Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays

have lighted fools The way to dusty death.

Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow,

a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more:

it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing


Monday

The Battle for Freedom

July 4th, 1863. For Abraham Lincoln, pacing the confines of a small telegraph room in the White House, the day was etched in agonizing uncertainty. Just days prior, he had staked the Union's hopes on General George Meade, recently promoted to command, and now, disquieting news from a quiet Pennsylvania town—Gettysburg—painted a picture of a battlefield drenched in blood, with General Robert E. Lee once again appearing to hold the terrifying edge. "Damn that man," Lincoln must have thought, his frustration a bitter tang in the air. "Did he even know how to lose?" This pivotal three-day clash, a desperate gamble for the Confederacy, was more than just a battle; it was a fight for the very soul of the Union, destined not only to reshape the course of the Civil War but also to profoundly affirm the foundational American ideal that "all men are created equal," as Lincoln himself would soon declare in its aftermath.

In early June, General Lee had boldly crossed the Potomac, his seasoned armies now posing a direct threat to Washington D.C. The immense tension building in the capital finally broke on July 1st, outside the then-little-known town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. What began as a chance encounter between a Southern cavalry patrol and a Union detachment quickly escalated into a full-blown engagement. As the battle intensified, reinforcements from both sides streamed into their positions, transforming a localized skirmish into a monumental confrontation. To Lincoln's good fortune, Meade's forces managed to secure Culp's Hill, crucial high ground that anchored the Union's right flank and offered a strong defensive advantage. Yet, despite holding superior numbers, the outcome was far from certain, as they faced a General whose strategic brilliance and string of victories had made him seem invincible.

The morning of July 2nd brought the full fury of Lee's relentless assault. Confederate forces pressed a tremendous, sustained attack upon the Union positions, particularly on Culp's Hill and the vital Devil's Den and Little Round Top. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of burnt gunpowder; the earth trembled under the ceaseless roar of cannonades, punctuated by the desperate, often final, cries of men. Both sides took horrific casualties in the brutal, close-quarters fighting, but through sheer tenacity and desperate valor, the Union ranks held their critical ground by the end of the long, bloody night.

Day 3 of the engagement, July 3rd, truly brought a chilling fear to Lincoln's heart. The formidable Jeb Stuart had finally arrived with a significant portion of his cavalry, his forces now poised to wreak havoc. General Lee, ever the audacious strategist, launched a daring, three-pronged attack designed to shatter the Union line. Again, he committed men against the stubbornly held Culp's Hill, while simultaneously dispatching Jeb Stuart on a sweeping maneuver around the enemy flank. Their grand objective: to meet up with Pickett's division as it marched directly up the center with Lee's infantry in what was intended to be a grand, climactic charge.

While Culp's Hill held yet again against renewed Confederate efforts, all seemed precarious as Stuart's formidable cavalry approached, threatening to encircle the Union forces and sever their supply lines. It was then, in perhaps one of the most audacious, arguably reckless, maneuvers of the entire Civil War, that a brash young General George Armstrong Custer, leading approximately 4,000 cavalry out of Michigan, charged headlong into a superior portion of Stuart's force. The sheer audacity of this seemingly suicidal assault stunned Stuart's seasoned veterans; their disciplined lines fractured in disbelief, and to the astonishment of all, they shattered, fleeing in a chaotic retreat that secured the Union's exposed flank—a desperate act of courage in the larger "Battle for Freedom."

Meanwhile, Pickett's ill-fated charge, a massive wave of approximately 12,500 Confederate infantrymen, surged across open ground, directly into the fortified heart of the Union center. The battlefield became a maelstrom of musketry and artillery, a hellish landscape of smoke and screams. As Pickett's men briefly managed to breach the Union lines, panic threatened to ripple through the defenders. Yet, seeing no Confederate reinforcements arrive to exploit the breach, the Union soldiers, rallied by their officers, courageously closed ranks. The tide irrevocably turned, and Pickett's men, decimated and unsupported, were forced into a devastating retreat. It was on this day that Lee faced not his first loss in battle, but his first truly decisive and crippling defeat, one that profoundly altered the course of the war. It was this moment, the repulse of Pickett's Charge and Stuart's simultaneous defeat, that definitively determined the fate of the Union.

This was the news Lincoln had awaited in that small telegraph booth on the morning of July 4th, 1863—a victory that transcended military strategy to become a profound spiritual and moral vindication. Three days later, on July 7th, the capital still reeling from the closeness of the threat but now buoyed by triumph, a jubilant crowd gathered outside the White House. An elated Lincoln, stepping forward to acknowledge their cheers, delivered an impromptu speech whose words immediately captured the monumental significance of the moment.

"Fellow-citizens: I am very glad to see you to night. But yet I will not say I thank you for this call. But I do most sincerely thank Almighty God for the occasion on which you have called. How long ago is it? Eighty odd years since, upon the Fourth day of July, for the first time in the world, a union body of representatives was assembled to declare as a self-evident truth that all men were created equal."

Here, Lincoln masterfully re-frames the Civil War not merely as a conflict over states' rights, but as a test of the very founding principles of the nation.

"That was the birthday of the United States of America. Since then the fourth day of July has had several very peculiar recognitions. The two most distinguished men who framed and supported that paper, including the particular declaration I have mentioned, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, the one having framed it, and the other sustained it most ably in debate, the only two of the 55 or 56 who signed it, I believe, who were ever President of the United States, precisely 50 years after they put their hands to that paper it pleased the Almighty God to take away from this stage of action on the Fourth of July. This extraordinary coincidence we can understand to be a dispensation of the Almighty Ruler of Events."

Lincoln continues, drawing a powerful connection between divine providence and the nation's destiny:

"Another of our Presidents, five years afterwards, was called from this stage of existence on the same day of the month, and now on this Fourth of July just past, when a gigantic rebellion has risen in the land, precisely at the bottom of which is an effort to overthrow that principle 'that all men are created equal,' we have a surrender of one of their most powerful positions and powerful armies forced upon them on that very day."

The victory at Gettysburg, particularly its conclusion on America's Independence Day, became for Lincoln a clear sign that the Union's cause was righteous and divinely sanctioned.

"And I see in the succession of battles in Pennsylvania, which continued three days, so rapidly following each other as to be justly called one great battle, fought on the first, second and third of July; on the fourth the enemies of the declaration that all men are created equal had to turn tail and run. Gentlemen, this is a glorious theme and a glorious occasion for a speech, but I am not prepared to make one worthy of the theme and worthy of the occasion."

In a display of his characteristic humility and strategic acumen, Lincoln concluded by recognizing the collective sacrifice:

"I would like to speak in all praise that is due to the many brave officers and soldiers who have fought in the cause of the Union and liberties of this country from the beginning of this war, not on occasions of success, but upon the more trying occasions of the want of success. I say I would like to speak in praise of these men, particularizing their deeds, but I am unprepared. I should dislike to mention the name of a single officer, lest in doing so I wrong some other one whose name may not occur to me. Recent events bring up certain names, gallantly prominent, but I do not want to particularly name them at the expense of others, who are as justly entitled to our gratitude as they. I therefore do not upon this occasion name a single man. And now I have said about as much as I ought to say in this impromptu manner, and if you please, I'll take the music."

The Battle of Gettysburg was more than a military victory; it was the moment when the tide decisively turned, reaffirming the Union's purpose and demonstrating the resilience of a nation fighting to live up to its founding ideals. Lincoln's impromptu words, delivered just days after the cannons fell silent, underscored that the "Battle for Freedom" was indeed a divinely supported struggle for the principle that "all men are created equal"—a principle that, though severely tested, would ultimately endure, continuing to shape the nation's ongoing, complex journey toward genuine equality.