Lieutenant John William Grout, the subject of “The Vacant Chair,” was the only son of Jonathan and Mary Jane Grout, and was born in
Worcester, Massachusetts, July 25th, 1843. His father was a successful business
man, and the son enjoyed the excellent educational advantages given to the
young in that enterprising city. He was a bright boy, and a favorite of his
playmates, by whom he was familiarly known as Willie Grout. It soon was evident
that he was by nature endowed with rare gifts, physically and mentally.
“Of medium stature and symmetrical proportions, erect
carriage and remarkably fine and manly features, and with elastic vigor and the
glow of health, he might have been selected as a model by an artist.”
The photograph herewith given, which was taken just before
his departure for the war, is an excellent likeness of his personal presence.
He was a diligent student, and mastered easily subjects to which his attention
was given; but he turned with special interest to history, in its relation to
nations, and their conflicts one with another. He seemed to have been born for
a military life; and inherited undoubtedly a love for the camp from his
ancestors. “He was of the sixth generation from John of Sudbury, who was a
grandson of an English Knight, and who distinguished himself for his heroism in
leading his townsmen triumphantly against the assaults of the Indians in 1676, —
for which he was rewarded with a Captaincy, then a substitute for Knighthood in
England.”
It was early a question what profession in life he should
follow, — a matter which was not settled till he entered the Highland School in
his native city, where in the Military Department his wishes were gratified. He
joined the company of Cadets, and soon became its commander. Hardly had his [ambition]
been thus gratified, when the Civil War became the all-absorbing matter of
interest to the people.
No one was quicker than he to see that 11 is hour had come,
and he desired at once to enter the army; but his parents withheld their
consent for a while, chiefly on account of his youth, for he had barely
attained the age when his country could legally claim his services. When
however, they yielded to his importunity, his joy knew no bounds; and with all
the ardor of his nature he began preparations for the service before him, such
as sleeping on the floor to inure himself to the hardships of life in camp.
When the Massachusetts 15th Regiment was organized, he
received the commission of second lieutenant of Company D, — an honor rarely
bestowed upon so young a person. He was very popular in the regiment. His
knowledge of military tactics was such that his services as a drillmaster were
in constant demand.
“He assured his friends, not with buoyant rashness, but with
serious candor, that he had girded on his armor for all the emergencies of war,
and for victory or death. He seemed to feel the solemnities as well as the [responsibilities]
of his position, but never faltered in his purpose, or in the duties he was [subsequently]
called to discharge.
“It was the fortune of the Massachusetts 15th Regiment to do
the greatest execution, and suffer the greatest loss, in that disastrous
conflict at Ball's Bluff, October 21, 1861.”
The coolness, self-possession, and courage of Lieutenant
Grout were noticed by his comrades with astonishment, and greatly stimulated
the courage of others. When the day was lost, and they were forced to retreat
to the river, he seemed to be utterly regardless of himself in his desire to
have the wounded conveyed to the opposite shore. To his honor let it ever be
remembered that he crossed the stream with a boat-load of the sufferers, and
seeing them safely landed, returned to render like assistance to others; and
continued so to do till he was obliged to plunge into the stream to save his
own life. He had reached the middle of the river when he exclaimed to a comrade
at his side, “Tell Company D I could have reached the shore, but I am shot, and
must sink;” and as the waters closed over him, his spirit took its flight from
the throes and conflicts of earth.
When his death was announced, Col. Devens with deep emotion
said, “Dear little fellow; he came to me at the close of the battle and said, ‘Colonel,
can I do anything more for you?’ and I replied, ‘Nothing but take care of
yourself.’”
For several weeks the Potomac held his body in its embrace,
to be finally surrendered to loving hands, from whence it was tenderly borne to
his native city for burial.
The heart of the old Commonwealth had never known a sadder
day than when his remains, under the escort of the Highland Cadets, attended by
the mayor and both branches of the city government, Col. Devens, and a large
concourse of sympathizing citizens, were taken to the cemetery for interment.
Many tears were mingled with the volleys fired over the
grave of the hero, who, at the early age of eighteen, fell a voluntary
sacrifice upon the altar of his country.
SOURCE: Henry Stevenson Washburn , The Vacant Chair and Other Poems, p. 15-18
