer and nearer it approaches, enlarging and spreading until it assumes the form of a ship, dashing over the waters, which roar and foam in its path. Slowly and cautiously it approaches, bearing its precious freight of human lives, towards the shore of a wild and inhospitable country. Closer and closer she comes, until we can distinguish the forms upon her deck.—people of every age and sex, and condition. There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth, There was manhood's brow, serenely high, And thefieryheart of youth. There were men with hoary hair, Amid that pilgrim band, Why had they come to wither there Away from their childhood's land?1 1

From, "Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers," by Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1793-1835).

Why have they come hither? Why have they left the interesting scenes of their childhood, for an abode in an inhospitable country, where no protecting roof, no welcoming hand, no hospitable fire, no cheering voice is there to welcome them; but where wild beasts make night hideous with their howling; death hovers around them; a cold and desolate winter scrouls [sic] upon them; andfierceand treacherous savages lurk in their path? They come, Not as the conqueror comes They the true-hearted came, Not with the roll of the stirring drums, Or the trumpet that sings of fame. Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the deserts' gloom, With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amid the storm they sang. And the stars heard, and the sea, And the sounding aisles of the deep woods rang To the anthem of their free. The ocean eagle soared, From his nest by the white waves' foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared, This was their welcome home. Age, call it holy ground, The spot where first they trod, They have left unstained what there they formed, Freedom to worship God!2 Years roll on—and where are those pilgrims? Gathered to the dust from whence they came. Their mission fulfilled.—Their earthly course run—their mortal remains rest beneath the grey [sic] tablets of granite.—the part immortal gone to dwell with immortality. But their descendents still survive, and in their actions strive to imitate the awful virtues of their pilgrim sires. The same spirit of persecution, however, which drove their fathers from the old world, is hovering around them here. The mother country, alarmed at the reports of the increasing strength of the colonies in the wealth, and population, had resolved to do all in their power to dampen the ardor and cripple the energies of her people. Secret emmissaries [sic] were despatched [sic] to watch their movements—the most odious laws were forced upon them—they were taxed without representation—forced to procure all their articles of merchandise from England— deprived of the right of trial by jury—and the heavy hand of tyrany [sic] and oppression 2

Ibid.

was laid upon them by those to whom they had a right to look for aid and protection. But the colonists only answered their oppression by remonstrance and each succeeding year brought some new outrage on the one side, and fresh but respectful petitions for redress on the other, until, despairing of obtaining it, the colonists were driven to arms, and on the 19th day of April, 1775, the memorable battle of Lexington—the first of the great struggle—was fought. We now come to the most gloomy period of our countrie's [sic] history. Her enemies were on her shores, headed by the most experienced commanders in Europe, and the armed minions of a foreign prince were gathered in every man's private house, to drive the colonists into submission. The darkness of the night was lighted up by the fires of the foe, and the light of day darkened by the smoke of burning habitations. The harvest-sickle was dropped in the half-reaped field—the ox was left standing in the unfinished furrow, and the holy man was arrested in the midst of his prayers. Mothers and daughters, and wives and children, were fleeing to the mountains before the bayonets of armed soldiery, or, in the words of another, "mothers were dying and fathers were weeping over them; the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of her lover; the brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God."3 Even Washington, at the head of an undisciplined, half-fed and half-clothed army, numbering not more than his enemy's cavalry, had begun to fear for his country's danger. At this dark hour the third Continental Congress convened in Philadelphia, in May, 1776, and on the 4th of July of the same year, fifty-six members signed their names to the immortal declaration, declaring the 13 colonies free and independent states. The declaration was received everywhere with the utmost enthusiasm. Processions were formed, canons fired, patriotic addresses made, and the greatest joy was manifested by the people. It is needless to follow the course of the long and bloody war which succeeded the signing of this paper—needless to tell you how an American planter, chosen to command our armies, captured and sent home, one after the other, five of the best generals of the enemy, their heads bare of laurels, and disgraced even in the opinions of their employers—needless to paint to you the humiliation of England, when, after striving for eight years to force us into submission, she was at length obliged to acknowledge our independence, and recall her beaten armies from our shores. The history of the case is familiar to you all. But we have met here, this day, to celebrate the signing of the great declaration, which gave us ourfreedom,and to do honor to its immortal signers. It is true that, one by one, their strong right arms have been unnerved by death—their eagle eyes have lost their [piercing?] brightness—their matchless forms have been gathered to their fathers, but their spirits are with us, on this, the gala day offreedom,and we now claim, as part of our inheritance, the abounding glories which they have won for the civil history of the Republic. Eighty years have passed, and what a change. It is true, the same sun that shone so resplendently upon Independence Hall, on the morning of the 4th, 1776, still pursues his career through the cloudless sky. True, the same ocean which bore so proudly the mighty fleets of the mother country, still rolls majestically on our coast, 3

The quotation refers to the time, "...when darkness contained the hills and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and briars cumbered the gardens of beauty; when the brave began to fear the poor of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God;..." This quotation was used again by General John C. Cowin at the dedication of the monument of the Civil War General John M. Thayer of the First Nebraska Infantry on October 27, 1907.

thundering his anthems of praise to the great, "I am." But that sun no longer shines upon a few straggling dwellings, hugging the sea-coast, and hemmed in by the dreary wilderness, and the glittering tomahawk of the Red Man. The wilderness has vanished; the wild beast howls no longer in the day time; the yell of the savage is not heard by night. With a tearful eye, and a sad heart, the Red Man takes his journey towards the west, and drops the last tear upon the grave of his fathers. Cities line the sea-board, villages dot the plain, every valley teams with fruitfulness; every hill is crowned with the results of labor; every creek turns the active wheels of machinery; every river bears upon its bosom the largest steamers. The sun no longer gilds our National Flag containing but 13 stars and stripes, but a brilliant constellation of 31 dazzling stars, emblazon our banner, and its ample folds, cast their protecting shadow over an entire hemisphere. The ocean is no longer ploughed by hostile fleets, but has become the highway of American commerce, and its every wave is cut by the sharp prow of our noble steamers, and every breeze is whitened by the sails of our merchantmen. And on this day, as we are gathered in the presence of the mighty dead, whose sufferings and privations gave to us all these blessing, "Whose spirits wrap our dusty mountains, Whose memory sparkles o'er our fountains," An innumerable multitude, countless as the stars of heaven, are gathered in every secluded hamlet; and by every silvery lake; in every mountain pass, and in every sunny valley, to celebrate this Jubilee day of Freedom. The farmer has left his waving harvest of golden grain; the artizan [sic] has abandoned his workshop; the scholar has forsaken his books; the merchant has closed his store; the philosopher has cast aside his crucible, and the miser has forgotten his gold. The exulting shout of millions awake the echo of the mountains, and swell every breeze. The booming canon are shaking the earth; the [drumming of the drum and the piercing notes of the fife deafens the ear; gay [pennants?] and georgeous [sic] banners are waving in every breeze. It is our national sabbath. It is freedom's birthday, and a grateful people have risen, and come forth to make their annual pilgrimage to the shrine of those whose blood baptized this holiday, bearing with them their tribute offerings of bright, happy, faces, and brave, generous hearts, the proudest, richest homage that could be paid to the memory of those whose trials and sufferings won for us our independence. My Friends:—Turn and gaze for a moment, upon the massive structure, the broad columns of the American Republic. Scarcely three quarters of a century have written their changes upon our national brow, and lo! we have become one of the most powerful nations of the earth. But it is not because we are physically strong. The autocrat of the Russians can boast of more extensive dominions, more numerous and powerful armies and fleets, and more [extensive?] treasuries. No, No, we rest our superiority on no such common basis as physical courage. Other nations have grown, and become mighty with amazing rapidity. Other kingdoms have sprung, Phoenix-like from the ashes and ruins of old dynasties. Other Republics have risen, and for a time reigned "sovereign in the ascendant," but it was reserved for the United States to exhibit to the world the example of a close, well-knit Union; to be the sole instance of the harmonious growth of the

moral virtues, hand in hand with physical powers; and while their muscles were becoming strong and their sinews hard and rigid; whilst their frame was growing powerful, their arms impregnable, and their proportions collossal [sic], to have presented undefiled, and to have blended in happy unison, inflexible justice, romantic generosity, devoted patriotism, liberal charity and infallible wisdom. It is in her only that Freedom has a home, and Christianity is revealed in all the purity and excellence of its divine origin—here only that the intellectual poor can rise with the rich—here only that education is diffused among all classes—here only that the great principle of constitutional liberty, freedom of thought, speech, and the press, are established, and here only the people are sovereigns and the rulers servants. It is the birthday of such a country we have met to celebrate, and from the ocean crests and the inland seas, from mountain tops and valleys deep, from crowded city and secluded hamlet, the anthems of a grateful nation are hymned upon every breeze. The hoary and bowed forms of the fathers of the republic, called up from their death sleep by the magic incantations of a nation's rejoicings, are here to witness the results of their toils and their sufferings. Let us welcome them this day, thrice august and noble guests, to this, our national festival, and may the influence of offsic] their majesty and presence, steal upon our hearts, and make them the dwelling place of their many virtues. Here let their virtues be imitated, and through our republic perish; the wide arch of our sacred Union fall; star by star its glories expire, stone after stone its columns moulder [sic] and crumble; but as long as human hearts shall any where pant, or human tongues shall anywhere plead for a true, practical, constitutional liberty, those hearts shall treasure the memory, and those tongues prolongs the fame of the Immortal "Signers of the Declaration."