It would have been hard to predict that Gettysburg, out of all this muddle, these missed chances, all the senseless deaths, would become a symbol of national purpose, pride, and ideals. I N THE AFTERMATH of the Battle of Gettysburg, both sides, leaving fifty thousand dead or wounded or missing behind them, had reason to maintain a large pattern of pretense-Lee pretending that he was not taking back to the South a broken cause, Meade that he would not let the broken pieces fall through his fingers. Wills’s book Lincoln at Gettysburg, from which the essay was adapted, won the Pulitzer Prize in 1993. In “The Words That Remade America,” the historian and journalist Garry Wills reconstructed the events leading up to the occasion, debunking the myth that President Lincoln wrote his remarks at the last minute, and carefully unpacking Lincoln’s language to show how-in just 272 words-he subtly cast the nation’s understanding of the Constitution in new, egalitarian terms. But what transpired that day was more extraordinary than anyone could have anticipated. On the program was the standard assortment of music, remarks, and prayers.
Four months later, thousands gathered at Gettysburg to witness the dedication of a new cemetery. By the time it was over, the Confederates were in retreat, and the battlefield was strewn with more than 50,000 dead and wounded. The Union army met him at Gettysburg, and from July 1 to July 3, the bloodiest battle of the war ensued.
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