On June 21, 1888, more than 200 veterans of the 96th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry regiment arrived in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to dedicate a battlefield monument on that famous battlefield.
The monument, crafted by young sculptor August Zeller, shows an infantryman laying down on the battlefield with rifle at the ready. Zeller later sculpted the Civil War memorial in Garfield Square in Pottsville, Pennsylvania.
As part of the events at the dedication for the 96th Pennsylvania monument, Henry Royer gave the keynote dedication speech. Royer served as Captain of Company H, 96th Pennsylvania from September 1861 to January 1863. He later served as commander of an emergency militia unit in the summer of 1863, giving him the title of “Colonel” that his comrades called him at the address in 1888.
Royer had been a Yale University educated lawyer admitted to the bar just months before the Civil War. After his war-time service, he went into the dry goods business in his adopted home in Schuylkill County.
In his address, Royer acknowledges the unit’s hard times during the Civil War. ” To you alone, is it permitted to vividly realize them,” Royer said to his comrades about the brutal facts of Civil War combat. “You were at the forefront when your comrade fell upon the rampart. You alone saw the ghastly wound where the soul went out.”
Royer went on to describe the reason the conflict happened and why it needed to be fought: slavery.
“As right and wrong, so freedom and slavery cannot dwell together in harmony,” Royer said. “The conflict was irrepressible.”
He concluded with his views of the meaning of the war and the inevitable ravages of time upon his comrades in the 96th Pennsylvania.
“To us, the 96th Regiment is something more than a name — far more than an integral part of the army. It is a brotherhood of comrades, both living and dead, linked together with hooks of steel. It is a talisman, whose power over the heart time can never impair,” Royer concluded. “The camp fire begins to smolder in the embers. One by one the lights are going out. The 96th will soon, very soon, be at rest.”
You can read Royer’s full address – quite moving – below.
ADDRESS OF COLONEL HENRY ROYER
COMRADES of the Ninety-sixth Pennsylvania Volunteers: —
We are met again, not in the panoply of war, but as peaceful citizens of the republic. We are here to unveil the beautiful stone which marks the spot where our regiment fought twenty-five years ago. The monument, the artistic merit of which reflects great credit upon the young artist who designed it, bears upon its face the history of our organization. The surmounting figure indicates its defensive attitude throughout the engagement. The inscriptions designate the county and state from whence it same, and the position it held, from first to last, in the Army of the Potomac. It is a noteworthy fact in the history of the Ninety-sixth, that it was one of the very few regiments whose enlistment was authorized by an order direct from the War Department. It was therefore organized and mustered into the service at its home as the monument declares.
An account of the three long years of service, the thrilling details of life in the camp, on the march and in the field, must be the task of the regimental historian. This day’s event, however, would be incomplete without a brief sketch of the salient features of that service. Your first camp, which for two months had nestled amidst the loyal hills of Schuylkill county, was broken up in November, 1861, when you departed from your mountain home for the more stirring scenes of war.
On your arrival at Washington, you were at once in the heart of a great army. To men fresh from the employments of peace, strange, almost weird, seemed the din and tumult. Having been speedily assigned to the brigade of General Slocum, of General Franklin’s Division, your march from the temporary quarters near Bladensburg to Washington, down Pennsylvania Avenue, across the Long Bridge, through and beyond Alexandria to Fairfax Seminary in Virginia, brought you to the then immediate front.
In camps of instruction you here passed the few remaining weeks of winter, in full view of the great dome of the national capitol in your rear, and of the enemy’s flag at Munson’s Hill, in your front. The daily routine of drill and picket duty, familiarized you with danger, and inured you to the hardships of your many subsequent campaigns. You then thought it war, but it was only the preparation for war.
Under the famous “Order No. 1” you advanced in the early spring with the army toward Centerville, when, the enemy having fallen back, you returned to your camp. Again, while the army, under General McClellan, was being transferred to the Peninsula, you finally marched in the corps of General McDowell to Warrenton, whence, being recalled, and transported down Chesapeake Bay, you arrived at Yorktown at the moment of its evacuation.
Passing up York River, upon the flank of the retreating enemy, at West Point, on May 6, you received your baptism of fire. It was then a battle. In history it is recorded as a slight skirmish. And now, in and about the swamps of Chickahominy, began that long continued and dreadful suffering and slaughter which ended in the memorable “Seven days before Richmond.”
Marching by night and fighting by day, your baptism was here confirmed in blood; 88 of your comrades having been placed hors de combat in the single battle of Gaines’ Mill alone. Henceforth the Army of the Potomac ranked with the veteran armies of the earth.
The scene then shifted to Northern Virginia. In covering the withdrawal of the army from Harrison’s Landing, the Sixth Corps marched down the Peninsula to Newport News, was then conveyed to Alexandria and by a rapid march, reached the army of General Pope in time to participate in its retreat. In that retreat, you well remember the stormy midnight march, in which, with bayonets fixed, you passed the battlefield of Chantilly, where had just fallen so many of your brave Schuylkill County comrades of the 48th and 50th Pennsylvania Volunteers. Then followed under General McClellan the short but brilliant campaign into Maryland, and the decisive battles of South Mountain and Antietam. And here we pause long enough to gather around and drop a tear upon the graves of our many — many comrades who went to sleep under the mountain shadows.
Southward again, under General Burnside, in December of the same year, you advance to the disaster of Fredericksburg; and, at last, rest in winter quarters on the plain near that ill-fated spot; the monotony of the second winter camp being broken only by the famous, but unsuccessful “march in the mud,” under the same general.
As life once more quickened the pulse of spring, the bugle sounded the march under the dashing General Hooker. Then came the brilliantly conceived movement to Chancellorsville, in which, across the Rappahannock, at Salem Church, your regiment was again decimated, and barely escaped destruction.
And now, under General Meade, you follow the northward march of the army, through Maryland to this — the soil of your native The Battle of Gettysburg had already begun. Thirty-six miles away, at Manchester, you heard your comrades’ cry for help just before the dawn of July 2. Before 4 o’clock in the afternoon of that same day, your impregnable ranks confronted the victorious and advancing foe, upon the very ground where we are now assembled.
Here, wheeling into line, your columns unfalteringly held this position to the end. It has been affirmed by men skilled in military science, that the struggle of July 2, at this part of the field, was the turning point of the battle. By one of the strange freaks of war, the Sixth Corps, with inconsiderable loss and by her opportune arrival alone, decided the fortune of that day.
It has seemed that, with that gigantic combat, courage and fortitude had reached its limit; that human endurance had been exhausted. Nay! The tide of war was only to roll back to its accustomed channels. Ere the thunder of artillery had ceased to reverberate along these valleys you were again on the march.
Your advance, on July 6, brought you into a sharp engagement at Fairfield, ten miles away. On southward went the combatants, until the Potomac was passed. Then began, under the skillful General Meade, a succession of brilliant strategic movements, covering the arena between Centerville and Mine Run. There were innumerable marches, reconnaissances, skirmishes and a brilliant victory at Rappahannock Station, in all of which you participated, and, at their close, withdrew to your last winter camp, at Culpeper, on the Rapidan.
The succeeding months of repose were but the calm that precedes the bursting storm. By common consent, the ensuing campaign, under the great commander, for its pertinacity and carnage, is unparalleled in the annals of warfare. For one long month the surge of battle rolled between the Rapidan and the Chickahominy, at a cost of 30,000 men to the Army of the Union. The mind is appalled, and language powerless to describe. To say that you were there, in your accustomed place, were enough, and yet not enough for the fulness of the truth.
On the 10th of May, the 96th was one of twelve selected regiments, which, in three lines, under the command of the ardent General Emory Upton, made for that day, the final desperate and successful charge at Spotsylvania. Such a charge, under such a leader, was resistless. In the front center of that column you swept over the enemy’s works to victory, but with the frightful sacrifice of one-half of all who were in the action. As if your record had not already been written in blood, your pitiful remnant again closes up its ranks at Cold Harbor; and there, in sight of the old battlefields of 1862, in the early days of June, you place the last offering on your country’s altar in the death of your adjutant.
From Petersburg you return, in July to the defense of Washington. Then you go down the valley with General Sheridan, to the battle of Winchester; in which you were denied participation by your commanding general, who declared that to permit further sacrifice from the 96th on the last day of its service, would be murder.
This brief summary contains only a large outline of your services. In the interest of history, your achievements can be best epitomized by the simple story of your muster rolls. They bear, in all, the names of 1,149 men, including musicians and teamsters; while the loss from disease and battle reaches the enormous aggregate of 457.
The events we have narrated belong to the past. Their record will challenge the attention and command the admiration of mankind. But, to you alone, is it permitted to vividly realize them. You were at the forefront when your comrade fell upon the rampart. You alone saw the ghastly wound where the soul went out. To you it is a vivid memory, and even to you a memory only.
But, comrades, we come not into the presence of these patriot dead to vaunt our own deeds. We are met rather to perform a sacred duty, to the end that this imperishable memorial may be completed. In the discharge of that duty, you place your chaplet upon the altar in the name of the 96th Pennsylvania Volunteers, but in honor of the great county from whence you came, and in memory of the patriotism and heroic valor of the whole army.
Your regiment was distinctively a Schuylkill County organization. It had been organized and mustered into the service at home. And yet, it represented less than one-tenth of the brave men who have shed lustre upon her name. From within her borders, exclusively also, came the 48th Pennsylvania Volunteers, that splendid regiment, which, to devotion and fortitude, added the matchless skill and cunning that fashioned the famous mine at Petersburg.
And, besides these, came parts also of many other Pennsylvania regiments; notably the 50th, 55th, 127th, 129th and 151st infantry; and the 3rd, 7th, and 17th cavalry. And by hosts of others, singly and in groups, was she represented in the organizations of every State from Maine to California.
And, be it not forgotten, that when the danger signal sounded in the darkness of the night, she furnished two of the five companies, which, emerging from the gloom, first appeared upon the banks of the Potomac. Her first defenders formed the vanguard of the Army of the Union; her more than 13,000 citizen soldiers helped to augment its columns; her loyal sons have crimsoned with their blood a hundred battlefields. Her exalted patriotism has swelled the ranks of the nameless dead; and, oh! most fitting privilege, here to, upon the ground she helped to consecrate, her enduring tablet becomes a part of this inspiring altar of patriotism.
The Battle of Gettysburg, although only one of the thousand sanguinary battles that were fought upon the strategic line of operations, was the turning-point of the war. For this reason, and because of its magnitude, it has been chosen to represent them all.
Here, upon this part of the great line, is to be erected a visible diagram, so to speak, of the positions and movements of the forces. All were not upon this identical field; and yet, from this spot, the pilgrim, come from whence he may, will see the embattled hosts and hear their shouts away to the far Mississippi and the gulf.
The 48th was not here, but he will distinctly hear the roll of her musketry at Antietam Bridge and Fredericksburg. Nor was the 50th here, yet will he hear her battle-cry at Bull Run and Chantilly, and see her ranks of steel closing around the heights of Vicksburg. He will see them all and hear them all; and, having learned the lesson of their sacrifice, will go hence with renewed inspiration to battle for the right.
We were actors in this drama, and now, my friends, have we, ourselves, become spectators. The smoke of the conflict has lifted. The feelings and passions which were intensified by it have passed away. A clearer vision now reveals it as a link in the chain of events connecting the past and future.
It was reserved for this continent to develop in the men who fought here the full stature of manhood. The combatants were men of the same race. They were united by the ties of a common brotherhood. They were impelled by the same motives, and guided by the same destiny. They were both the sons of the sires of ‘76. They were alike the descendants of the liberty-loving men who founded this great empire. And more, they belong to the same race of men who, in other lands, have for ages fought the battles of the people; the kinship to whom we trace in the very names of those who, upon either side, whether right or wrong, here fought for a principle.
They were all men of exalted character — enlightened, vigilant, brave and noble men. They were men who had been reared in the fear of God, and in love for their fellowmen; men with whom the performance of duty is a privilege; men who dare to defend the right, as they know it; the kind of men that heroes and martyrs are made of. The uprising of the North, indeed the unanimity of both sections, was so phenomenal, that it could have been true of such men only. At the first overt act great armies, as if by magic, sprang to life. Political and other distinctions were put aside. Men flocked to either standard, from every avenue of life, each vying with the other in their zeal. Such men needed not the matron’s injunction to be brave, for they loved their cause better than life itself. These were the men — thrice noble men. The struggle was in accord with their character. It was a battle of giants — grand in action — mighty in result.
But whence came this demon of discord? Did not their fathers and ours together set up a home in the wilderness? Did they not share the privations and dangers of the pioneer? Did they not, with one accord, here plant the standard of religious and political liberty, under which the down-trodden millions might find refuge from the persecutions of tyranny and caste?
Did they not, as brothers, side by side, from Bunker Hill to Charleston, fight the battles of the Revolution? Did not these same fathers unite in the erection of a new nation “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal?” And, finally, did they not, with their intermingled blood, protect and defend that nation? Whence then this civil strife?
Alas! They struck the yoke from off their own neck, but permitted it to remain on that of their bondmen. Whether from policy or necessity, they placed human slavery under the safeguard of law; and thus, as if in solemn mockery, planted an aristocracy within a republic. As right and wrong, so freedom and slavery cannot dwell together in harmony. The seed of dissension speedily took root. First men then sections became estranged. And here was presented the anomalous spectacle of good and great men in angry controversy about a principle which their fathers had declared to be a self-evident truth. A heritage, so rich in the antecedents of the sires, could not at once be lost to the sons. They clung to the Union, but the conflict was irrepressible. The breach widened. Men split hairs about the letter of the law, while they lost sight of its spirit.
From antagonism came violent contention and turmoil. Demands — compromises — concessions — everything was in vain. The acrimony of debate gave way to the arbitrament of the sword. Then came the conflict, as the shock of a mighty storm. The lovers of liberty throughout the earth stood aghast. Their longing eyes had been turned toward this nation. They had witnessed its birth and dedication to liberty. They had watched with anxious solicitude its growing strength and greatness. Around it had clustered their tenderest sympathies; their fondest hope of final deliverance. For, just as this battle was the turning point of war, so was the conflict itself the culmination of a great struggle which had been going on for centuries. Need we wonder that men said “this is God’s war?” Ought we not rather wonder that men indulged in doubt or despair? In that tribunal the God of battles is the arbiter, and the verdict cannot but be in accord with divine justice. Thanks be to God! The arbitrament is final.
The nation has received “a new birth of freedom! and government by the people, of the people and for the people shall not perish from the earth.” The ordeal is at an end. The Union has been preserved. The nation has arisen purified — redeemed. Joy and thanksgiving till the hearts of men.
From all former civil wars had uniformly proceeded the downfall of the republic. From this, the greatest of all, came the utter destruction of the wrong which produced it. With the collapse of the rebellion not only was slavery wiped out, but with it, the whole social fabric which sprang from it. The South, in upholding that wrong, had submitted its existence to the decision of the sword, and by the sword it died. The issue long trembled in the balance, but, when the verdict came, it was final.
The war for the restoration of the Union had been waged “with malice toward none — with charity for all.” The same spirit continued in the return to peace. Upon the one side no unnecessary conditions were imposed; nor was there undue resentment and prolonged animosity on the other. There appeared to be an instinctive recognition of the fact, that the sins of the fathers had been expiated and purged from the body politic. The transition from war to peace was, therefore, instant — so quick that men marvelled at it. It was, indeed, a spectacle of unexampled heroism. Aye, more! it was a sublime tribute to the blessed Christian civilization of this 19th century.
Here had armed hosts been engaged in a death struggle. For four weary years war, with its passions, had scourged the land. Homes had been broken up, and families destroyed. And yet, barely had the deadly strife ended, ere the result was acquiesced in by all. With manly dignity the combatants parted. There was no humiliation — no exultation. Quietly and sadly they turned their faces homeward.
A million mailed warriors, inured to scenes of blood, at once resumed the pursuits of peaceful industry. Had not this magnanimity succeeded the triumph of arms, the victory would have been barren. Could the martyr-president have foreseen that, within one generation, both victor and vanquished would unite in fraternal gatherings upon this very field, his mighty soul would have throbbed with joy.
A score and three years have passed since peace, was ushered in. The fruitage of that peace has already been abundant. In the short interval the growth in wealth and population has been marvellous. A quickened life in the useful arts has multiplied comforts throughout the homes of the land. The development of the higher arts, also, though not so obvious, is readily discerned by the careful observer. The new birth of the republic has everywhere regenerated the elements of strength and greatness. It has been said that, as man is constituted, national greatness can come only through war; that just as the atonement was necessary for the redemption of the race, so is the shedding of human blood requisite for the making of a great history for a people; that individual sacrifice begets unity of feeling and patriotic ardor, which stimulate acts of heroism; that the achievements of the citizen form the materials for a more original and higher national art and literature.
If this be so, then, surely, in the stupendous sacrifices of the American people will this western republic attain a most glorious future. Those sacrifices, be it remembered, were made for a divine principle — not in wars of aggression and conquest, but for the welfare of humanity. If lofty motives and sublime deeds are the proper incentives, American genius will produce, in art, a revelation and an epic that will be classic forever.
But after all, my fellow-citizens, these are but the more incidents of progress. We are but working out, under divine guidance, the mystery of humanity. At each successive step we ascend to a higher plane, and with us are elevated all the people. Our republic is, even now, a pillar of fire to the millions of the earth, and a constant and dangerous menace to “sovereigns by the grace of God.” If we see aright, however, true and enduring greatness will be attained only when we shall have established a living faith in the people’s capacity for self-government. Our fellow-citizens of other climes (for freedom-loving men are fellow-citizens everywhere) demand of us, that by our wise example, we may not impair that faith. We owe it to them, we owe to ourselves that, with knowledge to see the right, we shall have moral courage to enforce it.
If the social problem is to be wrought out in a republic, there must be developed the very highest standard of education and moral training. Wise laws and pure administration depend upon the wisdom and integrity of the people.
They, therefore, who deprecate the unlimited diffusion of knowledge, reveal a lack of faith in the people. They would remand to the few the power to make laws for the many. In the bright light of this era, such men are out of place, if not in the world, at least in a republic. They must either fall into the line of march, or they will surely be lost in the wilderness. That “the voice of the people is the voice of God,” may not as yet have been fully verified, but this much has been irrevocably learned, the rights of the people are secure only in the keeping of wise and virtuous freemen.
In the frailty of humanity errors and wrongs will occur; but in the practice of virtue will be cultivated the self-respect of the citizen. He will not become a cringing sycophant to those in authority, because the government is of his own creation. He cannot be a mendicant, asking alms from the public purse, for the reason that he himself holds the strings of that purse. The king can do no wrong. From the crown descend all rights to an abject vassal. The subject slave is taught to kneel at the foot of power and crave its support, but a republic arises by, and exists in, the sacrifices of the people; is supported by the toil of the people; its majesty lies in the people.
In this nation has been hung the lamp of liberty to illuminate the whole world. The security of the nation itself is in your hands. Outward foes will not willingly assail us. While the republic is the home of peace, watchful of her own rights and considerate of the rights of others, yet have men seen that she wages war with terrible earnestness. The unequaled bearing and dreadful power of her citizen soldiery have taught a salutary lesson, which, in itself, is a sufficient guarantee against aggression. The army of the people, in a defensive war (and a republic ought to engage in no other) is absolutely invincible. We are thus happily relieved from the maintenance of large standing armies and powerful navies. These are always elements of weakness; a menace to peace, an excessive burden upon industry, and a source of danger to liberty.
Our great present and greater future lie not in warlike pageantry and vain ostentation, but rather in the “more renowned victories of peace.” By these shall this domain be the abode of contentment and happiness. Dangers from whatever source, must be averted. This goodly heritage is in your keeping. By you it must be handed down, unimpaired to the future. To that end, our duty cannot cease, else all these sacrifices were in vain. Zealous in war, you must, in common with your other fellow-citizens, display the same devotion in the enforcement of obedience to the laws; in the restraint of license and disorder; in the abatement of party rancor; and in the promotion of every good and wise measure conducive to the general welfare. Then, with harmony and concord, will continue the onward march of the people.
And now! my comrades! This may be our last reunion. We are exceedingly fortunate both in the event and place of occurrence. When last you saw this ground, it was the “vale of death.” Then the fury and passion of war rent the earth, and the sulphurous fumes of battle stifled the air. Now these fields blossom in quiet happiness, and the air is vocal with music of birds. As the lights are hightened by shadows, as the sunshine glows more brightly after the broken storm, so do you, today, by the contrast, realize more clearly the benign blessing of peace. Some of you bring ugly scars, and bodies weary with wounds, but even to such this blessed scene is an ample recompense.
To us, the 96th Regiment is something more than a name — far more than an integral part of the army. It is a brotherhood of comrades, both living and dead, linked together with hooks of steel. It is a talisman, whose power over the heart time can never impair. It means for us not only camp life, midnight picket watches, marches, battles, campaigns, toils, dangers and death; but tender sympathies, warm affections, and noble loves, which were born in the hour of danger, and which live on even after death.
I know you are even now thinking of Lew, and John, and Bill, and Tom, and Charley, those noble fellows, whose guileless hearts were as an open book to us, and into whose fearless eyes you so often looked, when
The noise of battle hurtled in the air.
We learned to know them so well. They were killed by our side. The last look of the eye and the quick hand pressure, beyond the power of speech, conveyed their parting message to home and us. We buried them as best we could — rudely, but tenderly. We sang no requiem, save that in the silence of the heart. We followed no ritual, far, in that awful solemnity, none was permitted — none required. They are dead; and yet, so vividly even now, do we see them, we fain would believe their good spirits are hovering about us. With joy, and the sorrow close akin, dear, dear, departed comrades! We unveil this monument to your glory.
The camp fire begins to smolder in the embers. One by one the lights are going out. The 96th will soon, very soon, be at rest.
The location of the 96th Pennsylvania monument on the Gettysburg battlefield
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