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

Thursday, January 25, 2024

Congressman Horace Mann, July 27, 1850

JULY 27, 1850.

One of our colleagues, Mr. Daniel P. King of Danvers, is dead. . . . What a series of startling events befall us! and yet how little they are heeded! As we sail along, the cry is raised, “A man overboard!" There is a momentary arrest; but soon the ship is on its way again as if nothing had happened. There is no place so good to die in as at the post of duty. When Smith O'Brien was on his trial for treason in Ireland, and while he was sitting in the dock, which is the criminal box, he was asked for his autograph; upon which he wrote,

"Whether on the gallows high,
Or in the battle's van,
The fittest place for man to die
Is where he dies for man."

A noble sentiment, beautifully expressed!

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 309

Wednesday, January 24, 2024

To Charles Sumner: A Poem by John Greenleaf Whittier, 1854

I have seemed more prompt to censure wrong
    Than praise the right, if seldom to thine ear
    My voice hath mingled with the exultant cheer
Borne upon all our Northern winds along,—
If I have failed to join the fickle throng
In wide-eyed wonder that thou standest strong
In victory, surprised in thee to find
Brougham's scathing power with Canning's grace combined;
That he, for whom the ninefold Muses sang,
From their twined arms a giant athlete sprang,
Barbing the arrows of his native tongue
With the spent shafts Latona's archer flung,
To smite the Python of our land and time,
Fell as the monster born of Crissa's slime,
Like the blind bard who in Castalian springs
Tempered the steel that clove the crest of kings,
And on the shrine of England's freedom laid
The gifts of Cumæ and of Delphi's shade,—
Small need hast thou of words of praise from me.
    Thou knowest my heart, dear friend, and well canst guess,
    That, even though silent, I have not the less
Rejoiced to see thy actual life agree
With the large future which I shaped for thee,
When, years ago, beside the summer sea,
White in the moon, we saw the long waves fall
Baffled and broken from the rocky wall,
That to the menace of the brawling flood
Opposed alone its massive quietude,
Calm as a fate, with not a leaf nor vine
Nor birch-spray trembling in the still moonshine,
Crowning it like God's peace. I sometimes think
    That night-scene by the sea prophetical,
(For Nature speaks in symbols and in signs,
And through her pictures human fate divines),
That rock, wherefrom we saw the billows sink
    In murmuring rout, uprising clear and tall
In the white light of heaven, the type of one
Who, momently by Error's host assailed,
Stands strong as Truth, in greaves of granite mailed,
    And, tranquil-fronted, listening over all
The tumult, hears the angels say, Well done!

SOURCES: John Greenleaf Whittier, The Writings of John Greenleaf Whittier in Seven Volumes, Large Paper Edition, Vol. 4, p. 91-2; Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 229

Saturday, October 21, 2023

Charles Sumner: Our Immediate Antislavery Duties, November 6, 1850

OUR IMMEDIATE ANTISLAVERY DUTIES.

SPEECH AT A FREE-SOIL MEETING AT FANEUIL HALL,

NOVEMBER 6, 1850.

MR. CHAIRMAN, AND YOU, MY FELLOW-CITIZENS:

Cold and insensible must I be, not to be touched by this welcome. I thank you for the cause, whose representative only I am. It is the cause which I would keep ever foremost, and commend always to your support.

In a few days there will be an important political election, affecting many local interests. Not by these have I been drawn here to-night, but because I would bear my testimony anew to that Freedom which is above all these. And here, at the outset, let me say, that it is because I place Freedom above all else that I cordially concur in the different unions or combinations throughout the Commonwealth, ——— in Mr. Mann's District, of Free-Soilers with Whigs, ——— also in Mr. Fowler's District, of Free-Soilers with Whigs— and generally, in Senatorial Districts, of Free-Soilers with Democrats.

By the first of these two good men may be secured in Congress, while by the latter the friends of Freedom may obtain a controlling influence in the Legislature of Massachusetts during the coming session, and thus advance our cause. [Applause.] They may arbitrate between both the old parties, making Freedom their perpetual object, and in this way contribute more powerfully than they otherwise could to the cause which has drawn us together. [Cheers.]

Leaving these things, so obvious to all, I come at once to consider urgent duties at this anxious moment. To comprehend these we must glance at what Congress has done during its recent session, so long drawn out. This I shall endeavor to do rapidly. "Watchman, what of the night?" And well may the cry be raised, “What of the night?" For things have been done, and measures passed into laws, which, to my mind, fill the day itself with blackness. ["Hear! hear!"]

And yet there are streaks of light—an unwonted dawn in the distant West, out of which a full-orbed sun is beginning to ascend, rejoicing like a strong man to run a race. By Act of Congress California has been admitted into the Union with a Constitution forbidding Slavery. For a measure like this, required not only by simplest justice, but by uniform practice, and by constitutional principles of slaveholders themselves, we may be ashamed to confess gratitude; and yet I cannot but rejoice in this great good. A hateful institution, thus far without check, travelling westward with the power of the Republic, is bidden to stop, while a new and rising State is guarded from its contamination. [Applause.] Freedom, in whose hands is the divining-rod of magical power, pointing the way not only to wealth untold, but to every possession of virtue and intelligence, whose presence is better far than any mine of gold, has been recognized in an extensive region on the distant Pacific, between the very parallels of latitude so long claimed by Slavery as a peculiar home. [Loud plaudits.]

Here is a victory, moral and political: moral, inasmuch as Freedom secures a new foothold where to exert her far-reaching influence; political, inasmuch as by the admission of California, the Free States obtain a majority of votes in the Senate, thus overturning that balance of power between Freedom and Slavery, so preposterously claimed by the Slave States, in forgetfulness of the true spirit of the Constitution, and in mockery of Human Rights. [Cheers.] May free California, and her Senators in Congress, amidst the trials before us, never fail in loyalty to Freedom! God forbid that the daughter should turn with ingratitude or neglect from the mother that bore her! [Enthusiasm.]

Besides this Act, there are two others of this long session to be regarded with satisfaction, and I mention them at once, before considering the reverse of the picture. The slave-trade is abolished in the District of Columbia. This measure, though small in the sight of Justice, is important. It banishes from the National Capital an odious traffic. But this is its least office. Practically it affixes to the whole traffic, wherever it exists, not merely in Washington, within the immediate sphere of the legislative act, but everywhere throughout the Slave States, whether at Richmond, or Charleston, or New Orleans, the brand of Congressional reprobation. The people of the United States, by the voice of Congress, solemnly declare the domestic traffic in slaves offensive in their sight. The Nation judges this traffic. The Nation says to it, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" [Excitement and applause.] It is true that Congress has not, as in the case of the foreign slave-trade, stamped it as piracy, and awarded to its perpetrators the doom of pirates; but it condemns the trade, and gives to general scorn those who partake of it. To this extent the National Government speaks for Freedom. And in doing this, it asserts, under the Constitution, legislative jurisdiction over the subject of Slavery in the District, thus preparing the way for that complete act of Abolition which is necessary to purge the National Capital of its still remaining curse and shame.

The other measure which I hail with thankfulness is the Abolition of Flogging in the Navy. ["Hear! hear!"] Beyond the direct reform thus accomplished — after much effort, finally crowned with encouraging success is the indirect influence of this law, especially in rebuking the lash, wheresoever and by whomsoever employed.

Two props and stays of Slavery are weakened and undermined by Congressional legislation. Without the slave-trade and without the lash, Slavery must fall to earth. By these the whole monstrosity is upheld. If I seem to exaggerate the consequence of these measures of Abolition, you will pardon it to a sincere conviction of their powerful, though subtile and indirect influence, quickened by a desire to find something good in a Congress which has furnished occasion for so much disappointment. Other measures there are which must be regarded not only with regret, but with indignation and disgust. [Sensation.]

Two broad territories, New Mexico and Utah, under the exclusive jurisdiction of Congress, have been organized without any prohibition of Slavery. In laying the foundation of their governments, destined hereafter to control the happiness of innumerable multitudes, Congress has omitted the Great Ordinance of Freedom, first moved by Jefferson, and consecrated by the experience of the Northwestern Territory: thus rejecting those principles of Human Liberty which are enunciated in our Declaration of Independence, which are essential to every Bill of Rights, and without which a Republic is a name and nothing more.

Still further, a vast territory, supposed to be upwards of seventy thousand square miles in extent, larger than all New England, has been taken from New Mexico, and, with ten million dollars besides, given to slaveholding Texas: thus, under the plea of settling the western boundary of Texas, securing to this State a large sum of money, and consigning to certain Slavery an important territory.

And still further, as if to do a deed which should "make heaven weep, all earth amazed," this same Congress, in disregard of all cherished safeguards of Freedom, has passed a most cruel, unchristian, devilish law to secure the return into Slavery of those fortunate bondmen who find shelter by our firesides. This is the Fugitive Slave Bill,—a device which despoils the party claimed as slave, whether in reality slave or freeman, of Trial by Jury, that sacred right, and usurps the question of Human Freedom, the highest question known to the law, committing it to the unaided judgment of a single magistrate, on ex parte evidence it may be, by affidavit, without the sanction of cross-examination. Under this detestable, Heaven-defying Bill, not the slave only, but the colored freeman of the North, may be swept into ruthless captivity; and there is no white citizen, born among us, bred in our schools, partaking in our affairs, voting in our elections, whose liberty is not assailed also. Without any discrimination of color, the Bill surrenders all claimed as "owing service or labor" to the same tyrannical judgment. And mark once more its heathenism. By unrelenting provisions it visits with bitter penalties of fine and imprisonment the faithful men and women who render to the fugitive that countenance, succor, and shelter which Christianity expressly requires. ["Shame! shame!"] Thus, from beginning to end, it sets at nought the best principles of the Constitution, and the very laws of God. [Great sensation.]

I might occupy your time in exposing the unconstitutionality of this Act. Denying the Trial by Jury, it is three times unconstitutional: first, as the Constitution declares "the right of the people to be secure in their persons against unreasonable seizures"; secondly, as it further provides that "no person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law"; and, thirdly, because it expressly establishes, that "in suits at Common Law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved." By this triple cord the framers of the Constitution secured Trial by Jury in every question of Human Freedom. That man is little imbued with the true spirit of American institutions, has little sympathy with Bills of Rights, is lukewarm for Freedom, who can hesitate to construe the Constitution so as to secure this safeguard. [Enthusiastic applause.]

Again, the Act is unconstitutional in the unprecedented and tyrannical powers it confers upon Commissioners. These petty officers are appointed, not by the President with the advice of the Senate, but by the Courts of Law,—hold their places, not during good behavior, but at the will of the Court,—and receive for their services, not a regular salary, but fees in each individual case. And yet in these petty officers, thus appointed, thus compensated, and holding their places by the most uncertain tenure, is vested a portion of that "judicial power," which, according to the positive text of the Constitution, can be in "judges" only, holding office during good behavior," receiving "at stated times for their services a compensation which shall not be diminished during their continuance in office," and, it would seem also, appointed by the President and confirmed by the Senate, being three conditions of judicial power. Adding meanness to violation of the Constitution, the Commissioner is bribed by a double fee to pronounce against Freedom. Decreeing a man to Slavery, he receives ten dollars; saving the man to Freedom, his fee is five dollars. ["Shame! shame!"]

But I will not pursue these details. The soul sickens in the contemplation of this legalized outrage. In the dreary annals of the Past there are many acts of shame,—there are ordinances of monarchs, and laws, which have become a byword and a hissing to the nations. But when we consider the country and the age, I ask fearlessly, what act of shame, what ordinance of monarch, what law, can compare in atrocity with this enactment of an American Congress? ["None!"] I do not forget Appius Claudius, tyrant Decemvir of ancient Rome, condemning Virginia as a slave, nor Louis the Fourteenth, of France, letting slip the dogs of religious persecution by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, nor Charles the First, of England, arousing the patriot rage of Hampden by the extortion of Ship-money, nor the British Parliament, provoking, in our own country, spirits kindred to Hampden, by the tyranny of the Stamp Act and Tea Tax. I would not exaggerate; I wish to keep within bounds; but I think there can be little doubt that the condemnation now affixed to all these transactions, and to their authors, must be the lot hereafter of the Fugitive Slave Bill, and of every one, according to the measure of his influence, who gave it his support. [Three cheers were here given.] Into the immortal catalogue of national crimes it has now passed, drawing, by inexorable necessity, its authors also, and chiefly him, who, as President of the United States, set his name to the Bill, and breathed into it that final breath without which it would bear no life. [Sensation.] Other Presidents may be forgotten; but the name signed to the Fugitive Slave Bill can never be forgotten. ["Never!"] There are depths of infamy, as there are heights of fame. I regret to say what I must, but truth compels me. Better for him, had he never been born! [Renewed applause.] Better for his memory, and for the good name of his children, had he never been President! [Repeated cheers.]

 I have likened this Bill to the Stamp Act, and I trust that the parallel may be continued yet further, by a burst of popular feeling against all action under it similar to that which glowed in the breasts of our fathers. Listen to the words of John Adams, as written in his Diary at the time.

"The year 1765 has been the most remarkable year of my life. That enormous engine, fabricated by the British Parliament, for battering down all the rights and liberties of America, I mean the Stamp Act, has raised and spread through the whole continent a spirit that will be recorded to our honor with all future generations. In every colony, from Georgia to New Hampshire inclusively, the stamp distributors and inspectors have been compelled by the unconquerable rage of the people to renounce their offices. Such and so universal has been the resentment of the people, that every man who has dared to speak in favor of the stamps, or to soften the detestation in which they are held, how great soever his abilities and virtues had been esteemed before, or whatever his fortune, connections, and influence had been, has been seen to sink into universal contempt and ignominy."1 [A voice, "Ditto for the Slave-Hunter!"]

Earlier than John Adams, the first Governor of Massachusetts, John Winthrop, set the example of refusing to enforce laws against the liberties of the people. After describing Civil Liberty, and declaring the covenant between God and man in the Moral Law, he uses these good words:

"This Liberty is the proper end and object of authority, and cannot subsist without it; and it is a liberty to that only which is good, just, and honest. This liberty you are to stand for, with the hazard not only of your goods, but of your lives, if need be. Whatsoever crosseth this is not authority, but a distemper thereof."2

Surely the love of Freedom is not so far cooled among us, descendants of those who opposed the Stamp Act, that we are insensible to the Fugitive Slave Bill. In those other days, the unconquerable rage of the people compelled the stamp distributors and inspectors to renounce their offices, and held up to detestation all who dared to speak in favor of the stamps. Shall we be more tolerant of those who volunteer in favor of this Bill? ["No! no!"]—more tolerant of the Slave-Hunter, who, under its safeguard, pursues his prey upon our soil? ["No! no!"] The Stamp Act could not be executed here. Can the Fugitive Slave Bill? ["Never!”]

And here, Sir, let me say, that it becomes me to speak with caution. It happens that I sustain an important relation to this Bill. Early in professional life I was designated by the late Judge Story a Commissioner of his Court, and, though I do not very often exercise the functions of this appointment, my name is still upon the list. As such, I am one of those before whom the panting fugitive may be dragged for the decision of the question, whether he is a freeman or a slave. But while it becomes me to speak with caution, I shall not hesitate to speak with plainness. I cannot forget that I am a man, although I am a Commissioner. [Three cheers here given.]

Could the same spirit which inspired the Fathers enter into our community now, the marshals, and every magistrate who regarded this law as having any constitutional obligation, would resign, rather than presume to execute it. This, perhaps, is too much to expect. But I will not judge such officials. To their own consciences I leave them. Surely no person of humane feelings and with any true sense of justice, living in a land "where bells have knolled to church," whatever may be the apology of public station, can fail to recoil from such service. For myself let me say, that I can imagine no office, no salary, no consideration, which I would not gladly forego, rather than become in any way the agent in enslaving my brother-man. [Sensation.] Where for me were comfort and solace after such a work? [A voice, "Nowhere!"] In dreams and in waking hours, in solitude and in the street, in the meditations of the closet and in the affairs of men, wherever I turned, there my victim would stare me in the face. From distant rice-fields and sugar-plantations of the South, his cries beneath the vindictive lash, his moans at the thought of Liberty, once his, now, alas! ravished away, would pursue me, repeating the tale of his fearful doom, and sounding, forever sounding, in my ears, "Thou art the man!" [Applause.]

The magistrate who pronounces the decree of Slavery, and the marshal who enforces it, act in obedience to law. This is their apology; and it is the apology also of the masters of the Inquisition, as they ply the torture amidst the shrieks of their victim. Can this weaken accountability for wrong? Disguise it, excuse it, as they will, the fact must glare before the world, and penetrate the conscience too, that the fetters by which the unhappy fugitive is bound are riveted by their tribunal,—that his second life of wretchedness dates from their agency, that his second birth as a slave proceeds from them. The magistrate and marshal do for him here, in a country which vaunts a Christian civilization, what the naked, barbarous Pagan chiefs beyond the sea did for his grandfather in Congo: they transfer him to the Slave-Hunter, and for this service receive the very price paid for his grandfather in Congo, ten dollars! ["Shame! shame!"]

Gracious Heaven! can such things be on our Free Soil? ["No!"] Shall the evasion of Pontius Pilate be enacted anew, and a judge vainly attempt, by washing the hands, to excuse himself for condemning one in whom he can "find no fault"? Should any court, sitting here in Massachusetts, for the first time in her history, become agent of the Slave-Hunter, the very images of our fathers would frown from the walls; their voices would cry from the ground; their spirits, hovering in the air, would plead, remonstrate, protest, against the cruel judgment. [Cheers.] There is a legend of the Church, still living on the admired canvas of a Venetian artist, that St. Mark, descending from the skies with headlong fury into the public square, broke the manacles of a slave in presence of the very judge who had decreed his fate. This is known as "The Miracle of the Slave," and grandly has Art illumined the scene.3 Should Massachusetts hereafter, in an evil hour, be desecrated by any such decree, may the good Evangelist once more descend with valiant arm to break the manacles of the Slave! [Enthusiasm.]

Sir, I will not dishonor this home of the Pilgrims, and of the Revolution, by admitting nay, I cannot believe that this Bill will be executed here. [“Never!”] Among us, as elsewhere, individuals may forget humanity, in fancied loyalty to law; but the public conscience will not allow a man who has trodden our streets as a freeman to be dragged away as a slave. [Applause.] By escape from bondage he has shown that true manhood which must grapple to him every honest heart. He may be ignorant and rude, as poor, but he is of true nobility. Fugitive Slaves are the heroes of our age. In sacrificing them to this foul enactment we violate every sentiment of hospitality, every whispering of the heart, every commandment of religion..

There are many who will never shrink, at any cost, and notwithstanding all the atrocious penalties of this Bill, from effort to save a wandering fellow-man from bondage; they will offer him the shelter of their houses, and, if need be, will protect his liberty by force. But let me be understood; I counsel no violence. There is another power, stronger than any individual arm, which I invoke: I mean that irresistible Public Opinion, inspired by love of God and man, which, without violence or noise, gently as the operations of Nature, makes and unmakes laws. Let this Public Opinion be felt in its might, and the Fugitive Slave Bill will become everywhere among us a dead letter. No lawyer will aid it by counsel, no citizen will be its agent; it will die of inanition, like a spider beneath an exhausted receiver. [Laughter.] Oh! it were well the tidings should spread throughout the land that here in Massachusetts this accursed Bill has found no servant. [Cheers.] "Sire, in Bayonne are honest citizens and brave soldiers only, but not one executioner," was the reply of the governor to the royal mandate from Charles the Ninth, of France, ordering the massacre of St. Bartholomew.4 [Sensation.]

It rests with you, my fellow-citizens, by word and example, by calm determinations and devoted lives, to do this work. From a humane, just, and religious people will spring a Public Opinion to keep perpetual guard over the liberties of all within our borders. Nay, more, like the flaming sword of the cherubim at the gates of Paradise, turning on every side, it shall prevent any SLAVE-HUNTER from ever setting foot in this Commonwealth. Elsewhere he may pursue his human prey, employ his congenial bloodhounds, and exult in his successful game; but into Massachusetts he must not come. Again, let me be understood, I counsel no violence. I would not touch his person. Not with whips and thongs would I scourge him from the land. The contempt, the indignation, the abhorrence of the community shall be our weapons of offence. Wherever he moves, he shall find no house to receive him, no table spread to nourish him, no welcome to cheer him. The dismal lot of the Roman exile shall be his. He shall be a wanderer, without roof, fire, or water. Men shall point at him in the streets, and on the highways.

“Sleep shall neither night nor day

Hang upon his penthouse-lid;

He shall live a man forbid;

Weary sevennights nine times nine

Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine.”     [Applause.]

Villages, towns, and cities shall refuse to receive the monster; they shall vomit him forth, never again to disturb the repose of our community. [Repeated rounds of applause.]

The feelings with which we regard the Slave-Hunter will be extended soon to all the mercenary agents and heartless minions, who, without any positive obligation of law, become part of his pack. They are volunteers, and, as such, must share the ignominy of the chief Hunter. [Cheers.]

I have dwelt thus long upon the Fugitive Slave Bill especially in the hope of contributing something to that Public Opinion which is destined in the Free States to be the truest defence of the slave. I now advance to other more general duties.

We have seen what Congress has done. And yet, in the face of these enormities of legislation—of Territories organized without the prohibition of Slavery, of a large province surrendered to Texas and to Slavery, and of this execrable Fugitive Slave Bill,—in the face also of Slavery still sanctioned in the District of Columbia, of the Slave-Trade between domestic ports under the flag of the Union, and of the Slave Power still dominant over the National Government, we are told that the Slavery Question is settled. Yes, settled, settled, — that is the word. Nothing, Sir, can be settled which is not right. [Sensation.] Nothing can be settled which is against Freedom. Nothing can be settled which is contrary to the Divine Law. God, Nature, and all the holy sentiments of the heart repudiate any such false seeming settlement.

Amidst the shifts and changes of party, our DUTIES remain, pointing the way to action. By no subtle compromise or adjustment can men suspend the commandments of God. By no trick of managers, no hocus-pocus of politicians, no "mush of concession," can we be released from this obedience. It is, then, in the light of duties that we are to find peace for our country and ourselves. Nor can any settlement promise peace which is not in harmony with those everlasting principles from which our duties spring.

Here I shall be brief. Slavery is wrong. It is the source of unnumbered woes, not the least of which is its influence on the Slaveholder himself, rendering him insensible to its outrage. It overflows with injustice and inhumanity. Language toils in vain to picture the wretchedness and wickedness which it sanctions and perpetuates. Reason revolts at the impious assumption that man can hold property in man. As it is our perpetual duty to oppose wrong, so must we oppose Slavery; nor can we ever relax in this opposition, so long as the giant evil continues anywhere within the sphere of our influence. Especially must we oppose it, wherever we are responsible for its existence, or in any way parties to it.

And now mark the distinction. The testimony which we bear against Slavery, as against all other wrong, is, in different ways, according to our position. The Slavery which exists under other governments, as in Russia or Turkey, or in other States of our Union, as in Virginia and Carolina, we can oppose only through the influence of morals and religion, without in any way invoking the Political Power. Nor do we propose to act otherwise. But Slavery, where we are parties to it, wherever we are responsible for it, everywhere within our jurisdiction, must be opposed not only by all the influences of literature, morals, and religion, but directly by every instrument of Political Power. [Rounds of applause.] As it is sustained by law, it can be overthrown only by law; and the legislature having jurisdiction over it must be moved to consummate the work. I am sorry to confess that this can be done only through the machinery of politics. The politician, then, must be summoned. The moralist and philanthropist must become for this purpose politicians, not forgetting morals or philanthropy, but seeking to apply them practically in the laws of the land.

It is a mistake to say, as is often charged, that we seek to interfere, through Congress, with Slavery in the States, or in any way to direct the legislation of Congress upon subjects not within its jurisdiction. Our political aims, as well as our political duties, are coextensive with our political responsibilities. And since we at the North are responsible for Slavery, wherever it exists under the jurisdiction of Congress, it is unpardonable in us not to exert every power we possess to enlist Congress against it.

Looking at details:

We demand, first and foremost, the instant Repeal of the Fugitive Slave Bill. [Cheers.]

We demand the Abolition of Slavery in the District of Columbia. [Cheers.]

We demand of Congress the exercise of its time-honored power to prohibit Slavery in the Territories. [Cheers.]

We demand of Congress that it shall refuse to receive any new Slave State into the Union. [Cheers, repeated.]

We demand the Abolition of the Domestic Slave Trade, so far as it can be constitutionally reached, but particularly on the high seas under the National Flag.

And, generally, we demand from the National Government the exercise of all constitutional power to relieve itself from responsibility for Slavery.

And yet one thing further must be done. The Slave Power must be overturned, so that the National Government may be put openly, actively, and perpetually on the side of Freedom. [Prolonged applause.]

In demanding the overthrow of the Slave Power, we but seek to exclude from the operations of the National Government a political influence, having its origin in Slavery, which has been more potent, sinister, and mischievous than any other in our history. This Power, though unknown to the Constitution, and existing in defiance of its true spirit, now predominates over Congress, gives the tone to its proceedings, seeks to control all our public affairs, and humbles both the great political parties to its will. It is that combination of Slave-masters, whose bond of union is a common interest in Slavery. Time would fail me in exposing the extent to which its influence has been felt, the undue share of offices it has enjoyed, and the succession of its evil deeds. Suffice it to say, that, for a long period, the real principle of this union was not observed by the Free States. In the game of office and legislation the South has always won. It has played with loaded dice,—loaded with Slavery. [Laughter.] The trick of the Automaton Chess-Player, so long an incomprehensible marvel, has been repeated, with similar success. Let the Free States make a move on the board, and the South says, "Check !” [“Hear! hear!"] Let them strive for Free Trade, as they did once, and the cry is, "Check!" Let them jump towards Protection, and it is again, "Check!" Let them move towards Internal Improvements, and the cry is still, "Check!" Whether forward or backward, to the right or left, wherever they turn, the Free States are pursued by an inexorable "Check!" But the secret is now discovered. Amid the well-arranged machinery which seemed to move the victorious chess-player is a living force, only recently discovered,—being none other than the Slave Power. It is the Slave Power which has been perpetual victor, saying always, "Check!" to the Free States. As this influence is now disclosed, it only remains that it should be openly encountered in the field of politics. [A voice, “That is the true way.”]

Such is our cause. It is not sectional; for it simply aims to establish under the National Government those great principles of Justice and Humanity which are broad and universal as Man. It is not aggressive; for it does not seek in any way to interfere through Congress with Slavery in the States. It is not contrary to the Constitution; for it recognizes this paramount law, and in the administration of the Government invokes the spirit of its founders. It is not hostile to the quiet of the country; for it proposes the only course by which agitation can be allayed, and quiet be permanently established. And yet there is an attempt to suppress this cause, and to stifle its discussion.

Vain and wretched attempt! [A band of music in the street here interrupted the speaker.]

I am willing to stop for one moment, if the audience will allow me, that they may enjoy that music. [Several voices, "Go on! go on!" Another voice, "We have better music here." After a pause the speaker proceeded.]

Fellow-citizens, I was saying that it is proposed to suppress this cause, and to stifle this discussion. But this cannot be done. That subject which more than all other subjects needs careful, conscientious, and kind consideration in the national councils, which will not admit of postponement or hesitation, which is allied with the great interests of the country, which controls the tariff and causes war, which concerns alike all parts of the land, North and South, East and West, which affects the good name of the Republic in the family of civilized nations, the subject of subjects, has now at last, after many struggles, been admitted within the pale of legislative discussion. From this time forward it must be entertained by Congress. It will be one of the orders of the day. It cannot be passed over or forgotten. It cannot be blinked out of sight. The combinations of party cannot remove it. The intrigues of politicians cannot jostle it aside. There it is, in towering colossal proportions, filling the very halls of the Capitol, while it overshadows and darkens all other subjects. There it will continue, till driven into oblivion by the irresistible Genius of Freedom. [Cheers.]

I am not blind to adverse signs. The wave of reaction, after sweeping over Europe, has reached our shores. The barriers of Human Rights are broken down. Statesmen, writers, scholars, speakers, once their uncompromising professors, have become professors of compromise. All this must be changed. Reaction must be stayed. The country must be aroused. The cause must again be pressed, with the fixed purpose never to moderate our efforts until crowned by success. [Applause.] The National Government, everywhere within its proper constitutional sphere, must be placed on the side of Freedom. The policy of Slavery, which has so long prevailed, must give place to the policy of Freedom. The Slave Power, fruitful parent of national ills, must be driven from its supremacy. Until all this is done, the friends of the Constitution and of Human Rights cannot cease from labor, nor can the Republic hope for any repose but the repose of submission.

Men of all parties and pursuits, who wish well to their country, and would preserve its good name, must join now. Welcome here the Conservative and the Reformer for our cause stands on the truest Conservatism and the truest Reform. In seeking the reform of existing evils, we seek also the conservation of the principles handed down by our fathers. Welcome especially the young! To you I appeal with confidence. Trust to your generous impulses, and to that reasoning of the heart, which is often truer, as it is less selfish, than the calculations of the head. [Enthusiasm.] Do not exchange your aspirations for the skepticism of age. Yours is the better part. In the Scriptures it is said that "your young men shall see visions and your old men. shall dream dreams"; on which Lord Bacon has recorded the ancient inference, "that young men are admitted nearer to God than old, because vision is a clearer revelation than a dream."5

It is not uncommon to hear people declare themselves against Slavery, and willing to unite in practical efforts. Practical is the favorite word. At the same time, in the loftiness of pharisaic pride, they have nothing but condemnation, reproach, or contempt for the earnest souls that have striven long years in this struggle. To such I would say, If you are sincere in what you declare, if your words are not merely lip-service, if in your heart you are entirely willing to join in practical effort against Slavery, then, by life, conversation, influence, vote, disregarding "the ancient forms of party strife," seek to carry the principles of Freedom into the National Government, wherever its jurisdiction is acknowledged and its power can be felt. Thus, with out any interference with the States which are beyond this jurisdiction, may you help to efface the blot of Slavery from the National brow.

Do this, and you will most truly promote that harmony which you so much desire. And under this blessed influence tranquillity will be established throughout the country. Then, at last, the Slavery Question will be settled. Banished from its usurped foothold under the National Government, Slavery will no longer enter, with distracting force, into national politics, making and unmaking laws, making and unmaking Presidents. Confined to the States, where it is left by the Constitution, it will take its place as a local institution, if, alas! continue it must, for which we are in no sense responsible, and against which we cannot exert any political power. We shall be relieved from the present painful and irritating connection with it, the existing antagonism between the South and the North will be softened, crimination and recrimination will cease, and the wishes of the Fathers will be fulfilled, while this Great Evil is left to all kindly influences and the prevailing laws of social economy.

To every laborer in a cause like this there are satisfactions unknown to the common political partisan. Amidst all apparent reverses, notwithstanding the hatred of enemies or the coldness of friends, he has the consciousness of duty done. Whatever may be existing impediments, his also is the cheering conviction that every word spoken, every act performed, every vote cast for this cause, helps to swell those quickening influences by which Truth, Justice, and Humanity will be established upon earth. [Cheers.] He may not live to witness the blessed consummation, but it is none the less certain.

Others may dwell on the Past as secure. Under the laws of a beneficent God the Future also is secure, on the single condition that we labor for its great objects. [Enthusiastic applause.]

The language of jubilee, which, amidst reverse and discouragement, burst from the soul of Milton, as he thought of sacrifice for the Church, will be echoed by every one who toils and suffers for Freedom. "Now by this little diligence," says the great patriot of the English Commonwealth, "mark what a privilege I have gained with good men and saints, to claim my right of lamenting the tribulations of the Church, if she should suffer, when others, that have ventured nothing for her sake, have not the honor to be admitted mourners. But if she lift up her drooping head and prosper, among those that have something more than wished her welfare, I have my charter and freehold of rejoicing to me and my heirs.6 We, too, may have our charter and freehold of rejoicing to ourselves and our heirs, if we now do our duty.

I have spoken of votes. Living in a community where political power is lodged with the people, and each citizen is an elector, the vote is an important expression of opinion. The vote is the cutting edge. It is well to have correct opinions, but the vote must follow. The vote is the seed planted; without it there can be no sure fruit. The winds of heaven, in their beneficence, may scatter the seed in the furrow; but it is not from such accidents that our fields wave with the golden harvest. He is a foolish husbandman who neglects to sow his seed; and he is an unwise citizen, who, desiring the spread of good principles, neglects to deposit his vote for the candidate who is the representative of those principles.

Admonished by experience of timidity, irresolution, and weakness in our public men, particularly at Washington, amidst the temptations of ambition and power, the friends of Freedom cannot lightly bestow their confidence. They can put trust only in men of tried character and inflexible will. Three things at least they must require the first is backbone; the second is backbone; and the third is backbone. [Loud cheers.] My language is homely; I hardly pardon myself for using it; but it expresses an idea which must not be forgotten. When I see a person of upright character and pure soul yielding to a temporizing policy, I cannot but say, He wants backbone. When I see a person talking loudly against Slavery in private, but hesitating in public, and failing in the time of trial, I say, He wants backbone. When I see a person who coöperated with Antislavery men, and then deserted them, I say, He wants backbone. ["Hear! hear!"] When I see a person leaning upon the action of a political party, and never venturing to think for himself, I say, He wants backbone. When I see a person careful always to be on the side of the majority, and unwilling to appear in a minority, or, if need be, to stand alone, I say, He wants backbone. [Applause.] Wanting this, they all want that courage, constancy, firmness, which are essential to the support of PRINCIPLE. Let no such man be trusted. [Renewed applause.]

For myself, fellow-citizens, my own course is determined. The first political convention which I ever attended was in the spring of 1845, against the annexation of Texas. I was at that time a silent and passive Whig. I had never held political office, nor been a candidate for any. No question ever before drew me to any active political exertion. The strife of politics seemed. to me ignoble. A desire to do what I could against Slavery led me subsequently to attend two different State Conventions of Whigs, where I coöperated with eminent citizens in endeavor to arouse the party in Massachusetts to its Antislavery duties. A conviction that the Whig party was disloyal to Freedom, and an ardent aspiration to help the advancement of this great cause, has led me to leave that party, and dedicate what of strength and ability I have to the present movement. [Great applause.]

To vindicate Freedom, and oppose Slavery, so far as I may constitutionally,—with earnestness, and yet, I trust, without personal unkindness on my part, is the object near my heart. Would that I could impress upon all who now hear me something of the strength of my own convictions! Would that my voice, leaving this crowded hall to-night, could traverse the hills and valleys of New England, that it could run along the rivers and the lakes of my country, lighting in every heart a beacon-flame to arouse the slumberers throughout the land! [Sensation.] In this cause I care not for the name by which I am called. Let it be Democrat, or "Loco-foco," if you please. No man in earnest will hesitate on account of a name. Rejoicing in associates from any quarter, I shall be found ever with that party which most truly represents the principles of Freedom. [Applause.] Others may become indifferent to these principles, bartering them for political success, vain and short-lived, or forgetting the visions of youth in the

dreams of age. Whenever I forget them, whenever I become indifferent to them, whenever I cease to be constant in maintaining them, through good report and evil report, in any future combinations of party, then may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, may my right hand forget its cunning! [Cheers.]

And now as I close, fellow-citizens, I return in thought to the political election with which I began. If from this place I could make myself heard by the friends of Freedom throughout the Commonwealth, I would give them for a rallying-cry three words, — FREEDOM, UNION, VICTORY!

The peroration was received with the most earnest applause, followed by cries of "Three cheers for Charles Sumner!" "Three cheers for Phillips and Walker!" "Three cheers for Horace Mann and the cause!"
_______________

1 Diary, December 18, 1765: Works, Vol. II. p 154.

2 History of New England (ed. Savage), 1645, Vol. II. p. 229.

3 An eloquent French critic says, among other things, of this greatest picture of Tintoretto, that "no painting surpasses, or perhaps equals" it, and that, before seeing it, "one can have no idea of the human imagination." (Taine, Italy, Florence, and Venice, tr. Durand, pp. 314, 316.) Some time after this Speech an early copy or sketch of this work fell into Mr. Sumner's hands, and it is now a cherished souvenir of those anxious days when the pretensions of Slavery were at their height.

4 Le Vicomte d'Orthez à Charles IX.: D'Aubigné, Histoire Universelle, Part. II. Liv. I. ch. 5, cited by Sismondi, Histoire des Français, Tom. XIX. p. 177, note. I gladly copy this noble letter. "Sire, j'ai communiqué le commandement de Votre Majesté ses fidèles habitans et gens de guerre de la garnison; je n'y ai trouvé que bons citoyens et braves soldats, mais pas un bourreau. C'est pourquoi eux et moi supplions très humblement Votre dite Majesté vouloir employer en choses possibles, quelque hasardeuses qu'elles soient, nos bras et nos vies, comme étant, autant qu'elles dureront, Sire, vôtres."

5 Essays, XLII. Of Youth and Age.

6 The Reason of Church Government, Book II., Introduction: Prose Works, ed. Symmons, Vol. I. p. 117.

SOURCES: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 228-9; Charles Sumner, The Works of Charles Sumner, Volume 2, p. 398-424

Saturday, September 30, 2023

M. M. W.* to John Brown, November 28, 1859

BOSTON, Mass., Nov. 28.

Beloved and Honored Friend: I find comfort in the faith that your spirit ascends and sings while ours are draped with shadows. Your hour of freedom approaches. Over that scaffold, erected by the foes of freedom, angels shall lovingly droop their arms to protect you. O! dear friend! I know they will take all thy pangs. Thou wilt surely be unconscious of the gate of mortal agony through which must lie thy pathway to thy near and eternal home. We abide in the shaded valley while thou ascendest the Mount of Vision. Our hearts ache at losing thee from our world, for thou hast taught us how to live, more simply brave, more tenderly conscientious lives. The banks of the Potomac are sanctified anew and forever to us now, and we feel that the spirit of Washington may hail thee as a brother and a peer. The slopes of living green that he so loved in life will be golden-green in the pictured halls of our memories and associations, because of the eternal brightness of thy failure, as men may now count by results. But

                                "They never fail who die
In a great cause: the block may soak their gore,
Their heads may sodden tn the sun; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls;
But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overpower all others, and conduct
The world at last to freedom."

Our blessed Lord and his apostles did not fail, though the Jews believed that Christianity died at the Cross. The Three Hundred who fell at Thermopylæ failed not. Cato, when the body of his dead son was brought to him, on a bier, all-hailed him – "Welcome!" as one who had done his duty, and bade the attendants lay him down where he could view the bloody corse and count his glorious wounds. Yon granite shaft on Bunker Hill witnesseth that on that Warren and his fellow-soldiers fell; but no failure drapes in history their names with a funeral pall. Neither hast thou, honored old man, nor thy dead sons, nor thy fallen companions, failed. When they who slay thee shall be gathered to their ignoble dust, what hearts will thrill, as ours do now, in gratitude for the great gift of thy life of sixty years; for the heritage of thy steadfast faith and deeds?

Dear old pilgrim, thou mayst safely bequeath thy wife and children to Northern homes and hearts. We shall not forget those dear to thee. We take them as a sacred legacy. Thine eyes are lifted to the distant hills. Ours are often wet with burning tears. But we remember that thou abidest under the shadow of the Almighty, where no evil can befall thee. Believe us, multitudes of brave and sorrow-stricken hearts in all parts of our country, and even the world, await mournfully and sympathetically thy exit. It will be thy freedom hour. And angels shall soothingly welcome thee to a home where there is neither sorrow nor crying. For blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and enter in through the gates into the city.

We would greet with hearty respect the humane jailer and his family.

Farewell, and peace abide with thee.

M. M. W.

_______________

* A woman of Boston.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 422-3

Sunday, September 17, 2023

Senator Daniel S. Dickinson to Lydia L. Dickinson, June 8, 1850

WASHINGTON, June 8, 1850.

MY DEAR LYDIA L.—I received your pretty letter this morning, and was very glad to hear from you all. I hope the fine weather and pleasant home will soon improve your health. It is getting too hot here for comfort, and you may be glad to be away. We had a very pleasant time at Annapolis; visited the naval school; saw them shoot cannon-balls and grapeshot out upon the bay, &c., &c. Annapolis is an old place one of the earliest towns built, and in the old English style. Baltimore has for many years taken away its commerce and prevented its growth, and absorbed its wealth and enterprise. But it has yet the State Capitol, and its old-fashioned grandeur and aristocracy. It is said that, in its glory, at a funeral there were thirty-four private carriages; now there is not one.

Governor Pratt's eldest daughter and eldest child is about twelve years old, but quite large and rather beautiful. She has a new album; General Foote told her I could write poetry, and she importuned me until I wrote in it hastily the following lines:

TO RACHEL.

May thy fair face, like this bright page,
    Remain without one line of sadness,-
From girlhood's morn to evening's age
    Be lighted up with smiles and gladness.

And may fond hope, our charmer here,
    Garner new pleasure for each morrow;
Thy cheek ne'er feel a scalding tear,
    Nor thy young heart be wrung with sorrow.

May life's pure current, as it flows,
    Pass, like the streamlet, to its river,
Until it finds that bless'd repose,
    The bosom of its bounteous Giver.

Your affectionate father,

D. S. DICKINSON.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, p. 444-5

Friday, August 11, 2023

M. E. S., a Massachusetts Matron, to John Brown, November 8, 1859

[Massachusetts,] No v. 8.

Dear and Honored Friend: At last my bonds are loosed, and I can write you a word of love and helping. Comfort and cheer you have from obedience to that eternal law of right God stamped in such living characters upon your soul when he sent it forth to do its work among the children of men. Your sublime allegiance to truth is our comfort and cheer in this sharp trial. Through much and sore anguish I have come to look upon the second of December as the glorious birthday of one whom all men will delight to honor when the mists of sin and selfishness shall have rolled away forever from their eyes. Dear, brave old friend, you can never die! The gallows seems no longer a degradation, since your example has so hallowed and glorified it! For the Truth's sake I can let you die; but for our affection's sake we would put our arms around you and hold you here forever, You are constantly in our minds by day and by night. I cannot tell you what we all suffered the few first days; and had I not been confined to a sick bed, I think I should have found my way to that Virginia prison. God bless you forever for your faithfulness to a great principle. Justice, truth, and immortality seem the only realities when contemplated from the heights you have achieved. I will try to be a braver and truer woman and mother (albeit a sadder) for the lesson you have taught. Your name shall be a cherished household word; and as long as we live your Heavenly Birthday shall be kept in our hearts and home.

"Pace In thy cell, old Socrates,
        Cheerily to and fro;
Trust to the impulse of thy soul
        And let the poison flow;
They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay
        That holds a light divine,
But they cannot quench the fire of thought
        By any such deadly wine;
They cannot blot thy spoken word
        From the memory of man,
By all the poison ever was brewed
        Since time its course began;
To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored;
        So round and round we run;
And ever the truth comes uppermost,
        And ever is justice done."

My little son Henry sends you his love, and says he will never forget you.

And now, dear, brave old friend, farewell. “A little while and we shall not see you, because you go unto the Father. And again, a little while and we shall see you, because we, too, go unto the Father." May the blessed God reveal to you more and more of His Divine Spirit until "mortality is swallowed up of life."

Your friend with enduring love and reverence,
M. E. S.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 413-4

Saturday, May 6, 2023

From B. K. M., an Ohio Clergyman, to John Brown, November 26, 1859

Cincinnati, Ohio, Nov. 26.

My Dear Christian Brother: I hope you will not consider it impertinent or intrusive in me to write you. I am only a stranger to you; but, as a minister of Christ, I feel anxious to send you some word of encouragement and consolation at this trying moment of your life, standing as you do under the very shadow of approaching doom. The executors of penal law, under which you are held, manifest no disposition to relent or mitigate the rigors of the penalty pronounced upon you. I therefore feel that in coming to you by this epistle I am intruding upon you in the midst of reflections and solemnities inconceivably momentous and sacred. Of the brief and waning period allowed you by your captors, only six days now remain, and by the time this shall meet your eye this meagre fragment of space will have dwindled to hours, and the gloomy death-pageant preparing to encircle your execution will be about ready for the gaze of eager thousands, whom sympathy, curiosity, or hatred will gather together. I long to say something to you that may in some way breathe consolation and inspire fresh and holy outgoings of hope, courage and confidence in God. And yet I know God is with you, and his presence and favor are infinitely better and dearer than any sympathy and condolence of your brethren in Christ. And yet I know that a sad yet hopeful, a painful yet prayerful, remembrance of you by those who are in spirit with you, while widely separated from you, will not be painful to you nor unacceptable to God.

I most fervently pray that you may find, through Divine Grace, that however severe the trial that approaches, and however sad all that is now passing upon you may be," according to your day so shall your strength be." God exercises His government in wisdom, love, and mercy, and he does and will overrule all things for His glory and the final good and salvation of all that put their trust in Him. Fear not; God will gird thee with strength, and give a meetness and a divine readiness for your great trials; and may he turn your captivity and death, if you must die, to His glory and the final deliverance of all the oppressed of this land. "Faithful is He that hath called you, who also will do it."

The events that have been brought about recently through your agency have convulsed the nation, and stirred the popular heart to its utmost depth, and the minions of oppression have been made to quake with fear. What is to be the result God only knows, but this, I think, is already apparent, the cause of Freedom is immeasurably stronger than it was before you struck your blow at Harper's Ferry, and were permitted to stand forth a captive among slaveholders and doomed to die.

I herewith inclose you a few lines which I have penned almost involuntarily upon one of the most heroic sentences that have been pronounced in modern times, which the public prints record as yours. This alone is enough to give glory to your captivity; and the spirit that could give utterance to it will make your death a triumph, both for yourself and suffering humanity. Very truly and sympathetically,

Your brother in Christ,
B. K. M.

P. S. Should time and your dying condition permit, write merely enough to say you have received this, and send in the enclosed envelope. Such a note will be received as a memento from a dying brother in Christ, and martyr for the cause of our oppressed fellow men.

 

THE HOARY CONVICT.

 

“I do not know that I can better serve the cause I love so much than by dying for it.” 

— JOHN BROWN, in prison.

 

Brave man! whate'er the world may think of thee,
    Howe'er in judgment hold thy daring deeds,
Men cannot fail in every step to see
    This is no craven heart that beats and bleeds.

Kind friends proclaim thy ardent mind unstrung —
    A maniac only heard the bondman sigh;
While foes alarmed have quivering curses flung,
    And deem it mercy even to let thee die.

But friends and foes to thee are all the same,
    Who drink not at the fount where thou hast stood;
With thee one thought has nursed the hidden flame;
    Thy fettered brother claims the common blood.

To lift Him from Oppression's iron heel
    Became with thee a purpose, then a cause;
Thy life-long madness was a power to feel —
    That gush of feeling wrote thy code of laws.

Thy abject brother doubled in thy sight
    Grew into numbers as the vision rose,
Then stood a nation, without power or might.
    And all their weakness plead against their foes.

The cause of man loomed grandly on thy sight;
    Man, crushed and feeble, was thy rallying cry;
Its wail charmed strangely to the unequal fight.
    To give them Freedom, or to bravely die.

Hadst thou thus dared 'neath far Italia's sky
    Men would have shouted pæans to thy name;
History would dared her highest skill to try,
    And on a spotless page embalmed thy fame.

But thou hast struck on thine own country's plains
    For hosts who crouch where shouts for Freedom flow;
Hosts of a dusky brow, condemned to chains,
    For whom the bravest dared not strike a blow.

Men grudge thee now a felon's gloomy cells,
    And, restive, wail a felon's doom at morn;
Reproach loads every breeze that round thee swells,
    And heaven's own light comes mixed with human scorn.

Oppression hastes to drink thy flowing blood,
    And dip her iron hoof in costly gore;
But right shall strengthen with the might of God,
    And thou, when slain, be mightier than before.

Yon captive hosts shall rise from tears and chains,
    And kneel redeemed at God's own scat ere long;
Then thou shalt rise, and Freedom's festive strains
    Shall give thy memory to immortal song.

Go, then, and die! thy scarred, heroic form
    And hoary locks may grace a scaffold high,
But thy loved Cause shall live beyond the storm,
    And thou canst best subserve it now to die!


SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 398-401

Saturday, April 29, 2023

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: between January 19 & February 28, 1864

"Southward, ho! How the grand old war-cry
Thunders over the land to-day,
Rolling down from the eastern mountains,
Dying in the west away.
Southward, ho! Bear on the watchword,
Onward march as in other days,
Till over the traitors' fallen fortress
The stripes shall stream and the stars shall blaze,
And the darkness fly from their radiant van,
And a mightier empire rise in grandeur
For freedom, truth, and the rights of man.”

After mingling for a while so pleasantly with the good people of Illinois, enjoying their hospitality and receiving from them many words of cheer, we rendezvous at Camp Butler, February 18th. While here we add to our rolls a large number of recruits. Noble men they are who have been waiting patiently to arrive at the necessary age for a soldier. That period having arrived, they now seem to feel proud in their uniforms of blue. Colonel Rowett having been by special order, (contrary to his wishes,) assigned to the command of Camp Butler, on the twenty-second of February the regiment, under the command of Major Estabrook, takes the cars for Dixie. Arriving at Louisville, Kentucky, we receive transportation for Nashville. On arriving there, we are furnished lodgings in the Zollicoffer House. The regiment will long remember the accommodations received there at the hands of the government contractors. How the bristling bayonets clashed together at the entrance, and how they practiced their expert chicanery to work their egress therefrom.

Remaining here until transportation is furnished, on the twenty-eighth we proceed on our way to Pulaski, Tennessee. The trains running all the way through, we arrive in our old camp at five P. M.; all seem glad to get back; the non-veterans are glad to see us, and hear from their friends at home; and even the mules send forth their welcome.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 225-6

Wednesday, January 25, 2023

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, November 27, 1863

To-day the Second Division's camp and garrison equipage is loaded on board the steamer Nashville, to be sent around to Nashville. Still it rains. The camp seems to be floating in mud and water. Clothes wet, blankets drenched, and a cold piercing north wind blowing. Night comes on cold and gloomy. The men are now shivering around the camp fires, with no place to lay their weary heads. Gloomy picture!

"Out alone to-night we're sitting,
Watching shadows that are passing
To and fro upon the canvas,
In our spirit's penetralia.
Go, ye idle, cursed complainers,
Who complain at home of trouble;
Think upon the soldiers' sorrow,
Weary, weak and wakeful soldiers;
Guarding you from foul oppression,
Keeping you a home of pleasure.
If your coward heart will let you,
Then refuse him aid and shelter."

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 210

Wednesday, January 4, 2023

Boston Hymn

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

Read In Music Hall, January 1, 1863

The word of the Lord by night
To the watching Pilgrims came,
As they sat by the seaside,
And filled their hearts with flame.

God said, I am tired of kings,
I suffer them no more;
Up to my ear the morning brings
The outrage of the poor.

Think ye I made this ball
A field of havoc and war,
Where tyrants great and tyrants small
Might harry the weak and poor?

My angel, — his name is Freedom,
Choose him to be your king;
He shall cut pathways east and west
And fend you with his wing.

Lo! I uncover the land
Which I hid of old time in the West,
As the sculptor uncovers the statue
When he has wrought his best;

I show Columbia, of the rocks
Which dip their foot in the seas
And soar to the air-borne flocks
Of clouds and the boreal fleece.

I will divide my goods;
Call in the wretch and slave:
None shall rule but the humble,
And none but Toil shall have.

I will have never a noble,
No lineage counted great;
Fishers and choppers and ploughmen
Shall constitute a state.

Go, cut down trees in the forest
And trim the straightest boughs;
Cut down trees in the forest
And build me a wooden house

Call the people together,
The young men and the sires,
The digger in the harvest-field,
Hireling and him that hires;

And here in a pine state-house
They shall choose men to rule
In every needful faculty,
In church and state and school.

Lo, now! if these poor men
Can govern the land and sea
And make just laws below the sun,
As planets faithful be.

And ye shall succor men;
’T is nobleness to serve;
Help them who cannot help again:
Beware from right to swerve.

I break your bonds and masterships,
And I unchain the slave:
Free be his heart and hand henceforth
As wind and wandering wave.

I cause from every creature
His proper good to flow:
As much as he is and doeth,
So much he shall bestow.

But, laying hands on another
To coin his labor and sweat,
He goes in pawn to his victim
For eternal years in debt.

To-day unbind the captive,
So only are ye unbound;
Lift up a people from the dust,
Trump of their rescue, sound!

Pay ransom to the owner
And fill the bag to the brim.
Who is the owner? The slave is owner,
And ever was. Pay him.

O North! give him beauty for rags,
And honor, O South! for his shame;
Nevada! coin thy golden crags
With Freedom's image and name.

Up! and the dusky race
That sat in darkness long, —
Be swift their feet as antelopes,
And as behemoth strong.

Come, East and West and North,
By races, as snow-flakes,
And carry my purpose forth,
Which neither halts nor shakes.

My will fulfilled shall be,
For, in daylight or in dark,
My thunderbolt has eyes to see
His way home to the mark.
 
SOURCE: Edward W. Emerson, Editor, The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson: Volume IX, Poems, p. 201-4

Tuesday, January 3, 2023

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, February 9, 1863

ST. HELENA ISLAND, February 9, 1863.

Yesterday afternoon I put my new saddle and bridle on the long-legged horse, claimed by the Colonel and Adjutant, and came over here to spend the night at the house of the Hunn's and Miss Forten. This is the first night I have slept in a house since the 18th day of December. It seems strange to find myself in the midst of civilization and buckwheat cakes. Just before leaving camp, I read Mr. Emerson's "Boston Hymn," to our regiment, while assembled for divine worship. I prefaced it with the remark that many white folks could not understand the poems of Mr. Emerson, but I had no apprehensions of that kind from those before me. It was enough that Robert Sutton's eyes were glistening before me as I read. I was standing on the veranda of the plantation house and the men were under a beautiful magnolia tree toward the river. Mr. Emerson would have trembled with joy to see how much these dark colored men drank in the religion of his poem. The chaplain was filled with emotion by it and straightway took the poem for his text and when I left, was enthusiastically speaking from it.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 358-9

Wednesday, August 31, 2022

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, October 30, 1863

This morning a portion of the Regiment is placed on picket duty. It is now raining. The winds blow coldly. The day is waning. A dismal night is approaching. Amid the falling elements, chilly and drear, the Seventh boys now standing, but all seem in fine spirits. “Their hearts beat high,” “And they heed not the wild wind's wailing cry.” About midnight some of Colonel Spencer's First Alabama Union regiment arrive at our lines—a sergeant and four privates, who are got cut off from their command during Spencer's late fight with the rebel General Furgeson, and have ever since been brushing it. It is now

“Past the midnight hour, and we long to hear
The step to the Soldier's heart most dear-
A sound that banishes all his grief,
The welcome tread of the next relief.

Ah! here they come, and now we can keep
Our next four hours in the land of sleep,
And dream of home and the loved ones there,
Who never may know a soldier's care."

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 201-2

Monday, July 25, 2022

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Monday, September [28], 1863*

Early this morning the command is up and ready to move forward. While waiting to hear the bugle call, Sergeant Flint, with his mind ever ready, pens the following:

My girth is tight, my stirrup strong,
My steed is staunch and free;
I wait to hear the bugle clear,
To mount my saddle tree.

No soul to say a last God-speed,
I give no fond adieu;
But only this, my good-bye kiss,
My lady sweet, to you.

The saddle and the forest camp
Are now my home once more;
And hearts that long were soft grow strong,
The bivouac fire before,

And if my breast in some wild charge
Should meet the deadly ball,
My mates will spread my soldier bed,
And lay me where I fall.

My blood will be my epitaph,
That marks my jacket blue;
Read it with pride-He lived, he died,
For country, home and you.

The bugle now blows and we move forward on the road leading to Henderson. We pass through Henderson about noon; find all quiet; rebels all gone; just left, so the citizens tell us. How singular it is that they vanish so soon. After leaving Henderson we take the road leading towards Mifflen, and when about four miles from Henderson our advance comes upon a squad of five rebels at a Union man's house, in the act of enforcing the conscription act. We succeed in capturing two of them, the remaining three making their escape to the brush. In the evening we go into camp at Mifflen, a noted guerrilla resort, but upon our advance none were found. Perhaps they have hid their guns and are now playing the peaceful citizen. The camp fires are soon burning brightly; the porkers are now making their last earthly appeal. We eat our supper and lie down to rest. About ten o'clock, bang! bang! go the muskets on the picket line. The bugle is sounded, and in two minutes the Seventh is ready for a fray; but no farther fray; it is all over with now. A squad of Newsom's cowardly band crawled up and fired upon the pickets. One soldier, Sergeant Pickott, of Company G, was killed. Not being on duty at the time, and being a religious young man, he leaves his comrades and goes away a short distance to engage in secret prayer, and while the christian soldier was there kneeling, one of these marauding, uncivilized guerrillas, taking advantage of his advanced position, fired upon him, dealing a mortal wound from which he died in two hours, leaving the freed spirit to take its flight home to God.

Now his spirit has departed,
And from eyes unused to weeping
Fall the bitter tears unheeded,
For another gallant soldier
Off the picket guard forever.
_______________

* Misdated as Monday, September 29, 1863. September 29th fell on a Tuesday.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 193-5

Sunday, April 3, 2022

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Tuesday, July 28, 1863

This morning Colonel Hatch, with his cavalry brigade, arrives in Lexington. At eight o'clock A. M., the bugles are blown, and the commands move from Lexington, Colonel Hatch moving on the road towards Huntington, Colonel Rowett on the road by the way of Spring Creek, Companies H and A, under the command of Captain Ring, are detailed to guard the train, which is to follow Colonel Hatch's command. Companies and squads of soldiers are now scouring the country for horses and mules. The citizens plead their cases well, but war and the warriors are stern; they will not relent. Rowett and Hatch are now sweeping the country; innocence pleads for the avenging hand to be stayed; its tears fall at the warriors' feet, but the stern and legitimate work goes on. We know that

"The South has fallen from her former glory,

Bowed in slavery, crime and shame;

And that God from his storehouse is sending

This tempest of steel and flame."

The command goes into camp to-night near Huntington, on a large plantation, i. e. that part that is with Colonel Hatch. Mules and soldiers live high to-night.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 182-3

Friday, February 25, 2022

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, July 17, 1863

After eating our scanty breakfast of hard-tack and coffee, the bugle is sounded and we saddle up and are on our way, taking the road towards Adamsville via Shiloh and Crump's Landing; about nine o'clock we pass a portion of the great battle-field of Shiloh, the place where the gallant General Prentiss stood so long fighting as it were against hope. A melancholy stillness pervades the whole command while passing this great battle field, for we remember that comrades sleep here. Oh! how vividly the day, the hour, the evening, comes to our minds when we saw them fall in the fierce struggle for the mastery. As we emerge from the dreary wilderness, where so many Union warriors lie sleeping, we are wont to say in the language of Tom Moore:

"Oh how blessed a warrior sleeps,
For whom a wondering world shall weep."

At noon we arrive at Adamsville, but no rebels are found; i. e. hostile ones. Everything seems quiet. We halt, feed, and eat our dinners. War has also made its mark here. From appearances this has been in former times a thriving little village; but alas! how different now. Three o'clock, we pass through Purdy and move on towards Corinth; we halt on Gravel Hill and go into camp for the night. The boys soon sally forth, and after being gone awhile return with plenty of oats and roasting-ears, upon which the mules and men make their supper.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 179-80

Saturday, January 1, 2022

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Tuesday, April 28, 1863

To day we expect to meet the foe, who threaten to dispute our passage across Town Creek. The morning is beautiful, nature is smiling, and the sun is far up, moving on in its path of blue. The soldiers are ordered to rest themselves as much as possible, for the indications are that much will be demanded of them ere the sun sinks to rest. Looking beneath a tall pine our eyes rest upon a soldier leaning against its base, with his musket on his arm. His head is bowed, and his eyes are closed. We imagine that he is dreaming,—that shadows of light are flitting through his spirit's chamber. He now arises, and we discover that it is our poet soldier, Sergeant S. F. Flint. Our eyes follow him as he is now seated with his pencil and paper. His genius is now at work, and soon after the artillery commences to send forth its harsh echoes over the hills and through the vales of Alabama, he produces the following:

THE SOLDIERS WAYSIDE DREAM.

The word was "rest;" the dusty road was rocky, worn and steep,
And many a sun-browned soldier's face sank on his breast to sleep.
Afar the Alabama hills swept round in billowy lines,
The soft green of their bowery slopes was dotted dark with pines,
And from their tops a gentle breeze, born in the cloudless sky,
Stole through the valley where a stream was slowly warbling by;
And as it passed it brought a cloud of odor in its plumes,
Of violets and columbines, and milk-white plum tree blooms.
The coolness and the perfume o'er my weary senses crept,
And with my musket on my arm I bowed my head and slept;
No more the Alabama hills, no more the waving pines,
But still the scent of violets and red wild columbines.
I drew my breath in ecstacy, my feet were shod with joy,
I dreamed I trod the prairie sod in my beautiful Illinois,
The lark sung welcome in the grass the well known path along,
And the pulsations of my heart seemed echoes of his song.
I thought the sunlight never shone so gloriously before,
But sweeter were the smiles of love that met me at the door.
O! hold my hand while yet you may, love of my earlier years,
And wet my face, my mother, with thy proud and happy tears,
And bless me again, my father, bless me again, I pray,
I hear the bugle, I hear the drum, I have but one hour to stay.
Alas! my dreaming words were true, I woke and knew it all,
I heard the clamor of the drum, I heard the captain's call,
And over all another voice I oft had heard before
A sound that stirs the dullest heart-the cannon's muffled roar.
No longer "rest,” but “forward ;'' for e'er the day is done
It will tell of the fearful glory of a battle lost and won,
And ere the breath of its blackened lips has time to lift away,
My hand must be red and warm with blood, or white and cold as clay.
O! pray for me in thy gentle heart, love of my earlier years,
And mother, only weep for me those proud and happy tears,
And bless again, my father, bless me while yet you may,
My dream words may be doubly true I may have but an hour to stay.

The troops are now in line, skirmishers are deployed forward towards the creek and they soon discover the rebels in force with considerable artillery on the rise beyond the creek. While advancing, the enemy open upon them with their batteries, whereupon our batteries are placed in position and made to play with a telling effect upon the enemy. For about one hour a fierce artillery duel is kept up by the contending forces; the distance being so far between nothing serious is accomplished. Though there is a terrible clamor and a deafening thunder, the flying monsters from the rebel artillery pass harmlessly over our heads or fall a short distance before us. The division is now drawn up in battle line with the intention of effecting a crossing over the creek. While thus drawn up in line of battle, the mail messenger brings us a mail, and there, unmindful of shot and shell flying around us, we read the little love freighted missives; some almost forget that the dogs of war are barking as they peruse the lines from the home circle, for no doubt they may be thinking that perhaps these will be the last lines they will ever receive from mother or sister, for ere 'tis night they may lay themselves down to take the soldier's last sleep. The division now advances; and when within a short distance of the creek, Colonel Rowett is ordered to deploy the Seventh forward on a skirmish line to support the pioneers while building a bridge for the infantry. The artillery firing now ceases. A crossing is soon prepared and the division passes over and forms in line of battle; the skirmish line advances, followed by the division's compact and solid battle line, which moves firmly and in order presenting a grand and imposing scene on this Alabama cotton field; but it all ends with slight skirmishing. The cautious Roddy would not stand, but retreated into the mountains leaving General Dodge the undisputed possession of the beautiful Tuscumbia Valley. To-night all the division recross Town Creek, except our regiment and the Second Iowa, which are ordered to remain on this side as an outpost. We sleep quietly to night, knowing that the enemy is far away.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 152-5

Thursday, May 6, 2021

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: August 12, 1863

AN INSPECTION.

A few days ago orders came to get ready for inspection the next afternoon. All was now hurry and bustle, cleaning up camp, arms, equipments and clothing, and putting everything in order. The artillerists worked like beavers, cleaning up the gun carriages and limbers, using all the grease in the kitchen to brighten them up. The old brass guns were polished up and shone like mirrors and we were congratulating ourselves on being highly complimented.

At the appointed time, Lieut. Col. Moulton and Capt. Rawlston of somebody's staff put in an appearance. The captain was the inspecting officer; a very airy, pompous young gentleman, with a remarkable faculty of making his weak points conspicuous

When the companies fell in, he noticed the artillery detail did not fall in and inquired the reason. Col. Moulton replied that they were expecting to be inspected as artillery. The captain said he knew nothing about that, he was sent here to inspect this detachment as infantry and every man must fall in. Now that was all right enough, only it placed me at a disadvantage, for I had taken no thought or care of Spitfire since my promotion and it was looking pretty bad. But I had no time to clean it up, and I must say it was a sorry looking piece to take out for a show. But as bad as it looked, I had the utmost confidence in its shooting qualities, in fact I have never lost confidence in Spitfire but once, that was when I dropped it in the creek at Goldsboro.

We were marched out and paraded, and after the inspecting officer had “sassed” Col. Moulton and nearly all the other officers, he commenced his job. He found right smart of fault, but didn't find a really good subject until he came to me. He looked me over, and taking Spitfire gave it a very careful and thorough inspection. Handing it back he very gravely informed me that he had inspected the whole army of the Potomac and had never before seen a rifle looking so bad as Spitfire, and still further complimenting me by saying I was about the roughest looking sergeant he had ever seen. I nodded assent, venturing the remark that I had been in the artillery detail while here and my rifle had been somewhat neglected, but I had a gun on the Malakoff that could knock the spots off the sun. He allowed that that was insolence and any more of it would subject me to arrest. Imagine the indignation of the chief of artillery on being threatened with arrest by an infantry captain. My first impulse was to call my command, lash him to the muzzle of the gun on the Malakoff and give him rapid transit over the tops of the pines, but better thoughts soon succeeded and I forgave him, thinking that perhaps he was doing as well as he knew how. The inspection over, he had not long to stay, as the boat was waiting for him. I noticed the officers didn't pet him very much and I don't believe he got more than one drink.

MISS CARROLL.

Three or four miles out here, through the woods, lives a Mr. Carroll. He has two sons in the 1st North Carolina union volunteers, stationed up in Washington. He makes frequent visits up there to see the boys and is often accompanied by his daughter, a rather good-looking young lady of about 20 years of age. It sometimes happens that they get here early in the morning and have to wait an hour or so for the boat, and will sometimes stop an hour on their return before going home. At these times they are guests at headquarters and a few of us, without the fear of the captain before our eyes, will happen in to have a chat with the old gentleman and his daughter. She expressed a great fondness for literature and claims to be “the only really literary young lady in these yere parts." We occasionally fit her out with such story papers and magazines as we may have lying around, for which she expresses great pleasure.

She one day inquired if we had read a certain piece of poetry in one of the magazines we had given her. She was told we had and thought it very nice. We inquired if she was pleased with it. She replied she thought it was “Splendid! beautiful!" We asked if she was fond of poetry. She said, she was excessively fond of it and read a great deal; in a sly, blushing kind of way, she hinted that she sometimes tried her hand at composing. “Ah, indeed; would you favor us with a few specimens, some day when you come over? We should be pleased to look at them.” She promised she would, and the next time she came she brought a composition entitled “Lines to the Union Boys. They were the merest doggerel, but we were loud in their praise and told her that by reading poetry and practising composing she would excel; that when the cruel war was over and we had retired to the peaceful pursuits of life in our far northern homes, we hoped to be reminded of her occasionally, by seeing some of her productions in print. She seemed a good deal pleased with such flattering encomiums, but thought she would hardly attain to that distinction. I thought so too.

I asked if she would allow me to take a copy of the lines during her absence up town, and she kindly consented. Below is the copy :

I suppose you have herd of Swift creek
An the victory there was won
The yankee boys was wide awake
An they made them rebels run.

CHORUS:
Farewell Father an Mother
An a true sweetheart
An the girls we leave in pain
Oh dont forget those yankee boys they are coming back again.

An when the yankees did come in
The guerrillas took to flight
An tore down the bonna blue flag
An hoisted the stars an stripes.

When South Carolina did secede
An surely did go out
The yankee boys must have bin asleep
They had not whipt her back

I take my stand in Richmond
An Swift creek Il persue
I do not care for Whitford*
Nor none of his cowardly crew

The gurrillas hates the Buffalows†
But they dont care for that
If they dont shut their mouths an let them alone
They will make them clere the track

There is good many men in this war
By the names of Hill
An if the yankees dus get them
They will larn them how to drill

There is good many men here
By the name of Whitford two
An when the yankees does get them
They will put them rebels through

The secesh girls look mighty loansum
Walking the road in there homemade homespun
The Union girls dont look sad
Walking the road in there yankee plad

An when the war is ended
The guerrillas they will say
They rather fight the devil
Than the boys that gains the day

Hold your toungs you secesh ones
An see what will be don
The yankees boys are bound to go
The whole hog or none

The Union men looks mighty grand
With there cork heel boots au their gloves on their hands
The secesh men looks mighty mean
Going through the woods an never are seen.

CHORUS, &c.

Now whatever fault can be found with the above lines, there can certainly no fault be found with their loyalty.

WAITING TO BE RELIEVED.

We keep a small camp guard during the night and this duty is assigned to the artillery detail, each gun's company taking its turn, which brings us on every third night. There are only four posts, the guns and magazine, and as they only go on at tattoo and come off at reveille, the duty is not very arduous. The guard is divided into two reliefs, one going on the first part of the night and the other the latter part; the duty is simply to keep their ears open for any disturbance among the pickets out in the woods and alarm the camp. The reliefs sleep in their quarters and are called when wanted. The sergeant or corporal on duty occupies a small wall tent, in which a candle is kept burning through the night. Having my choice of time and it not making any difference to the corporal, I take the latter part, as I prefer sleeping the first part. I have a splendid corporal, I think the best in the service; we go along together, and agree first rate. He is willing to do all the work and I am willing he should. He posts the first relief and then keeps his eyes open until it is time to post the second relief, when he posts them and then comes and calls me, when I relieve him. My work is now all done; all I have to do is to lie down and go to sleep or busy myself with my reading or writing, and call off the relief at reveille. If I am too busy to attend to that duty (which I generally am), they take the responsibility of relieving themselves, which is a great help to me and relieves me of a great burden of care.

One night while on this duty the officer of the day came in and inquired if I would like to take a stroll and make a round of the pickets. I replied that I should. We started out making the round and not being in a hurry did not get back till daylight. I laid down and went to sleep, feeling that everything was all safe and quiet on the Pamlico. About 7 o'clock I was called up and told I was wanted at the magazine. I went out and there stood Charlea, a Roman sentinel amid the wreck of worlds. I admired his fidelity, but I really couldn't commend his judgment and no explanation or excuses of mine availed in the least; he was going to be relieved officially, and after he had got through with me I don't think there were many more cuss words left in him. I certainly felt relieved if he didn't.

THE ROVER.

Capt. Foss somewhere picked up an old boat and with Jed's assistance put it in good repair, rigged up a sail, rated it A 1, and named it the Rover. The captain is skipper and Jed sailing master. She is a long, clipper-built craft, with a large spread of canvas in a carrying capacity of ten or twelve persons. With a spanking breeze she walks up and down the river like a thing of life and makes nothing of sailing right around the little steamer Undine. She makes frequent trips to Rodman's and occasionally to town. The captain selects the party he wants to take out and I am sometimes honored with an invitation. We usually run alongside the gunboat that lays here and take aboard the second assistant engineer, who is a genial, good-natured old fellow, full of his fun and stories, and then put for Rodman's. We stop there an hour and start for home. On the return trip, the old engineer's inventive powers will be a good deal quickened and he will suggest various alterations in the rig and sail of the craft, which will improve her sailing qualities, all of which Jed readily accepts and is going to forth with adopt, but the next day the improvements are all forgotten and never thought of again until another return trip from Rodman's. A few days ago a small party of us made a halt at Rodman's and found Sergeant Martin in command. He did the honors, showing us about the camp and extending hospitalities in a manner that would have done credit to a prince. To my notion Sergeant Martin has got the correct idea of holding a command, not to go dry himself nor let his friends.

BIG JIM.

Big Jim, is he is called, is a character; genial, charitable, good-natured, humorous and generous to a fault. He is quite a theatrical character and loves to deal in romance and tragedy, and he caters to the mirthful and fun-loving among the boys. He does not amount to much as a soldier, but that is more his misfortune than from any unwillingness. He is of enormous proportions and very fat, tipping the scale at 250 pounds. He is sorely troubled with chafing when drilling or on the march, and for that reason is excused from pretty much all duty. He is a sort of independent corps, doing duty when he feels like it; he will often go out in the woods and relieve a man on picket who happens to be taken sick. He sometimes has a feeling come over him that he would like to get away from the noise and bustle of the camp, and be alone by himself. At such times he takes his rifle and goes to the little point, some 100 rods down the river, where there is a picket post. Here he will stay two or three days at a time, caring for no company except at night, and amuses himself with fishing, reading and writing. He has become so enamoured of this kind of life, that he has taken the contract to do the picket duty at that post and has made it his permanent residence, coming up to camp only two or three times a week to see the boys and get his rations. He has opened a trading post down there, and trades with the natives who touch there as they come in their boats from up the bay or cove which sets back from there. He has built himself a log house, and a sign over the door reads “Cash paid for coon skins,” of which and other peltries he has collected quite a quantity, and intends sending them to Boston markets.

_______________


* Whitford was a Guerrilla captain.
† Buffaloes were North Carolina Union volunteers.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 97-102