drawing room. however, the length certainly -- and she kept it very dramatically puddled on the floor. we have it conserved onto an aluminum frame today to protect it for future generations. this tour of the woodrow wilson house was part one of a two-part program. you can learn more about woodrow wilson at woodrowwilsonhouse.org. this week on the civil war, actor steven lang portrays battle of gettysburg lieutenant -- mr. lang presents lieutenant purman as if he were speaking in 1913 on the 50th anniversary of the battle of get business burg. after the performance, mr. lang takes questions about his career as an actor playing roles from various military eras. the event was part of the lincoln forum symposium in

gettysburg, pennsylvania, and vice-chair harold holzer provides introductory remarks. this is about an hour. may i have your attention, please. >> thank you, everett. that's what we needed. good morning, everyone. i'm harold holzer, vice-chairman of the lincoln forum. and we welcome you this morning to what promises to be an extraordinary program. as you all know from your printed programs, what we're going to hear this morning is something entitled "beyond glory." and before we begin, i wanted to acknowledge and introduce to you the writer whose book beyond glory" was the inspiration for the program developed.

i'd like you all to say hello to larry smith. [ applause ] >> after i introduce the program you will hear it, of course, following which there will be ample time for questions and comments about everything from gettysburg to "gods and generals" to "beyond glory" to anything that's on your mind which the speaker has agreed to respond to. it was, in the words of president woodrow wilson, no ordinary celebration. it must have been special indeed, because the president canceled a much-needed vacation in new hampshire to be there himself. after all, lincoln had gone there once, too. if wilson refused, people might think him an unsympathetic southerner. but celebration wasn't quite the

right description. it was more of a commemoration, more of a reunion. extraordinary it surely was. on july 1st, 1863, an astounding 53,407 living veterans of the battle of gettysburg -- on july 1st, 1913, that is -- '63 wouldn't have been that amazing [ laughter ] >> 53,407 living veterans of the bat tell of gettysburg, northern and southern alike, many dressed in faded and tat terd original uniforms, returned to this village for the 50th anniversary of the largest battle that ever seahawk shocked and awed the american landscape. the current congress may have no fund for a civil war sasesqua

centennial but in 1913 congress found $450,000, a considerable sum in those days, in appropriations to house these old men. the states kicked in nearly $2 million more to pay for transportation from all around the country. so every veteran, regardless of circumstances, would be able to travel here. from a massive tent stretched across the field where picket had led his charge in 1863, president wilson gave his formal address on independence day, his gettysburg address. we have found one another again as brothers and comrades in arms, he said, our battle is long past. our quarrel is forgotten. in that sentiment, not for the first time, and not for the last time, woodrow wilson proved

incorrect. not even the passage of half a century had erased the memory of that experience from the minds of the 50,000 veterans or fully healed the memories of war, even for the oldest among them. as their reunion came to a close, participants paused for five minutes of silence, three minutes longer as historian david blight has pointed out, than lincoln needed for his speech, seven score and eight years ago this week. we know, of course, everything that wilson and the other political dignitaries said at the great semicentennial reunion of 1913. that's what it was called. but we know next to nothing about what the old veterans said to each other. and certainly none of what thoughts crossed their minds as they walked these once bloody fields one more time.

lieutenant james jackson purman of the 140th pennsylvania might have been one such veteran. he was a veteran of the bat tell of gettysburg. was he here for that reunion? we don't know for sempblt but he lived close enough to surely make attendance both convenient and maybe even irresistible. he was a special veteran indeed, one of the special few. a medal of honor recipient with an extraordinary story to tell. but he never spoke publicly here on reunion day as far as we know. did he speak to his old comrades? again, we just don't know. but what if he had? fuelled by nostalgia, pride, maybe a drink or two for old time's sake, what would he have remembered? what would he have preferred to forget? today we have the opportunity to

hear his voice again. the words are his. most of them, anyway. but all of them are true to him. they have been reconstructed all but channelled by an extraordinary artist, a performer and playwright who's credit you all know well but whose devotion to stories like this are his own secret weapon at getting close to the truth of war-time sacrifice. he has performed medal of honor stories from guam to guantanemo for civilians and soldiers alike. it's a privilege of give you not a reading but an exercise in historical imagination and dramatic transformation. ladies and gentlemen, lieutenant james jackson purman as inhabited by steven lang. [ applause ]

>> i suppose -- i suppose that there are all sorts of ways to court a girl. perhaps there are better ways to court a girl. i know for a certain fact there are easier ways to court a girl. you know, i've always said,

well, i lost my leg, but i gained my better half. and all in all, i believe i got the better of my bargain with fate. but perhaps i'm getting ahead of myself. if today is a bright and sunshine day in july of 1913, the events that i share with you occurred nigh 50 years ago. but my memories of that time are as clear and as lucid as if it had transpired but yesterday. and if it were possible that i should be here 100 years from

now, speaking to you as i am now, i believe that my recollection would be just as vivid, just as sterling. so indelibly are the events stamped on the coinage of my brain. my name is james jackson purman, and i was born in the year 1841 in green county in this great state of pennsylvania. i was trained as a printer. i set type for the wasnnesburg eagle. desirous of advancing my situation in life, i attend

wainsburg college with an interest toward the law. however in 1862, my junior year, mr. lincoln, mr. lincoln put out the call for 300,000 more. and in august 1862, mine was the first name enrolled in the green county rifles. we were shortly to be united with the washington beaver and mercer county companies as the 140th pennsylvania volunteers. we were part of zook's brigade. hancock's corps. my rank was first lieutenant, company a. now, the service of the 140th is well documented.

suffice it to say that we performed stalwart duty throughout '62, guarding the northern central railroad, that lifeline of men and munitions. in '63, we were on the skirmish line at chancellorsville which is a story unto itself. but today i shall share with you my experience on july 2nd and july 3rd of 1863. barely a mile from where we are here gather ed in -- in a place you will surely recognize simply stated, aptly named the wheat

field. it was around 4:00 in the afternoon when the confederate assault began. it was massive, relentless, long streak streaks corps, to break our left flank from the peach orchard to lil rounds top to devil's den to the wheat field. these names have become synonymous with death and sacrifice. when the union at the peach orchard was crushed, the fury shifted to the wheat field. it has been called some of the bloodiest fighting of the war, and i believe that to be the

case. the ground was lost, regained, and lost again fully six times during the course of three hours. . what had been a field of amber grain was trampled into a dying -- a dying ground of blue and gray and red. during one phase of the attack in which the con fed rates momentarily held sway, as i retreated from the southwest portion of the field i came upon an unknown comrade badly wounded in the legs who cried to me, "comrade, carry me off." i replied, "i doubt if we can

get away, but we'll do the best we can for you." accompanied by my orderly sergeant, later captain, j.m. pipes, we carried and placed the wounded man between two boulders, sheltered from the enemy fire. and as out of harm's way as one could be, given the treacherous circumstances. grasping his hand i said, "goodbye, comrade" and sought to put as much distance as possible between me and the enemy. but this delay proved my undoing. the enemy had been emerging from the woods into the field, and

they had a point blank fire on me. i heard shouts, "halt you damn yankee, halt." the broad wheat field was before me. the enemy behind. visions of andersonville flitted through my brain. if i halt, some careless or brutal fellow may well shoot me after i have thrown up my hands. better to move on the double quick. these thoughts determined my will. and i refused to halt. in less time than it takes to speak the sentence, i was brought down with an ounce of lead through my left leg.

i called out to sergeant pipes who was just ahead of me, "i am stuck." and i went down among the tangled wheat. but a moment later, he too was stru struck. many have attempted to tell how it feels to be shot. at first there is no pain! no smarting nor anguish. it is very like the shock of an electric battery. but that delusion soon passes, and acute pain follows. i fell as the confederate regiment charged over me. and as it passed i read from the

floating colors "24th georgia." i had been hit four inches above the ankle, the ball passing through crushing bones. the sun was now sinking behind seminary ridge. and as dusk came on, all grew quiet around me. the day was inconclusive, the ground still disputed, the dead and the wounded of both armies they fickly strewn over the wheat field. and darkness came. never shall i forget that midsummer night. an almost full moon shown, revealing a ghastly scene of

cold, white, upturned faces. at intervals a passing cloud would obscure the moon as if nature itself were ashamed to highlight the dreadful carnage. and the eerie quiet was broken by the cries and the groans of the maimed and the wounded. one man repeatedly called for his regiment," oh, 7th michigan." and so passed the night. and as night gave way to day, the sun rose hotly, the firing grew hotter still.

our wounds more swollen and our thirst more intense. and the prospect of our relief became exceedingly hopeless. the michigan man was suffering intensely. and he called to me, "have you any water?" i replied, "no, but i have a little whiskey." "for god's sake, give me some, for i am dying of thirst." i through my canteen with all my force, but it fell midway between us. i heard that peculiar thud, and the michigan man called, "i am struck again" and then he softly

called "are you a praying man?" i replied, "i am." "then pray for me". and i did. and he murmured "amen." and that was the last he spoke. and so passed the morning of july 3rd. opposing lines of blue and gray, the crack of the rifles, the zip of the bullets as they struck the ground or the body of a wounded man. i had drawn my leg up to ease the pain when a ball struck me between the ankle and the knee

of my right leg. i felt -- i felt i would never leave that field. now, i was much closer to the confederate line than to my own. and soon after i received my second wound, i saw a soldier in front of their lines. and i called to him, "i am twice wounded. and i'm dying out here. won't you bring me a canteen of water?" the confederate replied, "if i attempt to come out there, your sharp shooters will think i'm trying to rob you and they'll pick me off." i answered, "crawl." [ laughter ]

>> "crawl through the wheat, and you'll not be seen." a chance was viral. i saved the lives of many of your men who would have died from thirst. and this was true. and he did! he filled his canteen at plum r run, the stream that runs through the valley of death, and he crawled to me. and from that day to this, it was the sweetest water that ever i tasted. i decided to push my luck. i said to him, "this is a pretty

hard place for a man to lie. can you carry me to the edge of the woods?" he replied, "if i should attempt to lift you, we would both be killed. and indeed the balls were flying furiously around us. and i said, "crawl." [ laughter ] >> and so he agreed to let me cling to his back. and he crawled off the field. and this was my enemy! halfway to the woods i fell unconscious from the pain and the loss of blood.

and what did my enemy do? he crawled off of the field. he refilled his canteen at plum run. he crawled back and he brought me to life again. and so we reached the woods, and he placed me under a tree on a rubber blanket and he left me his canteen of water and some biscuit. and i gave him my watch as a souvenir from a grateful friend and enemy. and so it was from this shaded vantage that i watched men in blue massing into columns by

division, the pennsylvania reserve brigade under colonel mccanless poured in volley after volley as they crossed the field. although the balls rattled among the trees and rocks around me, i enjoyed that charge hugely. for it meant victory. it was sublime. and this charge across the wheat field was the last fighting of the battle of gettysburg. it was captain e.m. robinson of the 5th main infantry who put me on a stretcher and had me carried to a barn used as a hospital at the foot of round top. it was here on the next morning

i celebrated the fourth of july by the loss of my left leg. captain robinson has several years since answered the last roll call. before the battle commenced, i had been wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat which i felt was a conspicuous mark. and so before going into battle i exchanged my hat with james woods, the company drummer. i never met him again until a reunion at gettysburg 26 years afterward. his first salutation was, "lieutenant, where's my cap?" [ laughter ] >> the unknown comrade whom i

placed between two rocks to shield from enemy fire i have since learned was john buckly, company b, 140th pennsylvania, a mercer county man. he died on the field from his wounds and exposure. for going out of the line of duty to aid a comrade, the congress granted me a medal of honor which is inscribed "for gallantry at the battle of gettysburg july 2nd, 1863." i know that the confederacy did not confer medals. and even if they did, risking

one's life to save the enemy would perhaps not qualify one for grateful recognition. however, in my life i have witnessed no braver nor kinder nor humane act of selflessness than that of thomas p. oliver of athens, georgia, adjutant of the 24th georgia infantry. yes. yes, i was able to ascertain the identity of my savior. and many times since the war we exchanged letters and planned to meet eachhe