Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts

Thursday, March 21, 2024

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: December 22, 1864

Last night Savannah was evacuated—her power yielded. The grand army is tramping now. Soon Sherman's terrible battle-flag will be flying beneath the shades of Bonniventure, where the chivalric knights have so often rehearsed their gallant deeds to the South's fair ones. With drums beating and colors flying we enter a fallen city. Our work in this campaign is done. We behold rebellion dying. The tramp of armies; the burning of cities; the destruction of railroads, have ruined Georgia. Such destruction and desolation never before followed in the wake of armies. History has never recorded a parallel. Sherman was terrible, severe, unmerciful. But his severity and unmercifulness have stamped his name high upon the "Table Rock of immortality" as the boldest, most fearless and most consummate leader of the nineteenth century, and second to none in the world. In the language of a Soldier Poet,

Proud was our army that morning,

When Sherman said, "boys, you are weary,

But to-day fair Savannah is ours."

Then sang we a song to our chieftain,

That echoed over river and lea;

And the stars in our banner shown brighter,

When Sherman marched down to the Sea.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 287

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: between December 22 & 24, 1864

During the siege of Savannah Major Johnson was off on the flanks of the army with the mounted portion of the regiment, scouting, foraging, doing outpost duty, and gathering up stragglers from their commands. After the fall of the city General Corse sends a dispatch ordering him to join his regiment. On the evening of the twenty-second he halts on a plantation near the Ogeechee River, and after camping his men, accompanied by Lieutenant S. F. Flint, he wends his way to the planter's mansion. It is now dark and raining. The Major knocks at the door, and after an assurance of friendship, they are received into the household. Their sabres’ frightful clang grates harshly upon the ears of the inmates—an old man, woman and daughter and for a while they seem frightened, but the gentlemanly demeanor of the Major and Lieutenant soon wins their confidence, causing them to come to the conclusion that the Yankees were not the wild creatures they had been represented to be. The midnight hour approximating, they all retire, leaving the Major and Lieutenant the occupants of the parlor. In the morning, while all is quiet, they make their exit, leaving the following beautiful lines (written by the Lieutenant,) in the clock:

Where the Savannas of the South
    Spread out their golden breadths to sea,
The fearful tide of war has rolled
    Around this lonely household tree.

I know the hearts that linger here,
    Their broken hopes, their wounded pride,
Have felt what I may never feel,
    Are tried as I have not been tried.

This aged man, this fair browed girl,
    What wonder if they learn to blend
His memory with hate-the foe
    Who might in peace have been their friend.

One common tongue, one blood, one God,
    The God whose ways are dark, are ours;
And He can make war's blackened path,
    Rustle with harvests-bloom with flowers.

And here before he seeks his rest,
    The hated North-man bends his knee,
And prays, restore this household band-
    As dear to them as mine to me;
Oh! let the fearful storm sweep by,
    And spare this roof that sheltered me.

After our entrance into the city, we go into camp in the suburbs, where we remain during the night and the following day.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 288-90

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: December 24, 1864

We are ordered to Fort Brown, two miles from the city, where we go into a more permanent camp. During our first days at Savannah, the Seventh's boys are seen strolling everywhere, viewing the fortifications and the great guns; they are also seen pacing the streets of the beautiful city, looking with admiration upon her gorgeous buildings, and standing in awe in the shade of the peerless monument reared by a generous people to that noble Pole, Count Pulaski, who fought, bled and died in America's first revolution for independence. Can it be that traitors have walked around its base and sworn that the great Union for which this grand and liberal spirit sacrificed his life should be consigned to the wrecks of dead empires? As we stand and gaze upon this marble cenotaph, we are constrained to say, Oh! wicked men, why stood ye here above the dust of Poland's martyr, seeking to defame his name and tear down what he helped to rear! May God pity America's erring ones! In our wanderings we are made to stop, by an acre enclosed with a high but strong palisade, the work of Colonel G. F. Wiles, Seventy-eighth Ohio Veteran Volunteer Infantry, commanding Second Brigade, Third Division, Seventeenth Army Corps, and his gallant command. This is God's acre and liberty's, and emphatically can this be said, for here three hundred or more of our fallen comrades sleep death's silent sleep. Here in trenches, unknelled, uncoffined, but not alone, "life's fitful fever over," they sleep well.

They fell not in the deadly breach, nor yet on the grassy plain. For them no choir of musketry rattled, no anthem of cannon rolled, but unclad and unfed, their lamps of life flickered out in that worse than Egyptian bondage—a Confederate prison. For long weary months they suffered and waited for the time to come when they would inhale freedom's pure air; for long weary nights they watched the signal lights as they flashed upwards from the monitors to guide Sherman through the wilderness of pines, down to the sea; long did they wait to see the sunlight from the waters flash on his serried lines, but he came not. They suffered on, and died-died martyrs upon the altar of human freedom; died that not one single star, however wayward, should be erased from the Union's great banner of freedom. Has the world, in all its history of blood, from the creation to the christian era, from the reformation to the revolution, ever produced examples of such heroic endurance as this second revolution has given to the world? Echoes coming from the soft south winds that sweep along the Atlantic shore, answer no. These men were murdered! Yes, murdered because they wore the blue, and fought for the flag and freedom. The poet alludes most touchingly to an incident that caused the murder of one of these lonely sleepers who plead for his wife's letters.

"First pay the postage, whining wretch."

Despair had made the prisoner brave-

"I'm a captive, not a slave;

You took my money and my clothes,

Take my life too, but for the love of God

Let me know how Mary and the children are,

And I will bless you ere I go."

This plea proved fruitless, and across the dead-line the soldier passed, and soon a bullet passed through his brain, and his crushed spirit was free with God. What a sad picture.

We remember when we stood there and gazed upon that hallowed acre of God's and liberty's. We thought of those wicked men who whelmed this land into those dark nights of war; who told us then that the Union soldier died in vain; that the names of those uncoffined sleepers there would be forgotten and unsung, and as my comrades and myself stood there revolving these thoughts in our minds, we vowed over those graves, before heaven, to be the enemies of traitors. "Died in vain! sacrificed their lives for naught! their names to be forgotten and unsung!" Who uttered those words in application to the noble sleepers there? Who spoke thus to the weeping mother and stricken sister? Traitors in the North! Traitors on the legislative floors uttered these words! We speak the sentiment of the Seventh when we say that we would not take millions for what we hate these men, contemptible in nature, pusillanimous in soul, with hearts as black as the "steeds of night." Like Brownlow, were we not afraid of springing a theological question, we would say that better men have been going down with the wailing hosts for the last eighteen hundred years.

A few days after going into camp at Fort Brown, Major Johnson is ordered with Companies A, H and K, to proceed down the river to Bonniventure, about five miles from Savannah. Arriving, we take up our quarters in the old Bonniventure mansion, a fashionable resort for the chivalry in the days that have flown. During our stay here we live chiefly on oysters, which are obtained in great abundance by the boys. Major Johnson and his detachment will not soon forget how they gamboled and loitered beneath the shades of those live oaks down by the great Atlantic's shore.

The Seventh remains in camp at Fort Brown and Bonniventure until the latter part of January, 1865. In the mean time Captain Norton, with the mounted portion of the regiment, was ordered across the Savannah river into South Carolina, joining Howard's command at Pocataligo.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 290-93

Thursday, February 1, 2024

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Monday, October 3, 1864

On Monday, the third of October, it was known to General Sherman that General Hood, with thirty thousand foot and ten thousand horse, supplied with the necessary munitions of war to give battle, was on the north side of the Chattahoochee River, moving northward. Never before in the annals of American history had there been such a succession of startling events. The bridge over the Chattahoochee had been washed away in a storm, Forrest had severed communications between Chattanooga and Nashville, drift-wood had leveled the bridge spanning the Austanula River at Resaca, and a large body of rebel cavalry held Big Shanty. Such was the situation when the stars peeped out from their ether bed in the clear blue sky Monday morning. It was apparent to Sherman that Hood would throw a considerable force against the weak garrison at Allatoona Pass, where were stored over two million of rations. Sherman knew if these were taken his men would be in a perilous condition. A commander with less resources than General Sherman would have contemplated the situation with horror; but not so with the hero of Rocky Face, Kenesaw and Atlanta. Signaling from the summit of Kenesaw, thirty miles across the country, to General Corse, commanding at Rome, he directs him to take all his available force to the Allatoona Pass, and hold it against all opposition until he (Sherman) himself could arrive with help. In compliance with these orders General Corse, with the Twelfth Illinois Infantry and Colonel Rowett's brigade, consisting of the Seventh, Fifteenth and Fifty-seventh Illinois Infantry, and the Thirty-ninth Iowa Infantry, in all about fifteen hundred, proceeds by rail towards the Allatoona hills, where we arrive late in the night and find that one division from Hood's army, commanded by General French, was already surrounding the place. The train that carried Corse and his fifteen hundred might have been checked. The enemy saw the train approaching and permitted it to pass in unmolested, thinking it was a train from Chattanooga loaded with supplies for Sherman's army, and therefore would make a fine addition to their game, which with their overwhelming force they were considering as good as captured. Sad, sad mistake was this, as the sequel will show. As soon as the train moves through the pass the regiment leaps from the train; General Corse and Colonel Rowett soon form their battle lines, making all necessary dispositions for the threatening battle, after which the men are ordered to lie down upon the ground to rest; but it is a night before the battle and the soldiers cannot rest. Men are hurrying to and fro; their voices are hushed, for thought is busy with them all; they are thinking of the coming strife, thinking whether they will live to see the old Union's battle flag float over these hills triumphant; thinking of the sables of grief that will be unfolded in memory of those who will lie down to sleep death's silent sleep ere the sun sinks again beneath the ocean's wave.

“Day is dawning dimly, grayly,

In the border of the sky;

And soon the drum will banish

Sleep from every soldier's eye."

The sun is now rising from behind the eastern hills. The rebels have been at work all night preparing for the assault. Companies E and H, commanded by Captain Smith, are now deployed forward on a skirmish line down the railroad south of the depot. A demand for General Corse to surrender is now made by General French. Says he to Corse: "I have Allatoona surrounded by a superior force, and to stay the needless effusion of blood I demand your surrender." General Corse replies: "I am prepared for the 'needless effusion of blood." Firing soon commences upon the skirmish line from the south, and directly a rebel battery opens with grape and canister upon our line, killing one man belonging to Company H—private John Etterlain, the first to fall in Allatoona's great battle. About ten o'clock we discover the enemy massing their forces on the Cartersville road west of the railroad. Colonel Rowett perceiving that the main battle would be on his front, sent Captain Rattrey, of his staff, to order the companies forming the skirmish line south, to report to the regiment immediately. The skirmish line falls back in order, contesting manfully every foot of ground.

"Hark! A roaring like the tempest !

’Tis a thundering of the war steeds!

Like a whirlwind on they're rushing;

Let them come, but come to die;

Finding foemen ever ready

For the fray, but not to fly."

We cast our eyes to the south-east and behold heavy force moving towards the depot. This force soon strikes our left and forces it back. The whole rebel force, six thousand strong, is now sweeping on to the Allatoona hills. The Seventh Illinois and the Thirty-ninth Iowa are standing like a wall of fire in the outer works to the right and left of the Cartersville road. The storm breaks upon them in all its mad fury; the Seventh is now struggling against the reckless rush of the infuriated rebels that are swarming towards their front. The sixteen-shooters are doing their work; the very air seems to grow faint as it breathes their lurid flame. Colonel Rowett soon after the first onset discovers a rebel regiment charg[ing] on to the right flank from the northwest, threatening to sweep it back like so much chaff. Captain Smith, with noble Company E, is ordered to stem the wild tide in that direction. In a moment he doubles into confusion this rebel regiment. It is soon discovered that it will be madness to attempt to hold the weakly constructed outer works. A retreat is ordered; the Seventh and Thirty-ninth Iowa fall back slowly; rebel shot are plowing great furrows in the earth; rebel shot fill the air; they fly everywhere; men are falling; the ground is being covered with the dead and dying. Colonel Rowett is taken to the fort wounded, from which he soon recovers and vigorously enters into the fight. The forts were gained by a fearful sacrifice. Colonel Rowett, with the Seventh and a few companies of the Fifty-seventh and Twelfth Illinois and the Thirty-ninth Iowa, is now in the fort, west of the railroad. Colonel Toutellotte, with the Ninety-third Illinois, Fiftieth Illinois (Colonel Hanna's old half hundred), takes possession of the fort east of the railroad. General Corse takes his position in the fort with Colonel Rowett's brigade, where seems to be the main drift of battle. The retreat into the forts and the necessary dispositions were all performed in a moment performed amid fire and smoke, while noble men were dying. The hurried retreat into the fort seemed to encourage the demons.

"At once they raised so wild a yell,

As if all the fiends from heaven that fell

Had pealed the banner cry of hell."

On, on, with fiendish yells they come rushing to the breach. Over the hills and up the ravines they charge; it is now hand to hand, man to man; Colonel Rowett and his men fight desperately. General Corse is now wounded; he has been fighting manfully; man never before stood as he stood in this scene of death; never before contended as he contended against these fearful odds. Fainting from loss of blood, he has fallen back upon the blood stained ground. It is now half-past ten o'clock. Colonel Rowett assumes command; his first order is to send for Colonel Hanna and his "half hundred." He knows they are the true steel. By the severe fire from the fort west of the railroad the enemy's lines are broken. Colonel Hanna is now cutting his way to Rowett's fort. Crossing the railroad near the depot, he strikes the enemy attempting to burn the warehouse containing the two millions of rations and in a gallant manner drives them back; he rushes into Rowett's fort with a heavy loss. The rebels are now preparing for another desperate charge; reformed, they rush up like mad men threatening to crush into dust the gallant fifteen hundred.

"I heard the bayonets' deadly clang,

As if a hundred anvils rang."

The hills tremble; the fort is wrapped with fearful flame. Amid dying groans the cannon crashes, to sweep down the angry rebels to a suicidal death. The grand one-half hundred, the reckless Seventh, the undaunted Fifty-seventh Illinois, and the fiery Thirty-ninth Iowa, barricade the Allatoona walls. with their frightful steel. Men are falling; their life blood is streaming. The rebels driven to desperation, attempt to cross the defences, but they are thrown back in wild confusion. But lo! they are rallying again, preparing for a third charge. Again they rush on to engage in the awful work of carnage. The smoke from our cannons makes wrathful heaves. Terrible red hot flames of battle shoot from the hill. During the last three hours an interested spectator has been standing upon Kenesaw, watching the progress of the battle. Soon a dispatch is read in the fort:

 

"Hold Allatoona! hold Allatoona, and I will assist you.

 

(Signed)

W. T. SHERMAN.”

 

Closer and closer the determined rebels come; Many have already fallen. Weaker and weaker the command is becoming. The Seventh, with their sixteen-shooters, which has been the main dependence, is now running short of ammunition, and Colonel Rowett orders them to hold their fire, and let the Fiftieth Illinois and the Thirty-ninth Iowa bayonet the rebels in case they attempt again to scale the defences. General Corse, as brave a spirit as ever battled in the cause of human freedom, raises from his matress and cries "Hold Allatoona! hold Allatoona." The third time the rebels are driven back from the fort; they are now preparing for the fourth charge; Colonel Rowett's fort has become one vast slaughter-pen. But look! the frenzied rebels come swarming on to the breach again. This is the hour that will try our steel. They are now passing over their already beaten road, stained with blood. Again they are charging up to crush the Spartan band. It is now one o'clock; for three long hours clouds of darkness have mantled these hills; they now seem to be growing darker. The command is every moment growing weaker and weaker; a large portion of the fifteen hundred have been killed and wounded, and still the battle rages in its mad fury; still the besieged are pressed hard. Colonel Rowett now succeeds in getting the artillery loaded and manned, which for some time has been silent. It is shotted to the muzzle; all ready, the men are commanded to raise the yell, and into the very faces of the rebels the death messengers are hurled, which is repeated several times until the rebels commence to give way in despair. Just at this moment, half-past one o'clock, Colonel Rowett is badly wounded in the head. Captain Rattrey, a member of his staff, being the ranking officer left, now assumes command and heroically carries on the battle. The awful work of death is drawing to a close; the rebels are now flying.

The Seventh, with their sixteen-shooters, are performing a terrible work of death; the enemy is driven from the Allatoona hills like chaff before the winds of heaven.

"None linger now upon the plains,

Save those who ne'er shall fight again."

The great battle of Allatoona is now over; the six thousand rebels, save those who are dead and wounded, are now retreating in commotion from the Allatoona hills. Corse, Rowett and Tourtellotte, with the survivors of the gallant fifteen hundred, fling their tattered and blood washed banners triumphantly over this field of death. As victors of the Pass they stand with about half of their number lying dead and wounded at their feet. We now look around us and behold the forts dripping with blood. Who do we see lying here, cold and stiff? It is our comrade, Samuel Walker. We cast our eyes to another spot; who is that who lies there in such agony, so fearfully wounded? It is the brave Sergeant Edward C. Nichols. Gallant spirit, we fear it will soon take its flight from its tenement of clay. Noble soldier, thy work is done; no more will you be permitted to stand in war's tempest of fire; no more will you battle in this struggle for man's equality. We attempt to move through the fort defended by Colonel Rowett's brigade, and we find it almost impossible without trespassing upon the dead. Oh! what an awful work of death! Has the blood-wrought history of the nineteenth century equaled it! We think not, and we dare say that this generation will pass away ere another Allatoona shall be given to the history of the western world. We succeed in changing our position. Who do we see here, wounded and bleeding? we look again. Our heart beats quick. 'Tis the Hackney brothers, lying side by side. We are wont to say, here we see the embodiment of manhood. They looked like boys before the battle, but they look like men now. Look at that cheek, behold that frightful gash. 'Tis a mark of royalty. When future years shall have rolled down the stream of time, and when the country is at peace, on that cheek will be a scar that will lead the mind back to the eventful years that saw this nation leap like a giant from her thralldom of tyrany. Night now comes on, and soon it commences to rain. The larger companies, E, H and K, with what men they have left, are placed on picket. This is the most doleful night that ever dawned upon the Seventh. While we stand here on these hills, amid storm and rain, our hearts are sad when we look around and see so many of our number still and cold in death, and so many wounded and dying.

"Ah! this morning how lightly throbbed

Full many a heart that death has robbed

Of its pulses warm, and the caskets lie

As cold as the winter's starless sky."

But we all feel glad to-night to know that we hurled back from the pass Hood's angry hosts; that we sustained the flag, saved the two millions of rations, saved Sherman's army, and helped to save the Union. While out here in these dark woods, while the cold winds are blowing, we are thinking of our noble comrades who were wounded to-day. We know that they are suffering to-night. We are all anxious about the gallant Rowett, for the Surgeon tells us that he is dangerously wounded. The prayer of the Seventh to-night is that he may recover; that he may yet live to lead forth, if need be, the gallant old Third Brigade in other battles in the war for the Union.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 251-61

Wednesday, January 31, 2024

Services for John Brown at Concord, Massachusetts, December 2, 1859

The martyrdom of John Brown was most worthily celebrated at Concord, Massachusetts. The town which inaugurated the first American "Insurrection" was faithful to its traditions in doing honor to the first martyr of the second and the grander Revolution; and, unlike other towns, equally zealous for justice, and equally desirous of doing honor to the merits and memory of John Brown, it possessed more men by nature fit for the occasion, than any other community of the same population in the Union.

The meeting at Concord assembled in the Town Hall at two o'clock in the afternoon, Dec. 2d, and was called to order by the Hon. Simon Brown, who said that on this day Virginia had inflicted on herself a worse blow than all her enemies had ever done or could do; she had, under the forms of law, murdered her truest friend.

Rev. E. H. Sears, of Wayland, offered up the following

PRAYER.

Our Father who art in heaven, we desire at this hour to gather ourselves closer within thine omnipotence and mercy; for when a sense of this world's oppressions and wrongs hangs heavily upon us, to whom shall we go but unto thee? Thou dost unite us to thyself by ties of filial love, and to our fellow-men by the ties of a common brotherhood, for thou hast given us all one human heart. Look down at this hour from thy holy heavens, and extend thy protecting providence another by the hand of Away from the dismal around one who is passing from this world to violence, and from the midst of cruel men. surroundings, away from the scaffold, away from the scoffings and the strife of tongues, open, we beseech thee, a clear pathway to that world where there is no hatred and wrong; where the wicked cease from troubling, and the slave is free from his master. And remember, we pray thee, those whose hearts are now made to break and to bleed those who at this hour are called to widowhood and orphanage; fold them tenderly in the arms of thy providence, and lead them and preserve them. And remember the race who have been trodden down for ages under the heel of oppression and wrong, and let their redemption come. Let those who have passed on through fire and blood, plead for them with thee. Let the blood of all thy martyrs for liberty, from ancient times down to this hour, cry to thee from the ground till the slave rises from his thraldom into the full glory of manhood. And when that day shall come, let it not be through the chaos of revolutions, not by staining this fair earth with the blood of brothers, but let thy spirit descend in its gentleness, and change the heart of the master, and melt off the fetters of the slave. And O, at this dark hour, give us a new consecration of ourselves to the cause of humanity By Him who came from heaven and clothed himself in our nature, the nature of the humblest man that lives, that he might raise it up and glorify it; by him who took up into his experience all the wants and woes of our common humanity; by him who speaks from all thy lowly ones, "Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of these, ye did it unto me," — by all these motives may we take with fresh zeal the vow of self-devotion to the cause of God and man. And to thee, in Jesus Christ, be all the glory forever. Amen.

This hymn was then sung by a choir, accompanied by the music of an organ, which had been placed in the Hall for this occasion:

HYMN.

 

Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,

    In full activity of zeal and power;

A Christian cannot die before his time;

    The Lord's appointment is his servant's hour.

 

Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease;

    Best on thy sheaves; the harvest task is done;

Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,

    Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.

 

Go to the grave; for there thy Saviour lay

    In death's embrace, ere he arose on high;

And all the ransomed, by that narrow way

    Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

 

Go to the grave; no, take thy seat above;

    Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord;

Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,

    And open vision for the written word.

 

MR. THOREAU'S REMARKS.

Henry D. Thoreau then rose and said: So universal and widely related is any transcendent moral greatness, and so nearly identical with greatness every where and in every age,—as a pyramid contracts the nearer you approach its apex,— that, when I now look over my commonplace book of poetry, I find that the best of it is oftenest applicable, in part or wholly, to the case of Captain Brown. Only what is true, and strong, and solemnly earnest, will recommend itself to our mood at this time. Almost any noble verse may be read, either as his elegy or eulogy, or be made the text of an oration on him. Indeed, such are now discovered to be the parts of a universal liturgy, applicable to those rare cases of heroes and martyrs for which the ritual of no church has provided. This is the formula established on high—their burial service to which every great genius has contributed its stanza or line. As Marvell wrote:

When the sword glitters o'er the judge's head,

And fear has coward churchmen silenced,

Then is the poet's time; 'tis then he draws,

And single fights forsaken virtue's cause;

He, when the wheel of empire whirleth back,

And though the world's disjointed axle crack,

Sings still of ancient rights and better times,

Seeks suffering good, arraigns successful crimes.

 

The sense of grand poetry, read by the light of this event, is brought out distinctly like an invisible writing held to the fire:

 

All heads must come

To the cold tomb, —

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

 

We have heard that the Boston lady1 who recently visited our hero in prison, found him wearing still the clothes, all cut and torn by sabres and by bayonet thrusts, in which he had been taken prisoner; and thus he had gone to his trial; and without a hat. She spent her time in prison mending those clothes, and, for a memento, brought home a pin covered with blood.

What are the clothes that endure?

The garments lasting evermore

Are works of mercy to the poor;

And neither tetter, time, nor moth

Shall fray that silk or fret this cloth.

 

The well-known verses called "The Soul's Errand," supposed, by some, to have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh, when he was expecting to be executed the following day, are at least worthy of such an origin, and are equally applicable to the present case. Hear them: 

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

 

Go, soul, the body's guest,

    Upon a thankless arrant;

Fear not to touch the best;

    The truth shall be thy warrant:

        Go, since I needs must die,

        And give the world the lie.

 

Go, tell the Court it glows

    And shines like rotten wood;

Go, tell the Church it shows

    What's good, and doth no good;

        If church and court reply,

        Give church and court the lie.

 

Tell potentates they live

    Acting by other's actions;

Not loved unless they give,

    Not strong but by their factions:

        If potentates reply,

        Give potentates the lie.

 

Tell men of high condition,

    That rule affairs of state,

Their purpose is ambition,

    Their practice only hate;

        And if they once reply,

        Spare not to give the lie.

 

Tell Zeal it lacks devotion;

    Tell Love it is but lust;

Tell Time it is but motion;

    Tell Flesh it is but dust;

        And wish them not reply,

        For thou must give the lie.

 

Tell Age it daily wasteth;

    Tell Honor how it alters;

Tell Beauty how she blasteth;

    Tell Favor how she falters;

        And, as they shall reply,

        Give each of them the lie.

 

Tell Fortune of her blindness;

    Tell Nature of decay;

Tell Friendship of unkindness;

    Tell Justice of delay;

        And if they dare reply,

        Then give them all the lie.

 

And when thou hast, as I

    Commanded thee, done blabbing,

Although to give the lie

    Deserves no less than stabbing,

        Yet, stab at thee who will,

        No stab the soul can kill.

 

"When I am dead,

    Let not the day be writ,"

Nor bell be tolled;2

    "Love will remember it"

When hate is cold.

 

Mr. Thoreau also read these passages, selected for the occasion by another citizen of Concord:

 

COLLINS.

 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,

By all their country's wishes blest!

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,

Returns to deck their hallowed mould,

She there shall dress a sweeter sod

Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

 

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,

By forms unseen their dirge is sung;

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,

To bless the turf that wraps their clay,

And Freedom shall awhile repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there.

 

SCHILLER.

 

He is gone, he is dust;

He the more fortunate; yea, he hath finished;

To him there is no longer any future;

His life is bright — bright without spot it was,

And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour

Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap.

Far off is he, above desire and fear;

No more submitted to the change and chance

Of the unsteady planets. O, 'tis well

With him; but who knows what the coming hour,

Veiled in thick darkness, brings for us?

 

WORDSWORTH.

May we not with sorrow say,

A few strong instincts, and a few plain rules,

Among the serdsmen of the hills, have wrought

More for mankind at this unhappy day,

Than all the pride of intellect and thought?

 

TENNYSON.

 

Ah, God! for a man with heart, head, hand,

Like some of the simple great ones gone

        Forever and ever by;

One still strong man in a blatant land,

Whatever they call him what care I,—

Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat,—one

Who can rule, and dare not lie.

 

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

 

There is no danger to a man who knows

Where life and death is; there's not any law

Exceeds his knowledge, neither is it needful

That he should stoop to any other law;

He goes before them, and commands them all.

That to himself is a law rational.

 

SHILLER.

 

                                      At the approach

Of Extreme peril, when a hollow image

Is found a hollow image, and no more,

Then falls the power into the mighty hands

Of nature, of the spirit giant-born

Who listens only to himself, knows nothing

Of stipulations, duties, reverences,

And, like the emancipated force of fire

Unmastered, scorches, ere it reaches them,

Their fine-spun webs.

 

WOTTON.

 

How happy is he born and taught

    Who serveth not another’s will,

Whose armor is his honest thought,

    And simple truth his utmost skill—!

Whose passions not his masters are,

    Whose soul is still prepared for death,

Not tied unto the world with care

    Of princes’ ear  or vulgar breath;—

Who hath his life from rumors freed,

    Whose conscience is his strong retreat,

Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

    Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who envies none whom chance doth raise,

    Or vice; who never understood

How deepest wounds are given with praise;

    Nor rules of state, but rules of good; —

This man is freed from servile bands

    Of hope to rise or fear to fall;

Lord of himself, though not of lands,

    And having nothing, yet hath all.

TACITUS.3

You, Agricola, are fortunate, not only because your life was glorious, but because your death was timely. As they tell us who heard your last words, unchanged and willing you accepted your fate; as if, as far as in your power, you would make the emperor appear innocent. But, besides the bitterness of having lost a parent, it adds to our grief, that it was not permitted us to minister to your health, . . . to gaze on your countenance, and receive your last embrace; surely, we might have caught some words and commands which we could have treasured in the inmost part of our souls. This is our pain, this our wound. . . . You were buried with the fewer tears, and in your last earthly light, your eyes looked around for something which they did not see.

If there is any abode for the spirits of the pious; if, as wise men suppose, great souls are not extinguished with the body, may you rest placidly, and call your family from weak regrets, and womanly laments, to the contemplation of your virtues, which must not be lamented, either silently or aloud. Let us honor you by our admiration, rather than by short-lived praises, and, if nature aid us, by our emulation of you. That is true honor, that the piety of whoever is most akin to you. This also I would teach your family, so to venerate your memory, as to call to mind all your actions and words, and embrace your character and the form of your soul, rather than of your body; not because I think that statues which are made of marble or brass are to be condemned, but as the features of men, so images of the features, are frail and perishable. The form of the soul is eternal; and this we can retain and express, not by a foreign material and art, but by our own lives. Whatever of Agricola we have loved, whatever we have admired, remains, and will remain, in the minds of men, and the records of history, through the eternity of ages. For oblivion will overtake many of the ancients, as if they were inglorious and ignoble : Agricola, described and transmitted to posterity, will survive.

MR. CHARLES BOWERS followed Mr. Thoreau, and read the celebrated protest of Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, third President of the United States, a Virginian, a historian of Virginia, and the predecessor of Governor Wise in the gubernatorial chair of that State; in which, it will be seen, he seems to have anticipated something like what has lately occurred:

PROTEST OF JEFFERSON.

The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism on the one part, and degrading submission on the other. . . . The man must be a prodigy who can retain his manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances. And with what execration should the statesman be loaded, who, permitting one half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of the other, transforms those into despots and these into enemies—destroys the morals of the one part, and the amor patriæ of the other! And can the liberties of a nation be deemed secure, when we have removed their only firm basis—a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are the gift of God? that they are not to be violated but with his wrath? Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just that his justice cannot sleep forever; that, considering numbers, nature and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of fortune, an exchange of situation, is among possible events; that it may become probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty has no attribute that can take side with us in such a contest.

HON. John S. Keyes said: In order to give this assembly a picture of the event now taking place in Virginia, I propose to read to you an account of a scene in some respects similar, which occurred in Edinburgh some two hundred years ago:

 

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.4

 

They brought him to the Watergate,

    Hard bound with hempen span,

As though they held a lion there,

    And not a venceless man.

They set him high upon a cart—

    The hangman rode below—

They drew his hands behind his back,

    And bared his noble brow.

Then as a hound is slipped from leash,

    They cheered the common throng,

And blew the note with yell and shout,

    And bade him pass along.

 

It would have made a brave man's heart

    Grow sad and sick, that day,

To watch the keen, malignant eyes

    Bent down on that array.

Then stood the Whig south country lords

    In balcony and bow;

There sat their gaunt and withered domes,

    And their daughters all a-row;

And every open window

    Was full as full might be

With black-robed Covenanting carles,

    That goodly sport to see!

 

But when he came, though pale and wan.

    He looked so great and high,

So noble was his manly front,

    So calm his steadfast eye,

The rabble rout forbore to shout,

    And each man held his breath,

For well they knew the hero's soul

    Was face to face with death.

And then a mournful shudder

    Through all the people crept,

And some that came to scoff at him

    Now turned aside and wept.

 

But onward — always onward

    In silence and in gloom,

The dreary pageant labored,

    Till it reached the place of doom.

 And then uprose the great Montrose

    In the middle of the room-

"I have not sought in battle-field

    A wreath of such renown,

Nor dared I hope, on my dying day,

    To win the martyr's crown.

 

"There is a chamber far away

    Where sleep the good and brave,

But a better place ye have named for me

    Than by my father's grave.

For truth and right, 'gainst tyrants' might

    This hand hath always striven,

And ye raise it up for a witness still

    In the eye of earth and heaven.

Then nail my head on yonder tower

    Give every town a limb-

And God, who made, shall gather them;

    I go from you to Him!"

 

The morning dawned full darkly,

    The rain came flashing down,

And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt

    Lit up the gloomy town:

The thunder crashed across the heaven,

    The fatal hour was come;

Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat.

    The 'larum of the drum.

There was madness on the earth below,

    And anger in the sky;

And young and old, and rich and poor,

    Came forth to see him die.

 

Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!

    How dismal 'tis to see

The great, tall, spectral skeleton,

    The ladder and the tree!

Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms

    The bells begin to toll — 

"He is coming! He is coming!"

    "God's mercy on his soul!"

One last, long peal of thunder —

    The clouds are cleared away,

And the glorious sun once more looks down

    Amidst the dazzling day.


"He is coming! he is coming!"

    Like a bridegroom from his room,

Came the hero from his prison

    To the scaffold and the doom.

There was glory on his forehead,

    There was lustre in his eye,

And he never walked to battle

    More proudly than to die;

There was color in his visage,

    Though the checks of all were wan,

And they marvelled as they saw him pass,

    That great and goodly man!

 

He mounted up the scaffold,

    And he turned him to the crowd;

But they dared not trust the people,

    So he might not speak aloud.

But he looked upon the heavens,

    And they were clear and blue,

And in the liquid ether

    The eye of God shone through;

Yet a black and murky battlement

    Lay resting on the hill,

As though the thunder slept within

    All else was calm and still.


The grim Geneva ministers

     With anxious scowl drew near,

As you have seen the ravens flock

    Around the dying deer.

He would not deign them word nor sign,

    But alone he bent his knee,

And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace,

    Beneath the gallows tree.

Then radiant and serene he rose,

    And cast his cloak away;

For he had ta'en his latest look

    Of earth, and sun, and day.

 

A beam of light fell o'er him

    Like a glory round the shriven,

And he climbed the lofty ladder

    As it were the path to heaven.

Then came a flash from out the cloud,

    And a stunning thunder-roll;

And no man dared to look aloft;

    Fear was on every soul.

There was another heavy sound,

    A hush, and then a groan;

And darkness swept across the sky —

    The work of death was done!

A. Bronson Alcott then offered these sentences from

PLATO.

An upright man is a perpetual magistrate.

Jupiter, fearing for our race, lest it should entirely perish, by reason of injuring one another from not possessing the political art, but only the military, sent Hermes to carry Shame and Justice to men, that they might be ornaments of cities and bonds to cement friend,hip. Hermes, therefore, asked Jupiter in what manner he was to give Shame and Justice to men. "Whether, as the arts have been distributed, so shall I distribute these, also? For they have been distributed thus: one man who possesses the medicinal art is sufficient for many not skilled in it. And so with other craftsmen. Shall I thus dispense Shame and Justice among men, or distribute them to all?" "To all," said Jupiter, "and let all partake of them; for there would be no cities if a few only were to partake of them, as of other arts. Moreover, enact a law in my name, that whoever is unable to partake of Shame and Justice, shall be put to death as a pest of a city."

The next exercise was the recital of the following original

ODE.

 

O Brother, brave, and just, and wise!

    Whose death unjust we mourn to-day,

Thy name shall live till Freedom dies;

    No tyrant can thy spirit slay!

 

The Hero's page, the Martyr's scroll,

    Since men for truth and virtue bled,

Bears record of no manlier soul

    Than thine that even now has fled.

 

Unworthy land that knew thee not!

    That bade her best and bravest die!

Be hers the shame thy glorious lot

    Admits thy soul to God's free sky.

 

His constant voice inspired thy deed.

    His clear command thy heart obeyed,

His hand shall give thy deathless meed

    When thou and we in dust are laid.

 

The prattling child shall lisp thy praise,

    The aged sire thy cause approve;

Forbidden to prolong thy days,

    Our love shall yet thy shame remove.

 

Ralph Waldo Emerson said that the part assigned to him in the services of the day, was to read portions of the conversations, speeches, and letters of John Brown—an obscure Connecticut farmer, who, taking the Gospel in earnest, and devoting himself to the uplifting of a despised race, had suddenly become the most prominent person in the country. He then read extracts from the conversation between Senator Mason and John Brown, and from Captain Cook's Confession; the last speech of John Brown in Court; his letter to Rev. Mr. Vaill, of Litchfield, Connecticut; his "letter to a Christian Conservative," and a passage from his reply to Mrs. Child.5

Mr. Alcott then read the

SERVICE FOR THE DEATH OF A MARTYR.

In introducing this new and worthy liturgy, he said that on occasions like the present, when the heart and the conscience are so deeply moved, silence seems better than speech. Yet some voice must be found for the sentiment so universal today; and accordingly I now read to you these leaves of wisdom from

 

JESUS CHRIST.

 

    Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.

    Whether it is lawful to obey God or man, judge ye.

SOLOMON.6

The ungodly said, reasoning with themselves, but not aright, Our life is short and tedious, and in the death of a man there is no remedy; neither was there any man known to have returned from the grave.

Let us oppress the poor righteous man; let us not spare the widow, nor reverence the ancient gray hairs of the aged.

Let our strength be the law; for that which is feeble is found to be nothing worth.

Therefore let us lie in wait for the righteous; because he is not for our turn, and he is clean contrary to our doings: he upbraideth us with our offending the law.

He professeth to have the knowledge of God; and he calleth himself the child of the Lord. He was made to reprove our thoughts.

He is grievous unto us even to behold: for his life is not like other men's, his ways are of another fashion.

We are esteemed of him as counterfeits; he abstaineth from our ways as from filthiness; he pronounceth the end of the just to be blessed, and maketh his boast that God is his father.

Let us see if his words be true, and let us prove what shall happen in the end of him.

For, if the just man be the Son of God, He will help him, and deliver him from the hand of his enemies.

Let us examine him with despitefulness and torture, that we may know his meekness and prove his patience.

Let us condemn him with a shameful death; for by his own saying he shall be respected.

Such things they did imagine and were deceived; for their own wickedness had blinded them.

They, the people, stood up, and the rulers took counsel together against the Lord and against his Anointed.

They cast their heads together with one consent, and were confederate against him.

He heard the blasphemy of the multitude, and fear was on every side, while they conspired together against him to take away his life.

They spake against him with false tongues, and compassed him about with words of hatred.

They rewarded him evil for good.

They took their counsel together, saying, God hath forsaken him: persecute him and take him, for there is none to deliver.

Let the sentence of guiltiness proceed against him, and now that he lieth, let him rise up no more.

False witnesses, also, did rise up against him; they laid to his charge things that he knew not.7

Then shall the righteous man stand in great boldness before the face of such as have afflicted him and made no account of his labors.

"For the sins of the people and the iniquities of the rulers they shed the blood of the just. In their anger they slew a man; the man whom Thou hadst made so strongly for Thine Own Self." — Lamentations.

He, being made perfect, in a short time fulfilled a long time.

For his soul pleased the Lord; therefore, hasted He to take him away from among the Wicked.

This the People saw and understood it not, neither laid they up this in their minds that His grace and mercy is with His saints, and that He hath respect unto His Chosen.

When they see it they shall be troubled with terrible fear, and shall be amazed at the strangeness of his salvation, so far beyond all that they looked for.

And they, repenting and groaning for anguish of spirit, shall say within themselves, This was he whom we had sometime in derision and a proverb of reproach.

We, fools, accounted his life madness and his end to be without honor. How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the saints!

What hath pride profited us? or what good hath riches with our vaunting brought us?

All those things are passed away like a shadow, and as a post that hasteth by ;

And as a ship that passeth over the waves of the water;

Or as when a bird hath flown through the air;

Or, like as when an arrow is shot at a mark, it parteth the air, which immediately cometh together again, so that a man cannot know where it went through;

Even so we, in like manner, as soon as we were born, began to draw to our end, and had no sign of virtue to show; but were consumed in our own wickedness.

But the righteous live forevermore; their reward, also, is with the Lord; and the care of them is with the Most High.

Therefore shall they receive a glorious kingdom and a beautiful crown from the Lord's hand; for with his right hand shall he cover them, and with his arm shall he protect them.

Great are Thy Judgments, and cannot be expressed; therefore unnurtured souls have erred.

For, when unrighteous men thought to oppress the righteous one, they, being shut up in their houses, the prisoners of darkness, and fettered with the bonds of a long night, lay there exiled from the Eternal Providence.

For while they supposed to lie hid in their secret sins, they were scattered under a dark veil of forgetfulness, being horribly astonished and troubled with strange apparitions.

For neither might the corner that held them keep them from fear; but noises, as of waters falling down, sounded about them; and sad visions appeared unto them with heavy countenances.

No power of the fire might give them light; neither could the bright flames of the stars endure to lighten that horrible night.

Only there appeared unto them a fire kindled of itself, very dreadful; for, being much terrified, they thought the things which they saw to be worse than the sight they saw not.

Yea, the tasting of death touched the righteous also.

For then the blameless man made haste, and stood forth to defend them, and bringing the shield of his proper ministry, even prayer and the propitiation of incense, set himself against the wrath, and so brought the calamity to an end, declaring that he was Thy Servant.

So he overcame the destroyer, not with the strength of body or force of arms, but with a word subdued he him that punished, alleging the oaths and covenants made with the Fathers.

For, in all things, O Lord, Thou didst magnify Thy Servant and glorify him; neither didst Thou lightly regard him, but didst assist him in every time and place.

The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God, and there shall no torment touch them.

In the sight of the unwise he seemed to die: and his departure is taken for misery, and his going from us to be utter destruction; but he is in peace.

For though he be punished in the sight of men, yet is his hope full of Immortality.

And, having been a little chastised, he shall be greatly rewarded; for God proved him and found him worthy for himself.

He shall judge the nations and have dominion over the people, and his Lord shall reign forever.

The following original verses, by a gentleman of Concord, were then read by Mr. Brown, and sung by the congregation standing:

DIRGE.

To-day beside Potomac's wave,
    Beneath Virginia's sky,
They slay the man who loved the slave,
    And dared for him to die.

The Pilgrim Fathers' earnest creed,
    Virginia's ancient faith,
Inspired this hero's noblest deed,
    And his reward is — Death!

Great Washington's indignant shade
    Forever urged him on —
He heard from Monticello's glade
    The voice of Jefferson.

But chiefly on the Hebrew page
    He read Jehovah's law,
And this, from youth to hoary age,
    Obeyed with love and awe.

No selfish purpose armed his hand,
    No passion aimed his blow;
How loyally he loved his land
    Impartial Time shall show.

But now the faithful martyr dies;
    His brave heart beats no more;
His soul ascends the equal skies;
    His earthly course is o'er.

For this we mourn, but not for him:
    Like him, in God we trust;
And though our eyes with tears are dim,
    We know that God is just.

_______________

1 The wife of Judge Russell.

2 The selectmen of the town, not knowing but they had authority, refused to allow the bell to be tolled on this occasion.

3 Translated by Mr. Thoreau.

4 From Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers."

5 I do not wish to repeat the same quotations in any of my books; and, as all the passages read by Mr. Emerson appear in my Life of John Brown, in the chapters entitled "The Political Inquisitors," "Condemned to die," "Lying in Wait," and "The Conquering Pen," I omit them here.

6 Chiefly from the "Wisdom of Solomon."

7 The last eight verses are from the Psalter.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 437-54