we had a peace jubilee here after the spanish war. out west they don’t believe this, because they said, “philadelphia would not have heard of any spanish war until fifty years hence.” some of you saw the procession go up broad street, i was away, but the family wrote to me that he tally-ho coach with lieutenant hobson upon it stopped right at the front door and the people shouted, “hurrah for hobson!” and if i had been there i would have yelled too, because he deserves much more of his country than he has ever received. but suppose i go into school and say, “who sunk the merrimac at santiago?” and if the bys answer me, “hobson,” they will tell me seven-eights of a lie. there were seven other heroes on that steamer, and they, by virtue of their position, were continually exposed to the spanish fire, while hobson, as an officer, might reasonably be behind the smoke-stack. you have gathered in this house your most intelligent people, and yet, perhaps, not one here can name the other seven men.
we ought not to so teach history. we ought to teach that, however humble a man’s station may be, if he does his full duty in that place he is just as much entitled to the american people’s honor as is the king upon his throne. but we do not so teach. we are now teaching everywhere that the generals do all the fighting.
i remember that, after the war, i went down to see general robert e. lee, that magnificent christian gentleman of whom both north and south are now proud as one of our great americans. the general told me about his servant, “rastus,” who was an enlisted colored soldier. he called him in one day to make fun of him, and said, “rastus, i hear that all the rest of your company are killed, and why are you not killed?” rastus winked at him and said, “’cause when there is
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