% '^.^ REV.. AF.THLTP B. FULLER. CHAPLAIN FULLER: BEING \ A LIFE SKETCH ^ NEPF ENGLAND CLERGYMAN . AND ARMY CHAPLAIN By RICHARD F. FULLER. " I must do something for my country." " Dulce et decorum est pro patria morl." BOSTON: WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 245 Washington Street. 18 63. W^ 2. c~5/3 c^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18G3, by EMMA LUCILLA FULLER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. Transfer Pension Oiflce Library Aag. 2, 1933 University Press: Welch, Bigelovv, and Company, Cambridge. mmM^h' J PREFACE. " Poscimur -. — si quid vacui sub umbra Lusimus tecum, quod et hunc in annum Vivat, et plures, — age, die ... . Barbite, carmen ! " EREAVEMENT naturally leads us to recall tlie scenes of the life of the departed, to look over the memorials of his virtues and the souvenirs of his love. This employment has af- forded a sad satisfaction, and the general interest manifested in the fate of Chaplain Fuller, as well as the historic scenes in which he participated, has led to the publication of his biography. It is hoped that this labor of love may be of advan- tage to the family of the Chaplain, to whose benefit its pecuniary avails are devoted. The pen of the Chaplain has been made to write the greater part of his biography. Especially in martial scenes does he make his own record. As his character is unfolded in these pages, we think the pure and patriotic motive which led him to seal the IV PREFACE. devotion of his life with his blood, stands forth in bold and unmistakable prominence. War scenes and incidents, historical personages and places, render the theme of this book of universal interest. The full and particular narrative of the combat of the Merrimac and Monitor, of which the Chaplain was an eyewitness, is one of his sketches of important events which have a value for historical reference. And it is believed that not only the religious public, but the general reader, will be interested in the narra- tive which depicts a specimen of the New England clergy, a class remarkable for its position and influence among a free people. Upon the Chaplain's childhood and youth we have dwelt with some particularity, not only because of their general importance as the key to the sequel of life, but also on account of the public interest in his sister Margaret, who was the loadstar of his early days. CONTENTS PART I. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. Chap. page I. Lineage 3 n. Childhood 15 in. Youth 35 IV. Belvidere, or The Missionary 57 V. Divinity School 77 PART II. THE NEW ENGLAND CLERGYMAN. I. Manchester 87 II. Boston 115 in. Episodes 141 PART III. THE ARMY CHAPLAIN. I. The Great Rebellion 157 n. Fortress Monroe 170 III. Fortress Incidents : including the Contest be- tween the Merrimac and Monitor . . .213 VI CONTENTS. IV. The Peninsular Campaign 246 V. Shadows . .278 VI. Fredericksburg 294 VII. Obsequies 308 VIII. Appreciation 322 IX. Tributes in Verse 335 PART I CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH " How many are you, then," said I, *' If they two are in heaven ? " Quick was the little maid's reply, " O Master, we are seven ! " " But they are dead ; those tvvo are dead ! — Their spirits are in heaven ! " 'T was throwing words away ; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, " Nay, we are seven ! " Wordsworth. CHAPTER I LINEAGE. "Parvum Nilum videre. HERE is a natural curiosity to trace a stream to its source — to follow it back to the hills from whose bosom it first springs to life. The more noble the flow of its current, the more beneficent its waters, in opening paths to inland navigation or furnishing food for man, so much the keener is curiosity to trace it to the crystal fountain of its origin. The undiscovered source of the Nile was for centuries the theme of speculation. Inquirers, after the ancient method, propounded this practical question to the oracles of reason, and drew from them the enigmatical responses of theory ; never apparently thinking of the solution, which modern em- piricism has reached, by actually threading back the stream, and thus working out the safe result of obser- vation. Human life, like the river, may attract little public notice in its playful early course, when prattling among the parent hills, or leaping in gay cascades on its downward way, to swell, eventually, into the graver, deeper current of manhood. But if, as its waters gather head, they fui-nii>h a spectacle of nat- 4 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ural beauty in their flow or fall, or bestow public blessings in banks made green and fruitful, or bounti- ful fisheries, or bear upon their back the burdens of navigation, or attract attention by the glory of their exit into the sea, S3rmbolizing the issue of life for time into, the ocean of eternity, — then men turn their steps back to the early stream, and search out, in its source and surroundings, every presage of its destiny. It is generally believed, that character, as a common rule, bears the impress of family origin. In the divis- ion of mankind into races, each race preserves in its history distinguishing traits, both physical and intel- lectual, so decidedly marked as to induce some in- genious natm'alists to deny one common origin to all the human species. So in the subdivisions of race into families, we often observe the prominent charac- teristics repeated in successive generations. There is very much, it is true, to disturb this natural result. Marriage dilutes the family blood. Circumstances, which serve to evoke the fire of genius or talent, often allow it to slumber for subsequent generations. Es- pecially is the success of parents wont to leave buried in the luxurious nurture or outward advantages of offspring those energies which the res angustce domi first developed in their own childhood, early poverty ntulured, and a severe but kind adversity trained to wrestle in the arena of difficulty, till a surpassing strength was attained. From the influence of these disturbing causes, it is almost or quite impossible to calculate the share which family traits have in the problem of indi\'idual destiny. Yet a gro^^ng atten- tion is paid, and, we think, reasonably, to this subject. LINEAGE. 6 Genealogical trees are more assiduously cultivated. The ramifications of kindred are traced to the trunk ; thence the root is sought out ; and, still unsatisfied, the genealogist inquires for the seed, whence it ger- minated, what wind wafted it to the place where it fell into the foster bosom of the earth, and, if possible, from what tree did the seed come. Such inquiries may be sometimes too mmute, or pushed beyond the clew of fact, mto the worse than useless vagaries of mere speculation. Yet, to a reasonable extent, family history forms a legitimate introduction to a biography. We are, happily, able to afford a glimpse at the ancestry of the subject of this narrative. His Amer- ican forefather, Thomas Fuller, was lured to these shores by cui'iosity, in 1638. We have an authentic account of his tour and its results, in some verses, which, as they seem to possess few of the other characteristics of poetry, we trust are equally free from its propensity to fiction.* He declares that he was won over by the preaching of the famous Shepard, the echo of whose eloquence (saith our record) " after the lapse of two centuries has scarcely died away " ; and that his converted heart w^as led to love liberty to worsliip God in the wilderness better than the flesh-pots of Egypt, left behind him in old England. An irreverent family tradition has mali- * If the public deem us to speak too lightly of our honored ancestor, tho}^ can themselves try the poetical question by a reference to " Histori- cal Notices of Thomas Fuller and his Descendants, with a Genealogy of the Fuller Family," contained in the New England Historical and Genealogical Register for October, 1859, and also to be found in the Appendix to the first volume of the edition of the Memoirs and Works of I^Iargaret Fuller, published by Walker, Wise, & Co. Boston. 1863. 6 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ciously dared to assert that the black eyes of a certain Miss Richardson, who conditioned the boon of her hand upon a New England residence, w^ere the true loadstars of American attraction with our worthy pro- genitor. But, for ourselves, we at once and forever repel the soft impeachment, not merely as reflecting upon our ancestor's veracity and parole of honor (for he was a lieutenant of militia) ; but because we are sure no one could win enough the favor of the Muses to coin rhymes, who would fail to acknowledge in his verse so honorable a leading as the lustrous eyes of a maiden in determining his line of destiny. The supposition that, in the bhnd romance of first love, he misconceived his true motive, is alike inadmissible in the case of our American patriarch. No ! that he was a true Puritan, with a large place for the religious element in his character as the controlling motive, is abundantly proved, we contend, not only by his own words and deeds, but also by the character and lives of his descendants. Third in the series from Thomas Fuller was Rev. Timothy Fuller, who graduated from Harvard Col- lege in 1760, and was ordained in 1767, the first settled minister of Princeton, Massachusetts, and, ulti- mately having moved to Merrimack, N. H., almost exclusively applied himself to agriculture, and the training of his five sons, all of whom became lawyers, with no schooling, before their college days, except the liome teaching.* In Princeton, he was the proprietor * These sons were Timothy Fuller (to be more particularly mentioned), Abraham Williams Fuller, Henry Holton Fuller, William Williams Fuller, and Elisha Fuller; of whom a brief account may be found in Historical LINEAGE. 7 of the blue Wachusett, assigned to him as the parish farm, — a tract well able to " carry forests on its back," yet fitted to bear little else. A descendant thus seeks to account for the parish grant to the parson being located upon this mountain, Bestowed by his society, To ear from theuce his salary : For ministers, not then, as now. Used brains, without the sweating brow. Why his good people gave the mount, And kept the vale, we 've no account. Notices of Thomas Fuller and his Descendants^ above referred to. They have all been gathered to their fathers. On the decease of Henry, in Sep- tember, 1852, an eloquent tribute was paid to his memory by Hon. Charles G. Loring, in presenting to the Supreme Judicial Court the resolutions of the Bar on that occasion; to which there was a feeling response from Mr. Justice Fletcher. We should delight to dwell longer upon this nucleus of five legal brothers, were it not aside from our present purpose. Besides the five sons, there were five daughters, who survived Rev. Timothy Fuller. From the time of his death, on the third day of July, 1805, till the death of his son Timothy, on the first day of October, 1835, a period of full thirty years, that family circle of brothers and sisters re- mained unbroken. Now all have passed away, except Mrs. Deborah Allen Belcher, of Farmington, Maine, who, though for many years a widow, still enjoys a green old age, honored and beloved by children and grand- children. These ten children were much attached to each other, as well as to their parents, while living, and their memory when departed. Mr. Loring, in his address to the court on the death of Henry, before referred to, gives a touching picture of the ten children of Eev. Timothy Fuller, who, some quarter of a century after he had gone to his rest, and long after the family dwelling in Princeton had passed away, visited its site together. Nothing remained but its cellar, which time had partially filled, whose rounded excavation it had carpeted with greensward. Here the children gathered, and, seated in the charmed circle of what was once their home, sang again together the sweet hymns to which their tongues had been attuned in childhood, by their faithful parents, in the dearly loved home which had once rested upon that spot. They did not visit it again, in concert; and many of them sought it no more. Death, in a few years, broke that cir- cle; and one after another they went, in quick succession, the way of all living. 8 CHAPLAIN FULLER. But little produce, almost none Could on the lofty hill be grown. Yet, to conjecture, charity Forbids that this the cause could be. He was a pastor, — and, their sheep Shepherds upon the mountains keep : Or, that he might, like Moses, stand, To look upon the promised land. And, with uplifted thought, behold The wonders of the heaven unfold ; While, still, upon his parish sheep 'T were easy half an eye to keep; As they the fertile valley till. Spread out beneath the lofty hill ! Rev. Timothy Fuller represented Princeton in the Convention of Massachusetts which voted to approve and accept the Federal Constitution. Being totally opposed to slavery, he voted against that instrument, on account of the insidious clause providing for the rendition of fugitives from service. This negative vote is claimed by his descendants for an hereditary honor ; manifestmg, as it does, that aversion to oppression which has characterized more than one of the family, and taking a first step in that antislavery path which descendants have followed on. In the fight of recent history, may we not be led to believe that it would have been better for this nation had it, while in its cradle, strangled the fittle serpent of slavery, so cunningly insuiuated into our Constitution, before it grew to the monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens^ cut lumen ademptum, like the baleful dragon of the Apoc- alypse. This antislavery origin was duplicated, in 1770, by the marriage of Rev. Tunothy Fuller to Sarah Wil- liams, daughter of Rev. Abraham Williams, of Sand- LINEAGE. 9 wicli, Massachusetts. He married Anna Buckminster, a near relative of the distinguished clergyman, whom Choate aptly styles *' the glorious Buckminster," and whose useful and brilliant career, brought to an un- timely close, has been commemorated by his distin- guished contemporary. Dr. Channing.* The honor of this family connection was the occasion of bestow- ing the name of Buckminster, as the middle bap- tismal name of the subject of this memoir. The eldest son of Rev. Timothy Fuller, bearing his father's name, graduated from Harvard University in 1801, at the age of twenty-three, with the second honors ; having his only preparatory training in the home school, when, pari passu with Latin and Greek, he acquired those habits of industry and endurance, which, even more than learning and talent, form the sure capital of success in life. His high college rank was the more creditable, that he was obliged to defray his expenses by teaching school in the vacations, and even dui'ing a part of the term, — an episode, which not only encroached upon his time, but also tasked the energies he would . have been glad to apply solely to the pm-suits of a college student. He himself thought he should have borne off the first honors, had he not felt obliged to take an influential part in a college re- bellion, which he regarded as justified and called for by the students' grievances. He was admitted to the * Buckminster, as a child, was a precocious and eager reader. It is re- lated that he was, one day, intent on reading in a room by himself, leaning against the mantel. He remained in this posture, entirely absorbed, for several hours, till he fainted from exhaustion; and the family hearing him fall, rushed in to find him on the floor in a swoon. 1* 10 CHAPLAIN FULLER. bar, after the usual term of preparatory study, and for many years had his office in Boston. Timothy Fuller rapidly rose to distinction at the bar, being noted for close reasoning and high profes- sional character. He jo^^uUy devoted the first-fruits of professional success on the altar of family love', faitlifully assisting his younger brothers in their strug- gles to obtain an education. He took Henry mto partnership, — a favor he repaid years afterwards by conferring the same advantage upon Timothy's son, Richard. He was especially kind to those in humble circumstances, and readily espoused their cause in the forum for a small compensation, and often at the risk of receiving none. He had a natural fluency and facility in extempore speaking, in which he was semper paratus^ and more successful than in the labors of the pen. This afforded him ready entrance, and of itself almost drew him to political life. His moral and religious nature and characteristic benevolence led him to embrace the principles of republican democracy, whose mission he believed to be the general diffusion of knowledge, the elevation of the humble, the political equality of aU races and conditions of men, and human brother- hood, as announced in the sublime epitome of the American Declaration of Independence. He was a member of the Massachusetts Senate from 1813 to 1816, a Representative in Congress from 1817 to 1825, Speaker of the Massachusetts House of Rep- resentatives in 1825, and a member of the Executive Council in 1828. He is still remembered as chau-man of the Com- LINEAGE. 11 mittee on Naval Affairs in the House of Representa- tives of the United States, havino; the good fortune to perform the duties of that position in a manner acceptable to the naval service, as well as to the gen- eral advantage. His heart echoed the lament of the Seminole Indians, forcibly expatriated from theii* na- tive hunting-grounds, and carried far away toward the setting sun. His long and elaborate speech in their behalf, which may be read in the records of the debates of the House upon that interesting topic, produced a marked impression, but could not stay that career of national wrong to the weaker races scandalously denominated " manifest destiny," the re- tributive penalty for which Providence seems now vis iting upon us in the bloody scourge of civil war. He also made a strong speech in opposition to the Missouri Compromise, maintaming that not an inch of territory should be left to the blighting influence of slavery. He thought that, while conflicting interests were a fair subject of compromise, principles of eternal justice never were. In yielding material interests by compromise, man is giving away what is his own ; but in compromising the principles of justice, he is daring to give up something of those sacred claims of right which do not belong to man, and cannot be in any measui'e relinquished without robbing God. To say that we avoid a greater evil by sanctioning a smaller one, he regarded as a reflection upon the rule of human conduct laid down by the Almighty, re- quiring us to do right and leave the consequences to him. History has proved that all the compromises with slavery were really the onward marches of its 12 CHAPLAIN FULLER. encroaching waves, thus gathering volume and mo- mentum perfidiously to sweep over the barriers of "thus far and no farther," submitted to by the slave power as only a temporary expedient and means of fraud. He was also influential in the election of John Quincy Adams to the Presidency. A pamphlet, pub- lished by him, entitled " The Election for the Presi- dency considered," had a wide cii'culation. Timothy Fuller was a religious man. While in college, he sedulously examined the evidences of Clmstianity, and reached, by patient research, a de- Hberate conviction of its truth, which could never afterwards be shaken. He at once joined hmiself to the Church, of which he remamed a life-long member and a careful observer of its sacred ceremonies. He attended divine worship constantly with his family, and regularly ministered at the home altar in the " church, which was in his o>vn house." Nor could he be induced, under any pretext, to perform sec- ular business on the Sabbath. When he first went to Washington, he purchased a new Bible, known in the family as his " Washington Bible." He marked in it the twentieth verse of the forty-ninth Psalm, — " Man that is in honor, and understandeth not, is like the beasts that perish." Early in his professional career he cherished a project of becoming a preacher, but desired to first secure a maintenance, that he might discharge the duties of the sacred office with entire independence. In 1809, he made a happy alliance in marriage with Margaret Crane, daughter of Major Peter Crane, of Canton, Massachusetts. The father served in the LINEAGE. 18 Revolutionaiy war. He acted as chaplain, at one time, of his regiment in the army. Margaret may be truthfully styled a " good match " for her husband, for her character was the comple- ment of his, and each had prominent traits where those of the other were deficient. Thus, while he dealt in reason, and approached all subjects intellectu- ally, her sphere was the fancy and imagination. His tastes were for the practical and useful ; hers for the ideal and beautiful. Each yielded to the wishes of the other. She leaned on him for views and opinions, discerning his judgment and implicitly trusting his results ; and he was careful to gratify her jesthetic tastes. Her ideality had taken especially the direc- tion of flowers, and he provided for her an extensive garden, though, for sport, he insisted on his own bed of dandelions and marigolds, Avhich, he laugh- ingly insisted, far exceeded her exotics in real beauty and value. In temperament, too, they were admi- rably matched. He, always industrious and over- worked, needed the elastic influence of her buoyant and exuberant spirits. With their diversity of traits, they had the oneness of aspnation and aim which is needed happily to cement the marriage union. Both were pious ; — he especially in the department of judg- ment and principle ; she, in that of religious emotion and affection. Both loved children and home ; — he, careful to provide, solicitous to develop and stimulate his children, and always anxiously reaching forward to- ward their future ; she, a sunbeam of solace and cheer, a tender mother to soothe each childish grief and to shed a radiance over the present hour. She did nut 14 CHAPLAIN FULLER. love the children more than he ; but they appreciated her love at once, while justice to his was deferred till the retrospect of riper years. He was not, however, by any means a stern parent. He gave each night a touching proof of his fatherly tenderness, by visiting the couch where the children had sunk to rest, and pressing a kiss upon their unconscious lips. Soon after his marriage, he purchased, for a resi- dence, a large dwelling-house situated upon Cherry Street, Cambridge Port. In this mansion, which the children called " the Home House," were born Sarah Margaret, Julia Adelaide, Eugene, William Henry, Ellen Kilshaw, Arthur Buckminster, and Richard Frederick. Julia Adelaide died in infancy ; and all have now passed from the stage of mortal life, except William and Richard. On the year of the birth of Margaret, her father set out a row of elm-trees in front of the residence ; which may still be seen, of a large growth, stationed, like huge sentinels, before the mansion. But, alas ! they protect no longer the family who first set them there, and resorted for a while to their increasino; shade. Mr. Fuller first souMit Cambrido^e as a residence, in order to withdraw as much as possible from the contagion of an epidemic, then raging in Boston ; and he never afterwards resided m the city. CHAPTER II. CHILDHOOD. " The child is father of the man, " RTHUR BUCKMINSTER FULLER was born in Cambridge Port, Massachusetts, on the tenth day of August, 1822. Here he was nurtured, till the family removed, when he was about five years of age, to a mansion in Old Cambridge, which his father purchased of Chief Justice Dana. It was situated upon high land, near the Colleges, still called, from its original proprietor, "Dana Hill." The family were much attached to the dwelling in Cambridge Port, styled the " Home House " ; though its attractions were chiefly intrinsic, consisting of the sunshine of family love and the chann of the birth- place. It boasted, however, a beautiful garden, se- cluded by a high, close fence, and decorated with trees, vines, and flowers. At its western extremity was a gate, always locked, behind which the sun set in glory ; stimulating by its mysteiy the children's fancy, to imagine, that, if opened, it would admit to a bright- er land.* The prospect from the mansion windows * See Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli. 16 CHAPLAIN FULLER. needed to be looked at througli the medium of ardent love of home, to be attractive or tolerable. It con- sisted of salt marsh, unreclaimed as yet, or made land, occupied by dwelling-houses, interspersed with several laboratories of the useful arts. Arthur's mother used laughingly to relate, that, on the day of removal, he gazed Avistfully his farewell look at the loved scene, sighing, " O, I shall not see the soap 'urks any more ! " In Margaret Fuller's Unpubhshed Works,* we find the following reference to the Cambridge Port resi- dence. She had just retm'ned, at the time of writ- ing, j&*om a tour among the mountains. She says : " I feel satisfied, as I thought I should, with reading these bolder lines in the manuscript of Nature. Merely gentle and winning scenes are not enough for me. I wish my lot had been cast amid the soiu'ces of the streams, wdiere the voice of the hidden tor- rent is heard by night, where the eagle soars, and the thunder resounds in long peals from side to side, where the grasp of a more powerful emotion has rent asunder the rocks, and the long purple shadows fall, like a broad wing upon the valley. All places, I know, Hke aU persons, have beauty, which may be discovered by a thoughtful and observing mind ; but only in some scenes, and with some persons, can I ex- pand and feel myself at home. I realize this all the more for having passed all my childhood in such a place as Cambridge Port. There I had nothing, ex- cept the little flower-garden behind the house, and the elms before the door. I used to long and pine * MS. Vol. U. p. 711. CHILDHOOD. It for beautiful places, such as I read of. There was not one walk for me, except over the bridge. I liked that very much ; pleasing myself with the river, the lovely undulating line on every side, and the light smokes which were seen in certain states of the weather." Dana Hill was altogether a different spot. In the rapid growth of Boston and its subui'bs, a few years have made dwellings to cluster on the site. But then its fair area was almost unoccupied save by the central mansion, whose casements, hke the eyes of Argus, looked upon the green, flowery hills of Brookline and Brighton, and the glimmer of the intervening Charles River, dyed with the crimson glories of the sunset, or bright, in turn, with the bending azure of day and the silver lamps of night. From the house, a long avenue conducted to the road, lined with the blooming borders, where the mother's flowery retainers arrayed themselves, paying their tribute of beauty and fra- grance, in return for assiduous protection and cul- ture. In the lawn, on either hand, were fruit and ornamental trees ; while, more in the background, like a reserve, was another garden of fruit and flowers. Here Arthur's family resided for six prosperous years ; while the younger children attended several private schools. One of these has a conspicuous place in memory, owing to the rSgime of its lady teacher. The birch was her sceptre ; and, lest one should be weakened in its sway, she kept a bundle of them on hand. These she required the boys to procure for her ; and woe to them, if thev bronHit her other than 18 CHAPLAIN FULLER. long, straight, and vigorous twigs ! She indulged in a feline diversion, when her quick eye could detect a boy engaged in the proscribed occupation known as "wool-gathering." Watching her occasion, and creeping noiselessly behind, she dispelled the day- dream with a smart stroke from her birch w^and. What an awakening was that! what a cruel return from illusion to reaUty ! It may be adduced, as an instance of natural depravity, that the other urchins sympathized with the teacher in tliis pursuit, and eagerly watched her well-conceived project of sur- prise, w^ishing it success, though themselves liable to be made the next victims ; and when the rod made its successful and sudden descent, the feat was greeted with a suppressed applause, w^hich the exclamation of the culprit and the startled expression of his coun- tenance by no means served to diminish. On the elevation of Jolm Quincy Adams to the White House, Arthur's father expected a mission to Em-ope, as a token of the appreciation of his influen- tial labors on behalf of the successful candidate. But the President did not " remember Joseph." In this expectation, his daughter Margaret had been encour- aged to look eagerly forward to visiting that Em'ope in whose literature she had become so w^ell versed. Both were destined to disappointment. This check may have contributed to induce the father to seek a more reth-ed sphere of life. But there were other motives. He had been long gathering materials for a history of his country, which he purposed as the cro wrung labor of his life. He had, besides, a view to the education of his children. Attributing his own b CHILDHOOD. 19 success in a great measure to the endurance and in- dustry acquired by an early experience in the toils of ao-riculture, he desired to subject his boys to the same hardening process. Not a little influence, too, may have been exerted upon him by the romantic retrospect of the afternoon of life upon boyhood's morning, in di*awing his heart toward those New Hampshire hills, whose blue w^alls enclosed its horizon ; feeling, — " as in a pensive dream, When all his active powers are still, A distant dearness in the hill, A secret sweetness in the stream." Induced by such motives, Arthur's father sold his residence in Cambridge, and occupied the house of his brother Abraham, on Brattle Street, in Cambridge, for one year, while casting about him for a new loca- tion. While living here, an accident occurred to Arthur and his younger brother, in celebrating the glorious Fourth, after the manner of independent boys. Arthur early manifested an enthusiasm for the observance of this birthday of our Hberty, with mimic artillery and banner, which is thus pleasantly alluded to by his sister Margaret : '" I 'm independent ! ' as Arthur shouted and waved his flag ; when Eugene cruelly stopped him, and made him come in to leari\ his lesson." * His enthusiasm was more seriously in- terrupted on the occasion of the accident referred to. The boys had several times discharged a Httle cannon, running with shouts into the cloud of smoke, when it was inadvertently aimed at the box of powder, * Unpublished Works, Vol. II. p. 823. 20 CHAPLAIN FULLER. which ignited with a fearful explosion, prostrating both children, and so burning them as to confine them for several days to their bed. The new family residence was in Groton, Massa- chusetts, a prosperous town of Middlesex County, dis- tant some thirty miles from Boston, and at that time principally devoted to agriculture.* The house and grounds had been fitted up with much care and ex- pense by Samuel Dana, a Judge of the Court of Common Pleas. The white mansion, situated upon a gradual eminence, looked complacently upon the blue Wachusett, Monadnock, and Peterborough Hills. It was quite attractive to childish eyes, its ample front bathed in the sunlight, seeming, on approach, to ex- pand into a smile of welcome. Alas ! we little antici- pated, as we crossed its threshold, the bitter cup of family sorrows we were to di'ink there ! Yet that discipline was not without a beneficent compensation for those who submissively acknowledged that God "in faithfulness afflicted them." Here opened a new field of activity for all the family. The father applied hunself to superintending the husbandry of fifty acres, and making alterations and additions to the buildings. Nor did he wholly decline the professional avocations which still sought Jiim out in his retirement, and led him again occa- sionally into the forum. He also gave some hours to his projected history, and applied himself especially to the training of his children. In the last-named department he was careful to form the children to * Caleb Butler, Esq. has composed and published a careful history of Groton, containing many interesting facts. CHILDHOOD. 21 I habits of early rising, promptness in action, industry, and concentration upon the matter in hand. Regu- larly were they summoned in the morning ; and there was no more "folding of the hands in sleep." They were obliged to respond at once with their feet strik- ing the floor. It happened that the butcher usually di'ove into the yard at the same time ; and the rum- bling of his chariot, as it broke upon the dream-land, and seemed to suggest the father's call, serving as its unwelcome prelude, made the useful vender of meats unpopular with the boys. The observance of the Lord's day he regarded as of the first importance, and strictly enjoined it upon his chikben as he did also a reverential regard for the public Fasts and Thanksgivings, instituted by our pious Pilgrim fathers. The church edifice stamped its picture on the children's memory. Arthur thus alludes to it in his remarks at the public dinner on the Bicentennial Anniversary of Groton : " I remember the ancient church, then unchanged by the hand of modern improvement. I can see to-day those old- fashioned pews, so high that only by a peep through the rounds which ornamented their tops could I dis- cern the faces of youtlifd comrades ; and there seems yet to echo in my ear the hearty slam with which the pew seats, raised dui'ing the prayer, descended in a rude chorus of accompaniment at the signal of the minister's 'Amen!' — a not unwelcome word, I fear, to undevout children of that day or this." Quite as impressive to the youthful mind was the high pulpit, ascended by a winding stair, on whose dizzy elevation the preacher was just visible, emerging 22 CHAPLAIN FULLER. from tlie damask cushion toto vertice supra. What lent a great interest to the minister in the childish view, was his apparently critical position of immi- nent peril from the huge hemispheral sounding-board suspended by a frail tenure above his head. There was nothing to indicate to the child's speculation that this massive superstructui'e was hollow, and therefore adequately secured by the apex fixed to the ceihng.* Noteworthy also was the psalmody, especially the agonized moment when the strangely assorted instru- ments strove to take the pitch. The individuality of the sm'ly bass-viol and the intensely strung fiddle was never lost in then' assembled harmony. Alas ! the glory of those orchestras has forever passed away ! In family government, Timothy Fuller did not wholly dispense with the rod, though we recall but one instance when Arthur was made the subject of it. That occasion is well remembered, because, fi'om par- ticipation in the punishment, it made a marked im- pression both upon the back and mind. Arthur and Richard (by two years his younger brother) had been quarrelling, in that unmalicious, but bearish brotherly style paternally denominated " squabbling." Smart- ing with reciprocal wrongs, they resorted to the legal father as the fountain of family justice, each prefer- ring his complaint. They did not fail to obtain what MoHere's Scapin so Kttle rehshed, — justice : but, though no reproach could be cast upon the unsulhed ermine of the family judge, yet the result of the cause dis- couraged them from afterward submitting their griev- * A witty clergyman compared these old-fashioned pulpits to a hogshead, with the minister speaking out of the bunghole. CHILDHOOD. 23 ances to tlie same tribunal. Hardly were the pleadings in, when the proceedings began to assume an ominous aspect. The father proposed to adjourn to his cham- ber, as afForduig a better opportunity to sift the mat- ter. Among the family effects was a certain black riding-stick, with which the children, in their eques- trian efforts, were wont to invigorate the energies of the tardy family steed, known as " old Charley." The father accompanied his proposition to adjourn to the chamber by the assumption of this stick, which may have resembled the black rod of Parliament. This significant act justified the apprehension that the case would have an unpleasant issue for one or the other litigant, and, before the die was cast deter- mining wliich, the rod cast an unpleasant shadow upon both. The boys felt some disposition to withdraw, for a settlement in pais. But galeatum sero duelli poenitet. In other words, the locus poenitentioe was reserved for a later stage of the proceedings. Arrived at the chamber, the parental judge directed Arthur, as the eldest, to open the case. In vain Richard attempted to break in, with an indignant protest against the allegations and arguments. The court cahnly but firmly enjoined silence upon him till Arthur had first fully enjoyed his constitutional right to be heard. When his breath or narrative had given out, the signal was made for Richard's wordy onset. Arthur, in his turn, was thwarted in eager attempts to interrupt the younger advocate. When both sides had been duly heard, the court, with no dilatory curia advisare vult^ proceeded forthwith to deliver a some- what elaborate judgment, reviewing the variances as \ 24 CHAPLAIN FULLER. well as coincidences in the statements of each side, and drawing from the latter the inference that both were to blame ; concluding with the sentence that the boys should take off their jackets, in order that the black rod might be more closely applied to their backs. As the father assured them that the infliction would pain him much more than them, they indulged the hope of a light chastisement; in which, as in speaking, Arthm', from priority of age, had the first lot. This expectation proved illusory ; for, though the whipping was calm and deliberate, it was emi- nently thorough ; nor did he " spare the child for his cr^dng." Another illustration of home government was fur- bished soon after the removal to Groton. It was early su^^^xner, the skies blue and bright, the breezes gratefiii, and the birds melodious. How dull and dingy the school-room in comparison ! Out-of-door laborers seemed to enjoy a comparative hohday to Arthur, who had thus far only applied himself to work when so inchned, for variety, and had no con- ception of the labor improhus which omnia vindt. He also persuaded Richard to be of the same mind ; and they both besieged father and mother with entreaties to allow them to work instead of study. The father held out long against them, assuring them that they would soon find labor very irksome, and wish to return to study again. But no ! they were sure they should enjoy labor in the free air better than the pent-up toil of the school, in the beautiftil season which lured all creatures forth. He advised them to try the ex- periment, before a final choice, offermg to let them CHILDHOOD. 25 work for a few days on trial, and to continue it or return to school, according as they should find most agreeable. But they were so sui'e they should like work, that they preferred to sever the school tie, and make choice of it at once. The father, having warned them that, if they made this election, it would not be revocable, thought it would be a good lesson for them to have their own way. Great was their delight in getting rid of school ; and for the first half-day they exulted in their choice. But presently blisters and fatigue cpme, and they began to waver. They held out for a time, ashamed to admit their folly, but gradually gave way ; and then they pleaded for leave to go back to school. This the father firmly declined. The boys fretted and murmured, but failed to move the fafHer. As a last resort, they fled from the work one day, and ran to entreat their mother, throwing themselves upon the floor, and bewaihng their sad fate. The mother was much moved, and soon joined her en- treaties with theu's to bring over the father, who had followed the boys, and stood a calm spectator of the scene.. He replied, that to yield would have a very bad influence upon the boys ; that they had chosen to rush into the difliculty, despite of coun- sel and warning, and ought now to bear the conse- quences of such conduct, as they would have to on the stage of life, for which they were training ; that they had entered into a fair and deliberate engage- ment, and ought not to wish nor to be permitted to violate it. The adamantine statue of Themis would have swerved as soon as he ; and so back the boys 26 CHAPLAIN FULLER. had to go to their inglorious toil. That lesson was not forgotten. Yet the father did not bear too hardly upon the boys, nor require them to work too many hours. He carefully watched their powers of endurance, and imposed no task upon them which might trench upon the elasticity of childhood. He furnished them suit- able opportunities for sport and recreation, in which he cordially sympathized. Spartan endurance he de- sired them to acquire, for he possessed and prized it liimself. He was in advance of his day in cold-water bathing, which he regularly practised, in a cold room, even in winter. He slept with the window open all winter; a practice which at first dismayed his wife, but which she learned herself to value. In winter, he occasionally ran barefoot a considerable distance in the snow, to wdiich feat she never was reconciled. Plodding manual toil never suited Arthur's mer- cmial temperament. He sympathized with Daniel Webster, whose scythe never hung to suit him, ex- cept when it hung in an apple-tree. He reHeved liis tasks, however, by an active and playful imagination, recountmg fables to his companion Richard, and con- structing air-castles for his amusement. He would represent a rich man rolHng in a coach with gilded trappings, to bear him to congenial scenes of wealth and luxury, but leaving the aggravated Richard ignobly plying his hatchet at the tedious brush block. Or else he would personify and weave into his narrative the grotesque traits of every per- son who crossed our path having any singularity. After a while he brought together these caricatures CHILDHOOD. 27 into an assemblage called " The Universal Band " ; whose adventures beguiled many an hour of work. After the boys had retired, too, at night, Arthur continued these humorous narratives, with such au exhilarating effect upon him and his audience of one, that their peals of laughter disturbed the family, and the parents came and enjoined silence. One of Arthur's imaginary personages was an eccentric man, who never could be converted to the electrical theory, and would wear a brass hat for his protec- tion m thunder-storms ; nor could repeated lightning strokes beat into his cranium a different conviction ; he always attributing his wonderful preservation to his brazen covering. Another was a tall individual, with an ardent thirst for overhearing conversations, and a faculty of projecting his ears for this pui'pose several yards from his head, till they had drank in the desired information. Another was a person of very timorous temper, constantly interrupting the most festive discourse with his unseasonable croak of alarm. We forbear to spin Arthur's yarns over again, lest they should not impress the public risibles as they did our own, in the blithesome days of early boy- hood, before the shadow of death fell upon our house- hold. Suffice it to say, that, though we have read Dickens with hearty merriment, he never drew from us that almost self-annihilatino; lauo;hter with which we were seized in Artlmr's recitals. We ought not to omit, in this connection, our first military experience in a company of martial boys, organized and drilled on our common, by WilHam A. Richardson, then attending school at Groton, after- 28 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ward Arthur's classmate in college, and now our hon- ored Judge of Probate and Insolvency for the County of Middlesex. Arthur's father instilled into him lessons of nature, for which he had a passion, and the Groton scenery opened fair pages. He walked forth with his childi'en in the sparkling crystal mornings, holding then' hands in his, and sympathizing m the exuberance of their buoyant spirits. At such a time, when asked if he found his rural retirement suited to his taste, he de- clared that he only regretted he had not taken the step earlier. He added to the pleasm-es of the walk by genial conversation, encouraging the children to enter upon themes sometimes beyond their years. He spoke of the short-sighted pursuits in which men were ordinarily absorbed, unworthy of the capacities and aims of immortal beings. He touched upon human greatness, declaring that the pen Avielded a greater power, and secured a higher and nobler as well as more lasting fame than the sword, — instancing this by Walter Scott, whose name, he said, would have an increasing lustre when Napoleon's star had grown dim. He seized occasions to commend industry and econ- omy in the little things of life which make up the mickle, and to point out the folly and peril of pecu- niary speculation. The changing scenes of nature, with whose every- day face out-of-door occupations and sports made Ar- thur familiar, impressed his mind indelibly and gave a habit to his thought. His very active fancy could not be bound down to* the slow round of manual labor, and was perpetually star-gazing, or sky-gazing, or CHILDHOOD. 29 giving a voice to the wind and waterfall. Hence it happened, in his after life, that, habitually in public speaking, he appealed to the current events of the natural world as a commentary to his thought ; and if any change passed over natui'e's face, even while he was speaking, he made use of it as aptly as if he had expected it, or its very mission were to serve him for illustration. The overcastino; cloud, the returnino; triumph of sunshine, the rambow, the shoAvers, the snows, the wind, the sun, moon, and stars, day and night, spring, summer, autumn, winter, — these were his alphabet or vocabulary, learned by heart in his childhood's intimacy with nature. In his remarks at the Groton Bicentennial Dinner, before alluded to, he thus refers to the scenes of nature : " The pleasant walks by day in your beautiful groves and fields, our sports on the river's bank, the moonlight pastimes beneath the ancient elms near my honored father's dwelling, the regard of my young heart for those once living on earth, and now no less truly living in heaven, can never be forgotten." Before the house was a semicircle of two or three acres, at the bottom of which ranged some pines, where the redbreast robins regularly sang their tuneful loves, and in the same nests, year after year, laid their blue eggs. As their melodies told of their home joys, their parental anxieties and triumphs, when their little ones were hatched, nurtured, and at last committed to the air on full-fledo;ed wino;s, he reminded the children that we could learn to be considerate of tliem, by re- flecting upon their own domestic attachments. He in- dulged the children in keeping pets. To each was a 30 CHAPLAIN FULLER. chicken given from tlie spring brood. Of course tins chicken must survive the ides of Thanksgiving, and must liatch one or more broods of new exempts next season. In this way, Hke Jacob's speckled cattle, the poultry-yard soon passed to the children, and we re- member the father repossessing himself at least twice by purchase. Arthur had also a tame blue dove he called Bivie^ which was a constant companion in the house and field, her master's finger being her favorite perch. This lovely bird, in the familiarities of several months, endeared itself to the hearts of all the household, and cruelly were they lacerated when it fell a prey to the sph'it of e^dl in the form of a cat. Arthur was so much afPected by the loss that he would never have another dove. In this varied development, under the happy au- spices of a loving father, was Arthur's childhood faith- fully improved. But the even tenor of his life in Groton was destined soon to be interrupted by a fear- ful shock of fate, which was to precipitate upon his tender years the cares of manhood, scarcely permitting the orphan to weep for liis dearly loved sire, in the pressure of new and grave duties. His father had a naturally delicate constitution ; although, fortified by strict temperance, a spare and regular diet, cold-water bathmg, and habitual exercise in the open air, he had been enabled to endure the fatigues of public life and the exhausting labors of a lawyer in full practice. As a little child he was puny and sickly, and though he rallied so as to acquire an average strength, his health always demanded careful CHILDHOOD. 31 attention. As he returned to farm labors, he seemed to fancy himself a boy again, and able to engage in its pursuits as actively as ever. His spirit was as eager and vigorous and resolute, but the frame of fifty had neither the elasticity nor endurance of the age of fif- teen. Neither he nor his family appeared to realize this. His energy prompted him to inspirit the men he employed by his own example, and they sought for the triumph of the physical over the intellectual by outdoing him and putting his strength to the test. We remember him, in the violent heat of summer, loading grain, with the perspiration flowing over his brow, while the hired man was endeavoring to pitch on the load faster than it could be arranged on the cart. After such efforts he was compelled to lie down on his bed from exhaustion, yet no one thought of evil consequences. Among other fann improvements, he paid par- ticular attention to draining; low lands, and brinofino' to fertility the mines of agricultural wealth borne thither and deposited by the water. Vegetable matter while saturated decays slowly, but when the water is let off" and the warm sunbeams admitted, decompo- sition is rapid. Arthur's father, in the summer and early autumn of 1835, had caused some low lands to be thus drained and opened to the action of the sun. It was afterwards thought (with how much justice we do not undertake to decide) that malaria was exhaled from this drained land, and led to the severe family sickness of that season. Certain it is, that Margaret at this time was brought near the gates of death with typhus fever. Soon after her recovery, her father was 32 CHAPLAIN FULLER. seized with Asiatic cholera, and the same autumn the two boys, Arthur and Richard, were ill with fever. The fatal sickness, however, of the father, at least, may have had other causes. Perhaps his constitution, naturally so delicate, had worn out. Not long before his death, while as yet having no symptoms of sick- ness, he expressed to Arthur a presentiment that his departure from earth was near at hand. He spoke of it seriously, but with cheerfulness. Perhaps he may have been admonished by a declension of strength incident to the wearing out of the body, as it draws towards the close of its term. Or the proximity of the spiritual world may have touched some delicate chords in his nature, and made itself apprehended by a new and spiritual experience. On the morning of the thirtieth day of September, 1835, Arthur's father had appeared in usual health ; and for dinner had partaken of rice and milk, his favorite repast. In the afternoon of the day, while in the house, he was seized with sudden illness, vomit- ing and sinking helpless to the floor. He was imme- diately taken up, borne to his chamber, and laid upon his bed. As soon as he was carried there, he declared calmly that he felt his sickness would be mortal ; and was able to say little else, such was the agony of his sickness. The family physician, who was speedily summoned, pronounced the malady to be Asiatic chol- era, although there was at that time no other known case of this fell scourge in New England, and though, fr'om habits of strict temperance, and simple, abstemi- ous diet, he was an improbable subject for the disease. Yet the symptoms were indubitable ; and the doctor's CHILDHOOD. 33 opinion was afterwards confirmed by a post-mortem examination conducted by several physicians. The conflict between the defensive forces of nature and the assault of disease was short but terrible. For twenty hours, alternate spasms and chills, attended with a cold perspiration beading the marble brow, evidenced the progressive parallels Avitli which the besieorino; foe advanced to storm the citadel of life. But no groan, no murmur of complaint did the suf- ferer permit to escape him. At last there was a lull, preparatory to the final onset, which Avas to break upon his life and liberate the tried spuit, to know no more pain, no more sorrow, no more death. He now, in a faint whisper, being too much reduced to speak aloud, expressed his desire to bid farewell to his family; and, as they gathered about his bedside, he smiled faintly, but with undimmed love, upon the dear weeping circle. The parting kiss he strove to return with his cold lips, while his eye irradiated un- dying love, and the light of the familiar smile flickered transiently upon his pallid features. The seal of that kiss could never be forgotten or effaced. It at- tested a love stronger than death ; and it pathetically reiterated the lessons of fatherly admonition, counsel, and affection which those lips could no longer utter. The speechless symbol was more expressive than fluent language. It served as the solemn authenticat- ino- seal set to the childi*en's life commission by the dying father, and mutely expressed what he could no longer speak. His undying affection in the dying hour crowned the uniform kindness and tenderness of his life. Finis coronal opus. And the perfect re- 2* 34 CHAPLAIN FULLER. pose of his trust in God in that time of utmost need ennobled him in his children's view, and threw a glory over his virtues. Soon after this farewell scene, he was released from his sufferings. It was evening when he breathed his last. The children slept, and were first awakened to know themselves orphans by the solemn tones of the minister's prayer, proceeding from the chamber of death. Sad indeed it is, when the young child first says to himself, "I have no father!" The mother's love lacks the father's power to protect, pro- vide, and open the path of life. Yet in this case the gloom of the occasion was soothed by the repose of the father's face, as he lay low in death. All trace of suffering had passed away, and the features had not been emaciated in the short season of sickness. The expression of his countenance was pleasant and almost smiling, seeming bound by the lightest spell of slumber ; and, except that the eyes were closed, looking as the children had seen him when engaged with his papers, humming to himself some gentle strain. His age at his death was fifty-seven years. He was temporarily interred in Cambridge ; and, finally, in the family lot at Mount Auburn. CHAPTER III YOUTH. ' « The individual man, — how does he, on his birthdays, reflect upon the period of life already gone ! behold, as it were in vision, the solemn pageant of scenes long passed away : look on paintings, hung in Memory's gallery, of deeds performed in bygone years, and over which the veil is generally drawn as too sacred for common and uncaring eyes How does he rejoice in the thought of early struggles as requisite for the development of his character, and early hardships suited to task and strengthen his powers of endurance." — Bi-Centennial Address, delivered at Groton, Massachusetts, Oct. 31st, 1855, by Rev. Arthuk B. Fuller. Y the deatli of the father, the mam pillar of the family edifice was stricken away. Not merely was affection lacerated by the ■=^ loss, and the aching void of afflicted love felt in the place which the honored parent had filled, but there was also a sense of helplessness as well as loneliness; and forebodings of the futui'e mingled their shadows with the gloom of bereavement. This was not exclusively from lack of property inheritance, but still more from an entire inexperience in business, and a strong distaste for it, in those on whom the manao-ement of affairs now devolved. The mother was as naturally inapt for finances as one of her flowers, cherished by her as she herself had been by her husband's fostering care. She was characterized by quick perception, devoted affection, and constant dolioht in all the forms of beauty; but sheliad never 36 CHAPLAIN FULLER. learned to calculate ; and she felt -wholly helpless as the managing head of the family. Her daughter ]\Iargaret was her main reliance. But that dauMiter, thouoh learned in the lore of many tongues, and gifted with force, courage, and energy, had one weak point, and that was business. She dreaded computation. Mammon she felt never looked auspiciously on her destiny. She was not a votary at his shrine ; and the offended numen did not shine upon her fortunes. Of the rest of the family, Eugene, her yoimger brother, was engaged in the study of the legal profes- sion. He had as yet acquired little knowledge of business, and could not relieve his mother and sister from the weight of care. William, still younger, was at a distance, engaged m mercantile pursuits. Arthur was but thirteen years of age. The property left by the father was mostly real estate, and, though unembarrassed with debt, was but little productive. Lands he acquired he generally retained. The Cambridge Port house had never been sold, thouo-h it rented for but a triflino; sum. He left two farms ; but farms are proverbially unprofitable, except to owners applying their own hands to the task of culture. It may be well this should be so ; at any rate, so it is in New England. One of these farms, situated in Easton, Massachusetts, came upon his hands under peculiar circumstances. He had been professionally employed to draw the deed of convey- ance. The pui'chaser, making no mention of the grantor being married, it might not have been deemed the duty of one employed merely as a draughtsman to insert the release of dower. This was omitted; YOUTH. 37 the husband died, and the widow came forward to claim her thhds. Acting from tlie dictates of a deh- cate sense of honor, the lawyer himself assumed the purchase ; and thus came to be the owner, till his death, of a distant farm, from which he never re- ceived an annual return of two per centum of the cost. He visited it yearly, accompanied by some of his children. It abounded in stones, which had been built into walls of many feet in thickness, that might have served to defend a city. On it stood an old red house, boarded in the ancient permanent style with white oak. Here the widow enjoyed her " thirds " ; living in a sort of contest of longevity between her own tenement of clay and the oak- boarded red house. She succumbed at last ; but she outlived her cotenant. There was also a little land, of trifling value, m Salem, Massachusetts, a few bank shares, and the mortgage for the purchase-money of the estate on Dana Hill, Cambridge ; property appraised at some- thing over twenty thousand dollars, yet, as will readily be perceived, affording a slight income, and small means for the family maintenance and the education of several children. It required a very different style of life from what the family had been habituated to while the father managed affairs, and his professional earnings were equivalent to a handsome annuity. Arthur's mother now relied upon Margaret for judg- ment and counsel. The devoted daughter, with a noble spirit of self-sacrifice, gave up her plans of for- eign culture, just ripe for fulfilment, her literary am- bition and pleasures, hi obedience to the call of the 38 CHAPLAIN FULLER. nearest duty. She said she felt she should not other- wise be at peace in her mind. But it was a great disappointment to her ; and she was further depressed by a sense of incapacity for her new post. Yet she determined to make up by courage and energy for her deficiencies in business faculty. And she succeeded, though at the cost of some shadowed and melancholy, yet unrepining hours. To perform her task, she felt that the boys should be duly impressed with their condition and the neces- sity laid upon them in life, and that the family affairs should be fully explained and unfolded to them. The family had frequent gatherings, like the Indian at his coimcil-fires, to discuss future prospects, and ter- ribly gloomy and portentous did they seem to the young hearts. Fear and helplessness sat at the coun- cil-board. Arthur was thus seriously affected, and his every power called out. We cannot doubt that the lessons he now learned were of life -long value to him ; and, especially, that what he had to undergo roused his energies, and trained him to the resolute habit of grappling with difficulties and overcoming obstacles which characterized his manhood. During the season succeeding the father's death, the farm was carried on by the boys, assisted by an inexpe- rienced hired man, whose ignorance was only equalled by his pretension. Arthur, in the improvised curtain narratives which have been alluded to, denominated him " The Haughty," making a caricature of his rash and clumsy method of farm-work, and visiting upon him an ideal retribution for his presumption. In the YOUTH. 39 course of the season the man became constantly more oiFensive, and Arthur planned a coup d'etat to get rid of him. He selected a stout cornstalk-but for himself, and another for Richard, and, during the husking operations, headed an onset upon " The Haughty." The immediate object was not gained, for the defend- ant was a full-grown and athletic man. The corn- stalks proved too frail a weapon, and were soon broken in the vigorous assault, which the party attacked finally repelled, and even carried the war into Africa. The matter was thence adjourned to the civil tribunal, where Margaret acted as judge. Here " The Haugh- ty " was loud in his charges, while Arthur justified the assault as provoked by man}^ grievances, and instigated by the spirit of our heroic revolutionary fathers. Mar- garet regarded it as a balanced case, and would not censure the boys. Not long after the man's term ex- pired, and no new engagement was made with him. This cornstalk engagement we deem the more memo- rable, because we believe it was Arthur's first martial encounter, and his second was the battle of Freder- icksburg. We never knew him on any other occa- sion to have any conflict with man or boy. As a child he was spirited, and always believed in the right of self-defence ; nor would he have tamely sub- mitted to insult or injury. But his demeanor was not such as to invite aggression, and he was always too Idndly and considerate to provoke strife. The following season the family were so fortunate as to secure the services of a faithful and efficient man,* who managed the farm affiiirs as well as if his * Since a prosperous farmer upon acres of his own, in Groton. 40 CHAPLAIN FULLER. own, and obtained unprecedented crops. This year, with such efficient aid, it was felt that Arthur could be spared from the farm, and that the time should be dili- gently employed by him in his college preparation. He accordingly attended school at the academy in Leicester, Massachusetts, of which his father had once been a teacher. He made considerable progress here in his studies, and, what is more important, he received serious religious impressions at prayer-meetings. As early as this, or even earlier, he set his heart upon be- coming a minister of the Gospel ; and from this pm'pose he never wavered ; nor did we ever hear him, in the whole course of his ministerial career, in the sunny side and the shady side of the clergyman's life, in trials or successes or disappointments, express one regret that his choice had fallen upon a calling which he ever regarded as most useful and noble. During the next season the whole farm-work de- volved upon Arthur, at the age of fifteen years, aided by his younger brother. The plan and the execution of farm culture, the bupng and selling, were left to them. And the farm was thus successfully carried on, with an occasional day-laborer, and steady help during the toils of the hay-field. Arthur overcame his natu- ral repugnance to labor, and prosecuted farm pursuits with the same energy and enthusiasm which he after- wards manifested in other fields. Occasionally ex- treme heat or fatigue from incessant toil disposed the younger brother to give way, but Arthur would hear no such word as retreat. He never worked harder than in these fields of home, nor did any retrospect afford him more satisfaction than the remembrance of YOUTH. 41 his farm labors. An idea of the extent of the work may be gathered from the statement, that the boys tilled some five or six acres of corn and potatoes, and about twenty tons of hay were harvested. The stock consisted of three good cows and a pair of oxen, be- sides hogs. The dairy was cared for by the diligent mother, who achieved laborious triumphs in the making of butter and cheese, which fiilly sufficed for the family use. Although her house labors were more than equal to her slender strength and health, and her years bor- dering on fifty, yet she would not permit her numer- ous coterie of garden flowers to suffer, nor would she incur the expense of the assistance of a gardener, nor divert the boys from the necessary and crowded avoca- tions of the field. Her flowers she fostered herself, in every hour she could snatch fr'om household pursuits, toiling in the heat of the sun, and obliged by her near- sightedness to stoop to close proximity. Yet her ideal darlings sprang up, bloomed and faded, neither choked by weeds nor faint through want of ii-rigation. As has been already stated, the family employed occasional help in the farming. Such men as worked for them no doubt have always their counterpart in society. But a few of these characters, who have long passed from life's stage, must be sketched here, because they were painted on the easel of boyish fimcy, and their idiosyncrasies ftirnished sportive tliemes for Arthur's epics, while they enjoyed the honor of beino; enrolled in his " Universal Uand." One of them, familiarly called " John," was an in- veterate follower of Bacchus, in his cheaper and 42 CHAPLAIN FULLER. grosser cups. His only merit was good-nature. "VVe liave not been able to obliterate from memory his always placid but bloated countenance. His ex- cesses had fearfully recoiled upon him. With other boon companions, he lived with a neighbor in the workino; season. This neighbor himself adhered firmly to principles of total abstinence — from water ! He boasted that he had not been thirsty enough for twenty years to drink it. And nature had conformed to his tastes, by giving him a jug figure, surmounted with a bald head like a stopper. Certain friends of his, congenial spirits, of which charmed circle John formed a Hnk, hved with him in the summer season, doing just days' works enough to pay for a little meat and a great deal of drink ; and, when they got " out of spirits," taking up their winter-quarters in the poorhouse. Such specimens of depravity tended to give the boys a horror of those habits which had wrought their degradation ; and the mother did not decline to employ them occasionally, in special exigen- cies, as their conversation and deportment were not objectionable when their friend Alcohol had deserted them in their need, and they were trying to obtain the golden lure to draw him back. Her pity for them exceeded her censui'e, as it did m the case of all the degraded and unfortmiate. This they well knew, and were sometimes emboldened to enter the garden, which bordered on their o^YTi demesne, when she was en- gaged with her flowers, under pretext of admiring her favorites, but really with an eye to the fruits which abounded there. We well remember one occasion, when John had entered the garden and climbed mto YOUTH. 43 a choice cherry-tree. There we spied him among the green leaves, his red and bacchic countenance hke a huge cherry engaged in devouring the Uttle cherries, as the rod of Aaron s^Yallowed those of the magicians. We boys contrived to hint to him that for certain rea- sons these familiarities with the fruit were not entirely agreeable to us, and John was magnanimous enough to leave the banquet, alleging his preference for the indigenous fruit of the same species whose distilled virtues, he boasted, garnished the generous cellar of his host. When we employed John and his compeers, some oversight was necessary to keep them to their tasks. They delighted to beguile their toil with narrative of fact and fiction which they represented as having once occurred in the vicinity; and they sought often to pause and lean upon their hoe, or other implement, the better to point out the locus in quo, or lend to their descriptions the animation of gesture. But Arthur was not to be circumvented in this way. Like an efficient speaker or moderator, he continually brought them back to the matter immediately under discussion, namely, the row they were hoeing, or whatever Avork was in hand. One of our day-laborers brought with him a large mastiff, of whose pugnacious exploits he bragged till Arthur grew weary of the theme, and asserted that he could vanquish the dog himself. The man, with wounded vanity, declared he would like to set the dog on and try it. Arthur would not recede from what he had said, and the result was the dog was set on, and rushed, with bristled hau- and tail erect and bare fangs, 44 CHAPLAIN FULLER. to the encounter. For about five minutes Arthur plied his boots with rapidity and vigor against the dog's chest and chaps, occasionally bringing the canine jaws together with the tongue unpleasantly sandwiched be- tween them, till the dog ingloriously lowered his cau- dal flag, and, despite the invective of his master, turned back from the proceeding with a bugle-note far different from the trumpet-bark which sounded the charge. Interspersed with farm toil was the relief of rainy days and our rare public holidays. One of the latter was the old Election-day, on the last Wednesday of May ; at which date it was the rule among farmers, to have the planting completed. This was a sad day for the birds, whose exulting sprmg melodies were wont to be cruelly inten^upted, and their nestlings bereaved by the sports of the hunter. The law now has not only transferred the election day to another season, but shields with its broad aegis the little birds' nests, protecting their domestic joys from the ruthless sportsman. Arthur and Richard, we believe, only once assumed a musket, in the Election-day hmiting ; and we do not know that Arthur, on any other occa- sion, discharged fire-arms till the battle of Fredericks- burg. Their father kept a brace of pistols in the house ; but he always cautioned the children against them; and his warning had the more effect from the powder explosion by which, as we have narrated, Arthur and Richard were injured in Cambridge, and fr'om an incident which occurred on one occasion, when he ex- hibited the pistols and the manner of firing them to gratify the curiosity of the family at the fireside. We YOUTH. 45 have a lively recollection of that occasion. " Now, children," said he, " I know perfectly well that these pistols are not loaded ; yet, in showing you the opera- tion of the lock, I shall not point the pistol at the head of some one, as a boy might do, for bravado. For instance, I shall not point it at your sister Mar- garet." With this remark, he directed the weapon to the wall, near the floor, and drew the trigger. Great was our consternation when the pistol exploded, and discharged a bullet through the wall into the cel- lar. This unlooked-for result was explained after- ward, when it was ascertamed that some one had been practising with the pistols, and inadvertently left them loaded. On the Election-day referred to, Arthur and Rich- ard salhed forth to the hunt, musket on shoulder. The first bobolmk they levelled at was considerably agitated, broke off his jubilant strain, and took his flight, the boys claiming that they had drawn blood. Several other birds, after the discharge of their pieces, paid to their sportsmanship the complmient of retir- ing to a distance. But, after a while, the boboHnks seemed to get an inklmg of the true nature of the case, and to shake their sides and wings, convulsed with songs of derisive merriment. After several hours, the boys returned home, without a single feather as a trophy ; and they did not try the gunner's sport again. They were more successful in angling, on the banks of Nashua River, or floating in boats upon the mirror-depths of Martin's Pond. After haying was finished, the farmers usually in- dulged themselves m a day's pastime, spent in a fishing 46 CHAPLAIN FULLER. excursion. The men employed to help m haying, the season Arthur and Richard carried on the farm, made a great point of this day of sport ; and the boys accompanied them on the occasion. They procured some spirituous liquors ; and, after themselves imbib- ing, strove hard, by ridicule and persuasion, to induce the boys to partake. Arthur was firm in his resist- ance, but Richard was prevailed upon, in spite of Arthur's entreaty, and warning that he should let his mother know of the affair. On retmno; that nio-ht, the mother visited Richard's bedside, and administered to him a solemn reproof, which he never forgot. This was Arthur's first step in the temperance cause, in which he afterwards faithfully labored. In the Groton experience, Arthur's education was by no means neglected. The mother and sister re- garded the grand purpose of preparing him for the arena of life as far transcending the convenience and expediency of the hour ; and nothing would have tempted them to sacrifice his welfare to the family needs. It was very justly believed, conformably to the father's views and plans, that the hardships of farm labor might form a very valuable part of educa- tional training ; while the complemental part of mental discipline Margaret heroically assumed. Her imle was to study, in the summer, the out-door literature, traced in the expressive characters of nature, with its " books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good m everything " : while in the winter she ap- plied herself to human lore. This was her regime^ also, with the boys. As soon as the farm harvests were garnered, the seed-time of in-door teaching com- YOUTH. 4T menced; and for several hours a day she presided over the family school. This was a very great sac- rifice to her. Her own mind was amply stored, and she longed now to create, in emulation of those masters who had won the laurels of literature. To teach children, scarcely in their teens, was as much below her bent as for Apollo to tend the flocks of Admetus. Nor could she, like him, beguile the oc- cupation with the lyre. Her father's death, the aban- donment of her plan of European travel, and the new weight of uncongenial family cares had depressed her, and her harp hung for a time tmieless upon the willows. As a teacher few have excelled her. Not merely did she faithfully train to good habits of mental ap- plication ; not merely did she store the mind with the treasures of learnmg ; but she constantly sought to kindle and stimulate noble aspiration. When in their studies they came upon the feats of Roman, Greek, or modern patriotic devotion, she would expatiate upon them with glowing eloquence. Little did they expect, when they thus learned and admired the devotion of Curtius or Scsevola, or the modern Swiss who broke the assailing phalanx by gathering with the embrace of his extended arms a sheaf of pointed spears mto his own bosom, that their own times would add new narratives to the legends of glory ; that the Italian War and the American Rebellion would furnish many instances of devoted heroism, unsurpassed by the bright pages of history ; and that in these scenes the aspiring teacher, Margaret, and the ardent pupil, Arthur, would participate. 48 CHAPLAIN FULLER. No doubt lier personal influence on Arthur was more important than what she could impart to him in those early years. A noble spirit is catching ; and Arthur was quite capable of being lighted with her enthusiasm. She herself remarked this, express- ing the opinion that in his mmd he resembled her more than the other children. The formative in- fluence she hoped to have on the boys and upon her sister Ellen, who composed the trio of her family school, she regarded as much more important than the rudiments of learning, which she would have willingly committed to another teacher, and which it much tasked her patience to communicate. Her own great quickness and astonishing rapidity in the ac- quisition of knowledge led her to expect the same in her pupils ; and tardiness on their part was very trying to her. The little awkward ways which some- times fasten on children annoyed her inexpressibly. Among these may be mentioned a habit the boys fell into of incessant movement of the hands, as if catching at succor in the recitations, when they were drowning in the deep places of Virgil. It seemed absolutely impossible for them to think of the hand and keep it still, while agonized with classic difli- culties and trembling in dread of the doom of a bad recitation. Sometimes their bright answers in ge- ography or history made her laugh outright. She preferred to laugh rather than weep, wliich was her only alternative. Some of these bright responses she recorded at the end of the geography in perpetuam memoriam. We have in mind a passage, which may still be seen by any one who can obtain access to that YOUTH. 49 text-book, — " Richard, being asked where Turkey in Asia was, repHed that it was in Europe ! '* In a subsequent letter to Arthur, while he was absent, completing his college preparation, Margaret thus refers to her family school : — " You express gratitude for what I have taught you. It is in your power to repay me a hundred- fold by making every exertion now to improve. I did not teach you as I would ; yet I think the con- finement, and the care I then took of you children, at a time when my mind was so excited by many painful feelings, have had a very bad effect upon my health. I do not say this to pain you, or to make you more grateful to me ; for, had I been aware at the time what I was doing, I might not have sacrificed myself so ; but I say it, that you may feel it your duty to fill my place, and do what I may never be permitted to do. Three precious years at the best period of my life I gave all my best hours to you children ; let me not, then, see you idle away time, which I have always valued so much ; let me not find you unworthy of the love I felt for you. Those three years would have enabled me to make great attain- ments, which now I never may. Do you make them in my stead, that I may not remember that time with sadness. I hope you are fully aware of the great importance of your time this year. Your con- duct now will decide your fate. You are now fifteen ; and if, at the end of the year, we have not reason to be satifised that you have a decided taste for study, and ambition to make a figure in one of the profes- sions, you will be consigned to some other walk in life. 3 D 50 CHArLAIN FULLER. For you are aware that there is no money to be wasted on any of us ; though if I live and thrive, and you deserve my spnpathy, you shall not want means and teaching to follow out any honorable path. With your sister Ellen's improvement and desire to do right, and perseverance in overcoming obstacles, I am well satisfied May God bless you, and make this coming year a prelude to many honorable years ! " Next time I write, I will not fill my whole sheet with advice. Advice too often does little good ; but I will not believe I shall speak in vain to my dear Arthur." Early in the year 1839 a purchaser was obtained for the Groton place ; and the family wilhngly bade adieu to the scene of their first great calamity, and many consequent hardships and trials. The step was the more advisable, because Arthur and Kichard had arrived at years wliich called for a more exclusive application to study than the cares of the farm ad- mitted of. Margaret, in a letter to her brother, thus dwells upon the Groton trials : — " You were too young to feel how trying are the disorders of a house which has lost its head; the miserable perplexities of our affairs; and what your mother suffered from her loneliness and sense of unfit- ness for her new and hea^y burden of care. It will be many years yet before you can appreciate the conflicts of my mind, as I doubted whether to give up all wliich my heart desired, to enter a path for which I had no skill and no call, except that soyne one must YOUTH. 51 tread it, and none else was ready. The Peterborough hills and the Wachusett are associated in my mind with many hours of anguish, as great, I think, as I am capable of feeling. I used to look at them, towering to the sky, conscious that I, too, from my birth had longed to rise ; but I felt crushed to earth. Yet again, a noble spirit said that could never be. The good knight may come forth scarred and maimed fi'om the unequal contest, shorn of his strength and unsightly to the careless eye ; but the same fire burns within, and deeper than ever. He may be conquered, but never subdued. " Yet if these beautiful hills and wide, rich fields saw this sad lore well learned, they also witnessed some precious lessons given, too, — of faith, of forti- tude, of self-command, and of less selfish love. There, too, in solitude, heart and mind acquired more power of concentration, and discerned the beauty of a stricter method. There the heart was awakened to sympathize with the ignorant, to pity the vulgar, and to hope for the seemingly worthless ; for a need was felt to attain the only reality, — the divine soul of this visible crea- tion, — which cannot err and will not sleep, which can- not permit evil to be permanent, or the aim of beauty to be eventually frustrated, in the smallest particular. Ought I not to add, that my younger brothers, too, laid there the foundations of more robust, enter- prising, and at the same time self-denying charac- ter ? " After some months' study at a private school, taught by Mrs. Sarah Ripley, in Waltham, INIassachusetts, Arthur entered Harvard University. He passed the 52 CHAPLAIN FULLER. four years of college life happily and profitably, and graduated with an honorable part in 1843. Among his classmates were Rev. Dr. Hill, now President of the University, Judge Richardson, before mentioned, Rev. Frederick N. Knapp, of Washington, now en- gaged in the labors of the Sanitary Commission, and others who have become well known. During the first year he maintained a position at or near the head of the class, but his health giving w^ay, he was obliged to relax his efforts. While in college the concerns of religion were not forgotten in the pleasures of the Castalian spring. His serious impressions ripened into church-member- ship, and he united with the church of the University. In attendance upon the round of college duties he was regular. In associating with his fellows he guarded against exciting the ill-will of that portion who did not propose to themselves a serious aim in college pursuits, yet he was careful not to suffer his time to be frittered away. He lays down, for one about to enter college, the following rules to regulate his conduct, before he has learned the character of his companions : "I ad- vise you on no account to miss a smgle prayer or reci- tation ; but do not boast of it, or those who have missed a great many will dislike you. Be sociable and agreeable when any one calls on you ; but do not yourself call much on others." During his college course, to eke out his finances, he tauo-ht a district school in Westford and in Dux- bury, Massachusetts. His love for children rendered teaching for him a pleasant and successful task. He engaged in the work animated by the same enthusiasm YOUTH. 53 which characterized him in every pursuit of his hfo. Imagination, hope, and a buoyant temper cast a rose- ate coloring over all. In a letter from Westford, lie declares that the children in his school are " very in- teUigent and pretty, every one." He did not fail to please, in his turn, those who were so agreeable to him, and to obtain access also to the regard of the parents through the sure way of the children's hearts. He was no less successful in Duxbury, where, we are happy to learn, his labors have not been forgotten. From Duxbury he writes, " I have thirty-nine schol- ars, all good ones, all love me. I am so fortunate, also, as to please the parents, and, in fact, was never happier in my life. I have a great deal to do, how- ever, besides the regular school labors, in teaching evening schools, visiting the parents, and studpng my- self in order to instruct them well." And ao-ain he writes : " I have been invited to several balls and parties. The former I never go to, and the latter always." Shortly before he closed his school, a meet- ing of the district was holden, which passed the fol- lowing preamble and resolutions. "Whereas, Mr. A. B. Fuller, our accomplished and much-esteemed instructor, is about to close his school in this place, and we feel desirous of expressing our warm approbation of his course while with us, and our sincere gratitude for his earnest and faithful labors ; therefore, '-''Resolved^ That the thanks of this meeting be ten- dered to Mr. Fuller, for his able and successful exer- tions in impai-ting that knowledge to our children which the world can never take away. 54 CHAPLAIN FULLER. '-'Resolved^ That we approve of the methods which Mr. Fuller has taken to instruct the puj^ils consigned to his charge ; that we believe his influence has been of the most beneficial tendency, in preserving uncor- rupted the characters and hearts of our children ; that both his precept and example, while with us, have tended to inculcate and sustain a sound, elevated mo- rality." From reminiscences of our district-school teacher, kindly fui'nished us by one of his former pupils, we make the following extract. " We boys were sometimes invited to spend the evening at his rooms, and then we enjoyed ourselves heartily. He entertained us with stories, anecdotes of history and philosophy, and a sight at the ' Mas- ter's ' literary treasures, such as seals, colored wax, transparent wafers, and other knick-knacks, which seemed to our admiring eyes like Oriental treasures. The literary entertainment was followed up by a feast of nuts, apples, and oranges, very congenial to our boy- ish appetites. These favors made us look up to and love the teacher, endearing to us, too, the master's room in the old red cottage on the hill ; and many a well-recited lesson, I ween, has been the result of those happily spent evenings. " He introduced evening schools into our district, made interesting by spelling-matches, debates, and lessons he o;ave us in readino;. At one of these even- ing schools we were much annoyed by a crowd of vandal boys, with adult forms, but undeveloped brains, from a neighboring district, who boasted that they had put down the evening spelling-school in their own dis- YOUTH. 55 trict, and were bound to stop ours. They assailed us with various hideous noises at the windows, and even with pebbles. Our master of a sudden donned his hat, and with but two strides, as it seemed to us, sallied from the school-house and pounced upon the ringleader, a lad as tall and nearly as heavy as hunself, seizing him by the collar, to the boy's siu'prisc and the confusion of liis comrades, and shaking him nearly out of his boots. He then required his comrades, who to the number of six or eight were gathered romid their chapfallen leader, to give him all their names, and thoroughly dismayed the whole set, who never troubled us more." Arthur's school-teaching drew from his sister Mar- garet, who was never lavish of commendation, the fol- lowing terms of approbation, in a letter to him : "I am satisfied that your success, and the tact and energy, by which you have attained it, are extraordinary. I think of you with great pleasui'e, an4 am only anxious about your health." In a letter, some months previous, she imparts to Arthur her views of the methods of teaching : a sub- ject which she had carefully considered, in connec- tion with her practical experience ; as many gifted minds have done, especially in classic times; and as all cultivated minds should do, havinix no riMit to shut up in themselves the treasures of learning and thought. " About your school," she says, " I do not think I can give you much advice which would be of value, unless I could know your position more in detail. The most impoi*tant rule is, in all our relations with 66 CHAPLAIN FULLER. our fellow-creatures, never to forget that, if they are imperfect persons, they are still immortal souls, and treat them as you would Avish to be treated, in the light of that thought. " As to the application of means, — ' abstain from punishment as much as possible, and use encourage- ment as far as you can, without flattery.^ But be even more careful as to strict truth in this regard towards children than to persons of your own age. For to the child the parent or teacher is the representative of justice ; and as the school of life is severe, an edu- cation which in any degree excites vanity is the very worst preparation for that general and crowded school. " I doubt not you will teach grammar well ; as I saw you aimed at principles in your practice. In geography, try to make pictures of the scenes, that they may be present to their imaginations, and the nobler faculties be brought into action as well as memory. " In history, try to study and paint the characters of great men : they best interpret the leadings of events amid the nations. " I am pleased with your way of speaking of both people and pupils. Your view seems from the right point; yet beware of over-great pleasure in being popular or even beloved." CHAPTER IV BELVIDEEE, OR THE MISSIONARY. " These are the gardens of the desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, And fresh as the young earth ere man had sinned, — The prairies." Bryant. " In the morning sow thy seed." " He that watereth shall be watered also himself." N graduating, in 1843, Arthur Fuller com- menced that career of enthusiastic and tire- less public activity, which was never inter- mitted except by the tribute of sleep he grudgingly paid to the night, and the occasional pro- tests of overtasked nature in the transient form of illness, till he rested forever from his labors on the battle-field of Fredericksburg. The ink of his college diploma was scarcely dry, when he started for the prairies of the West, on a mission of teaching and preaching. He embarked not only his whole soul, but his whole fortune in this enterprise ; investing the several hundred dollars still remaining of his patrimony in the purchase of an academy in Belvidcre, Illinois. He attached himself to this institution, as he did to the pastorate of several churches afterward, at the nadir of fortune's wheel, sure that it could go no lower, and hoping to give an upward impulse. 3* 68 CHAPLAIN FULLER. The academy at Belvidere had been discontinued, and was now re-opened. It was an expired hght, in a locality where its lamp, well trimmed and biu'iiing, might radiate afar, without a rival, over a new, broad, and interesting field, as a much-needed beacon of knowledge and influence. We always thought the principal who now started the Belvidere academy into new life was admirably calculated for the West- ern field, by reason of the animated, almost fever- ish impetus of activity, which would not let him rest, and which was in harmony with the rush and onward sweep of Western life. Here, too, his delight in na- ture could be amply gratified, as he rode over the level or rolling prairie, with its beautiful flowers nodding among the verdui'e, its occasional park, and its broad horizon, regaled by the melodious song- ster, the long-drawn strain of the turtle-dove, the clouds of pigeons, like the arrows of Persia, darkening the sun, and made romantic, too, and even dangerous, by the prowling packs of rapacious wolves. Such were the Illinois prairies in 1843. Belvidere, the shire town of Boone County, already numbered nearly a thousand inhabitants, and every day swelled its census. The town is located on the eastern head-waters of the Kock River, in a region of unsurpassed natural beauty. Margaret, in 1843, thus depicts scenes of Rock River : " It is only five yeaj's since the poor Indians have been dispossessed of this region of sumptuous loveliness, such as can hardly be paralleled in this world. No wonder they poured out their blood freely before they would go. On one of the river islands may still be found the ' caches ' for secreting pro- BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 59 visions, the wooden troughs in which they pounded their corn, and the marks of their tomahawks upon felled trees. When the present owner first came, he found the body of an Indian woman, in a canoe, ele- vated on high poles, with all her ornaments on. This island is a spot where Nature seems to have exhausted her invention in crowding it with all kinds of gi'owths, from the noblest trees down to the most dehcate plants. It divides the river, which there sweeps along in a clear and glittering current, betwixt noble parks, richest green lawns, pictured rocks, crowned with old hemlocks, or smooth bluffs, three hundred feet high, the most beautiful of all. Two of these, the ' Eagle's Nest ' and the ' Deer's Walk,' still the habitual re- sort of the grand and beautiful creatures from which tliey are named, were the scene of some of the hap- piest hours of my life. I had no idea, from verbal description, of the beauty of these bluffs ; nor can I hope to give any to others. They tower so magnifi- cently, bathed in sunlight : they touch the heavens with so sharp and fair a line ! This is one of the finest parts of the river ; but it seems beautiful enough to fill any heart and eye all along its course ; and nowhere broken or injured by the hand of man." * On the twenty-sixth of September, 1843, Arthur started upon his Western mission, with a quick ear and eye for observation, and a thirst for information, which made the world an instructive book, from whose pages he who had gone forth to teach should himself be taught. Early in his journey, a scene in the railroad car furnished the first lesson. Arthur has himself re- corded it. * Margaret Fuller's Unpublished Works, Vol. II. p. 677. 60 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " A little boy of twelve years of age, poor and rag- ged, came into the car. There was a slight shrinking from him manifested by some of the well-dressed pas- sengers. He took his seat quietly near me ; and a sea-captain, who entered at the same time, told me his touching story. I learned that he was a poor orphan, and, three days before, had been wrecked. A vessel which had seen the accident sent forth its boat, to save from a watery grave any who might be rescued. They spied the little boy, floating amid the waste of waters, and approached him ; but he, with a gen- erosity, alas ! too rare, cried out : ' Never mind me ! save the captain : he has a wife and six childi-en.' Poor fellow ! he knew that the captain had those who loved him and would need his support. The captain, in telling me the story, was much affected, and said, with a sympathy characteristic of the mariner, ' The boy has only the clothes you see, sir ; or he would not be so ragged. I care not so much for myself, though I too lost all ; but the poor lad will have a hard time of it.' Several persons, on hearing this story, gave small sums to the poor orphan; and advised him to make a statement to other passengers, who would doubtless, give something. ' I am not a beggar,' was his only answer ; ' I don't wish to beg their money.' At this moment, a fine, benevolent-looking individual arose in a seat near me, and unostentatiously offered to plead for him who would not prefer his own claim. Most successful was the warm-hearted appeal which he made to the passengers ; and ten dollars were col- lected. " The plain, practical, common-sense way in which BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 61. tills person manifested his sympathy for a fellow-being won my regard, and I entered into conversation with him. ' I 've been a sailor myself,' he said. ' The generous fellows ought not to want, when misfortune, not vice, has rendered them destitute. I know this brave captain would share his last dollar with any one in distress.' " He sat down in the vacant seat next me ; and more and more was I pleased to find that his religion was no mere theory, no barren speculation, but an active principle. I asked his name. ' Jonathan Walker,' was the reply; and the branded hand full well attested the fact. Yes ! upon this man, so benev- olent, with a heart so tender, had the fi'iends of slavery wreaked their shameful vengeance ! " Borne on T\ath the great tide of travel, he soon finds other objects to touch his heart. On board the steamer, he visits the steerage, and here liis pity is stirred by a poor mother with her ragged babe. In his diary, he says : " She pressed her infant, sick, cold, and hungry to her bosom, and gave it the best of her scanty shawl ; while her haggard look of despau* told what she endured. God help the poor, and keep them from temptation ! Do they live in this sad, wretched, starving way, and we look on, and pity them not? How can I complain, because I have little, when they have naught ? Some of these poor creatures are sleep- ing now ; and can forget their cares, and can dream of food and happiness. Happy sleep ! Thrice happy the sleep of death, if they rest in Jesus ; for then they will go to their Father ! They go now to New York. How many temptations will assail them there I and 62 CHAPLAIN FULLER. what have they to sustain them in the trying hour? Starving and naked, will they not sacrifice tlje little they have learned of goodness and morality to keep the soul within the body ? Can we wonder, when we behold the wreck of womanhood, or the besotted being who seeks to drown care in the maddening bowl ? Is it strange to find that receptacle of vice and infamy, the 'Tombs,' crowded with inmates? And yet many can look on with indifference or brutal con- tempt ; some can laugh at their squalid misery ! " Arrived at Belvidere, the teacher's labors began in earnest. Some sixty scholars gathered at the opening of his school, of various ages, numbering among them two or three young ministers of the Christian Connec- tion, who suspended preaching for the benefits of his instruction. He soon found plenty of good work to do, with an increasing number of pupils, but almost no money. There was everything else in the West ex- cept currency. That, even in the coin of Lycurgus, was minus. Parents were glad to have their children taught at the academy, if the principal would take his pay in grain, wood, or even land. He was compelled to this course, and had to turn his commodities into money as he could, sending them to another market. All this he underwent, acting in the double capacity of teacher and merchant, with the hardihood of a pioneer. But this was by no means the sum of his employments, for he also did the work of an evan- gelist. He gives the following sketch of the field of his labors. " The Western man who would be useful must be BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 63 no mere theorist; he must employ every physical, moral, and mental power, or he will never succeed. An earnest laborer alone can claim or secure respect here ; none other can move the heart or influence for good. My own situation is one to be sought by a per- son who sincerely desires to benefit his fellow-men ; by one who is willing to devote his every energy to the cause of humanity. To such a one, a wide sphere of usefulness is offered, — none wider. Here he will find men thirsting for light and knowledge, and ready to learn ' what is truth.' He will indeed see much of ignorance, the inseparable though deplorable attendant upon all new settlements ; but he will find the people are longing for instruction, and sighing for those privi- leges which their Eastern brethren enjoy. An ear- nest, philanthropic man should seek such a situation ; but it is one to be feared by him who loves wealth or ease. Let him shun it, for here is no happiness for him. I daily feel how much more self-devotion I need, how much more of a spirit of prayer and conse- cration to the work. " I knew long since the sacrifice I was making, and chose to relinquish ease and worldly promise in the hope of doing something for humanity. I love my work better and better. The more I contemplate the fields, white already for the harvest, the more I bless God that I am permitted to be one of the few humble reapers. I am resolved to struggle on, to bear up in a Christian spirit, and look to God for assistance and strength, knowing I 'shall reap if I faint not.' Be- sides, I am rewarded when I see so good a work ffoino; on. I have found here the sphere I have long sought, 64 CHAPLAIN FULLER. and am happy, yes liappy^ amid all the toil and priva- tion, — privation which you can never know till you visit us. " Our Christian brethren have well broken the ground, and cheerfully unite with us, heart and hand, in every good word and work. I have found among them true zeal and love, and have joined and often speak at their social conference meetings. Yesterday I communed with them, and never felt more hke meet- ing the disciples at the table of our common Master. On Saturday last we had a fellowship meeting, as it is termed ; and truly it was a precious season. The writer spoke twice, and it would have been no easy task to remain silent. I have also, by request, at- tended and spoken at a Baptist social meeting, and was pleased with all I saw and heard." In a home letter he gives the following sketch of his religious labors: " I go every Sabbath about eleven miles, take charge of a Sabbath-school at ten, preach at eleven, have an intermission of half an hour at half past twelve, preach again a long sermon, take tea at once, and ride over the cliill, bleak prairie, directly home, which I do not reach till late in the evening. On week days, besides the hours of teaching, I lectm'e and aid in debating-societies, and so forth, so that I can scarcely find time to write even these poor let- ters." He has given us an amusing account of a perform- ance in the debating-society of Belvidere. It was the discussion of the temperance question in the form of an indictment, returned against one Alcohol, charg- ing him, m various counts, with murder in the first BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 65 degree, arson, robbery, larceny, subornation to perjury, street-walking, vagabondism, and all the other crimes. The principal of the academy acted as prosecutmg officer. A lawyer was judge, twelve honest men were impanelled for a jury, and Alcohol retained in his de- fence a wity advocate. The case for the government was strong. Abundant evidence was adduced to prove that Alcohol had been an accessary before the fact, and therefore, in the eye of the law, principal, in all the crimes charged ; nay, that he had been the prime instigator of the same. The government rested their case ; and now came the ingenious defence. A gentleman, on whose nose and other features Alcohol had placed the proprietary mark which is wont to dis- tinguish his retainers, came forward to be sworn for the defence. The government's attorney prayed the judgment of the court on the admissibility of the wit- ness, objecting that he was evidently under the influ- ence of the defendant, and not disinterested, and in fact that he furnished another instance of the very crime of subornation charged in the indictment. The defendant's counsel, with all the indignation of offended virtue, protested against the imputation of the govern- ment. The court decided not to take cognizance of the objection made to the witness so as to pass upon it judicially, but to allow the jury to consider it in con- nection with the weight of testimony. The witness was sworn ; and a keen deponent he proved to be. He testified, as an expert, that Alcohol did not have the effect upon his associates of stirring up the passions and depleting the pocket : thus en- countering with a general negative the specific posi- B 6Q CHAPLAIN FULLER. tive proof of the government. He was made the mark of a raking fire of cross-examination, which he very adroitly parried. " Do you pretend Alcohol has benefited you ? " " I do." " What has he done for you ? " ^ " Made me happy." " But did not your pleasure soon turn into bitterness and pain ? " " Ah ! that was because my friend Alcohol left me. The moment I got him back again, I was happy once more." On this evidence the defendant's counsel founded a panegyric of Alcohol ; trying, by a sportive vein, to induce the jury to think lightly of the charges '' trumped up," as he said, against his client. But the government's attorney effaced the impression of this plea by a pathetic picture of ruined families, weeping wives, and destitute children, society at large cor- rupted, and the individual temple of God m human- ity desecrated and turned over to the habitation of demons. The judge charged fairly, la^ang down the law with precision. The jury brought in a verdict of guilty ; on which a judgment was rendered against Alcohol, as a nefarious criminal ; and he w^as branded, in that commmiity, as an outlaw. In his vacation, our missionary scorns the scholar's otium cum dignitate^ and starts upon a missionary tour, which he thus describes : " I left Belvidere in an open wagon, upon my way to Geneva. I arrived, about eleven in the evening, after a fatiguing journey, and quite exhausted from the effects of the heat, from which BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 67 the interminable and shadeless prairies afforded no pro- tection. The next day being the Sabbath, I preached both morning and afternoon, and enjoyed much pleas- ant converse with our friends in regard to the state and condition of the religious society. The following Monday, Brother Conant and myself rode to Ottawa ; and thence, taking a boat, we proceeded, amid most lovely scenery, to St. Louis. The high, frowning bluffs, the majestic rocks, and ever and anon the smil- ing prairie, afforded a scene of never-ending pleasure." Thence he went to Quincy, where he preached, and from there, " We next proceeded to Warsaw, where three days were passed. Brother Conant and myself each preached upon a week-day evening. The people, however, were too much engrossed with Mormon troubles to make us deem it advisable to remain over the Sabbath From Warsaw we went to Nauvoo, and passed ten days at the Nauvoo Mansion, kept by Mrs. Smith, the wife of Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism. I certainly never heard such an amount of the novel and absurd as was uttered during those ten days. Still, while I believe the leaders to be vicious deceivers, I found many sincere and worthy people in the place ; and nowhere have I received more polite attention. I saw and conversed with a larp;e number of their elders and chief men, and became more and more amazed that any could believe their absurdities. The erection of the temple at Nauvoo continues with- out cessation ; and unwearied are their efforts to com- plete the structure. How much is it to be regretted, that so much zeal and effort cannot be expended in a better cause ! Many give nearly their all ; and those 68 CHAPLAIN FULLER. having nauglit else give the labor of their hands for the erection of this temple of delusion ; while, among us, those who hold a rational and liberal faith ofttimes refuse a pittance for the extension of truth, or give but grudgingly a mite from their abundance." Having reached home, he says : ^' I look upon this journey with satisfaction and pleasure, as not having been w^holly in vain We have distributed those silent but persuasive preachers, our tracts, at many places where the boat stopped but for a few^ minutes ; and have sown the good seed broadcast, in the hope that much of it will take root in good and honest hearts." On another occasion, he speaks more particularly of his tract distribution : " Often a tract was left when the boat touched for but a few minutes to take in a fresh supply of wood, where only a solitary log-cabin could be seen for many a w^eary mile. The inmates would hail these few pages wnth delight, as promising to beguile then' lonely hours, or as ftirnishing food for thought upon the day of rest. Sometimes not a book could be found in the cabin, and a tract thus given would supply the only ' reading material ' to a poor but intelligent family. I w^ished very much that I had a few good books to place where they would have been so faithftilly used Long before I reached home, the stock of tracts we had taken was exhausted, and several opportunities to benefit others were un- avoidably lost. " We sometunes hear persons declare, how much they wish they could preach. To such I would say, Your wish can be gratified. Take with you some 1 BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 69 tracts, and freely give to those who will, through curi- osity, as freely receive. Do this, not officiously, but fr'om a desire to do good, and fear not but that it will be accomplished. Often a light is thus shed beneath the humble roof of the Western pioneer which dif- fuses joy where before was gloom. All, both men and women, may thus become missionaries, and eternity only can reveal how effectual is such preaching But against one mistake we wish to guard. We desire no mere trash. A worthless book is worthless the world over, and here would be doubly pernicious. A good book, however old, is a good book still, and will be profitably and gratefully read." It may be well, in this connection, to cite what he says of the importance of the Western field ; for the state of tilings to which his words were appHcable twenty years ago still exists, and will long continue, though farther removed toward the setting sun. " We cannot disguise the fact, if we would, that the West, now rapidly becoming peopled with an untrammelled, bold class of men, will at no distant period have the predominating influence in the councils of our nation. If we reftise to impart to them, by our missionaries and publications, that light which cheers our own hearts, if we hold back our hands, which contain the antidote to the impoisoned di'aught of infidelity, then shall we be responsible for the anarchy which shall ultimately prevail. No one need fear that Western communities are not capable of appreciating the efforts of learned and intelligent missionaries, or of reading with interest and profit the various newspapers, books, and tracts. I can bear wilhng testimony to the intelligence of 70 CHAPLAIN FULLER. those whom it was my jirivilege to address in different portions of tlie West." On another vacation missionary excursion, he raises the banner of Christ in a log-cal)in. He thus refers to this occasion : " Here, in this humble log-cabin, were o;athered men anxious to hear of Christ, and learn the way of salvation. I preached, and seldom have been more moved than when gazing upon the eager countenances of my auditors. At the East, we call a sermon one hour or more in length wearisome ; but here, where few religious opportunities are en- joyed, a shorter discourse would leave the audience unsatisfied. I have, too, found it better to throw aside all notes when speaking ; the tastes, habits, and per- haps prejudices, of the people demand it. " After the sermon, according to custom, I invited a free expression of feeling and of interest in the cause of Christ. Elder Walworth spoke with much earnest- ness, and the Methodist class-leader testified to the value of such meetings, and the worth of the soul. That log-cabin, and the feelings there expressed, will be long remembered." The young missionary by no means restricted his labors to his denomination. He commenced his ca- reer with ardent longing for Christian union, and a love for all the branches of the True Vine, which ever animated him, till the last beat of his heart. Rev. Mr. Conant writes of him : " Mr. Fuller is in- vited to address the Sunday schools, to participate in the social meetings, to lecture, and even to preach to the Orthodox societies. He lately received a re- quest from some of the Presbyterian Society of Crystal 1 BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 71 Lake to preach to tliem. I mention these things as incidents illustrative of what I have said of the con- fidence and respect which he has secured. He attends to all these calls, as far as time and strength and his other duties will permit, — preaching, lecturing, and talking to the people." To the Methodists he always felt nearly related. In a letter from Belvidere he says: "A few Sabbaths since, after teaching a Sabbath school, which I had collected in a settlement about nine miles from this place, and preaching twice, I attended a Methodist meeting about half a mile distant. We sat quietly some time, waiting the arrival of their clergyman. Time passed swiftly, yet he came not; and I w^as strongly solicited by the class-leader and his brethren to officiate in the place of him they had expected. At first the request was declined, on account of a feeling of fatigue, but upon being renewed it was comphed with, from a fear that a further refusal might be mis- mterpreted. I preached, and am sure that at least my own heart was benefited." The academy, meanwhile, had nearly doubled the roll of its members, and was enjoying a high pros- perity. But the zeal of the young preacher and teacher was burning out too rapidly the fuel of life. The flesh began to show itself too weak for the wilhng spirit. This he hints at in the following letter, which, while it furnishes a slight sketch of his labors, breathes something of that heart's desire for Israel which in- spired his efforts. " You wish," he says, " to know of my labors ; and 1 will briefly inform you. Teaching in the acad- 72 CHAPLAIN FULLER. emy, and lia\ang the whole oversight of its three de- partments, and attending to all the business inseparable from an institution Uke mine, sufficiently occupy my week-day hours. Upon each Saturday I start for some destitute settlement, and lecture during the evening, and preach thrice upon the Sabbath. In one place I have a large Sabbath school, wdiich I visit once in three weeks. The scholars are fi'om families of vari- ous denominations, and have no books nor any teacher save myself. In the evening I usually ride home, in order not to be late at school the next mornmg. My health is wretched ; and may drive me from this wide and promising field. Still there is too much to be done for me to feel that I have a moral right to re- main unemployed ; the harvest is too plenteous, and the laborers too few. " It is not until recently that I have felt it my duty to preach thus regularly ; but the people in this region are now fairly awakened, and would ' know of the doc- trine.' It matters not how the storms rap-e over these cold, barren, and bleak prairies, crowded audiences listen eagerly. O, why will oiu' clergy leave this noble West unaided by their counsels ? Why will not more of our strong men do battle here in the cause of truth and Christianity ? Our missionaries are obliged to ford rivers, face the rude winds, and preach in log- cabins or barns, wherever their voices may be heard ; yet we feel that the cause of truth is onward, and many are coming to a saving knowledge of religion. I have generally preached in destitute settle- ments, where other^vise the living voice would sel- dom tell, upon the Sabbath, of life's responsibilities and duties. BELVIDERE, OR THE MISSIONARY. 73 " Such is my present employment. I deeply feel a desire to obtain a more thorough theological education ; and, should I leave Belvidere in the spring, it will be with that intent, and on account of ill-health. My public speaking is wholly extemporaneous, and my week-day labors preclude the possibility of its being otherwise." But he now felt compelled to leave this fruitful Western field ; not merely by the warnings of his overtasked health, but by his desire to lay a more solid foundation for usefulness in a profession whose enlarged sphere of action, and constant demand for new treasures from the storehouse of thought, his experience led him daily more highly to appreciate. Yet he yearns toward the field he must leave, and longs to have a fit successor. " In order that he may truly succeed," he says, "let him be an earnest, prayerful man, a laborer in the vineyard ; not one who comes simply to contemplate beautiful scenery, or to benefit his health, though both may be done. He should be so filled with the importance of his mission, that he could speak from the overflowing heart, with- out being always fettered by written sermons ; willing, too, to preach diu^ing the week occasionally, where he found inquiring spirits ; and above all one who scorns not the humble log school-house, so that he may bene- fit immortal souls." The labors of our young missionary were valued highly by his coworkers in the blessed cause. One of the elders of the Christian Connection writes thus : " Brother Roberts accompanied me to Belvidere, and we called on Elder John Walworth, who resides in 4 74 CHAPLAIN FULLER. the place. Here seven ministers providentially sat down together, — Elders Walworth, Roberts, Stick- nej, Thomas, and Barr, of the Christian Connection ; and Brothers Conant and Fuller, Unitarian. How delightful the interview ! It was good and pleasant ; for all were of one heart, united by bonds stronger than death. Belvidere is a beautifid place, and an interesting point. It is a county seat, settled by an intelligent, cnterprishig class of inhabitants. Brother "Walworth travels extensively, and his labors are abun- dant through the wide circle of his travels. But his field was too large, and the coming of other mmisters has afforded timely aid. We have a first-rate academy at Belvidere." Again Elder Oliver Barr writes : " Belvidere is a place of much interest. There is a flourishing acad- emy here, under the supervision of Professor Fuller, a young man of splendid talents, fine accomplishments, and eminently quahfied as a teacher. Professor Fuller is a clergyman of the Unitarian order, but a humble, ardent Clmstian, and zealously devoted to the advance- ment of spiritual Christianity, — strongly sympathizing with the Christians, and wishing to see our interests and efforts identical in the West." • Rev. Augustus H. Conant writes : " Brother A. B. Fuller, Principal of the Belvidere Academy, is exert- ing a quiet, but deep and strong and constantly widening influence." Elder John Walworth thus expresses his regret at the departure of the missionary teacher : " We regret that we are compelled to relinquish our claims upon the successful labors of Brother A. B. Fuller, Princi- BELVIDERE, OR THE 3IISSI0NARY. 75 pal of the Academy, on account of his ill-health. The confinement and arduous labors of the school-room were fast undermining a constitution which was not naturally strong, nor fitted to endure such constant a23plication. He has found it necessary, in order to regain his health, and if possible his constitution, to return to the East, in hopes that comparative relief from so much labor and care will in some measure, if not entirely, restore his health. Mr. Fuller felt desi- rous to sell the Academy to friendly persons ; which he did, by sacrificing considerably in order to con- tinue it in the hands of our friends He has acquitted himself honorably as the principal in this institution, as an accomplished and competent teacher. He leaves the school deeply regretted by the students and theu' parents and friends, who will long affection- ately remember his unwearied exertions to benefit his pupils. He leaves many friends here who ardently wish him health and prosperity, and who hope, should his life be spared to enter another field of labor, that extended usefulness and success may continue to at- tend him." We have in the welcome extended to the zealous labors of our young missionary by other denominations a pleasing proof of the cardinal oneness of Christian faith. And is there anything more satisfactory than to see the standard-bearers of Christ, his representa- tives upon the earth, complying with his touching prayer, — "that they may be one"? They will be one in heaven ; and can they refuse to be one on earth ? It was at the prompting of this union spirit that " Brother Fuller " (such is the record of Elder 76 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Barr) " offered himself as an associated member with us, to aid in the great work in which we are engaged. AYe received him as a Unitarian minister, yet a brother beloved, faitliful, devoted, zealous, and commended him as a member of this conference. If this be 'a paradox,' be it so. I would to heaven there were more of that catholic, fraternizing spirit among Chris- tians generally ! Subsequently to this, Brother Ful- ler's impaired health requii-ed him to leave his flourish- ing school in Belvidere." Thus we have given a brief statement of a Western experience of two years ; and we think those two fleeting years form as bright pages as any in this biography. We believe God accepted the devotion of the young, zealous heart, hke the grateful offering of Abel's sacrifice. And the reaper received wages. CHAPTER V DIVINITY SCHOOL. "The proper study of mankind is man." N his return from the West, in 1845, Ar- thur Fuller entered the Cambridge Divinity School one year in advance ; having already, amidst his active duties, o!;one throucj;li with the first year's studies of that institution. Thus, in what Choate describes as " fitful, fragmentary leis- ui*e," he had laid up half the allowance of a student in theology, while performing the double function of teacher and preacher. More than the other half he had learned from the book of natui'e and man. He had stored his mind with grand images from the vast level or billowy roll of the prairie ; he had entered heart and soul into the onward rush of Western life, and had thus obtained a momentum of activity, an energy of enterprise, which continued to impel him through life. He had acquired a copious, flexible, extempore utterance, a power of suiting his thought to the audience, an aptitude in moulding to his purpose the lessons of passing events. A Western audience, in those days, was held by no conventionality, and would go out at any point of the speaker's address, 78 CHAPLAIN FULLER. wlien his attraction ceased. He must interest, or have no hearers, and when he ceased to interest he had immediate notice of it by a vanishing audience. Thus the student gained an admirable disciphne in the school of human nature, and learned to " catch men." In the classic shades of Cambridge our student now devoted himself to study, contemplation, reasoning, and prayer. Those momentous themes of humanity, redemption, immortality, and heaven, the eternal in- terests of the soul, which have exercised the most earnest intellects through all the ages of man, he zealously dwelt upon, grappling with doctrinal ques- tions, settling his own convictions, and studying modes of reasoning by which to impress his convictions on others. Yet he was so far a practical man, that he could take no cloister-like pleasure in reading and reflection, and was mcessantly seeking the most avail- able application of truth to life, the associated life of the race of man. Vacation was the signal for him to engage in some new expedition as a preacher. The first was usefully spent in Montague, Massachusetts. Five persons, dm'- ing his ministration, joined the chui'ch in this place, which had not for three years before had a single addi- tion. He also lectured on temperance to a crowded house. His second winter vacation he spent in preach- ing at Windsor, Vermont. He writes home from here, describing his labors apart from his regular Sabbath preaching : " I have established a Bible-class, which includes young and old, and meets on Tuesday even- ings ; also a Sabbath school which I superintend my- self ; and -I preach on Thursday evenings. My time DIVINITY SCHOOL. 79 is all taken up. Last Sunday evening fifty persons assembled to see me at my residence." Again he writes : " I know that I am a miserable correspondent this winter ; but I am hurried, hurried, hurried. The society is deeply interested now in the concerns of religion, and I have to visit a great deal and write two sermons every week in addition. I prefer to write discourses, as being at present best for me. My audi- ences have largely increased, and I believe I am doing some good." He seemed to hear the sighing of the prisoner in the State penitentiary established at Windsor, and could not be content without visiting that institution. He writes in reference to it as follows : — " The humane efforts of those who have charge of the convicts have done much to alleviate the suffering inevitably attendant upon long confinement, and great exertion is made to provide for the best interests of those whose crimes have brought them into this gloomy place. It caused me, however, some surprise as well as gratification to hear, as I approached the door, the voices of many strong men united in singing ; and I never felt more thankful to God for the power of music to soften and purify the heart, than when look- ing upon that band of prisoners whose whole attention seemed absorbed by their song. It was my purpose to deliver a temperance lecture, since intoxication in this State, as well as throughout the civihzed world, is the prolific source of crime. The convicts, I found, were practising temperance melodies. It was touching to hear the strains of that household song, ' Long ago,' echoed amid those gloomy walls ; and as I gazed upon 80 CHAPLAIN FULLER. countenances where sin and painful thought had writ- ten somewhat variant lines, I could not but believe many were thinking of bygone and innocent days, when brighter hopes illumined theu' pathway, when guilt had stained neither hand nor heart. Nor was this ' long ago ' with a large portion of that number, who were yet young, scarce ha\'ing reached the age of twenty-five. When the chaplain told me how few had ever been under rehgious influences in childhood, and that most of them had been neglected boys, edu- cated only in \'ice, my heart refused harshly to con- demn them, nor could I feel anything but profound pity. How many, now honored and respected by the world, would have been equally stained, had they been nurtured only amid scenes of infamy. " I incidentally endeavored, in the course of my lec- ture, to convince the auditory, that the object of gov- ernment in punishing crime is to protect society ; yes, often to protect men fi-om themselves ; and that, if they were pardoned to-morrow, or had never been detected, punishment, from its nature, would still be inevitable, because conscience would harass Avith its bitter reproaches, and they would have known their undiscovered guilt and God also. " Upon Monday, I accompanied the chaplain once more to the prison, and through the favor of its officers was allowed to converse freely with any of the con- victs. I cannot tell you how much satisfaction this gave me ; they seemed generally so ready to acknowl- edge their wrong-doing, to be penitent, and desirous of reform. Alas ! many of them may break those re- solves, or the world's harsh treatment and cold scorn DIVINITY SCHOOL. 81 may drive them once again to mad crime ; yet for some I believe and hope better things. It was grati- fying to find men who at least were not cased in self- righteousness and vanity, which as a coat of mail shields from any warnings. The wages of sin had been received by them, and the coinage was burning and fearfiil ; that these men knew. Hardened wretches there were, it is true ; men who seemed to have no mercy for themselves, and no care for others ; yet, thank God, I am not their judge. " I saw Chfford, who murdered his wife and innocent children, and through life must be imprisoned. He sat in his cell alone^ — always alone, save with the bit- ter musings of his depraved spirit. Scarce thirty eight, and looking still younger ; he rocked to and fro, glaring at me with scowling brow, and fierce, mad eye, while my few words through his gi'ated window drew no response. Poor, degraded wreck of humanity, — how sullen and vindictive ! No word has passed his lips for months, but brooding over the past, he re- mains, refusing all sympathy, all counsel. Yet who can tell but the voice of those who would gladly save him from himself may yet arouse some smothered spark of feeling in that scorched and seared heart ? Chfford has attempted suicide, but failed, miserably failed. When a keeper essayed to remove him from one cell to another, the ferocious convict endeavored to throw him over the balustrade, and thus kill one who had treated him only with kindness. " I shall never forget how that wretched man looked upon me ; nor did I fail to mark how feai'ful is the power which man possesses of thus stifling nearly 4* p 82 CHAPLAIN FULLER. every good thought or germ of tenderness implanted in his bosom. How low, how terribly low he, ' made but a little lower than the angels,' may fall ! " There are now fifty-seven prisoners ; only three of whom are confined for murder, and one even of these for murder in the second degree, having com- mitted the act while intoxicated. There is but one negro among the whole number, an abandoned, des- perate fellow ; his crime, murder. Years ago he escaped from slavery, and who of us can tell how much that burning wrong may have goaded and mad- dened, how its degradation, more bitter than death, more cruel than the grave, may have cankered the heart, till it was revengeful and beastly. If this be so, where, where rests the awful responsibility ? Now that corrupt African is a dangerous being, and recks little for the blood of those who would control his passion- ate outbreaks. " And yet another, a young man, ch'ew my atten- tion. He was the son of a respectable clergyman, was scarce twenty-one, and for eight long years must render unrequited and silent toil. O how deeply affecting to gaze upon his handsome, intelligent face, and to hear him talk of those whose affections he had crushed and hopes blighted ! ' I shall be almost thirty when released,' he said, as he turned his dark eyes upon me, who attempted to teach him how much of life would still remain to him ; that he might yet be happy, if here he resolved to do well and wisely for coming time. Idleness and bad company had wrought the dark thread in the cord of life for this young man. Temptation had thus made him her victim ; and now DIVINITY SCHOOL. 88 where were those companions ? How many of them ever thought of his misery, or laughed less loudly from the thought of his sad fate ? But there are those who do care for him ; those who often love most ten- derly the erring and world-forsaken, — his mother, and his family. He spoke of the letters his mother wrote him, and which were angel visitants to his sad cell. " There is a strong desire manifested by some of the convicts to learn to sing, and one of their number has been a teacher of music. But they have no singing- books nor means of procuring them. A very few tem- perance melodies, which those already knowing common tunes can sing, are all which have enabled them to have any singing. Of course methodical instruction is now out of the question. Yet what greater solace or benefit to the poor prisoner than music ? Perhaps nothing could avail to soften his heart more ; and shall such means be denied ? One of the reasons of that joyous welcome, ' Come, ye blessed of my Father,' which it is the Chris- tian's hope to receive, is that the prisoner has been visited. If any cannot visit personally, send those books which shall seek out the erring, nor loathe their cells. Idleness and bad company brought many a wretched one to these dark walls ; let them be taught an accomplishment which shall be a companion in soli- tude. Afford them innocent and useful recreation, and you have done much to guard from temptation. Let the plaintive song of penitence echo within these walls, and hearts may be touched where otherwise no chord could vibrate. Those convicts have been promised by me six, or, if possible to get them, twelve 84 CHAPLAIN FULLER. copies either of tlie ' Carmina Sacra' or ' Boston Acad- emy's Collection ' of music. Let no person think my promise unadvised ; for whether these books can be f^ot of others or not, no self-denial -would be equal to that of allowing such an opportunity for good to pass unim- proved." At the -close of vacation, our student returned to Cambridge, and at the end of the term regularly graduated from tlie Divinity School. He now felt fully prepared for the great work of the Clmstian ministry. The spiritual unction, the facile speech and animated delivery, had secured for their auxiliary in the Christian warfare a sound learning, derived from books " rich with the spoils of time," to- gether with intellectual method and discipline. Would that the physical man had been meet to sustain the sph'itual flame ! But in this respect a disproportion between the mind and body at once stnick the ob- server. His figure, of a medium height, all alive with the restless nervous temperament, showed a chest too narrow to be in equilibrium with the largely developed brain.* The mind constantly advanced beyond its un- equal yoke-fellow, the body, and the latter frequently gave out in the course. * His head measui-ed twenty-three and a half inches. It may interest some readers to learn that his head was once examined by Mr. Fowler, the well-known phrenologist, whose chart indicates ideality, benevolence, and the reasoning faculties as his leading traits, with a full development of moral and religious character. Let this go for what it is worth. Our own observation has led us to think the contents of a head more important than its capacity. PART II. THE NEW ENGLAND CLERGYMAN. ■ Work of his hand He nor commends nor grieves. Speaks for itself the fact ; As unrepentant Nature leaves Her every act " Emerson. CHAPTER I. MANCHESTER. " Though meek and patient as a sheathed sword, Though pride's least lurking thought appear a wrong To human kind ; though peace be on his tongue, Gentleness in his heart ; can earth afiford Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free. As when, arrayed in Christ's authority, lie from the pulpit lifts his awful hand, Conjures, implores, and labors all he can Por resubjectiug to divine command The stubborn spirit of rebellious man ? " Wordsworth. N graduating from the Divinity School, Arthur Fuller preached a few Sabbaths at Albany, New York. Here, he writes, " I have been attending a course of antislavery lectures by Frederick Douglass, the fugitive slave, and have become greatly interested." The field of religious labor in Albany seemed too arduous for his then state of health. He says : "I will tell you what is the strong desire of my heart, — a good large parish in the country. I wish a religious society ; for I believe my motives in entering the ministry are, in all sincerity and humility, to save souls. This is no idle talk with me, as you will believe. And this doing good, in a contented, quiet, conscientious way, is my ambition.''* On returning to Massachusetts he was engaged to take 88 CHAPLAIN FULLER. the place of Rev. Edward T. Taylor, the Bethel preacher in Boston, usually styled " Father Taylor," who was to be absent about three months. It was no easy task to hold the attention of the rough salts who made up a good part of the audience, and who were habituated to the dramatic preaching and truly wonderful though eccentric eloquence of Father Tay- lor.* But here Western experience stood our preacher in good stead. He made the billows roll in his dis- coui'se, and levied contributions from Neptune's every mood, to arrest the ear, and depict in nautical guise the Divine tinith. On the return of Father Taylor, our young minister preached for three months at West Newton, Massa- chusetts, when he received and accepted a call from Manchester, New Hampshire. Here he was soon after duly ordained. The condition of the church and soci- ety when he assumed the charge is thus depicted in an editorial article in the Manchester Mirror : — " The Unitarian Society in this place, hke a youth of early promise, on which consumption had laid its wasting hand, seemed to be fast sinking into a prema- ture grave. Its dissolution was so strongly anticipated by some of its scanty members, that a few of those who had helped by their money and influence to sus- tain it for years left it, from reluctance to witness its djdng struggles, and connected themselves with other societies. Still there were a few who, crowned with * An instance of Father Taylor's style occurs to memory, which will illustrate his figurative speech. In a very dry time he had been requested to pray for rain, and complied in the following terms : " Lord, the thirsty earth sends up its prayer to thee in clouds of dust! " MANCHESTER. 89 that rich jewel, Hope, continued to strive on against the calumny of foes and worse desertion of friends. " In this their darkest hour, Providence sent to them a pale student, whose physical frame, tender as the summer plant, seemed ill-adapted to feed a robust brain, and little fitted to endure the toil requisite to the performance of the arduous and often perplexing duties of pastor to a society which had hardly a name to live. The gentleman had been sent to supply the pulpit for only one Sabbath, yet with but little inter- mission he has supplied it ever since. We need not say the person above alluded to is their present effi- cient and eloquent pastor, Arthur B. Fuller." The congregation, when he commenced his labors, says the same authority, " embraced about fifty persons." The church was at a low ebb, "attenuated to but the square of two." Soon a change passed over this scene, which is thus described by a writer in the Christian Inquirer : "In his (Rev. A. B. Fuller's) charge at Manchester, New Hampshire, I was permitted to see a congregation vitalized by his fervor and permeated by his Method- istic spirit. I had known the church when it was feeble, lifeless, and doubting. Under him, it changed as by a miracle, as no one thought of withstanding liis influence : old and young were brought into an earnest sympathy with their pastor, as beautiful as it is rare. Other denominations gathered closely around liim, whom they call Orthodox and Evangelical. The pews were full as often as he was able to occupy the pulpit. Prayer-meetings, which he loved more than any of us, were a perfect success." 90 CHAPLAIN FULLER. The pastor's earnestness and eloquence had a deep foundation. He believed himself in a perishing world, whose only hope is in the Lord Jesus Christ. He recognized the need of regeneration. These great doctrines are well suited to kindle the ardor and nerve the energy of one who loves God and man, and who feels himself called to preach the everlasting Gospel. But it was not merely the necessity of religion : it was the delight which the preacher felt in the law of his God, the deep joy of heavenly communion, the foun- tain of immortal satisfaction, which he partook of in the contemplation of God's attributes of love, majesty, and power, which gave for him divine charms to tem- ple worship and the meetings for social prayer. Nor was religion with him an insulated sentiment or emo- tion, without a leavening influence on the associate traits of character. The whole man was pervaded by it. It gave and received influence from the intellect and the practical life. His preaching partook of this character, seeking to thread all the mazes of life with the pervasive irrigation of religion ; to make religion practical, and the practical religious ; to render the in- tellect religious, and religion intellectual ; to secure the joint, harmonious action of mind and heart ; to cherish aspiration, not as a detached emotion, but as the normal, combined operation of all the faculties in every channel of activity. "We had the pleasure," says an editorial in the Manchester Mirror, speaking of the Rev. A. B. Fuller, " of listening to a discourse by this pastor, in which was developed one of the great secrets of his success among the people, wliich consists not more in his MANCHESTER. 91 chaste and flowery language and winning style, than in his presentation of the great practicability and adap- tation of Christianity to all the purposes of life. In his discourse, he entered familiarly into all the social and business relations of man with his fellows ; show- ing the imperative duty of honest dealing in buying and selling, as well as in our social relations to be guided by the Christian sentiment of love and good- will one towards another, our obligation to have our religion manifested by works each day of the week as well as on the Sabbath, and not to clasp in our Bibles or lock up in our churches our religious ob- ligations and duties. Religion has something to do with the whole man ; and those who profess Christian- ity, and would adorn their profession, should follow its teachings, and carry into practice its requirements, at all times and all places and under all circumstances." He was very conscious of the importance of pastoral visiting to success in the ministry, and assiduous in paying visits, encouraging his people also to call on him. Yet, to prevent this part of his duty from en- croaching seriously upon his labors in the study, he arranged a system of proceeding. He writes : "I have adopted regular rules for the employment of my time, and find it advantageous. I give notice of it to my people, that they may observe my hours." The influence of the prayers of the new pastor, and of his exposition of truth, through the Divine blessing, became more and more manifest, not merely in an increasing audience, but, what was better, in an awak- ened rehgious interest, and souls gathered in as the precious seals of his ministry. The Divine grace, 92 CHAPLAIN FULLER. falling first as the noiseless but refreshing dew, then in occasional reviving drops, descended at length in a blessed shower. " Yesterday," he writes, " was the happiest day of my ministerial life. My society has heretofore prospered outwardly and to a certain extent in religious things ; but there has been at no one time any imited movement such as is often termed a revival, and in which many souls at once seem fiiU of concern, and others obtain a bright and blessed life. But for the few past weeks there has been that earnest state of feeling, and yes- terday some seven persons presented themselves be- fore the altar to unite with Christ's visible Church, and consecrate their lives to his service. It was a morning of deep feeling. The whole congregation were moved, and all those to whom I spoke at noon seemed 'much affected, most even to tears. This is but the beginning of a true revival of pure religion and self-consecration, as I hope and believe. I rejoice in it. In my mind there is no prejudice against a w^eU- conducted and carefully guarded movement of this kind, in w^hich excess does not necessarily mingle. Give me even excitement rather than apathy. Those who united yesterday were influential business men and most devoted w^omen. I could tell you sweet things about nearly all of them. To-morrow evening, we hold a meeting of the church, to be followed by a meeting of inquirers, in which we shall set our church all to work, and answer the questions of those who long to know what they shall do to be saved. Rejoice with me, dear brother, that such a season of refresh- ing and revival is now vouchsafed to my church and society." MANCHESTER. 93 In the pastor's success it must not be supposed that he encountered no difficulties, no discouragements. He always had his full share of conflict with obstacles ; but, armed with the shield of faith, the helmet of salva- tion, and the sword of the Spirit, he did not yield, nor withhold the counsel of God, At one time the most wealthy and influential man in the society, the pillar and mainstay, was exasperated by an earnest sermon against the great wrong of slav- ery, and dwelling upon the black crimes the slave power had perpetrated by the aid of a supple North. The gentleman called on the pastor, and told him that sermon had determined him to quit the society, and connect himself with that of another denomina- tion. The pastor received this announcement in a very different manner from what had been antici- pated. He assured his parishioner that he approved of his resolution. "I have preached to you," said he, " a considerable period of time, and with little apparent effect. Probably my mode of presenting truth is not adapted to your case. I hope a style of preaching which dwells more habitually upon the sterner themes of Divine truth may affect your heart." The parishioner, findmg he should not punish the minister by going to another church, declared he w^ould not go to any. The pastor expressed sor- row, but would not yield an iota of the independence of the pulpit, in preaching the whole counsel of God. There the matter dropped, and there for some months it rested. The pastor, meanwhile, was always courteous when he met the lost parishioner. At length as he was passing one day the bank with which the 94 CHAPLAIN FULLER. gentleman was connected, he was suq^rised to notice his ex-friend beckoning to him to enter. What was to come off he could not imagine, but he expected nothing agreeable. On entering he was requested to be seated by the former parishioner, who was writing at a desk. He patiently complied, and presently his parishioner, approaching, placed in his hand a check for twenty-five dollars, saying, '' Mr. Fuller, I respect you for your independence, and I give you that as a token of my appreciation." The pastor was much affected, and felt inwardly to thank God, not so much on his own account, as for the change which had been wrought in his parishioner. The harmony between them was never afterward interrupted. The parishioner would listen quietly as a lamb to the occasional phihppics which the pulpit did not neo^lect to thunder ao;ainst " the sum of all villanies." The parishioner died not long after, be- queathing a handsome legacy to the society, and his pastor delivered an affecting eulogy upon the departed. Was it not better for the clergyman thus to do and dare, trusting in the Lord ? Was it not far better for the parishioner ? Was he not taught to trust the sincerity and fidehty of the pastor, who he saw would not jield his Master's cause to the pressure of golden influence ? Our pastor encountered also a similar temporary reverse with a most happy ultimate result, in his pulpit presentation of the cause of temperance, — a subject which he not only advocated zealously to secular as- semblies, but pressed home upon his people with his characteristic earnestness. MANCHESTER. 95 He had prepared a temperance address, which he dehvered in a neighboring town on a special occasion ; and, impressed with the rehgious importance of his theme, he threw it into the sermon form, and delivered it from his pulpit. It happened that a wealthy man in his society was engaged in the sale of spirituous liquors. He took umbrage at the sermon, declared it was per- sonal, and written expressly for him, and he would go to meeting no more. So he retu-ed, like Achilles to his tent. But it was no easy matter to persuade his children to the like course ; for they were attached to their pastor, who always loved children, and drew them closely to him in the Sabbath school, and had a smile and pleasant word for them wherever he met them, calling his lambs by name, occasionally too devoting a half-day service and sermon especially to them. Nor was the wife willing to forego her religious privileges for the grievance of her lord. So the rest of the family still attended church, and the head of the household was thus often reminded that there was such an institution, and, strange to say, it was still in progress, notwithstanding his dereliction. Meanwhile the pastor was equally civil to the father when he met him, and equally cordial toward the rest of the family. At length the wife asked him if he could not send some message to her husband, who was by no means happy, yet, with the fancy rankHng in his mind that the offensive sermon was written especially for him, could not be reconciled. The pastor said that he had nothing to take back about the sermon ; but if it would be any relief to her husband, she could tell him that it was originally written as a temperance 96 CHAPLAIN FULLER. lecture to be delivered in another locality, and with no thought of him. Now again the relieved parish- ioner appeared in his place at church. He did not, however, expect the pastor to refrain from temperance sermons. Nor did he now wish it, for he himself gave up the traffic in spirituous liquors, and put his hand to the temperance cause. Not long afterward, on a dark night, two men found their way with a lantern to the pastor's residence, to engage him to give a lecture on temperance in a neiMiboring to^\Ti. One of them was the reconciled parishioner ! What an unlooked-for issue was this to the difficulty ! What a sunshine succeeding the shadow which had briefly rested on the faithful preach- er's heart ! For, though persevering in fidelity to his appointed duty as watchman on Zion's walls, he could not be indifferent to the hearts which he must alienate in proclaiming the Divine displeasure with iniquity. In Manchester, as everywhere in his ministerial labors, our pastor loved that garden of the Lord where the buds of childhood and the opening bloom of youth are fostered, a favorite resort of the Divine Gardener, where he finds a sweet perfume, — the Sabbath school. In a sermon relative to the share of duty which falls to the congregation, in the joint work of pastor and people, he says : " This city contains hundreds, perhaps a thousand childi'en, who are mem- bers of no Sabbath school, and who seldom or never enter a church. If you think this a high estimate, go to those who have searched, and you will be astonished at your previous incredulity. Now shall we do noth- MANCHESTER. 97 ing to gather these souls, fast contracting the taint of vice and corruption, into the place of religious instruc- tion ? Great God ! is it nothing to us that these little ones, for whom Christ died, and whom he has pro- nounced our own brethren, are treading the highway to death, trained only in iniquity and crime ? " He says, on another occasion, in enforcmg parental duty : " Begin, dear parents, early to teach your chil- dren religion. I am persuaded that many, very many, are converted in childhood, and so in very youth ripened for heaven. Yes ; there are parents in my audience who know, either of the living or departed, that this is gloriously true ! The seeds of sin, too, sown in the heart of childhood, or found already there, will spring up to yield a fatal harvest, unless by prayer and effort parents early begin to educate their children for heaven. Else must the parents be called to com- fortless mourning for their offspring, and bitter memo- ries be garnered in conscience, even for etei-nity." We find our past9r, too, at Manchester laboring as one of the committee of the public schools, and lectur- ing on moral and educational topics to promiscuous assemblies. He advocated there and in neighboring towns the passage of the Maine Law. He delivered courses of lectures, giving sketches of prominent Scrip- ture personages ; also upon the respective duties of parents and children, and the sphere of woman. He spoke to teachers' institutes and literary associations. In a pubhshed address he dehvered before the Acad- emy in Bedford, New Hampshire, he indicates the religious importance of education in tlie following terms. 98 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ''It is our sincere opinion, "that intellectual cul- ture is immortal in its tendency and nature, and by streno-theninp; man's mental faculties, increases his capacities for bliss and the acquisition of spiritual knowledge hereafter. The mind, the thought, can never die ; they live on, immortal as God from whom they came. I could not advocate so earnestly the acquisition of knowledge, if Hmited to this brief Hfe. I plead for it, because philosophy and just reasoning teach us that such acquisition is of eternal value, and fits for a higher sphere of spiritual enjoyment hereafter. " I have been gi'ieved sometimes to hear Christian men and women speak slightingly and disparagingly of human learning. Ah, Christian ! where were that Bible you value, save for that human learning which translated it into a language famihar to yom' ear ? Where were it, had not some poor wise man discov- ered the art of printing ? Where would have been the Protestant Reformation, had not Luther known other languages than his own, and translated fr^om the " crooked Greek " the Book of books, for the use of the common people ? Christian ! look again at your Bible, ere you deprecate human learning, or array yourself against the friends of education ; for ' Piety hath found friends In the friends of science, and true prayer Hath flowed from lips wet with Castalian dews.' " All honor to our Pirritan forefathers ! They were not indeed perfect ; but their faults were those of their age, while their virtues were not of their age, but, by the grace of God, their own. Long may the church and school-house stand, as they wisely placed them, MANCHESTER. 99 side by side, each as a safeguard against the mistakes of the other. To the educated clergy of New Eng- land and their zeal for knowledge, to their early estab- lishment of schools and universities, is due much of our prosperity, our greatness." Having thus slightly sketched the pastor's labors, we glance now at the home where his heart rested and his mind composed. For more than a year his mother was housekeeper at the parsonage. In a letter, he thus refers to her : " She is quite well now, yet has not much strength, nor will she ever have again. Her years press heavily upon her ; yet in her feelings she can never grow old." In another letter, nearly of the same date, he says : " This is mother's birthday. She speaks of you with that love which so tender a mother uniformly feels for her children. To-day she is sixty- one. Her years with us must now be few. May we do all in our power to make those few happy." In the same letter he thus refers to his sister Mar- garet : " She is a most affectionate and gifted sister. We have in our family all the elements requisite for great happiness." Alas ! that happmess was destined to a tragical interruption ! " Life is a sea. How fair its face, How smooth its dimpled waters pace, Its canopy how pure ! Yet hidden storms and tempests sleep Beneath the surface of the deep, Nor leave an hour secure." The kindred tie linking the hearts of this family together was strong and aflPectionate. Es])ecially Mar- garet was regarded with loving pride by the dear brothers and sister for whom she had sacrificed so 100 CHAPLAIN FULLER. much, and by the widowed parent 'who had leaned on her in place of the staff death had stricken from her hands. One way the mother had of expressing her affection in hfe, and her love stronger than death, was in the culture of her daughter's favorite flowers, fos- tered in the garden, and ultimately cherished to breathe the balmy incense of affectionate memory over the cenotaph, commemorating the daughter when her spirit and body alilve could no more be found in earth. She thus in a letter exhorts her son : " I wish you to pay especial attention to Margaret!s favorites, sweet pease, mignonette, and mourning bride. Many bou- quets have I made of them for her." Margaret, on her part, fully reciprocated her moth- er's affection. She writes to Arthur, anticipating her return home again from foreign lands : "I hope to find you in your home, and make you a good visit there. Your invitation is sweet in its tone, and rouses a vision of summer woods and New England Sabbath morning bells. It seems to me, from your letter and mother's, that she is at last in her true sphere. Watch over her carefully, and do not let her do too much. Her spirit is only too willing, but the flesh is weak, and her life is precious to us all." But the time had now come for death to make another breach in the family, prostrating Margaret, its noble column, and this by an assault singularly un- expected and severe. She had been absent on the Continent for three years. During this time she had been united in mar- riage with a noble Roman, captain of the Civic Guard, and a brave combatant in the Italian struggle begin- MANCHESTER. 101 nlng In 1848, which martyred so many patriotic lives for the time in vain. The union was a happy one, and is thus described by Mrs. WiUiam W. Story in a letter to Mrs. James Russell Lowell : " You ask about Margaret's marriage. I think she has chosen the better part in marrying. Her husband is noble by nature as well as by birth, and seems more the lover now than even before marriage." This union had been blessed by the bii'th of a beautiful boy. The trio were on their return voyage in the summer of 1850, and the mother, brothers, and sister were hourly expecting to greet again that loved and gifted member of their family circle with the added treasures of affection she brought with her. But " O the heavy change ! " The paper which should have announced the vessel's arrival contained instead an awful tele- gram, with the stunning tidings of the vessel's wreck, and the graves those loved voyagers had found in the tempestuous sea ! The family, when this ill news flew fast to them, lightning-winged, were waiting to repair to New York, where the vessel was expected to arrive. They now went thither, — but how sad a journey ! — for the vessel had foundered on Fire Island, an exterior bar- rier of New York harbor. When they reached the scene of the terrible drama, the angry sea, not yet calmed, was still rolling its mountain billows over the stranded wreck, its poor ruined victim swept over by its waves at scarcely a stone's throw from the firm shore where the grief-bowed mother, the afHicted brothers and sister in vain strained their eyes into the foamy deep to catch any vestige of the noble and loved 102 CHAPLAIN FULLER. form of Margaret. The body of the babe alone the ruthless ocean relinquished, after Kfe was exhausted, to be borne away for burial in a sweet spot watered by tears and garlanded by living flowers. The mother endured this sorrow through " the dear might of Him who walked the wave," and who will not lay upon us a trial greater than we are able to bear. But she contracted from it (such was her physician's opinion) that malady which, nine years after, terminated her mortal career. Arthur bore the affliction with fortitude. He writes some months after- wards : " There are sad memories which at times op- press me, and the sense of the loss we have met only grows deeper as time passes. But I know it is not right to be absorbed by these griefs ; neither right towards those hving in this w^orld, nor those living in the other ; and I seek only to remember what Mar- garet has been, is still, and shall he to us." In the autumn of this year our pastor took a step which had been deferred by the family bereavement, but which a regard for his afflicted mother's health, no longer adequate to a housekeeper's duties, rendered it prudent to delay no longer. He was happily united in marriage with Elizabeth G. Davenport, of Mendon, Massachusetts. We will describe her in his own words, contained in a family letter : " I find one who bears with me my burdens, and who is already greatly beloved by my people. Gentle, yet uniformly self- possessed, she deserves and always secures respect. It is a great relief, too, to be able to share all my thoughts and feelings with one who sympathizes wanxily with me. I have great cause to be thankful to God." MANCHESTER. 103 It is sometimes imagined that the expansion of the heart over a wide field comprising multiphed objects must diminish its love for that home where it orio;i- nated, and whence it has enlarged in concentric circles, like the smooth surface of a lake into which some list- less hand has dropped a pebble. We believe this to be a false surmise. Love partakes of the infinite ca- pacity of its Divine Original, who glories in it as his name, and it " grows by what it feeds on," strength- ened in its first generous affections by its enlarging range. So it certainly was with Arthur Fuller. His filial and brotherly love could be supplanted by no new ties, nor by his unlimited philanthropy. Pleasing proofs of this we can adduce from his family letters ; a few of which we will cite, not only for this purpose, but also for the sentiment they contain, and the light they throw upon his character. The followmg letter is addressed to Richard and his companion, on the birth of their oldest son. " I rejoice with you in your new blessing. Married life is comparatively sad, if no children are given to increase attachment to one another and to life. You will find great satisfaction in training this young im- mortal in all good things, physical, mental, and spirit- ual. I have named the three in their proper order of development and attention ; for education is educing^ developing, not grafting on, or producing. His phys- ical well-being, the laying of a good foundation of bodily health, will deserve your especial attention. Too many parents foster the mind's growth at the body's expense, and allow the wick of life, in giving too much light, to waste the candle. You will not be so unwise. 104 CHAPLAIN FULLER. "It is looking a good way forward, to tliink much now of the Uttle boy's mental culture. Yet that should begin early. Try to give balance rather than precocity. " You will both of you, as parents, have additional reason to care for the regulation of your own lives and hearts. Man is an imitative being, and especially assimilates, in his mental growth, the lessons, however minute, which parental example inculcates. Your deeds^ not your words, will be the copy which his youthful hand will inscribe with indehble lines upon his heart. " Spiritual training, distinctively so termed, I name last, as last in order. True, this forms part of physical and yet more of mental education, and should blend with them all. If he have a sound body, he will be free from the vexations of ill-temper which ill-health produces ; if a sound mind, then he will readily see the relations between right and wrong, and discrimi- nate as to truth and falsehood. Do not seek to form his opinions^ but his character. Religion is character, not opinion. The sound heart will never allow the head to err as to saving doctrine. Do not seek, there- fore, to give an undue bias on either side, but look well to the fountam, for ' out of the heart are the issues of life.' " "VVe will cite also a letter occasioned by the event which makes the opposite to birth ; closing, as that opens, the mortal drama. " Dear Eugene and Eliza : — "A few days since the sad intelligence of your mutual and heavy sorrow reached me. I do not call it your loss ; for how can it be so to have a treasure MANCHESTER. 105 'transferred to heaven, which may lead you more and more to fix your hearts where is stored your precious jewel. I once viewed death and earthly separations differently from my present thought ; but the more deeply I drink life's cup, by so much the more do I long to taste that of immortality, even if death's bitter draught must first be drained. " Doubtless our Father, in his love for his children, considered what you would suffer ; yet sent the death- angel in mercy to teach the sad lesson of mortality. " I had learned already to love this little niece whom I have never seen, but whom I shall see at no distant day. " I could not refrain from saying these few words to you. I feel that our laments of earthly separation are but the preludes to the glad songs of heaven, where these loved infant voices will greet us again, never more to be hushed in death." The fountain of pleasantry which had played up so spontaneously in Arthur's childhood, imbittered by the tears of his early orphanage, and chilled afterward by many a hard life lesson, sobered, too, by assiduous labors and pressing cares, lost its early exuberance. Yet it occasionally works free of mingling tears, and sheds again its refreshing on his way. We find a few instances of this in his letters, which, though passing from grave to gay, we think may be cited as not out of keeping with the tessellated course of life. In a January letter from Manchester, when the skies of fortune also wore a wintry aspect for railroad stocks, he writes : — 5* 106 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " This really cold day convinces us that winter has not been omitted from the Hst of the seasons. I sup- pose in your warm office you are not, like us, exasper- ated by the biting salutations of Jack Frost, who dares to breathe his cold aspersions upon the most reverend heads in New Hampshire, and makes the exposed front feel as well as look Hke a marble brow. " I shall be in Boston next week on Wednesday, and meanwhile should be glad if you would exercise your financial abihties in the sale of a little stock and the purchase of other for me. The Providence shares have never seemed, in any but a satirical sense, a providential thing for me. To keep those two shares would be a tempting of Providence, and I doubt not be the cause of a further fall in my pride consequent upon a ftirther fall in the stocks. "At any rate I want to sell to a young man like you ; though I fear it may be needful to seek some one still younger, who has confidence, and does not rail at all railroads. With the proceeds please make insurance doubly sure, by purchasing two shares additional to the two of that ilk which I already pos- sess." Again Januarius exhilarates him to the following letter, all charges in which the recipient would have it clearly understood he distinctly repels. " I wish you would write that you have searched, and that my great-coat is or is not in Boston. I wi'ote to you some time since a letter upon no other subject, save that I closed with a hope that your health was good. You replied, or rather wrote a note, giving ample assurances in regard to your health, but not one MANCHESTER. 107 word as to the coat. I put the subject in the postscript of another letter, knowing that the postscript is the most important and noticeable part. Not a word in reply yet. Now I suppose that the great-coat 18 con- venient to you, and that possession is nine tenths of the law, — but not of the gospel^ remember ! I shall get out a writ of ejectment, if I hear of youi' parading that coat on Washington Street. It does look well, I know, but then — " He alludes to the general subject of playfiil spirits in another epistle written upon his birthday. " I duly received your letter calling on me for a 'jocular reply.' Gayety has not for years been the prevailing mood of my mind, and is much less so now. My fi-ame is rather that of calmness and serenity. Life has been a serious, thoughtful business, and has shown me too much suffermg in the world, too much need of inward conflict, to admit of much mirth. Yet I am seldom if ever sad, and after seeing you, or some friend of more care-free hours, I am gay again. Yet the fountain of mirth does not overflow, unless some angel visitant troubles the waters. " This is my birthday. I have risen early, and am writing to you. You will not expect mirth to be in my heart on this morning of reflection. Yet I think myself very happy, much happier than as a child. Then I had much to endure, without the inward sup- port to enable me to bear the petty ills that assail that period of life. Now I am in feeble health, but that does not sadden me. I am pastor of a good and appre- ciating society, and above all have a glimmering of those bright joys to come, which even now would be 108 CHAPLAIN FULLER. more than a reward, were I wholly self-consecrated. Ah ! were I not conscious of faults and of departures from the one true path, by coming short of the full discharge of duty, then I should be perfectly happy ! "Were I to live my childhood over again, I would do everytliing to gain a sound, strong constitution ; for lack of strength has hindered my best efforts from full success. I would gain, too, accomplishments which might beguile sick hours, and would be taught method- ical habits. Father's death, and the consequent griefs and anxieties, probably prevented all this. Yet how soon at the longest shall I go to that home where neither physical strength nor aught but holiness will be needful ! I think much of mother and of you all to-day, and with ever-increased love." The year 1853 opened with a notable providence m the life of our Manchester minister. On New Year's day he writes : "I am now in manhood's prime, — thirty years of age. The sands of my life must be more than half run out. I feel a solemnity not easy to express." A few days after this he visited his brother in ]\Iassachusetts, and on his return, over the Boston and Mame Railroad, a remarkable accident occurred, which he describes in one of the newspapers in the followmg terms : — " You desire me, Mr. Editor, to write out the par- ticulars of the distressing railroad casualty. The train left Boston at quarter past twelve at noon. There were about forty in the car where I was seated. A portion of the passengers were in a sportive mood. I recollect particularly some young men jesting upon the phrase of their passenger tickets, ' Good for this MANCHESTER. 109 trip only,' and speculating for how many other trips the same ticket had been and would hereafter be used. And yet to some that trip doubtless has proved the last. We were on an express .train, and only stopped at Wilmington, Ballardvale, and South Andover ; at each of which places more passengers got m, thus mcreasing the number in our car to about sixty. At South Andover General Pierce and his lady, accompa- nied by their interesting little boy of thirteen, entered the car, and took seats in the front, near where I sat. We had gone about a mile and a half further, and were at our full speed, — I was looking out of the window, — when we felt a severe shock, and the car was dragged for a few seconds, the axle of the front wheel being broken. " In another second the coupling of our car parted, and it was wliii'led violently round, so as to reverse the ends, and we were swung over a rocky ledge into a place many feet below the railroad grade. I retained my consciousness perfectly, and had no expectation of escaping death. I shall never forget the breathless horror which came over us durmg oiu' fall. There was not a shriek nor an exclamation till the car, after having turned over twice on the rocks, was arrested with a violent concussion, parted in the middle, and then broke into many thousand fragments. I received personally a few biniises and flesh cuts of no particular moment, and found myself amid a mass of shattered glass and splintered wood and groaning men and women, with no limbs broken, and with a heart to praise God for his sparing mercy. The car was a frag- mentary ruin, and there was no need to make the exit 110 CHAPLAIN FULLER. from door or window. The next moment a man, cov- ered with blood himself, — a noble fellow, — cried, ' We are alive ; let us help others ! ' I passed from one frightful part of .the scene to another, which seemed like a dreadfal vision. Men came up on every side dripping with blood, and few escaped without some cuts or bniises. Before all were rescued, the top, covered with oil-cloth, took fire from the stove, adcUng to the general horror and suflPering. " Among the many terrible incidents, two especially impressed me. On the bank sat a mother, clasping her little boy some three or four years of age. He had been snatched from the ruin which had strown the rock with splmtered fragments, and her own person was considerably burned ; but she was shedding tears of gratitude over her rescued cliild, and rejoicing in his safety, unmindiul of her own pain. A few steps from her I saw the most appalling scene of all. There was another mother whose agony beggars descrip- tion. She could shed no tears, but, overwhelmed with grief, uttered affecting words which I can never forget. It was Mrs. Pierce, the lady of the President elect ; and near her, in that ruin of shivered wood and iron, lay a more terrible ruin, her only son, one minute before so beautiful, so full of life and hope ! The blow by which he was killed instantly struck his fore- head. " Soon we were able to convey the wounded and the dead to the nearest house. After the head of the little boy had been tenderly cared for by the physi- cians, and all possible done to restore the look of life, he was carried by us to the house which he had left MANCHESTER. Ill SO recently. I sliall never forget the look of extreme pain that child's face wore ; and yet there was some- thing resigned and tender impressed even by the aw- ful hand of death. The form which had left that house but little more than an hour before, full of life and happmess, was now borne back to those who had parted from him, — the heart hushed and still, — the form motionless, and the limbs fast growing rigid under the icy touch of death." The day following the disaster, he thus writes to his brother respecting it. " I write to you from the land of the livhig. I am a good deal jarred and bruised. I did not feel it at all at first ; others suffered so much more, especially Gen- eral Pierce and lady, who were so terribly bereaved. I shall never forget that scene of horror. It is before my mind every moment, and Tvdll not away. Nothing but the mercy of God saved any of us from utter destruction. It is wonderful that any live to tell that feai-ful story. I expected to die, and looked death in the face with calmness. I was astonished to find my- sehf alive amid that awful ruin. I was blessed in being of some service to those bereaved parents, most heav- ily stricken in the midst of their greatness, and also in aiding the wounded and suffering. How thankful should I be ! What a life of holiness I ought to lead ! Surely no pride should require the repetition of that dread lesson, that in the midst of life we are in death. *' How little did I think when I left you at the rail- road station, that the interview we there terminated bid fair to be our last ! All our meetings ought to be 112 CHAPLAIN FULLER. SO profitable and true, that, if the last, the survivor might feel no regret, and the dying have a sweet and calm conscience. Such may ours ever be ! " I always felt that I should not live beyond thirty ; yet when the axle of that car broke, I was laying plans for the fiitui'e, when in a moment the thought flashed on my mind, ' For me there is no earthly future. In a moment I must meet my God.' I am very thankful, especially on account of dear mother and my wife, and those who love me, who would have felt the shock of another violent death in the family." The plans which he says he was revolving in his mind when the railroad catastrophe occurred, very likely related to changing the place of his pastoral labors. He had some months before received a call from the New North Church in Boston, which he felt bound to refuse, by reason of the great unwillingness of his people to part with him. The call was, how- ever, pressingly renewed, and after much hesitation he concluded to accept it. He thus states his reasons in his family corresjDondence. " It costs me a pang to leave here, and I go to a very arduous post ; but I feel it to be the call of duty. I make no pecuniary gain by the exchange, and must work harder than ever before. Yet I hope not only to accomplish much good in the great heart of our denomination by my efforts, but also to have more time for study and to elaborate my sermons than I can have here. My own mind needs fiu'ther develop- ment. Here I have almost no exchanges, have access to no large library, and have to write two sermons nearly every week, besides a vast deal of parish visit- MANCHESTER. 118 incr. A change of location will aid me in these re- spects, as I have a good stock of sermons now written, and shall be near Cambridge library and have plenty of exchanges. I shall, too, be near you and other members of the family." We have been favored with a letter from Hon. Daniel Clark, United States Senator from New Hamp- shire, respecting the pastorate in Manchester, the place of the senator's home residence ; with extracts fi'om which we close this chapter. " Your lamented brother was held by me among my most esteemed friends. I took much interest in him ; and with my family he seemed almost ' as one of us.' " My little boys would leave at once their sports, and always run to see Mr. Fuller. And Mrs. Clark always regarded him with an interest stronger, I think, than she ever felt for any pastor save Dr. Peabody, late of Portsmouth, her native town. "Your sainted mother, too, was very dear to us. She was an angel on earth, — kind, affectionate, pure, sympathizing, and devoted. My little ones always called her ' Auntie Fuller.' '* The ministry of your brother at Manchester was a very successful one. Not only with his own society was he very popular, but with all others. " He was so sincere, so zealous, and so devoted, that he entirely disarmed sectarianism, and won his way to the hearts of all. He came to us when feeble. He built us up ; but when he left our strength was gone. " When he died for his country, he had been absent from us many years ; yet I may truthfully say, from the time he left us to the day of his death he was con- H 114 CHAPLAIN FULLER. stantly rising in the estimation of our people. He never ' wore out,' as many do. " With the schools he made himself familiar ; and all who were in them at that time were very fond of him. " But I may not enlarge. When he fell, I supposed he had not resigned ; but I have since learned that he had, — life and commission together. " He was earnest and devoted. He said to me, when talking of a place as hospital chaplain : ' If I cannot get a place where I can save my health, I will go back to my regiment, and die with them ; for I will sooner do it than quit the service of my country.' " Noble martyr to a noble cause ! Surely his coun- try should not permit his family to moui-n, uncared for." CHAPTER II. BOSTON. "Thy converse drew us with delight, The men of rathe and riper years .• The feeble soul, a haunt of fears, Forgot his weakness in thy sight. " On thee the loyal-hearted hung, The proud was half disarmed of pride, Nor cared the serpent at thy side To flicker with liis double tongue." TEXNTSoy. UR pastor was installed in his new charge on the first day of June, 1853. His parish was in Boston, at the North End, — a location once the centre of fashionable residence. His dwelling was numbered 31, on Sheafe Street, near Copp's Hill. The latter is a swell of land oppo- site Charlestown. The British planted a battery there, at the battle of Bunker Hill. It is an ancient place of burial, and contains the graves of many well-known Boston citizens ; of whom Cotton Mather may be named as one. His religious society was at a low ebb when he entered upon its ministry ; owing, in part, to a cause which might be counteracted, but not overcome. The native population was constantly receding from that section of the city, and giving place in part to mercan- tile and manufacturing occupation, but mainly to rcsi- 116 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ^ dents of a foreign birtli and different religious persua- sion. Tliis cause was constantly operating with a greatly increased momentum. Building up the re- ligious society, therefore, was like the stone of Sisy- phus, raised only by the constant appHcation of supe- rior strength, and relapsing again the moment effort was intermitted. Members of the church and congre- gation were constantly caught away by the tide of population, and borne to southerly parts of the city ; while those from whom recruits could be hoped to sup- ply the broken ranks were, under the influence of the same law of change, departmg also. It is not impossible to explain these changes in the focal centres of city residence, when they are once in motion, for the very force of the current, taking away those who Avere congenial and attractive, and substituting heterogeneous occupants, easily accounts for the continuance of a change in the character of population once begun. But what gave it the first im- pulse, how long it will continue in the channel it runs in at any given time, in what quarter it will set next, — these are questions as hard to solve as the causes and courses of ocean and atmospheric cuiTents. As, in many regions, geology indicates a former inhabi- tancy far different from the present, so the local history of but a few generations in Boston designates spots, formerly the centres of wealth and influence which have since shifted to localities once little likely to be the magnets of such attraction. An instance of this may be found in the neighborhood of Fort Hill, a spot adapted by nature for pleasant residence, and not a great many years ago the court-end of Boston. But BOSTON. 117 the inscrutable law of change led its inhabitants to give place to the crowded occupation of the poor and humble. And now this population, in its turn, seems to be receding before the onward march of the granite blocks of commerce. Such was the field to which our pastor was now transferred ; induced, as he declares, by the unanimity and earnestness of the call tendered to him once and again, and even by " the very depression and urgent need" of the new pastorate; and such was the ad- verse current against wliich he labored successfully, but with impossible permanence. The power of the pulpit was by no means his only instrument. His insight led him to recognize the Sabbath school as the necessary means, not only of attracting the lambs to the fold, but the sheep also, by the strong though scarce appreciated influence which the rising generation exercise by the ties of love upon their adult kindred. He knew, too, the power of con- ference prayer in drawing down from the Source of every good and perfect gift the dews of Divine grace and the refreshings of the Holy Spirit. Meetings of this character were regularly held in his vestry. He says respecting them : * " I believe such meetings have been productive of much good, and would here warmly commend them as an instrumentality which you can- not too faithfully use or too carefully cherish. Let us return to the ancient usage of this society, and, as did * A Historical Discourse, delivered in the New North Church, October 1,1854. By Arthur B. Fuller. Boston: Crosby and Nicliols. In this Discourse the interesting annals of the New North Church, from the time it was founded in 1714, are briefly reviewed. 118 CHAPLAIN FULLER. its founders, meet often together for prayer and re- ligious converse ; and may God grant tliat attendance upon these meetings may soon become as general as attendance upon the sanctuary, and that they may be well sustained by those who are ready to testify to God's goodness, and seek to win souls to Christ ; that there may be many ready to address God in prayer, and to sing his praise. So shall he ' revive his work ' among us." He also reanimated a benevolent society in his par- ish, which continued m active and beneficent existence during his pastorate. And with its aid he founded a parish hbrary. To fully understand the instrumentality which he put in operation for his labors in the Lord, we must not forget his faithful parochial visits. His love for the children, and their love for him, welcomed him to the open portals of his people's dwellings. Wher- ever he went, we shall find the young attending upon his steps, — in the pastoral charge, and even upon the tented field. On his way from church they clustered around him, and he needed the arms of a Briareus to take them all in, or to lend a hand to each of the little ones who sought this token of fellowship and guidance betwixt the man and the child. Nor was he a re- specter of persons or conditions in his intercourse. He felt his Master's words, " Of such is the kingdom of heaven," and delighted to regard the unfolded capa- city, the unstained innocence of children ; while hope painted to him the bright possibility of their future, and love made him seek to draw them thus early to the only sure shelter from the storms of time and eter- BOSTON. 119 nity, the ark of safety, Christ Jesus. The destitute children, too, who had been gathered into his Sabbath school fi'om the highways and hedges, won the honor of the pastor's hand on the way from church. He had two good angels to help him in the home work of the pastor, — his mother and his wife. Both were earnest laborers with him in the Sabbath school ; both were unexceptionably beloved by the people. " His domestic life in Boston," writes one of his pa- rishioners, " seemed very delightful to him, and was especially pleasant to his people. The death of his wife was felt by his whole society almost as a per- sonal loss, so greatly had she endeared herself to all who knew her. His mother, who afterward cared for his household, was so wise and good, that I never saw or heard of any who did not revere her and prize her sympathy and counsel." Alas ! how little time has elapsed since we saw this trio in the Sheafe Street parsonage ; and yet centuries could not more effectu- ally have placed them in the unseen, irrevocable past than has been done by the course of a few fleeting years. A picture of them recurs to memory, as they sang together a Methodist melody entitled " We are passing away," the wife leading at the piano, and the mother and son standing near. They were very fond of that expressive hymn, which accompanied each verse by the choinis, " We are passing away," sung in a sad, dying strain, but immediately changing to a closing note of triumph, "Let us hail the glad day! " Those blended voices have, at intervals but briefly removed, vanished from earth, and, we doubt not, they have in the raptures of heavenly song hailed, 120 CHAPLAIN FULLER. once again united, the glad day of eternity, to know no setting, to know no shadow upon its ever orient sun ! To promote the mterests of the Sabbath school, which were at a low ebb, he organized an association of teachers, which " interested them in their work, and tended to their mutual acquaintance and improve- ment by regular gatherings for study and conversa- tion." * He also sought to encourage the children by picnics and by anniversary observances. Some of the Christmas and New- Year exercises of his Sabbath school filled the church with a pleased and attentive audience. He took a warai interest in the consecration of chil- dren. He did not regard it as a rite of mystic effi- cacy, nor as indicative of a union formed with Christ, which faith only can accomphsh. But he valued it as giving the children up to God, as Abraham de- voted Isaac ; as symbohzing somewhat, like the Jew- ish rite of circumcision, the covenant blessings trans- mitted through parents ; but especially as a solemn recognition of the supreme Fatherhood of God, and his sovereign claim upon the children, accompanied by the undertaking of the parents to bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. He believed, too, that the unconscious subject, though deriving from it no mysterious influence, w^ould in after life be led to regard it as a solemn pledge of the affection and consecration of his parents, and their desire and prayer to win for him Heaven's choicest influence. Thus nat- ural affection would give an impulse to religious aspi- * Letter of a parishioner. BOSTON. 121 ration, and mingle the loved parent's voice, when per- haps hushed in the grave, with the whisperings of the Holy Spu'it. Many a pleasant occasion did the pastor enjoy of the consecration of children, as well as of older per- sons. In his pleasant Sabbath-school picnics, they were brought and came forward garlanded for this beautiful ceremony. He enforced the necessity of conversion, and held it up as the aim of Sabbath-school instruction. In a con- vention, he says : " The specific object of the teacher should be the conversion of the scholar. The human heart is a great battle-field. While religion is a most natural thing, it is supernatural. There is much in the heart that tends heavenward, but there is much that is grovelling. A conflict is continually going on, and it is the teacher's province to turn the scale. There is a time when the heart is changed. The conversion is often sudden and starthng, like the tornado, and often- times almost imperceptible and gentle as the result of a mother's prayers, like the zephyr that follows the storm, causing the leaves to kiss each other, and the flowers to gently nod before the soft and noiseless wind. Chil- dren need to be told, like other people, to come to Christ. The natural heart of the child knows no more of God than it does of mathematics. Nicodemus was probably a kind man, with many excellent virtues ; yet the Saviour said he must be born again. Except a man be born again, — these were the words, — and they applied to all men. He did not believe in calling the infant a sinner, nor in original sin ; but there were tendencies in the child to depravity, to sin, and he 6 122 CHAPLAIN FULLER. needed 3onversion. It was a dangerous doctrine to say tlif ^ children did not need a change of heart." It was not, therefore, to keep, but to acquire, rehgious character, that he labored with children, that they might obtain Christ in the soul, w^ho alone can pre- serve the mnocence, simplicity, and guilelessness wdiich characterize childhood ; and, by transmuting its lovely, spontaneous impulse into principle^ appropriated as the mtelligent volition of a religious mind, furnish the young heart w^ith a safeguard for virtue and a means to counteract and destroy the tares with which the busy adversary has left no heart unsown. This was the belief which nerved the pastor's energies, to labor in season and out of season, to pray and not to faint, to seek to wreathe the lovely buds of childhood, which always attracted him in every condition of life, into the Saviour's garlanded crown. He earnestly pleaded the cause of the Sabbath school from the pulpit. In a sermon devoted to the subject, he says : '' Well do I recollect an occasion when I exchanged with a brother of the Wesleyan Methodist connection, and, by his request, remained at the Sabbath school, wdiich took place immediately after the morning services. When I had dismissed the congregation, I was astonished to find all but some fifteen or twenty, who were mostly casual attendants, remain to take places in the Sabbath school. The ages of the members of that school ranged from the child of five to a mother in Israel whose form was bowed by the burden of eighty years. The whole congregation were engaged in the work. The old gave character to the school, the young life and viva- BOSTON. 123 city. In some classes, each in turn became tlie teacher. The congregation was poor in temporal wealt ; not a rich man in it. Many wondered how it lived, for there are no conference funds among the Wesleyans. But I did not wonder, after seeing the Sabbath school. " In my judgment, the plan they pursued is the true one. Our Bible-classes ought to be thronged, and many younger classes gathered. The whole con- gregation should in some way, either as teachers or pupils, be members of the Sabbath school. It would be worth while even to dispense with the afternoon service, if this result could be secui-ed." The pastor's varied labors were fruitful of good. An interesting instance of his mode of dealing with the young hearts of his charge, who sought to follow the drawings of the crucified Saviour, and leave all to come to him, occurs to memory ; and we relate it, as illustrative of his treatment of a delicate subject. A young man unbosomed himself to him, relating his religious experience and his desire to unite himself with his newly found Saviour by a public profession. But his parents opposed it, and he was vmder age. The pastor counselled him, that it was no doubt his duty to leave father and mother for Christ's sake, if that should be necessary; but he should first try rather to win them to the Saviour, and bring them with him. The convert was their only, dearly-loved son, and they were without religion. They probably re- garded him as under the influence of a transient im- pression, and the pastor hoped, if they found he had a permanent desire to unite with the church, they would finally yield to the wishes in spiritual things of one 124 CHAPLAIN FULLER. tliey had ever indulged in the temporaL He therefore advised him to defer his pubHc profession for some months, and see if the parents would not be persuaded to come round to his wishes. Such, indeed, was the result ; and better still ! When the parents found their darling child had really permanently set his heart on uniting with Christ, they resolved to gratify him, and announced to him that they no longer opposed his wishes. Nor was this all. They had viewed religion in others as bigotry or ex- citement or unsoundness ; but what was this which, without any induction on their part, had obtained a hold upon their son ? It had not made him less ob- servant of their wishes, but more dutiful. It had blended with his amiable natural traits, and trans- figured them with a new glow and radiance. Might there not, then, be a reahty in religion ? Thus they also were led to inquire the way of Ufe, and ultimately followed their son in giving their hearts to the Saviour, and professing Christ before men. A prominent theological trait in our pastor's char- acter was a love for Christian union. Heads might differ on the most difficult problems submitted to the intellect ; inadequacies of language might further widen this variance, and often give it an apparent reality when it in fact existed only in a diversity of meaning attached to words ; but Christian hearts at least might agree and combine, and surely ought to do so, in- stead of turning the spii'itual weapons given them to vanquish the world to the unhallowed purpose of inter- necine strife. Christian union, he believed, gauged truly Christian love, and indicated the completeness BOSTON. 126 of the transformation of the natural heart to the like- ness of Him who breathed up among his last petitions the touching prayer that his disciples might be one, even as he and the Father were one. He liked not denominational shackles, and he in- duced his people in Boston to adopt a form of organiza- tion ; the first article of which reads as follows : — "Art. 1. The church connected with the New North Religious Society shall assume no sectarian name, desiring simply to be known as a branch of the Church of Jesus Christ." Afterward, when engaged in the duties of army chaplain, he was more than ever drawn in heai't to desii'e the oneness of the followers of Christ; and he declared, if ever settled over another parish, it should be independent. His preaching was principally practical, seeking to bring home the Gospel to the soul, and to induct it through all the channels of spiritual and secular life. So far as was requisite to this, he preaclied upon doc- trines boldly and distinctly, yet dealing kindly with those who differed from him. He soucrht to distin- guisli the good ingi'edlent in each extreme, while him- self pursuing the golden mean, as if he made his motto, 3Iedio tutissimus ibis. He thought lightly of the badges of sect. He thus writes, in reference to a clergyman who had left the Unitarian body : " Let each man find his true place in the army of Christ, where his sympathies and convictions lead him ; and, in what- ever regiment he fights, if he is a soldier of Jesus, he has my God-speed." He would by no means consent that the dominion 126 CHAPLAIN FULLER. of religion should be abridged, or tlie sceptre of the Almighty Sovereign excluded from any sphere of pub- lic or private life. Especially did he regard politics as the right domain of religion. Where the government is intrusted to one ruler, his religious training in re- gard to his high public responsibilities is admitted to be an essential safeguard of his justice and vii'tue and permanence of authority. And where the sceptre is mtrusted to the people, the same rule must apply with a force by no means diminished. He insisted upon the discharge of his sacred trust in this respect in his new position. In a published discourse, entitled " Our Dangers as a Republic, and Duties as Citizens," the pastor defines his views of political ethics. "I envy no man," he says, " in whose bosom is no glow of patriotism It is an unholy and dangerous divorce, a sundering of things joined by God, which separates religion from patriotism. Christian prmciple from political action. Our fathers ventured not mto the struggle till they had bent reverently within consecrated walls. I can- not too strongly enjoin the necessity of personal religion. He who enters the arena of politics without it, goes to the battle unarmed. " Every American citizen should be the uncompro- mising advocate of liberty throughout the land. Let us soon and ever justly be able to say of our beloved country, as Curran proudly says of him who takes refuge in Britain, ' No matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced, no matter what com- plexion an Indian or African sun may have burned upon him, no matter in what disastrous battle liis hber- BOSTON. 12T ties may have been cloven down, no matter witli what solemnities he may have been devoted on the altar of slavery, — the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together into the dust, his soul walks abroad in his own majesty, his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him, and he stands forth redeemed, re- generated, and disenthralled by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation.' " * The pastor did not doff the robe of office to make stump-speeches, and in the pulpit he was no party advocate. He had some warm friends in the congre- gation who were entirely opposed to him in political life, who yet declared they honored his independence, and liked to hear him speak his mind ; and when he w^as nominated for political station, some opponents voted for him, as a tribute to the man. In this con- nection it may be pertinent to state, that in 1857 he was nominated, by the Republicans of Suffolk District Number Two, for the Massachusetts Senate ; but, with the other candidates of his party in that district, he failed of an election. The pastor was a careful student of public events, and failed not to point out their moral in his discourses. When the sad news of Daniel Webster's death was announced, he expatiated upon it from the pulpit. * While boasting Britain secretly leans towards the side of slavery in the American rebellion, this celebrated quotation cannot be too familiarly cited, in order to call a blush to the cheeks of the Empress of the sea. In America, too, it should never be reckoned trite, till it becomes true of our own liberated soil. Till then, we may say of it, as a clerp^yman replied to one finding fault with his repeating a scnnon, " I ought to preach it till you practise it." 128 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " On tills calm Sabbath morn," said the preacher, " he who had lived amid the conflicts of the forum and debate in national assemblies, the thmiders of whose eloquence had been hurled against those who opposed what he deemed the country's welfare, — lie rests from his labors ; he on this quiet morning lies cold and passionless as the Hfeless marble ! Forgetful of all po- Htical differences, a nation is shedding, and will con- tinue to let fall, tears of regret for this sad event. Every noble heart to-day will throb with sympathy and solemn sadness. " One after another the brightest jewels have been plucked from our nation's crown by the ruthless hand of death. Last of all, he has now fallen whose heart, whose mind, in its wondrous grandeur, was American in its every pulsation, its every thought. Differ from him as some of us have honestly done, all that is for- gotten at his grave ; and we mourn together. Never more shall Ave meet the gaze of his cavernous eyes, in whose depths we seem to look upon his mighty intel- lect. Never more shall Faneuil Hall be filled with that deep, sonorous voice, whose every tone was full of meaning. Never more shall a hstening senate hang breathless on his word. No more shall his utterances flash like lightning across the continent, while the Aus- trian despot trembles at his pleas for Hungarian free- dom. " Daniel Webster is dead ; and even in the house of God we sit in solemn sadness at the thought, and say, Alas ! our country ! Yet, my friends ; it cannot be that such a mind, such a spirit, should die ! God is not so prodigal of mind and spirit as to strike out BOSTON. 129 sucli from the circle of being. They must be immor- tal as He from whom they came. It is only the body which lies cold and lifeless ; the soul can never die. Thank God that in his last moments he uttered imperishable words of faith in immortality, and faith in the Bible, and that among his last words were those of prayer. O ye who revere his memory, let that les- son of faith sink into your hearts ! The gi'eat, the mighty, must die ; but they shall Uve again ! It is not ours to judge of their faults, but rather to leani from whatever was good in their example ; while we are remmded that the body dies, but the soul lives for- ever, and yet forever ! " In the cause of temperance the pastor labored on, both in the pulpit and out of it. In 1858 he was chosen by the State Temperance Convention a mem- ber of the Executive Committee, and in the same year was elected a director of the Washingtonian Home, better known as the Home for the Fallen. He loved these enterprises, not merely for the main object, but for the incidental result of bringing men of different callings and religious persuasions into friendly nearness. In an address to the Sons of Temperance, he asks, " Has the order accomplished notlnng, if it unites men of different denominational names on this platform of philanthropy ? " In the Home for the Fallen, too, he took a warm interest, on account of its benefits conferred on the class to whom it was devoted, and the genial influence which co-operation in benevolence has upon the philan- thropist. " He liked the institution," he said, at one of its pubhc meetings, " because it was not sectarian, 6* I 130 CHAPLAIN FULLER. because of its broad principle, and because it was not adapted to any nationality, but to those of all nations and climes." After the Maine Law had become a Massachusetts statute, he appeared before the Mayor and Aldermen of Boston to advocate a petition for its enforcement, which had been subscribed by clergymen of all denomina- tions, and, among other signers, by eighteen hundred and sixty women. He alluded to the rendition of Burns, the fugitive slave, which the city government had aided in, alleging that they must sustain the law, though contrary to their own convictions. He urged them to prove the sincerity of that allegation, by a like scrupulous loyalty in enforcing the Maine Law. The city authorities took no action. But such efforts are never lost, and ultimately result in good, even after they have been forgotten. We find the pastor in Boston, as elsewhere, faith- fully laboring as a member of the public-school com- mittee. Nor did he forget the cause of popular educa- tion in the pulpit. When a sacrilegious hand was stretched forth to withdraw the Bible from the public schools, it led him, as well as others of the clergy, to an earnest protest fr-om the sacred desk. " No ques- tion," he said, in the language reported in the public press, " had ever arisen of so vast importance in our midst; and the discipline, the usefulness, the per- petuity of that system which our fathers established, were hanging in the balance. We needed to keep the Bible in the schools to prevent our land from becoming a land like France or Spain, or other countries where the Bible was set at naught. Knowledge without BOSTON. 131 morality was power, but it was power for evil ; and whence could we draw higher morality than from the Bible, to guide and strengthen knowledge ? " We find him, too, speaking before the New England Female Medical College, in terms approving of that enterprise. On the important subject of woman's rights he often expressed himself. We cite as a speci- men his ideal of womanhood, delineated in a published discourse, occasioned by the death of Mrs. Louisa So- phia Swan. " This ideal simply demands for woman the right to do all she can do well ; considers that her true sphere for which organization and capacity adapt her ; recog- nizes her neither as man's handmaid and servant, nor idol and superior, but his helper and equal. With this class, woman's rights and woman's duties are synony- mous. Home, it believes, from her very constitution, the law of God, written in lines of sinew and vein and bone and the very texture of her being, home will ever be her chief sphere of action ; but whenever a Joan of Arc leads her countrymen to victory and to freedom ; whenever a Florence Nightingale makes of the hospital of the Crimea a scene of angel ministry to the wounded; whenever a Grace Darling saves life by daring almost more than manly ; or a Mrs. Patten guides her dying husband's ship safely into port, her- self its commander ; or a Mrs. Stowe writes the tale of suffering beneath the foul oppression of slavery ; or, in the strife for Italian liberty, a woman in im- mortal Rome does immortal deeds of beneficence, watching over the helpless Roman soldiery when they were dying in the hospitals, and dying, as did 132 CHAPLAIN FULLER. some Americans of old, for human rights and dear liberty ; * — then to all these, and such as these, those who accept the Ideal of Jesus, utter the plaudit, ' Well done,' and declare that these women have not for- gotten their sex, have not departed from its duties, but have nobly fulfilled them all, and are traly wo- manly women. " My friends, for one, I rejoice that a greater than Solomon taught us by his word, yet more by his ex- ample, what should be the rank and sphere of woman ; that she should not be man's vassal, and say, as Milton represents Eve to say, — ♦ What thou bid'st, Unargued I obey; so God ordains; God is thy law ! thou mine ; to know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.' And yet more, I rejoice that he rejected the sad, awfal view which regards woman as the mere toy of man's idler hours ; to be loved only when young and fair, and then neglected ; to be flattered, but not truly rev- erenced, and at last to find in him the careless hus- band, the forgetful reveller. Ah, thank God, ' The days are no more, When she watched for her lord till the revel was o'er, And stilled her sad sorrow, and blushed when he came, As she pressed her cold lips on his forehead of flame. Alas for the loved one ! too spotless and fair The joys of his banquet to chasten and share; Her eye lost its light that his goblet might shine, And the rose on her cheek was dissolved in his wine.' " When the great refreshing from the Lord, in 1857, swept over the community with wondrous power, it * Referring to his sister Margaret. BOSTON. 133 found our pastor a servant girded for the work. While he deprecated a superficiiil, illusory excitement, and especially artificial contrivances to forward that which the Spirit of God can alone accomplish, he earnestly approved and rejoiced to labor for a deep sphituaf work of gi'ace. That great revival attested the presence and commission of the Messiah as much as, if not more than, his miracles in the flesh. One of its most melting and beautiful effects was manifested in bringing together pastors of all denominations. One meeting in every week was especially for them, as brother prophets to bow together at the throne of grace, and with thanksgiving supplicate the contmued prosperity of the Divine work. Pastors spoke in mis- cellaneous assemblies, where sect was forgotten in the presence of the great Head of every true chiu'ch. Christians were astonished to learn here that members of other denominations were moved by the Holy Spirit to the same heavenly affections and desires as their own. " If that be Unitarianism," said one of another sect, after listening to our pastor on such an occasion, " I would be a Unitarian." He sought to have thanks- giving mingle with the supplications of the prayer- meeting. He wished it remembered " that praise is an important element of prayer. We did not want always to be in sackcloth and ashes, but to remember the Father's loving arms spread out to embrace his children. There was infinite love beliind the clouds of earth. Let us think of that. In our Pentecostal season, let us rejoice in the love of God, the cheering symbol of which shmes in the unclouded heavens to-day ! " 134 CHAPLAIN FULLER. One of the grateful incidents in our pastor's toil was the v/arm friends he acquired. Few were more fortunate than he in making ''friends indeed"; those who do not waver nor slacken in their regard, and who, once gained, are lasting. One of them perhaps furnishes the key to this good fortune in characteristics of our pastor, which he thus describes : " He was always so genial and hearty, so glad to meet his friends. There was never anything cold or indifferent about him, no doubtful reserve to make you question your welcome. So, w^hen I heard him preach, besides the satisfaction of hearing a faithful word feelingly spoken, I had a pleasure in the voice of a warm-hearted, ear- nest fi'iend, who was sure, after the service, to give me a cordial greeting, more refreshing and comforting to me than the best sermon." His friendships w^ere not confined to his own parish nor his own denomina- tion. As a happy instance of this, we may refer to the kindly relation which subsisted between him and the Rev. Rollin H. Neale, D. D., of the Baptist denom- ination ; and we are glad to insert here a communica- tion we have been favored with from that eminent Christian pastor. " I cheerftilly comply with your request to furnish some personal reminiscences of your brother. It so happened that I was present at his installation in Bos- ton. Wishing to hear the addresses of the gentlemen who were announced to speak on that occasion, espe- cially the sermon of Rev. Dr. Peabody, now of Cam- bridge, I had the pleasure of seeing him as he first entered upon his ministry in this city. Our personal acquaintance, however, did not begin until some time BOSTON. 135 afterwards. I fi'equently heard reports of his earnest- ness as a preacher. Members of other denominations, intending of course to pay him a compHment, said that he was strictly evangehcal, and preached the Gospel. He became known as an advocate of temperance, a friend of the poor and the outcast, and, indeed, was prominent (though with no spirit of bitterness) in favor of every moral reform. " My personal acquaintance with him began in a way that proved to be of much interest to myself, and which I regarded as quite a favoring Providence. I had been appointed to preach the Dudleian Lecture, which that year was to be on the subject of Romanism. I had thought of various ways of treating it, all of which were unsatisfactory. I had taken up and re- jected one theme after another, until I was quite in a fever of anxiety as the time for fulfilling the appoint- ment drew nigh. I reluctantly accepted an invita- tion to an evening party. Your brother was present. In the course of conversation, I said in pleasantry: ' Mr. Fuller, I see by the newspaper advertisements that you are delivering a series of lectures against the Orthodox ; I hope you will not be hard upon us.' ' O no,' said he, ' I am only telling how much good there is in you. I see a great deal of truth in all churches, and in all doctrines, — the doctrine of the atonement, the doctrine of regeneration, and of the Trinity. And I only try to bring out what is good and true, and leave the false and the corrupt to take care of itself.' He went on in the same strain for I know not how long. I looked at him, very re- spectfully of course, but became somewhat absent- 136 CHAPLAIN FULLER. minded. ' Is not this,' I thought, ' the true way to deal with Romanism ? ' And before the interview was ended, I had got my theme and the plan pretty much worked out : ' The Elements of Truth in the Romish Church.' I explained to him afterwards how much relief this incidental conversation had given me, and how much aid I had thus received in preparing for a dreaded occasion. From this time our friendship be- came intimate and unreserved. He was perfectly open and frank in the expression of his sentiments, never seeking to concihate favor by compromise or conceal- ment of his own views ; but he was not inclined to controversy or to a negative faith. The things which most impressed him, both in morals and religion, and which, therefore, were most prominent in his conversa- tion, were such as would, with men and Christians generally, find a ready assent. Hence, without seek- ing for popularity, he was universally beloved. I never heard any one speak to his disparagement. This is the more remarkable, as his preacliing and pub- lic addresses were never of the milk-and-water stamp. He w^as so obviously sincere, so honest, and withal had such a fund of good-nature, that it was impossible, even for those whose conduct came under his severest denunciations, to speak or thmk ill of him. When I heard of his appointment as an army chaplain, my first thought was, ' That is the right man for the right place. He will love the soldiers, and they will love him.' And so it has proved. No church was ever more attached to a pastor, no affectionate children more closely bound to a loving father, than the mem- bers of the Sixteenth Regiment were to him. He was BOSTON. 137 with them in their frequent and tedious marches, wltli them in the night-watches, with tliem in the hour of sickness and sorrow, and with them on the field of battle and of death. His published letters from the army are exceedingly characteristic. Breathing the spirit of unaffected piety, there is no moroseness. You see him everywhere, and at all times, active, cheerful, and full of life and hope. *' I met him in Boston a short time before his death. He had been sick, but was anxious to hasten back to the field of duty. I wanted him to speak at a public meeting, but remarked about his unministerial- looking costume. ' O,' said he, 'I have to rough it, and dress accordingly.' He spoke at several of the religious anniversaries with more than his usual enthu- siasm and patriotic ardor. " When I heard of his death, my heart sank within me. I thought of his wife and children, of the soldiers whom he loved so well, of you, my dear sir, his brother, and of my own personal bereavement. But of these private griefs I will not speak. I am glad that you are preparing a biography. The best me- morial of him, however, is that which he has written himself, and which will long hve in the hearts, and I trust in the improved characters, of those who knew him." We have thus briefly glanced at six laborious years of our pastor in connection with the New North Church in Boston. All earthly relations, longer or shorter, must cease ; and his Boston pastorate was now brought to a close. He found his strength unequal to c()i)e longer with the adverse current, expending upon it a 138 CH\PLAIN FULLER. toil which could not there obtain any lasting success, and he sent in his resignation, having resolved to accept a call extended to him by a society in Water- town, Massachusetts. His society in Boston parted from him with regret, and some three years afterward, having settled no other pastor, sold their house of worship. The public press appropriately noticed his resigna- tion. One paper says : " His sympathies have ever been with the people, and his labors, unremitting and constant, have ever been for the people, and conse- quently the PEOPLE have loved him." Another re- marks : " He has overtasked his strength, and needs a respite from hard work. He will be a loss to Boston, and particularly to that section of it wherein he has devotedly labored. The time is near at hand when the Protestant churches at the North End must seek some other spot, if they would perpetuate their exist- ence." Another paper reports him as sapng, in liis farewell discourse, that " he had preached life more than doc- trine. He had preached against sin, especially against slavery; and he thanked God that he had done so. He spoke strongly and unequivocally when our noble Senator fell beneath a dastardly blow. He spoke with severity against the repeal of the Missouri compromise and against every aggression of the slave power. He had spoken freely against individual and national sins, but never as a partisan. He had denounced intem- perance and the supineness of the city authorities. But, most of all, he had preached repentance, regen- eratioii, holiness, charity, and active benevDlence. BOSTON. 139 " He regretted that their evening meetings had not generally been sncccssful. He was persuaded that his parishioners entertained love for him. His own for them was deep and fervent, and would only cease with life. " He glanced at the progress of the church since his connection with it. Their debts had been consolidated and lessened, and no longer embarrassed them, and he left them with money in their treasiuy. Their house had been remodelled. Their church-membership had increased fivefold, and their Sabbath school three- fold." The very day on which this farewell discourse was pronounced, the pastor's mother entered on her ever- lasting rest. He knew not the event was so near, though he refers perhaps to her critical sickness, when he alludes in the sermon to the many seasons of sor- row he has attended, and adds, " Voice after voice, dear to my ear, has died away, and others will soon be hushed in death." He had lost his wife three years before, and perhaps from being deprived of the home wdiich had been so dear to him, and aftbrded him such genial refreshment in his toil, he felt the less able to continue his pastoral labors, in a scene, too, which always reminded him of what he had lost. In the next chapter we propose to take a more inte- rior and familiar view of his Boston life ; and, mean- time, we close this with the following tribute from a valued parishioner. " It was his custom," he says, " at one time, dur- ing a prevalent revival in Boston, to hold dally after- noon and evening prayer-meetings, in which all were 140 CHAPLAIN FULLER. invited to participate, without regard to doctrinal views. On an occasion, when the various denomi- nations blended with pecuhar harmony and cordial- ity, one of the congregation struck up ' The morn- ing Hght is breaking ' ; and it was never sung with a greater zest or livelier feehng of common broth- erhood. His congregation was at one time so large that the aisles of the church were temporarily ftir- nished "svith extra seats. " The sad intelligence of his death, on that mourn- ful Sabbath, caused more than one heart to throb pain- fully as they realized that a friend had gone, that a noble soul had, in the impulsiveness of a heroic nature, and at what he considered the imperative demand of duty, which appeared to be his guiding star through life and his watchword in death, passed from the Church militant to the Church triumphant." CHAPTER III. EPISODES. *' Tears of the widower, when he sees A late lost form that sleep reveals, And moves his doubtful arms and feels Her place is empty." " Dearest sister ! thou hast left us ! Here thy loss we deeply feel." " He passed ; a soul of nobler tone : My spirit loved and loves him yet." " My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? " MONG the extra-parochial labors of our pas- tor was the issuing a new edition of the works of liis sister Margaret. She left a large quantity of manuscript, which the pressure of her occupations and the frailty of her health had not permitted her to put into book form. This task was now achieved by her brother, partly as supplemental to books already published, and also in a new volume entitled Life Without and Life Within, The first book he issued in this way was Woman in the Nineteenth Century. He writes in reference to it : "I have done my best and hardest work on this book.* The labor of compiling and superintending such a pub- lication and correcting the proof is greater than I could have conceived possible. It is done, and I thank 142 CHAPLAIN FULLER. God for giving me strengtli to do it. I pray that it may contribute to do justice to her merits. That is all the reward I can expect, and that reward would be so noble, so holy ! " The profits from the sale of her memoirs and works were applied to paying her honorary debts, which she had contracted with friends, on a fair understanding of her present and probable ftiture inability to repay, and which her family ultimately had the satisfaction to cancel from the posthumous fruits of her character displayed in her memoirs and her wi'itings edited by her brother Arthur. He had the satisfaction at last to annomice : " Margaret's debts are all paid, every dollar ! That sacred trust to us is now falfilled." In his private correspondence, he frequently alludes to these books. " I think," he says, refemng to the first named, " it has somethmg adapted to every ca- pacity. The story of "Aglauron and Laurie" must interest the most careless reader, and the letters will arrest the attention of the most hurried, while the Woman in the Nineteenth Century meets the wants of the profound thinker." Again he writes in relation to his editorial toil : " This has been a labor of love, which I have joyed in, and have esteemed a privilege, and not a bui'den. If I only live to send forth Margaret's works fi'om the press, as they should appear, I shall not have lived wholly in vain." He says m another letter: "One of the thino;s for which I have labored most in these latter years, and wish to complete before going hence to be seen no more on earth, is the erection of suit- able memorials to Margaret's memory. These are EPISODES. 143 not to be tlie cold and passionless marble only, but vol- umes of her warm and earnest thoughts, so high and so noble ! " The reverential affection which he gratefully cher- ished for this sister led him also earnestly to co-operate with his mother in adorning the family resting-place in the Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge. This had been a favorite resort of Margaret; here she loved to walk and meditate. And here the mother had pui'chased a spot, comprising several lots, for her cenotaph and monument, the commemoration also of her gallant husband, and the last resting-place of her little Angelo. To this spot, too, the bones of the never- forgotten father were removed, and suitably commemo- rated. And here bloomed the fair and cherished favor- ites of the mother, whose flowery tongues told the tale of affliction, faith, and love, while they breathed up the aromatic tribute of devoted memory. The lot is situ- ated upon Pyrola Path, not far from the tower. Alas ! death soon gathered into this gi'een garner other forms, cut off in the bloom of life. In 1856 he was fatally busy with the pastor's household and kin- dred. He opened the year by removing a young wife and mother from the bosom of Richard's family ; and before the year's close, two who had mourned for her were laid in the same resting-place, — the pastor's wife and sister. It was the fourth day of March when his wife was suddenly snatched from the family circle, lea^nng an infant but a few weeks old. In reference to this event, he writes : " It is God who alone can speak to me words of comfort ; and through the Holy Spii'it he 144 CHAPLAIN FULLER. does SO. Much as I mourn, I am sustained." Nor was he wantmg, too, in the balm of human consolation poured into the wound by near friends, and by a people who tenderly sympathized Avith him. His parish not only took upon themselves the funeral obsequies, beau- tifully performed in the church and burial-place, but they passed a kindly vote of condolence, with some weeks' leave of absence. In September of that year, his sister, Mrs. Ellen Channing, died in a decline. The flame of her spirit burned with increased brilliancy in the hectic of her cheek and in the eye's seraphic radiance, just before it was caught up, to burn with the lights above. Hers were the bright brow and the ringlet hair, The mind, that ever dwelt i' the pure ideal; Herself a fairer figure of the real Than those the plastic fancy moulds of air. The sorrows of the pastor led him to seek occasion- ally a change of scene. But he never wished to inter- mit his labors in the Lord ; and we still find him advo- cating the loved cause of his Master. He made two visits to Judge Nahum Ward, at Marietta, Ohio. From this place he writes : "I am pleasantly situated here. I have eveiy thing needful for my comfort, and enjoy the beautiful scenery. Marietta is the most ancient place in Ohio. It was settled in 1788, by inhabitants of New England, and retains all its early characteristics. It is indeed more of a New England than Western place. Mr. Ward is a grandson of Gen- eral Artemas Ward of the American Revolution, and is a noble, generous-hearted man, preserving also great energy and a fine religious character. As proof of his EPISODES. 145 generosity and Christian zeal, he has built a church here, the handsomest, if not most costly, in the State, and all at his own expense ; and now he will pay the minister's salary, and that generously, certainly for a time. I find him a very intelligent companion, abound- ing in reminiscences of his journeyings and adventures in his early days. Lafayette visited him when in this country, and presented him with a cane, on which he had often leaned when in the Austrian dungeon at Olumtz. Mr. Ward has travelled widely in Europe, and seen there many celebrated men." Our pastor was the first preacher in this newly- erected church, and had the satisfaction to found the Sabbath school there, which remembered him after his death. He frequently gave the public an account of his journeys, through the medium of newspaper corre- spondence. He thus speaks of Trenton Falls : " That deep ravine worn through the solid rock, that river of amber water, assuming every shape of grandeur and beauty, now scatters pearls in torrents, and now reposes in a deep basin, whose dark depths reflect the arbor- vitae trees, and fair flowers fringing its banks and stooping down to kiss the sparkling Avaters. Who could behold all this without a thought of that river of life, whose waters are clear as crystal, which wan- ders through scenes yet more resplendent with glory, and whose banks are adorned by the tree of life, of which the arbor- vitas is an emblem, and flowers that never fade ? " He gives an account of a lady preacher who offi- ciated, on the Sabbath, at Trenton village. " A rude 7 J 146 CHAPLAIN FULLER. platform," he says, " had been erected ; but it looked finely, decorated with oak-wreaths and adorned with flowers. The meeting was toward evening, when the glare of the sunlight is over, and only tlie shimmer of light among the leaves is noted. Tlie preacher, taste- fully dressed in white, was evidently a modest, unpre- tending; woman. We had some fear lest her words should mar, rather than aid the effect of the occasion, but were happily disappointed. Her quiet manner, clear articulation, and pui'ity, even holiness of look and word, were in unison with the scene and the hour. Her text was from Psalms, 'Your heart shall live forever.' She aimed to exhibit the undying nature of human affection, and to prove therefrom both the immortahty of the soul and also the immortality of those pure friendships, domestic ties, and holy relations which, on earth, make almost heaven in our homes and hearts. The sermon did not exhibit much origi- nality or power of thought; yet its purity of tone, earnestness of appeal, and fervent sincerity commended it both to the heart and judgment of the hearers, while her modest bearing disarmed any prejudice against her as a woman seeking to be a public teacher. Her intonation and articulation were almost faultless." From Trenton he proceeds to Niagara, of which he writes : — " This magnificent scene grows upon the mmd and heart every hour. One may be soon satisfied at other places ; but here the old feeling and request comes up, ' Master, it is good for us to be here ! ' Let us build tabernacles, and abide till the death horn- ; yea! be buried on these banks, and let this mighty EPISODES. 147 organ-pipe chant our requiem, while the rainbows which span the falls by day, and no less on each moon- light night, speak auguries of hope and heavenly glory to the departed soul. " But who can describe Niagara ? What voice, save its own mighty one, can speak its charms ; what pen but that of inspiration could write adequately of its glories ? I think, in a reverent mind the all-absorbing feeling is, that God is here ; this is his temple ; he is speaking ; and when the Lord is in his holy temple, and speaks to man, let all the earth heep silence before him!^^ He sought recreation, too, on the White Hills, in New Hampshire. " Here I am," he writes, " pay- ing a visit to the ' Old Man of the Mountain.' This locality is grand and beautiful beyond my conception. ' Echo Lake ' deserves its name, repeating some twenty times the cannon's loud report, and returnino- the notes of the bugle as if a band of music were in full play. To-morrow I go to the Flume, where my friend, Mr. Smith, was struck dead. The scene will be mournful, yet attractive too. How much beauty there often is, even in sadness ; as these mountains sometimes look most beautiful when veiled in clouds, from which the rainy tear-di'ops are falling." The mountain beauties roused his devotional heart to make a Bethel of the place, and raise his voice in exposition of the grand language of Nature. " We had a sermon," says a correspondent of the press, writing from the mountains, "from the Rev. Mr. Fuller, of Boston, which I scarcely ever lieai'd sur- passed. In speaking of the mountains, he traced the hand of God in every waterfall and every rock ; every- 148 CHAPLAIN FULLER. tiling which he had seen had talked to him of his Maker." In his journeyings, the pastor often turned aside from the habitations of the living to meditate in " the village of the dead." His repeated bereavements led. him to think much of death, but never with gloom. He regarded it as the portal of glory for those who sleep in Christ, on whose solemn threshold he loved to muse. His faith was entire. He said he could say of his trust, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." He did not wear the mourning weed for his friends ; and he always wished the light of faith to relieve the shadow of natural gi-ief in the flmeral obsequies of the Christian. To him cemeteries were eloquent with life- lessons taught in the memorials of death. He was thus led to trace thoughtfully the time-worn inscrip- tion, and he published many accounts of cemeteries. Among these may be mentioned descriptions of the burial-places of Quincy, Waltham, and Newton. He has given an account, too, of the solemn prairie cem- etery, seeming in the vast emerald reach of the hori- zon like burial at sea. The little graves had for him a voice of peculiar pathos, yet of glad faith and hope. On tliis theme he says : " How beautiful, though sad, is death in child- hood ! Beautiful, for it is only death in semblance, and in reality the beginning of a painless, joyous life ! Beautiful, because with the death of that infant form, all tendency of disease whether in soul or body, all fear of becoming a sinner, all temptation, all grief, have to that soul died. I never feel surer of immor- tahty, than when looking upon such a casket, from EPISODES. 149 which the angel we call Death has removed the jewel. There must be a land where that bnd sliall nnfold, those undeveloped capacities be expanded, those un- tried powers put forth, and the end of such a creation answered. This life were a sad, a vexing problem — yes, and a wretched boon to man — were not another and a better life attainable beyond it. The fiituro must be the interpreter of the present, its compensa- tion too." During the period of which we are now treating, our pastor was twice elected a chaplain in the legislature of Massachusetts, — in 1854, of the House of Repre- sentatives, and in 1858, of the Senate. It happens that one of his prayers in the legislative body was transcribed, and we insert it here as a specimen of the brief and comprehensive supplication, which he thought best adapted to such an occasion. " O wise and beneficent Being, who dwellest in light ineftable, unseen by physical sense, but visible to the eye of faith ! we approach thee now with filial confidence and trust ! " Earnestly do we covet the best gifts, — tliat faith which can remove mountains of obstacles from our pathway, that charity which suifereth long and is kind, that love which worships God by serving and helping our brother man, that hope which is an anchor to the soul amid all life's storms ! "O Lord! help us really to live, — not nicrclv to exist and to while away our passing hours, but to live in deeds more than years, live in high thoughts, pure emotions, lofty desires ! O Heavenly Father ! how many of those who think they live are really dead, 150 CHAPLAIN FULLER. dead in trespasses and sins, dead in all but the animal nature ; whilst many whom the world calls dead yet tnily live, yet speak to us, think for us, and influence us, by theii' deathless thoughts, immortal deeds and memories ! Help us to live much, even in few years ; and if, when we perish as to the body, the silvered locks and furrowed brow be not ours, yet may our time have been long, because useful, our death not premature, because we had early accomplished life's great end ! " And Thine shall be the praise forever. Amen I " We have been favored with a note from Colonel Robert I. Burbank, a gentleman favorably known in the legislature and forum. Havuig been a contem- porary member of the House, he thus speaks of Chap- lain Fuller. " I take very great pleasure in stating, that during tlie whole session his punctuality, his ui'bane and genial manners, his patriotism, his fervency in prayer, and his Christian spirit and devotion, were the theme of universal admiration. " I remember well to have noted, and frequently at the close of the session to have heard it said, that so appropriate had been his language, that from no words of his could be inferred his political or denominational sentiments. " He was exceedingly beloved by us all. His zeal in the fitting discharge of his duties then was only the offspring of those noble qualities of heart and soul which impelled him, near the close of his useful ca- reer, to deeds of prowess, which have immortalized his memory." The summer journeyings of our pastor were the EPISODES. 15il occasion of pleasant family letters, which blended the musings of a pious heart with expressions of family- love. From life's meridian, he thus writes : '' This is my birthday, and brings with it many meditations as to the past and presaging thoughts of the future. Yes, to-day I am thirty-five ; and have lived half the term allotted to man ! I ask myself whether half life's work is done, and if so, cannot but feel how little will be the entire sum. Yet these years have teemed with incident, much that is tragic, more that is sweet and pleasant. The tide is bearing me on to the gi'ave ; nay, not so ! rather, I trust, toward heaven's shoreless ocean, where my little bark, so long tossed on life's heaving sea, may float forever on those joyous waters, where the breath of the Spirit shall swell its sails, and waft it from one scene of beatitude to another." In 1859, when his mother's ill health had assumed a character so serious as to denote an issue not far removed, he thus writes to her, on the 15th of February, her birthday : — " I will not let this day go by without a word ex- pressive of my constant love and daily memory of you. This, too, is the birthday of my little boy ; and I blend together in my thoughts the two dearest objects of affection, — my children and my mother. " And now, my dear mother, I have only this word of greeting to utter, — may God bless you and make this year full of happiness to you ; and if it prove your last, or witness your birth into another sphere, may it yet be fraught with richest, choicest, most precious blessings, and be the happiest which your life, so varied in its sorrow and joy, has ever known." 152 CHAPLAIN FULLER. In a letter to Eugene he thus refers to his mother's sickness, which confined her for several of the last months of her life to a sick-chamber : " I have just re- turned from Wayland, where I go every two or three days to visit our beloved mother. We found her still quite ill, but more comfortable, always thinking of you and her other dear ones, expecting death, whenever it may come, as a solemn but sweet reality, and as the herald to a brighter region." In another letter to the same brother, he refers again to his mother : " Nothing could be more serene and radiant than her sick-chamber. The little children all seek it, as the one joyous, sunny spot in the whole house, where they are ever sure of wisdom and love, blended together in every word." Thus did she draw near eternity. But Eugene reached it several weeks in advance, through the ocean portals, being lost overboard in his homeward voyage from New Orleans. In the mother's state of health it was thought best not to communicate an event to her which might add a mortal pang to her last hours and speed her malady. Finding no allusion made to Eu- gene, she asked Richard if he had gone before her, a remark which he evaded without answering. She saw in a moment the purpose to withhold from her sad and exciting tidmgs, and meekly suppressing the anxious questioning of a mother's heart, she never alluded to the subject again. She continued cheerful, fully supported by her beloved Lord, and drawing near with bright and joy- ous anticipations the heavenly world which, with her Saviour, held so many of her heart's treasures. We EPISODES. 153 remember turning to hide a starting tear on an occa- sion when she spoke of her interest in the growing corn, hoping a plenteous harvest, without one sigh at the thought of the other harvest-home where she would then be gathered. She entered sweetly on her glorious rest, on Sabbath morning, July 31st, 1859, the same day that termi- nated the Boston pastorate of her son Arthur. In her sickness she watched with interest the grow- ing attachment of her son for Miss Emma L. Reeves, a sister of Richard's wife. She expressed a wish that the marriage might not be deferred on account of her departure for the better land, and it took place accord- ingly in September of the same year.* * We take the liberty to insert a few unpretending verses from the pea of the bride, in reference to her husband's children. " Maidens wove white buds and leaflets, Sweet and pure as they, Feverfew and mignonette. In a fair bouquet. " But a loving hand brought dearer, Fairer flowers than they, And he placed them in my bosom, Not to fade away. " One a bud, but just revealing Rich and roseate shades. With a sweetness aromatic As the Indian glades. " And beside it is my Lily's Alabaster cup. Raising pure and perfumed petals Gently, heavenward, up. " Ye are welcome to my bosom, Choice, immortal flowers ! Heavenly (Jardener! help me train them For thy fadeless bowers! " 7* 154 CHAPLAIN FULLER. The husband, in a private letter from the army, thus refers to his second marriage : " In my mother's sick- chamber appeared a ministering angel. Her love for my mother, and devoted, tender care for long, weary months, her love of flowers and children, her poetical tastes, and, above all, her consistent piety, and the evi- dent leading of Providence, caused me to form another attachment as true and tender as the first." He now entered upon house-keeping in Watertown, which he continued till he was appointed army chap- lain, a period of his life to which we shall now give exclusive attention. PART III. THE ARMY CHAPLAIN ? " Who is the happy Warrior ? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be ? — It is the generous spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and the good receives : Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful ^^dth a singleness of aim ; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw ; Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray ; Who, not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better daily self-surpast ; Finds comfort in himself and in his cause ; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause : This is the happy warrior ; this is he Whom every man in arms should wish to be. " Wordsworth. CHAPTER I THE GREAT EEBELLION. "And after that he must be loosed a little season." Apocalypse. 'Whence and what art thou, execrable Shajic, That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated front ? Art thou that traitor Angel, art thou he Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith till then Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons, Conjured against the Highest? . Back to thy punishment ! " Paradise Lost. HE attention of our New England pastor now became closely fixed upon national affairs, which daily wore a more threatening aspect. He watched the issue with the anxious re- gard of a patriot, a Christian, and a minister of tlie Gospel. With the childi^en of the Puritan, these three terms are convertible. American patriotism is not solely the love for the Republic, which burned in the breast of the devoted Roman, or instigated the Greek to almost superhuman valor. The Puritan had sundered the natural, and sacrificed the mere instinc- tive love of country, to seek beyond the vast ocean a new country, where he would be at liberty to worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience. 158 CHAPLAIN FULLER. This he sought, and this has bound his heart to his new home. His love of liberty and of countiy is, therefore, always a love of the open Bible, with freedom of unfettered development in all directions of the man- hood which speaks in every original featm'e the like- ness of its Divine Maker. Therefore patriotism in America, more than anywhere else in history, is an intensely religious sentiment ; and they are found to love their country most who love God most, — to ren- der the best military service on the battle-fields of patriotism, who are the best soldiers of the cross. Nor do they doff one imiform when they don the other. They see in the loved stars and stripes of the Union the standard of the cross ; and they follow their Master to war ao;ainst rebelHon, as did the Israelites the pillar of cloud and fire, as did the army of Con- stantine the crucifix which glowed in the sky. The guardian, therefore, of the religious mterests of the Puritan race watches carefully, too, the vestal flame of patriotism. An important part of his theology is the history of his country ; and as a watchman on Zion's walls, it is his duty to signalize every approach- ing foe to fi'eedom. The pohtician does not study public affairs more intently than the pastor ; and, as he takes the lead in religion, he holds the same place in patriotism. Thus our Gospel ministers, in the almost theocracy of American hberty, are like the Elijahs, Ezekiels, and Isaiahs, who guarded the integrity of the nation as a part of their spiritual charge. In the country, too, of the " Church without a Bishop," there has been no apportionment of religious ethics, assigning one share to the laity and another to THE GREAT REBELLION. 159 the clergy. What is right for the one is for the other. And what the Christian clergyman may not do is alike unlawfid for the Christian layman. Hence, not only have the clergy of America sent their petitions to Congress against the expansion of the national area furnishing new fields for slavery propagandism ; but when the guns of Fort Sumter proclaimed the out- breaking of rebellion, they rushed to their countr} 's standard, some in the pastoral robe, some sword in hand, captains or privates in the Church militant ; no more hesitating for clerical punctilio, than they Avould to serve as posse comitatus of the angel Michael for the imprisonment of the Dragon. The religious nature of American patriotism has given it a characteristic very puzzling to those who understand only the instinct of patriotism. The Bible has enlarged the Puritan's heart to the utmost borders of the world. Keligion has transformed it from the contracted geo- graphical sentiment to a cosmopolitan patriotism, whose country is the world, whose countrymen are all man- kind. It cannot be restricted to the earthly precinct hallowed by the accident of birth, although it loves it because of its Gospel liberty, and as affording a step- ping-stone to a better country, that is a heavenly. Therefore its declaration of rights does not say, we are free and equal ; but all men are born free and equal, endowed with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It will not, therefore, be accessary to fetters imposed by an- other ; nor can it be satisfied while there are any groan- ing under oppression, by whose bonds it is galled, as bound with them. True, while it insists upon washing 160 CHAPLAIN FULLER. its own hands in innocencj, it will seek to deliver those oppressed from other's wrongs, by prayer to God and by the power of public opinion, rather than by carnal weapons. Yet it cannot be indifferent nor inactive, in its legitimate moral sphere, while the sighs of a down- trodden brother-man are wafted to it by the farthest wind. The religious character of the sentiment makes it repudiate with holy horror the maxim, " Our country right or wrong," if the latter phrase be taken to mean more than a mistaken policy, and imply further the perpetration of national crime. The Pmitan's children love then' country as a province of God's domain ; and while they will, with a cordial willingness beyond others, render to the suborduiate government all which is not due to higher claims, they wdll never take its part in rebellion against the Supreme Ruler. These remarks explain the participation of oui' clergy in the work of suppressing rebelhon, and furnish the key to the com'se of Chaplahi Fuller, to be unfolded in our narrative. They are not, probably, at all needed by our countrymen and times. Yet the voice of a pubhshed volume is liable to extend to other countries and other times, to whom our holy cause ought to be fairly presented. For the same reason, we deem it necessary to make a very brief statement of the causes which have led to a rebellion against the best government mankind has enjoyed, and which has been the repository of the world's hopes of freedom, — a rebellion with no pre- cedent upon earth, and but one in heaven. Briefly, then, let it be noted, that, as in the days THE GREAT REBELLION. 161 of Job, where the children of God resorted, the Ad- versary also came with them; so, in American colo- nization, with the Puritan purpose was embodied an antagonistic element. Not merely did the lovers of God seek a sanctuary of freedom in the new world, but devotees of pride, indolence, and Mammon, and needy adventm-ers, hungry for spoil, came also. In Mexico they sacrilegiously bore the crucifix in a crusade of plunder and oppression ; while in South America a des- perado, who had been foiled in petty villany at home, so magnified the scale of his robbery as to take his place among those giant Scapins, who make up the catalogue of earth's conquerors. In the Southern colonies of North America, too, the same element obtained a place, implanting the tares of oppression in the area of liberty, and misotheism in the see of religion. These elements did not for a time develop their antagonism ; but as they were shaken together in the course of history, a ferment was inevitable, and finally an irrepressible conflict, till the sure triumph of God's eternal day should forever dissipate the night. Wick- edness always evinces its lineage from the Father of Lies, by dissembling, while its end can thus be accom- plished. Hence, in American history, while the word slave was careftilly excluded from the Constitution, as thrusting a lie in the face of the instrument, it obtained an anonymous place in the fugitive clause, hiding in liberty, till it should grow strong, and con- fident to raise its crest. Latet anguis in herhis. In the growth of the country, slavery finds leisure for political plotting while the attention of liberty is 162 CHAPLAIN FULLER. absorbed in tlirift and industry. It concentrates, too, its attention and energies upon the one purpose of self- preservation and aggrandizement, while sectional inter- ests are unwarily permitted to weaken the majority it seeks to control. In its own domain it hateth the light because its deeds are evil, and violently excludes pub- lic instruction, Avhile, by gi'asping the landed property, it impoverishes and at the same time degrades those whose lot is not cast with itself. Thus the slave oligarchy rules, in its own States, a poor, ignorant white population of twenty times its number, and by means of this is able to control the policy of the rest of the nation. Its eye is on the citadel of Hberty, to which it advances by secret parallels, and these paral- lels have the plausible name of Compromises. The Cerberus of slavery looks with a green-eyed watchfulness from its own wasted domain, to the far exceeding increase of the children of liberty ; and it is constantly contriving devices to offset this augmenta- tion which threatens to so outnumber slave representa- tion as to be no longer manageable. Slavery, like the locusts, can only flourish by spreading from land it has ravaged to newly acquired territory. This leads to the acquisition of Louisiana, Texas, the war with ]\Iexico w^aged for more domain ; and by compromise the slave oligarchy partitions the fairest regions for its blighting spread. Yet wickedness cannot grow so fast as virtue and industry and invention, nor the darkness of slavery increase like the light of liberty under the presiding sun of Christian righteousness. Slavery is alarmed for her supremacy, and as she fails to keep step with Freedom in advancing over the new fields, THE GREAT REBELLION. 163 she contrives fraud and crime. She raises her crest, thrusts forth her hissing tongue, and would strike her fangs into the fair bosom of Liberty. Kansas is the first theatre of unblushing crime attempted by the slave oligarchy, now become desperate. A supple tool of its own occupies the Presidential chair of the nation, and all the means of government are at its command. Bribery, corruption, terror, violence, are alternately levelled at the ark of Liberty, — the ballot-box.* But the crime is too outrageous for the Christian light of the nineteenth century to look upon. The " north star is at last discovered." The people with- draw their absorbed attention from worldly increase, and fix it in astonishment upon the slave power, wear- ino; now a diso-uise so thin as to reveal its horrid deformity. The nation is about to speak, and in its ominous murmur, which already begins to surge like the first low breath of an overwhelming tempest, the quick ear of the slave power discerns the presage of doom, and rouses to the climax of crime, "having great Avi'ath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time." The slave oligarchy had now installed in the White House a President whose public career has given his character no alternative but treason or beetle-blind- ness ; which horn of the dilemma shall be awarded him we leave to the sentence of History. Conspiracy was in his Cabinet, transferring the munitions of war * It cannot be necessary to refer the reader to the masterly expose of the crimes of the shive power contained in the speeches of the Massachusetts Senator, entitled, "The Crime against Kansas," and "The Barbarism of Slavery," and indeed all the utterances of that eloquence, whose burden has still been, Delenda eat servitvdo ! 164 CHAPLAIN FULLER. to the rendezvous of treason, with the army reduced to a shadow, and the navy despatched to distant seas. The nation spoke at the ballot-box, and commis- sioned Freedom to the presidential office. The com- mencement of Abraham Lincoln's administration found the rebellion armed and equipped from the national storehouses, and the government disarmed and de- pleted by the preceding administration. The guns of Fort Sumter signalled the onset of barbarism and oppression upon the fairest domain that genuine religion, public education, brotherhood, and liberty had ever acquired. In no heart did it awaken a more patriotic response than in that of the subject of our present narrative. We indeed arrogate for him no superiority nor singularity in this respect, for, thank God ! the heart and voice of twenty million freemen in this exigency was as that of one man. Enthusiastic Union meetings were holden in every city and village of the Free States. The national stars and stripes streamed fi'om the church, school-house, mart, factory, and private dwelling ; so that bunting speedily rose to a fabulous price, and could not be had at that. Every profession and calling vied with each other in patriotic expressions. Committees of citizens waited upon the few presses or individuals who mani- fested any symptoms of disloyalty, and compelled them literally to display their colors, and define satisfactorily their position. It was felt that the nation's critical hour had come, and called for prompt and united measures. Patriotic and military enthusiasm pervaded all classes. Boys organized themselves into armed bands, and would THE GREAT REBELLION. 165 gladly have shared the campaigns of their sires. Among these may be mentioned a military organization of young soldiers in Boston, called '' The Fuller Rifles," in com- pliment to the chaplain. • Among the public meetings everywhere holden, we have the account of one in Watertown, in which " the Rev. Arthur B. Fuller protested against ' any further compromise w^itli slavery. Thus far, and no farther.' He w^as in favor of the Constitution of these United States. He was in favor of a settlement ; but, in the language of Hon. Charles Sumner, * Nothing is ever settled, that is not settled right.' Let us stand right ourselves, and then we can demand right from others. He urged the Republicans to stand by the election of Lincoln and Hamlin. Protect and sustain them. He was opposed to compromise, — even to the admission of New Mexico, — because it would be in violation of our platform, and at variance with the opinions of such honored statesmen as Webster and Clay, and because it interdicted the spirit of the Gospel." After the Sabbath labors of his own pulpit, he went to the camp, where the soldiers were gathering, and preached to them in the temple not made with hands. Here his extempore facility and pliancy of addi-ess to the needs of the occasion proved very effective, and rendered his preaching especially valued by the soldier. He was soon chosen chaplain of the Sixteenth Regi- ment of Massachusetts Volunteers, and, on the first day of August, 18G1, was duly commissioned by Gov- ernor Andrew. We have a newspaper report of a sermon he ])reached at Camp Cameron, Massachusetts, which may give 166 CHAPLAIN FULLER. some idea of his manner of address in liis new po- sition. " The text selected was the sevententh and eight- eenth verses of the thirty-second chapter of Numbers : ' But we ourselves will go ready armed before the chil- dren of Israel, until we have brought them into their place : and our little ones shall dwell in the fenced cities, because of the inhabitants of the land. We will not return into our houses until the children of Israel have inherited every man his inheritance.' The sermon was specially designed to assure those who were about to go to the war that the cause they were going to serve was a holy one, and had the approbation of the Lord in the same w^ay as that al- luded to in the words of the text. There was some- thing, the speaker said, extremely similar in the cir- cumstances of our inheritance here in the North, on this side of the Potomac, and that of the Jews. They said, ' We will not inherit with them on yonder side of Jordan ; because our inheritance is fallen to us on this side Jordan eastward.' This, our inheritance, it was proper we should protect and defend from its enemies, who loved not America ; that we should subdue the land to recognition of just government, and afterward return, and be guiltless before the Lord, in the which should be a possession. If we did not do so, then the words of Moses to the children of Reuben and Gad would be applicable to us ; we would sin against the Lord ; and we might be sure our sin would find us out. The families of all such as would go out to battle in this religious war — for it was a religious one — would be well protected and cared for. With- THE GREAT REBELLION. 167 out a successful subjugation of the enemy of the inher- itance we had to bequeath to our childi'en, that inher- itance would be valueless ; and hence our duty to go forth, fearlessly and valiantly, for the rights of those we loved. This was the motive which every man had at heart ; and going to battle in the name of the Lord they would carry it out." On receiving the commission of chaplain, he re- signed his pastorate in Watertown. In his letter of resignation he says : '' The moral and rehgious wel- fare of our patriotic soldiery cannot be neglected save to the demoralization and permanent spiritual injury of those who are perilling their all in our country's cause. The regiment represents Middlesex County on the tented field, the county in which I was born, and which my honored father represented in oiu' national Congress ; and one company is from Water- town, where for nearly two years I have been a settled minister, — circumstances which give this call of duty a peculiar claim upon my mind and heart. I am will- ing to peril life for the welfare of our brave soldiery, and in our country's cause. If God requu'es that sacri- fice of me, it shall be offered on the altar of freedom, and in defence of aU that is good in American institu- tions." Before leaving for the scene of war, he was gratified by a presentation visit from his friends, of which the following account was given in the public press. " A very pleasant gathering of the fi'iends of the chaplain of the Sixteenth Regiment, Rev. Arthur B. Fuller, took place at his residence in Watertown on Wednesday evening. Yesterday mornmg a commit- 168 CHAPLAIN FULLER. tee, of whom Dr. Samuel Richardson was chairman, presented to Mr. Fuller the handsome sum of two hundred and fifty dollars, stating that, but for the stringency of the times affecting all classes, a much larger sum could have been easily raised. Among the donors are members of every denomination in Water- to wai. Rev. Mr. Flood, the Catholic priest, being among the number. " The following bri^jp but appropriate address was made by the chairman pf the committee. Dr. Richard- son : — " ' Respected and dear Friend : As you are about to leave us for a new field of action, your friends of various denommations in this connnunity desire to present you with some testimonial of their affection and high esteem for you as a minister, a citizen, and a man. I am re- quested to present you this pui'se, with their sincere prayers for your safety and welfare. May you soon return to your beloved family and friends, and may we once more have the privilege of grasping your hand in welcome and gladness at the close of this war, as we now with sadness press it in parting with you to take part and do your duty in its stirrmg scenes as a patriot and a Christian.' " A beautiful and well-stored writing-desk and sev- eral other substantial packages wxre also presented Mr. Fuller by his fi-iends in Boston and vicinity." Among the closing scenes at Watertown, we remem- ber a prayer-meetmg in the Methodist Episcopal Church. In the desk sat the pastor. Rev. Henry E. Hempstead, afterward Chaplain Hempstead, and Chaplain Fuller. The topic of prayer and remark was our country's THE GREAT REBELLION. 169 crisis. An army officer present spoke of the dangers he was about to encounter, and of death upon tlie battle-field. The two clergymen poured forth earnest patriotic prayers. Much evident solicitude for the soldier was manifest in the assembly, seeming to la- ment in advance his expected life-sacrifice in his coun- try's cause, as did the Trojans in bidding farewell to Hector when he went forth against Achilles. Danger for the clergymen was not t] ought of; yet, in the issue, the army officer resigned, and returned home ; the chaplains continued in their country's service, and both laid down life upon the altar of patriotic devotion within a few days of each other, at Fredericksburg. The one fell from a hostile bullet ; the other sacrificed his life in taking care of the sick and wounded, and the incidental exposure. So little do we know of the future ! CHAPTER II FORTRESS MONROE. " I confess to having enough of the war spirit to feel a pride in Bunker Hill and other scenes of our Revolutionary struggle. "War is a terrible evil ; but tyranny is a greater ; and, to expel the latter poison from the body politic, war is needful. After all, what is life but one great battle-field, on which a most momentous war against temptation and the tyranny of our passions and appetites is waged by each human soul ? And what spirit has made its way to any true nobility of character, any real self-government, without passing through a field of moral battle, which has been to it a Bunker Hill, a Marathon, or a Plata?a ? And the debased soul, alas ! has known its Waterloo, from whose deadly conflict it came not off victorious !" — Family letter of Rev. a. B. Fuller, written June 17, 1852. " Though lodged within no vigorous frame, His soul her daily tasks renewed. Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings High poised.' N the ITtli of August, 1861, Chaplain Fuller left Boston with the Sixteenth Massachu- setts Recrinient for their Southern destina- tion. He writes * that on their dej^arture " there was less elation, less display, than usual, per- haps, but more of stern determination and clear real- ization of the object to be achieved and the hardships to be endured than has been felt before." Respecting his regiment he says : — * We shall cite in the following pages, without particular reference, the Chaplain's private letters, and his correspondence published in the Boston Journal, Boston Traveller, New York Tribune, Christian Inquirer, and other papers. FORTRESS MO^^ROE. 171 " The clicoracter of the men composing it is generally such as promises fresh honors to a comity which contams Lex- ington and Bmiker Hill, Concord and Cambridge, Watertown and other places liistoric in our earliest struggle for freedom. The officers are skilled military men, selected for capacity, and not because of political influence. " You have doubtless learned by telegraph of the safe arrival of our regiment in this city, but a few particulai-s of our journey and position here may not be unacceptable. Our route witnessed one continued ovation, city and country vy- ing in patriotic demonstrations and exhibitions of good-will toward those who were on then- way to the scene of peidl, but we beUeve also of honor and of ultimate national triumph. On many a hillside, in the evening, bonfires blazed, and at every way-station enthusiastic cheers rent the air, and many little gifts and leave-takings of those who to us were entire strangers evidenced that in this great cause the people are one in heart and opinion. " At Fall River an escort of a juvenile company of Zouaves and of many citizens awaited us, but Colonel Wyman wisely avoided fatiguing the men by marching through the streets of that city. Indeed, throughout our jom-ney the same judicious plan has been pursued by our officei-s. We only touched at New York ; we did not land from the steamei's, and no unnecessary steps have yet been taken, and no un- necessary display made. We were compelled to journey on the Sabbath, owing to the present exigency, which impera- tively demands all our available force near the capital. This fact caused us to find in nearly every town in New Jersey, as we passed tlu'ough, the people in their best attire, and ready to welcome us. It would have pleased our friends at home to have seen the general good order of the men, and to find that they were not unmindful of the fact that, though * we were marching ou,' yet it was the Sabbath day, and ' hymns 172 CHAPLAIN FULLEE. of lofty cheer ' and true religious patriotism were alone in order. " Our greeting in Philadelphia, although at midnight, ex- ceeded our leave-taking in Boston. A fine collation is always given by the most substantial citizens of this place to each regiment as it passes through the 'city of brotherly love,* no matter what the hour, or from which of our loyal States. Our fine brass band — and there is none better connected with any regiment — ' discoursed most eloquent, music,' fitted to the day and the occasion. " We marched through Baltimore yesterday, the nineteenth of August, thinking of another nineteenth, that of April, when another Massachusetts regiment marched through also. We were not enthusiastically received as a general rule, for Bal- timore is as to its leading influence disloyal to the Union, and hates to-day that ' Star-Spangled Banner,' which still floats from Fort McHenry, and loves not that whole country for which Washington fought. Why not, then, be consistent, and take down their proud monument to the ' Father of his Country ' ? Here, of all places, might patriotism be expected, and sad enough is it to find it otherwise. A large part of the population yet remains true to the old flag, and manifests itself loyal in a noble manner." For a few weeks the regiment was stationed at Baltimore, which at that time had not been wholly relieved from the poison of the oligarchs. The gov- ernment were still vainly endeavoring to temper the needfiil austerity of war with the ill-assorted mod- eration of peace, mistaken by the foe for timidity, weakness, and indecision. The Chaplain thus ex- presses the results of his observation : — "You can hardly imagine how much the evidences of a FORTRESS MONROE. 173 more stem dealing with traitors and a more vigorous prose- cution of the wai' inspire the soldiers with fresh hope and confidence. Fremont's proclamation meets with almost un- qualified approval, especially from Union slaveholders. It is a move in the right direction, and would be imitated to ad- vantage in this State, and in all our semi-loyal States. "The presentment of treasonable newspapers by grand juries, and the suppression of others by the government, is especially to be commended. It is these which hound the rebels on to their treasonable deeds, and they should be forced to be ' dumb dogs, which dare not longer bark.' But why are such tolerated in Baltimore ? No less than three such, the South, the Republican, and the Exchange, are published there, and are most defiant of the government. They daily incite to insurrection, and the consequence is that our ofl&cers and soldiers are daily insulted there, and it is done with per- fect impunity. One of the soldiers of our regiment was fired upon in broad daylight by a woman, before we left that city, wliile he was pursuing a deserter, and in the discharge of his duty. I have seen secession flags flying, and had them flaunted before my face while walking quietly, unaimed, in the streets. I have heard cheers, long and loud, for Jeflf Davis, and groans for the Union. This is always done by women and chUdi-en, it is true, for that is the cowai-dly, sneaking nature of rebellion, avoiding risk of summary ven- geance 'from our manly soldiers. But ought these things to be allowed? and may not another massacre like that of the 19th of April ensue if these things are not nipped in the bud, and if a traitorous press remain unsilenced? " Our oflicers and soldiers did not always bciu* contumely in silence, though they could not strike down their tormentors when such were women and childi*en. Sometimes they an- swered such scoffs with fitting worda. 'Are you a Massa- chusetts soldier ? ' said a wommi, elegantly di-essed, and doubt- 174 CHAPLAIN FULLER. less deemed a lady in Baltimore. * I am, madam/ was the com-teous answer of the officer thus addressed.* ' Well, thank God, my husband is in the Southern army, ready to kill such hirelings as you.' ' Do you not miss him, madam ? ' said the officer. ' O yes, I miss him a good deal.' < Very well, madam, we are going South m a few days, and will try to find him and bring him hack here with his companions.' You ought to have seen how angry she was ! ' You are from that miserable Boston, I suppose,' she said, ' where there is nothing but mob law, and they burned down the Ursuline Convent, — the Puritan bigots ! ' ' Some such thing did happen in Charles- town many years ago, when I was a boy,' said the officer, ' at least I have heard so, and am very sorry for it. But can you tell me what street that is ? ' ' Pratt Street,' was the unsus- pecting reply. ' What happened there, madam, on the l^th of April, this very year 9 ' He got no answer from the angiy secessionist, but the loud shout which went up from the Union bystanders, who generally are of the humbler ordei-s, atoned for her silence. People that live in glass houses had better not throw stones. The same officer, riding in a chaise with a gentleman who showed secession proclivities, but was cour- teous in their demonstration, was told by the gentleman that the horse which was drawing them was called 'Jeff Davis,' in honor of that distinguished rebel, and asked if he 'did not object to driving such a horse.' 'O no, sir,' was the instant reply; 'to drive Jeff Davis is the very purpose of our coming South.' Our secession gentleman imitated his sister traitor in preserving a discreet silence." The religious object of the Chaplain's commission no martial preparations could make him forget. He had come as a religious teacher, ready to practise what he preached, and he was impelled by his sense of the * The oflScei* was Chaplain Fuller. FORTRESS MONROE. 175 especial importance of religion in the terrible expe- riences of war. He pyrites : — " Our encampment is hardly settled enough yet for definite arrangements to have been fully carried out. After this week, however, the arrangements are as follows : Sunday school at nine, A. M. ; attendance to be wholly voluntary. Preaching every Sabbath at five o'clock, P. M., the old hour at Camp Cameron, and the best hour of the day for the purpose. Prayer and conference meeting (when practicable) every day at about six and seven, P. M. ; attendance of course voluntary. These services will be fully attended. Even now, every night there are quiet circles for prayer and praise. "Besides these services, there are Bibles and religious volumes to be distributed to the men, and books for singing God's praise. We find the ' Army Melodies ' useful among us, and were not the wi'iter one of the editors of the volume, he would say much of the. necessity and usefulness of supply- ing religious and patriotic music and words to every regiment and every naval vessel, in place of the ribald songs so sadly conmion in the army and on shipboard. No more refining or religious instrimientality than music can be used." That threadbare subject, the weather, acquires an original interest from new circumstances. " This topic, so common when people meet who have not much to say, assumes real importance when ' the cliildren of Israel dwell in tents,' and when the weather exercises so much mfluence over the health and spirits of the men. We have been generally favored with genial skies, but the rainy weather has now set in, and the last three days have been uncomfortable in the extreme. Particularly inconvenient is it with reference to religious exercises. These are neces- Barily suspended every rainy day, and yet on no day do the 176 CHAPLAIN FULLEK. men so much need the cheering and reviving influences of social conference and prayer, and particularly of singing God's praise. We have a choii' organized, who sing from the ' Army Melodies,' and most of the tents are vocal every evening with its patriotic and religious songs." As there was no new outbreak in Baltimore, and its agitated elements gradually subsided, the Chaplain found occasion to contemplate some of the interesting features of that locality. Among these was his fa- vorite resort, the last resting-place. " Close by us is the famous Greenmount Cemetery, the Mount Auburn of Baltimore. This ground, too, was recently desecrated by the traitors of Baltimore. Immediately after the 19th of AprU last, the chapel of the cemetery was seized by order of General Trimble, and used as a storehouse for rebel guns and powder. Now Massachusetts soldiei-s walk quietly thi'ough its shady paths, and think, not of death, but of the immortahty of blessedness which awaits eveiy loyal soldier who dies a martyr for Hberty, and for the Christian principles involved in this struggle. " And well may a Massachusetts soldier love to walk sol- emnly in these paths ; for in yonder enclosure lie the remains of the gallant Major Einggold, who died at Palo Alto. His only mommient is a stockade of Mexican guns and bayonets captm-ed in that conflict. Colonel "Watson, who died at Mon- terey, sleeps, as to the mortal part, peacefully near. But not before these soldierly memorials do we hnger longest. In yonder mausoleum laid for days our Massachusetts dead of the 19 th of April, 1861. The soldier whose last words were, ' God bless the Stars and Stripes ! ' slept here until Governor Andrew's noble missive was carried into efiect, and their bodies, cared for 'tenderly,' were restored to the Old Bay State, which will ever cherish their memories." FOKTRESS MONROE. 177 He thus writes of Driiid Hill Park : — " These beautiful grounds are frequently occupied by tho Federal forces, though at present no regiment is witliin their limits. The citizens of Baltimore have recently purchased this site, and have made a liberal expenditure to beautify its precincts. No finer drive exists than its roads afford, and no better ground can be found for an encampment, though the government is chary about using it, in courteous deference to the wishes of the citizens. On our way thither we passed by many beautiful residences, mostly occupied by secessionists, for they comprise the wealthy men here. On one residence, however, the < Star-Spangled Banner' still proudly waved, and there it has waved in the breeze every day since the 19th of April of this year. All through the reign of terror, as the Union men designate the ten days succeeding that infamous massacre of our soldiers, that flag floated in the air, surroimded by secession emblems." He thus speaks of Fort McHenry : — " It occupies a splendid location to command the city and suppress rebellion witliin its hmits. The large shell mortars and heavy columbiads and other weapons of destruction are kept constantly ready for service m case of an insurrection against the government, and the destruction of Baltimore would in such a case be inevitable. Monumental Square, where secessionists mostly reside, the ' club-house,' where trea- son is said to be hatched, Pratt Street and its bridge and market, — these would in such an emergency soon be scenes of terrible carnage and vengeance on the enemies of our gov- ernment. And the star-spangled banner would wave over smoke and flame from that very fort wliere its appearance in the gray, misty morning called forth from the author, impris- oned in a British ship, an immortal song of patriotic fervor, 8* L 178 CHAPLAIN FULLER. the tribute and prophecy of the permanence of the old flag of our country." Death, too, whose paiiifiil volume, crowded with re- peated lessons, was now to be the Chaplain's daily text- book, thus opens the first chapter and teaches him to moralize : — " In the afternoon I attended the funeral of an excellent man, J. D. Prentiss, formerly of Medfield, Massachusetts, a graduate of Harvard, and for many years President of Bal- timore College. He was a firm Union man, and I had enjoyed the hospitalities of his home for several days of the past week. He attended our rehgious services only the Sab- bath before, and in all ways had testified his love for old Massachusetts and her soldiers and their holy cause. He had spoken to me of the peril to life in the army, and now he lay in that beautiful home a mangled corpse, killed by a rail- road accident. He had so many friends in Massachusetts, and has been so devoted a friend to our soldiers, that his memory claims this mention. His fate is an illustration of the truth that death is everywhere, not only on the battle- field, but in our very streets ; and many of those who pity us and fear for our fate may themselves earhest be called home, and by a bloody death. It matters not, if we are prepared. He always dies w£ll who has Uved well, die when, or where, or how he may." On the 1st of September orders came for the regi- ment "to report at Fortress Monroe, and without an instant's hesitation rations were dealt out, tents struck, baggage hur- ried into wagons, and we were soon on board the Louisiana. Our march through Baltimore to the boat was very different from our entrance into that city. Secessiondom was discour- FORTRESS J\IOXROE. 179 aged by the Hatteras Inlet news, and stayed at home ; but the Union men and women and children of Baltimore were out in full force and in high spirits. It made one fancy him- self at home in good old Boston to hear such loud cheers for the Union. Ladies presented choice bouquets to the officers and soldiers as they passed, and a patriotic enthusiasm was manifested, wliich, if followed by patriotic deeds, will yet redeem the fail- fame of Baltimore." On his brief voyage he writes : — "I am surrounded by naval and military men who were in that glorious conflict. Trophies of the splendid triumph are freely exhibited, consisting of swords, flags, surgical insti-uments, &c. Our boys of the ' Sixteenth ' are cheering pretty loudly on deck, and in one part of the steamer the brass band are discoursing their liveliest strains. You would think our soldiers on boai'd had all turned Methodists to judge by the shoutings ; the companies from Lowell, especially the ' Butler Rifles,' largely Catholics, were heartily joining in the chorus of ' Glory Hallelujah, we are marching on.' " * The regiment were destined to stay several months in the fortress, and here the Chaplain was enabled to l^rosecute his labors with vigor. The following is a sketch of the religious work. " I have ainong my auditors, every Sabbath, a large num- ber of Roman Catholics, and also members of every Protes- tant sect. It requires no forbearance on my part to preach on those gi*eat themes only, and in that spirit only in wliich all the disciples of our common Master can take an interest, and feel that their conscientious opinions are respected. * Nothing could be more expressive of the enthusiastic determination of the North to maintain its inherited free institutions, than the sudden and universal popularity of this anonymous song. 180 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Shame on any citizen, in these times, who has not a mind too patriotic for partisan strife ! shame on any nominal Chiis- tian who has not a heart too large for sectarian controversy ! I beheve to-day is not the day for any discussion, but how best we can save our country and save souls ; that among citizens there are only two classes, — patiiots and traitors ; among believers, only two classes also, — those who love God and Christ and man, and those who love them not. This love of the Father and his Son and our brother man, — this is the ' threefold cord which cannot be broken ' ; for it is vital religion, — the bond which connects the soul of man to his God, and with all that is goodly or may be made such. " Every Sabbath, I now jDreach in the morning at the Hy- geia Hospital, just outside the fortress, where I have been appointed as chaplain pro tern. ; and in the afternoon, in the encampment of my own regiment, whose service I never make subordinate to any other duty. The attendance by the regi- ment is nearly, if not quite universal, and a more quiet, decorous congregation I would not ask. The men are mustered into their respective companies, and, led by their officers, march to the parade-ground, where they form a hollow square. In the centre a rude platform is erected, on which the chaj^lain stands. The officers and soldiers are generally furnished, by the liberality of the Unitarian Association, with the Army Melodies, from which they sing. These simple and cheerful strains are better adapted to the soldier than any more formal times. They evidently enjoy them ; and from every tent, at night, you wiU hear the soldiers singing 'Homeward Bound,' 'Joyfully,' 'Freedom's Era,' 'The Star-Spangled Banner,' '"We are Marching On,' etc. Nothing is more refining and elevating, nothing more religious in its tendency, than good music, when accompanying patriotic or devout words; at least, this has been my experience among the soldiers here and at the hospital, and in other regiments with whom it has been my fortune to come in contact. FORTRESS MONROE. 181 "But the instrumentality which at present seems most potent for good, is the social conference and prayer meeting. This is held in front of my tent every evening, and is as or- derly, and more numerously attended than any vestry-meeting m New England. "We conduct it rather differently from any other with which I am acquamted. The 'first half-hour is devoted to hearing from the chaplain an account of what is going on in the great world from which we are comparatively isolated. Few sol- diers can afford to take any daily papers, or buy those which occasionally are brought to our camp. It seems to me a part of my duty to inform them of any items which come to my knowledge, whether of a national or hterary nature. Above all, any news from dear old Massachusetts, and best-beloved Middlesex County, where our homes are, is welcome indeed. Then we spend about ten minutes in conversation as to topics upon which the chaplain can give counsel, — how the soldier can safely transmit money to wife or mother, how break himself of a habit of profanity, or any one of a hun- dred questions he desires to ask. Perhaps he wants to tell, liimself, some news from the quiet to^vn from whence he and his company come. After these few minutes' talk are over, there is a decorous silence, broken at last by the voice of prayer ; and then an hour is spent in prayer and conference, and in frequent singing of familiar hymns from the Melodies. Both officers and soldiers participate in these meetings, several of the captains and lieutenants being members of churches." The discomfort at first experienced from lack of a place of worship was soon obviated. The Chaplain writes : — " Our friends in Boston have just sent to me a beautiful chapel-tent lor rehgious services. It is to be dedicated next 182 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Sunday, and the various regimental and naval chaplains in this vicinity are to take part in the services. The soldiers are preparing wi'eaths of the holly, with its ruby berries, and live-oak, with its briUiant leaf and delicate acorns. Bouquets of tea-roses, and other flowers still blooming here in the open air, will also grace the tent on this oceake Female Seminary, -^^th its noble dome. The building is owned by the State of Virginia, and is now used chiefly as a hospital and for quarters for officers and some of their families. " Still farther, the fortress rises on our left, with its frown- ing walls and its many cannon peering curiously out of the portholes at the passers-by, and ready to give any disloyal visitants a reception more warm than pleasant. As we claim to be thoroughly loyal, they have no voice for us, though their mouths are wide open. On our right lie a large num- ber of gunboats, transport steamers, schooners, the storesliip Brandy wine, and, more beautiful than any others, tlie flagship IMinnesota and the Roanoke." Of a lilgli military character at Newport News he Trrites : — 222 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " It was mj privilege to visit this place a few days since and see that tried and veteran soldier, General Phelps, who achieved honorable distinction in the Mexican war. I found him unpretending, affable, and every inch a soldier. He is a skilled artillerist, and as the ' News ' is strongly intrenclied, the foe would meet a pretty bloody reception shoidd they come. The entrenchments are provided with the formidable Sawyer's and other rifled cannon, which would deal out death by wholesale to a^^sailants. The remnant of the regiment of Ellsworth's Zouaves went there yesterday morning. They are hard boys, and may fight bravely, but I am more and more convinced that the best moral men, yes, and the best Christians, are also generally the best and most rehable and the bravest sokhers." And in the Immbler walks lie finds those to com- mend. " In our HoUiston company (Company B) is a man by the name of Fiske, a former resident of Georgia, which place he quitted abruptly a few weeks since, not, however, until he had become acquainted with the beauties of the only law which our Southern neighbors seem to respect, — lynch law. He was tarred and feathered, and treated with much indignity, and robbed of all his hard earnings. Fiske had never been an abolitionist, nor an opponent of slavery, though not hold- ing it exactly a divine institution. His only crime was being a native of Massachusetts and not in favor of rebellion. He was a peaceful man, but on arriving here, at once enhsted in our regiment, and only wishes to go 'way down South to Dixie's land,' with plenty of good Massachusetts soldiers in his company. He is calm now, but terribly in earnest in this strife, and with no personal revenge in his heart ; yet hates slavery, — the fount of all our woes, — and desires to see an end put to treason and rebeUion in the Southern States." FORTRESS INCIDENTS. 228 And thus he speaks over a soldier's grave : — " Stuart was an excellent young man, and died willingly, trustfully, feeling that he was giving hfe for his country. His were not the eclat and glory of death on the battle- field; yet his life was no less an offering on the altar of liberty. His humble pine coffin was followed to the grave by his captain and his company, and by the colonel of the regiment. The solemn burial rites fitting for a soldier were performed by the chaplain of the regiment, and then three volleys of musketry were fired over the insatiate grave in which we had placed the remains of him who, so few days smce, was earnest in his patriotic zeal. On the following Sabbath, a discourse suggested by his death, yet more by his life, so far as we knew it, was preached by the chaplain to an attentive regiment. Massachusetts — yes, and America, too — will write on her heart of hearts the names of all who, in this perilous hour, die in her cause. Names the most humble shall henceforth become glorious." He finds one, too, reminding of '' The boy stood on the burning deck." He says : — " Just as I was leaving Boston a lad of fifteen appeared, with proper vouchers, and entreated to go as a servant in the regiment. His father had been major in the regular army, but neither father nor mother nor other known relative of his now lived, and he had no way of earning honestly liis bread. He is a Boston boy, of American parentage, and from one of our Suffolk schools. I took him, finding his card indorsed by good citizens, though not specially needing his services. On arriving at this encampment I was called to the city by business, and, leaving him standing in front of the head- quarters, told him to stay there till I returned, which would be before long. " Business detiiined me, however, and knowing the boy 224 CHAPLAIN FULLER. would have every kindness, I "was not anxious about liim. Retui-ning next day at 10 A. M. I found that during the rainy night he had stood at liis post, refusing to leave it, because his orders were to the contrary. He had not gone in to supper, nor did he leave, though without an. overcoat, when the rain-storm came on, till, fiilling asleep, he was carried in by one of the servants. That is a boy who * obeys orders,' and will make a good soldier. I had never dreamed of being obeyed so literally, but confess I was pleased with the implicit obedience of this little soldier's orphan." The fortress furnished melancholy spectacles. " At the fortress wharf here, on that same Friday, we saw fifty-seven patriotic and brave men who were wounded and captured by the enemy at the battle of Bull Run. O what a scene it was, — those poor mangled, wounded, half-starved sufferers ! There was a young man who had lost a limb ; and another whose whole existence must be a li^dng agony, a dying by inches ; yet only after long years may he be so privileged as to 'sleep well, life's fitful fever over.' May their grateful country not wait till the grave closes over those maimed and sickly forms, ere she does them what slender justice she can. And may the kindness of home, and the sunsliine of loved faces, and the music of friendly voices restore to health some of these who must soon have died, surrounded as they were in their gloomy prison-house by the foes of human liberty, who scowled their hatred of its defenders, and uttered only harsh words to these brave men who had poured forth their blood as a hbation on Free- dom's altar." Sio-hts more cheerino- sometimes are met on the shore. FORTRESS INCIDENTS. 225 " The sun, which was veiled in clouds on Saturday, shone again on the Sabbath. " Well it might, for it seldom has looked upon a gladder scene than its setting rays gilded with a smile of holy joy. At that hour the steamer, which had been up to Norfolk with a flag of truce, returned, laden with a precious freight, even our released prisoners from Richmond and many an- other house of Southern bondage. As I went on board, I saw Colonel Lee, Colonel Cogswell, Colonel Wood, Major Revere, Captain Keller, and over three hundred other brave officers and soldiers, who were mostly captured in the cour- ageous and sanguinary, but ineffectual, fight at Ball's Bluff. It was a different scene from what I expected, less noisy and more solemn, fewer 'hurrahs' and more exclamations of * Bless God!' 'Bless God!' Ay, 'Bless God,' indeed; for Secretary Stanton spoke a truth we need ever remember, when he declared that to Jehovah's name, and not chiefly to any man's, belongeth the highest glory. Without under- rating the valor of our brave soldiers, the wise strategy of commanders or statesmen, but heaping chaplets on their honored brows, we would at the same time remember that 'His right hand hath gotten us the victory.'" The Chaplain thus describes another scene : — " It affords a pleasant change from camp scenes to go a while each day to the fortress, and especially to the market- place, which lies just without its walls and near the various steamboat landings. There you see every vai-iety of men. Here are a group of naval ofiicers, with their round caps and broad gold bands and brilliant uniforms. They are talking over a theme always pleasant, — the Ilatteras Inlet victory, which was empliatically a naval triumph, although the brave German soldiers and our own gallant Butler did tlieir full part in its achievement. The venerable man to whom they 10* o 226 CHAPLAIN FULLER. most attentively listen when lie speaks is the brave Commo- dore Stringham, who, to the regret of many, is to be trans- ferred from this command. " Near them is a band of soldiers eagerly asking whether they are not to have lot or part in some hazardous expedi- tion for their country's service and strike a blow which shall sink Manasses and Bethel beneath the sea of oblivion. Pa- tience, brave men, you will not long remain uugi-atified in your desii'e, and when the blow is struck, may it be so strong- ly dealt, so surely aimed, that under it rebellion shall reel and stagger to her final overthrow. You notice that the soldiers are of different States, but chiefly from New York and Mas- sachusetts, who have stood shoulder to shoulder during all tliis wai-fjire ; of different nationalities, too, Germans, Irish, Americans, but united wholly in heart and mind, and all calling America their fatherland, for whom they will seek all service to do, and in her cause, if must be, die. " But there comes a file of men who do not look so eager and expectant, albeit not half so ill as I had pictured such men to look. These are captured Secessionists, who have just been brought here to try the invigorating air of Old Point Comfort. That row is just from Baltimore, and is composed of most distinguished and gentlemanly, but bitter enemies of their country. For them I have no sympathy ; they deserve none. They have sinned against the best and most lenient government upon which sun ever shone, and have sinned knowingly, and because of personal ambi- tion. "That other file of prisoners, and we have one or two Such every day, is more deserving of pity ; it is composed of ignorant men, misled by leaders like the first class of rebels who just passed us." The Chaplain had an interview with some released rebels, -which he thus describes : — FOETRESS INCIDENTS. 227 " While I stood on fhe deck of the Roncoos, as our flag-of- truce boat is named, there came upon deck a young man, dressed in full uniform as a naval officer, who touched his hat courteously to me, and called me by name. I did not recognize him, but, stepping aside to speak with liim, was introduced to a captain and lieutenant, also in full naval rig, with swords by their sides. After customary words of introduction, my new friend said : < Well, it seems good to get on the water again.' * Ah,' I said, ' you have not been with your ship lately.' ' No,' was the reply, 'I had other duties.' ' Well, sir,' I remarked, ' it is to you naval gentlemen that the country is now looking to strike terror to the hearts of the Secessionists and crush out rebellion.' ' Sir,' they replied, in a loud chorus, ' we have resigned: * Indeed,' was my re- sponse, ' I am sorry you should be out of health at a tune when so many important naval expeditions are on foot.' < That is n't our reason.' I turned the conversation a little, somewhat enlightened, but still not willing to believe thfit these gentlemen, weai-ing Uncle Sam's unifonn, were yet ready to fight against, but not for, a government whose cash they have long drawn as salary. 'Are you from Boston, gentlemen?' 'Just arrived from there.' 'How do things look in the good old city ? ' 'We went about but very little.' ' What part of the city did you stop in ? ' ' We have heen residing for the last few inonths in Fort Warren, in Boston Harbor; was their answer. We all laughed. Then and during the rest of our conversation we better understood one another. My new-found acquaintance it ajDpeared had seen me in Boston a few years ago, and remembered me, thougli I had forgotten him." In the Fortress, the Chaplain was under a new regime, the law martial ; a cliange not so noticeable to tliose who Avere a law to themselves, but of necessary severity with delinquents. He writes : — 228 CHAPLAIN FrLLER. " My heart is sad amid these beautiful Virginia scenes ; and war's dread array has as yet presented to me no sight so sorrowful as our regimental guard-tent exhibits ; for within those canvas walls are two men sentenced to be shot. " Do you ask the crime of these men, whom the court- martial has thus sentenced to a summary execution ? I answer, a very heinous one in military eyes, and rightly so regarded, yet not necessarily involving moral obHquity, — it is sleeping on their post as sentinels at night. This en- dangers the whole army, and the sacred cause for which we are contending; and unless extenuating circumstances ap- pear, death is the awful yet righteous penalty. Still we cannot refrain from deeply sympathizing with those whose offence implies no malice, only that negligence and lack of watchfulness often equally pernicious and fatal to ourselves and others. But whatever my judgment says, my heart pleads for these men, — pleads for them before the tribunal of God, and will induce me to plead for them before the tri- bunal of men ; and I cannot but hope and pray for that one sweet word which all we sinful mortals need, — pardon !" * The capture of two arch-traitors caused joy at the fortress. The Chaplain says : — " It is they, and such as they, who have brought upon this State and our whole country sorrow and the sufferings of civil war. A friend near me suggests that he, for one, is glad that the Virginia ' architect of ruin ' is no longer a free Mason ; and those who know Slidell assert that he is even more inclined to all pohtical evil and crime than his Virginia confederate in treason. It seems strange to us Massachusetts soldiers, far away from home, defending our institutions and liberties, to hear of citizens of Boston furnishing these f)lot- ters of disunion and avowed enemies of our government with * The sentence of these men was commuted. 1 FORTRESS INCIDENTS. 22§ every luxury. We endure hardsliips and privations cheer- fully ; we desire no unnecessary severity towards these men who are largely the cause of our hardsliips, but we believe our government and State and citizens have done enough, and all that is honorable to themselves, when they treat os well and make as comfortable these rebel prisoners as tliey treat and make their loyal soldiery. " By the way, if Mr. Mason now visits Massachusetts, and more especially Fort Warren, will he go 'as an ambassa- dor,' as he once promised Mr. Winthrop ? " Of their release he says : — " I find but one opinion in this division of the loyal army in reference to the surrender of Mason and vSlidell. It is of reluctant but entire acquiescence. Their fangs are di-aAvn ; let the serpents go. They are harmless, save to their friends in rebeldom or Great Britain." Of the preparation of the expedition which cap- tured Beaufort he says : — " On returning to the fortress, I found the harbor and vicinity one forest of masts. Interspersed among these were the smoke-pipes of a countless tlu'ong of steamers. The decks of both ships and steamers were alive with ai-med men, — soldiers and marines. At night the scene was one of the most beautiful that human eye can ever see. Innu- merable hghts gleamed from every deck, and were reflected from the waters, ghmcing and sparkling as the hglit waves played ; strains of patriotic music ai-ose from the bands or from human voices, and were wafted in sweet cadence to the shores. 0, with what pride and joy, with what an in- finitude of hope, and yet a blending of anxiety, did every patriot look on that floating city beneath oui' fortress walls ! How often have we expected it to sail dui'ing those radiant, 230 CHAPLAIN FULLER. serene days and still October nights, when all seemed so auspicious, and every morning we looked, tliinking, half hoping, that, in the silence of the night just gone, those wliite sails would have been spread like the wings of sea-bu-ds, and tJiose vessels have glided away, followed by the laboring steamers as companions, on their mission of peace to loyal men, of death to traitors. But those anticipations were long disappointed, until at last, in the gray mists of morning, that marine city did melt away like a night vision, and we saw it sweep out of the harbor with the mists, and followed it with our prayers and our blessmgs. A few hours sufficed to hoist every anchor and set every sail ; and when we looked anew at those placid waters, the fleet which had ridden safely upon them was gone, — whei-e could only be conjectured, and con- jectures, let me assure you, were numberless, save among the very few who believed they knew." He thus alludes to the dreadful tempest which suc- ceeded the departure of the expedition : — " vScarce a day had passed after the fleet had left our waters, when the sky, which had been so cloudless and azure, became overcast, and the still waters were lashed to fury by a fierce wind. All night it blew ; it prostrated many of the humble tents in our canvas city, and kept cold and comfort- less the inmates of them all ; but I think few thought much of personal discomfort in comparison with the great interests we felt were imperilled by the unwelcome storm. But that night of wind and tumult was as nothing when considered in relation to the driving, furious tempest of Friday and Satur- day last. It did seem as though the powers of light and darlmess were striving for the victory, and the latter were likely to get the better in the contest, or as if the very ele- ments of nature were assaulting one another, and earth, sea, and air were mingling in an indiscriminate stiife, the result FORTRESS INCIDENTS. 231 of which to us poor half-drowned denizens of the tented field was a very doubtful one. All Friday night the winds howled over sea and main, and torrents of rain fell, or rather beat upon sea and shore, and when morning came the white-crested waves were rushing upon the beach like plumed squadrons to tlie battle. Tln-oughout the whole day the storm continued, till our anxieties for the fleet, freighted with a nation's des- tinies, reached a climax. Still we had one resource, — we could do nothing in our human powerlessness to aid, but we could look to Him who rules winds and waves, and know that He who doeth all things well could and would cai'e for that fleet, and give it both protection and a prosperous event to its undertaking, if in his wisdom that were best for the Avelfare of our comitry and humanity. And never have I heard more fervent prayers than those which have arisen from the sol- diers at our humble prayer-meetings, as they invoked Heav- en's blessing on the great expedition." Every hour and scene were liable to martial inter- ruption, and the frowning fortress was obliged, like the Eastern sage, to sleep with the eyes open. Of such an interruption, while religious services were in progress, the Chaplain writes : — " We worship, as did our Pilgrim Fathers, with arms in our hands, ready to pray or fight, as God and duty may require, and beheving one not inconsistent with the other in a holy cause, such as is our country's. A portion of our regiment immediately proceeded to the scene of action, de- termined, if the enemy would desecrate the Sabbath by an attack, we would consecrate ' Forefather's Day ' with a vic- tory. But the enemy were repulsed ere our companies reached the field, and I met the ambulances bringing back four wounded men of the GeiTuan Twentieth New York Regiment, our neighbors. Eight or ten of the rebels were 232 CHAPLAIN FULLER. killed, but the foe saved themselves from further loss by retreating at the tenth volley. The enemy's force consisted of one regiment of infantry and one company of cavalry. Many colored men were in the enemy's ranks, the rebels having no tender scruples about arming the slaves. The number of the rebel wounded is not known. None of our men were killed." The Rebels, having now got their Merrimac nearly or quite ready for action, begin to be confident upon the water. The Chaplain writes : — " Quite a saucy tiling was done by a little rebel steamer from Sewall's Point, oj^posite om* camp, on Sunday last. The attempt made was to capture our mail and transport steamer, the Express, which plies daily between the fortress and Ne^vport News. The Express at the time was to^vuig an old schooner, the Sherwood, owned by Assistant-Quarter- master Noyes, and having on board twelve hundred gallons of good pure cold water for the supply of the naval vessels, good water not being easily jirocm-ed at the fortress. The shells of the rebel steamer all passed over the Express, but it was deemed advisable to cut adi-ift the schooner and abandon her to the enemy. The contrabands on board the schooner abandoned her, taking the yawl-boat and escaping to the shore, the captain, however, remaining on board, and refusing to leave the schooner. Meanwhile, but very slowly as it appeared to us who were witnessing the matter on the shore, the federal gunboats steamed up and sailed after the rebel adventurer. They were unsuccessful in overtaking her, but poured their shells about her in a fiery storm of thunderbolts. One of our armed ferry-boats pursued the enemy almost to Sewall's Point, running the gantlet between the batteries there and on Craney Island. "We temperance men were rather rejoicing to think that the rebels had now a MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 233 good supply of pure cold water, — an article whose use they appear lately to have abandoned; but I learn to-day that the schooner sunk when near port, having been riddled with our balls. Our gunboats at last ceased the chase, but shelled the rebel camp \)n Craney Island, with w^hat success can only be conjectured by us." And now occurred the greatest naval engagement of tlie nineteenth century, not only in view of the novelty of the combat and the incalculable issue imme- diately at stake, but because its result went far to settle the question of foreign intervention. Wooden walls would henceforth avail little in maritime Avarfare, and ships in the heavy iron armor which would be requisite must incur the utmost hazard in a long voy- age over a tempest-breeding sea. Our Chaplain was one of the few eyewitnesses, if not the only one, who has given the full particulars of this event. He thus describes it under date of March 15th, 1862: — " The past week has indeed been an exciting one here. The dulness and monotony of camp lif^ have been ex- clianged for the sounds of the stirring drum, of men march- ing in battle array to meet any land force which might second the naval armament arrayed against us, and for the flash and roar of the cannon upon our shores. I have been a witness of the entire naval contest ; our signal defeat at first, our splendid triumph at the last. Never have I known such alternations of feeling as this last week has brought to me. I have seen the proud American flag struck and hum- bled, and over it tlie white signal of surrender to a rebel steamer waving, and my heart sank witliin me for sliame, and then came emotions of stern resentment, and longing to 234 CHAPLAIN FULLER. see the affront avenged. I have seen that exultant rebel steamer humbled in her turn before tlie little Monitor, and the fierce flame-breathing monster towed disabled away to his den, and then came a feeling of exultation, say rather of gratitude to God, whose providence alone sent that deliver- ance, wliich no language is adequate to express. Let me now briefly recount events of remarkable interest, avoiding the trite details already before the public, and narrating things as I saw them. The like of this naval engagement, in many respects, the world never saw before ; the tremen- dous interests which hung upon the issue have never been exceeded ; and each witness is bound to give his testimony, and give it impartitdly. " Never has a brighter day smiled upon Old Virginia than last Saturday. The hours crept lazily along, and sea and shore in tliis region saw nothing to vary the monotony of the scene. Now and then a soldier might be heard complaining that this detachment of the loyal army was having no part in the glorious victories wliich everywhere else are crowning American valor with such l)rilliant success ; or a sailor might be noted on shipboard telling how much he hoped the Merri- mac would show herself, and how certainly she would be sunk by our war yessels or land guns if she dared make her appearance. At one o'clock in the afternoon the scene changed. Two strangely-clad steamers appeared above Newport News, coming down the river, and a mysterious monster — half ship, half house — came slowly steaming from Norfolk. We did not know, but we all felt, that the latter was the Merrimac. Yom* correspondent at once went to the large seminary build- ing on the shore, about two miles from the fortress, and so much nearer Newport News, and with an excellent spyglass could see distinctly every movement made. The engagement was a brief one, and as terrible and disastrous as brief. The Merrimac is a slow sailer, but she steamed steadily toward MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 235 Newport News, and at once attacked the Cumberland. There can never be a braver defence than the officers and sailors of that frigate made. They fought long after resistance was hopeless ; they never surreiidered, even when the water was lilled with drowning men, and the fast disappearing decks were slippery with blood ; but all was in vain. With terri- ble and resistless force the Merrimac steamed at the doomed vessel, and pierced her side with her immense iron beak, at the same time firing her heavy guns directly through her antagonist. The noble Cumberland soon sunk, and her sail- ors who were yet aUve sought safety in the masts yet above water, or by swimming to the shore. " Meanwhile the Congress had been fired upon by the rebel steamers Yorktown and Jamestown, and also by the tug-boats which accompanied the Merrimac. She had got as near the shore as possible ; but when the iron monster turned his atten- tion to her, she was soon obliged to surrender. O how bitterly we all felt the humiliation of seeing the white flag rising to the mast-head above the stars and stripes. I am afraid I felt hardly like a Cliristian for the moment, if indeed a longing for vengeance upon my country's enemies he unchristian. I would have given all I possessed to see that accursed tjTant of the seas, with the rebel pennant defiantly flying, sunk be- side her victim, the noble Cumberland. But it was not so to be. We looked for the Mnnesota and Roanoke, our helpei's in the strife, the first our main dependence, and lo! both were agroimd and helpless in that fearful hour ! It was well, for sure as they had floated, and the Merrimac could have come at them, they, too, must have been sunk or captured. The Merrimac draws more water than either of them. It did seem strange, though, that such a mishap should have chanced to both of these steam frigates, whose pilots ought to have been so familiar with tlie channel ; but the Koanoke for six months has lain in these waters with a broken shaft, 236 CHAPLAIN FULLER. which renders her helpless, and the former pilot of the Min- nesota had just given way to another and less experienced man. It was all overruled for good. '' The Merrimac now threw her balls tliick and fast and heavy upon the camps at Newport News. Strange to say none of these shot or shell did any material damage, though one of them passed directly tlirough Greneral Mansfield's quarters, made wild work with his room, covered the Gen- oral wdth splinters of wood, and had it exploded must have killed him. I saw the shell next day, and conversed ^ath the General with reference to it. He has it in his apart- ment. It weighed forty-two pounds; another by its side, also sent from the ISIerrimac, weighed ninety-two. The shells were rather badly aimed, and most of them went into the woods, cutting off tops of trees as they fell ; but fortu- nately, nay, providentially, banning no one of the soldiery or the fleeing women and children and contrabands. A little tuo" had been sent meanwhile from the Merrimac to the Con- o gress to take off the prisoners ; but this tug was a mark for the sharpshooters from the shore and from the land batteries, which had been admirably served under General Mansfield's skilful direction, and frightened the Yorktown and James- town and the little rebel gunboats fi'om landing their forces. The officers of the Congress and most of. the sailors who were not killed, all save twenty-three, escaped to the shore ; and the Merrimac, damaged but not disabled by the Cumberland's broadsides, with her commander wounded and several men killed, retired from the conflict, giving a few passmg shots at the Mnnesota, but reserving her case till the morrow, and slowly steaming up to Norfolk, accompanied by the James- town, Yorktown, and the smaller rebel craft. " That morrow ! How anxiously we waited for it ! How much we feared its results ! How anxious our Saturday eve of preparation ! At sundown there was nothing to dispute MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 237 the empire of the seas with the Merrimac, and had a land attack been made by Magruder then, God only knows what our fate would have been. The St. Lawrence and the Min- nesota aground and helpless! the Roanoke with a broken shaft, — these were our defences by sea, — while on land we were doing all possible to resist a night invasion ; but who could hope that would have much efficiency! O what a night that was ! I never can forget it. There was no fear during its long hours, — danger, I find, does not bring that, — but there was a longing for some intei-position of God and waiting upon liim, from whom we felt our help must come, m earnest, fervent prayer, while not neglecting all the means of martial defence he had placed in our hands. Fugitives from Newport News kept arriving ; ladies and children had walked the long ten miles from Newport News, feeling that their presence only embarrassed their brave husbands. Sail- ors from the Congress and Cumberland came, one of them with his ship's flag bound about his waist as he swam with it ashore, deteraiined the enemy should never trail it in dishonor as a trophy. Dusky fugitives, the contrabands, came mournfully fleeing from a fate worse than death, — slavery. These entered my cabin hungry and weary, or passed it in long, sad procession. The heavens were aflame with the burning Congress. The hotel was crowded with fugitives, and private hospitality was taxed to the utmost. But there were no soldiers among the flying host ; all in our camps at Newport News and Camp Hamilton were at the post of duty, undismayed and ready to do all and dare all for their country. The sailors came only to seek another chance at the enemy, since the bold Cumberland had gone down in the deep watei*s and the Congress had gone upward, as if a chariot of fire, to convey the manly souls whose bodies had perished m that conflict upward to Iieavcn. I had lost several friends there; yet not lost, for they are saved who 238 CHAPLAIN FULLER. do tlieir duty to their country and their God, as these had done. " We did not pray in vain. ' The heavy night hung dark the hills and waters o'er ' ; but the night was not half so heavy as our hearts, nor so dark as our prospects. All at once a speck of light gleamed on the distant wave ; it moved, it came nearer and nearer, and at ten o'clock at night the Monitor appeared. ' When the tale of bricks is doubted, Moses comes.' I never more firmly be- lieved in special providences than at that hour. Even sceptics for the moment were converted, and said, 'God has sent her!* But how insi^iificant she looked ! she was but a speck on the dark blue sea at night, almost a laughable object by day. The enemy call her a ' cheese-box on a raft,' and the com- parison is a good one. Could she meet the IMerrimnc ? The moiTOw must determine, for, mider God, the Monitor is our only hope. " The morrow came, and with it came the inevitable bat- tle between those strange combatants, the Merrimac and the Monitor. What a lovely Sabbath it was ; how peace- ful and balmy that Southern spring morning ! Smiling nature whispered only ' peace,' but fierce treason breathed out threatenings and slaughter, and would have war. Nor would the rebels respect the Sabbath ; they know no doctrine but Slavery, no duty but obedience to her bloody behests. War let it be, then, since wicked men so determine, and we have no alternative but shameful surrender of truth and eter- nal justice. The guilt of violating God's Sabbath be upon the heads of those who will do it, — we may not, indeed can- not, shi'uik from the terrible ordeal of battle. And soon it comes. At nine o'clock A. M., the Merrimac, attended by her consorts, the war-steamers Jamesto"\vn and Yorktown, and a fleet of little tug-boats, crowded with ladies and gentlemen MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 239 from Norfolk who were desirous of seeing the Minnesota cap- tured, and, perhaps even Fort Monroe taken, certainly all its outlying vessels and the houses in its environs burnt. " The little Monitor lay concealed in the shadow of the Min- nesota. The Merrimac opens the conflict, and her guns shake the sea and air as they breathe out shot and flame. Sewall's Point sends from its mortars shell which burst in the air above the doomed Minnesota. The INIinnesota, still aground, repUes with a bold but ineffectual broadside. All promises an easy victory to the Merrimac, when lo ! the Httle Monitor steams gently out and offers the monster Merrimac battle. How puny, how contemptible she seemed ! nothing but that little round tub appearing above the water, and yet flinging dowTi the gage of defiance to the gigantic Merrimac. It was little David challenging the giant GoHath once again, — the little one the hope of Israel, the giant the pride of the hea- then Philistines. Truly our hopes were dim and our hearts almost faint for the moment. The few men on the Monitor are sea and storm worn and weary enough, and their little craft is an. experiment, with only two guns with which to answer the Merrimac's many. Who can doubt the issue ? who believe the Monitor can fail to be defeated ? And if she is, what is to hinder the victorious and unopposed and unopposable Merrimac from opening the blockade of the coast, or shelling Washington, New York, and Boston, after first devastating our camp and destroying its soldiery ? That was the issue ; such might have been the result, smile now who will. Believe me, there were prayers offered, many and fervent, that Sabbath, along the shore and from the fortress walls, as our regiment watched the battle, and sailors must have prayed, too, as never before. " The Merrinjac, after a few minutes of astounded silence, opened the contest. She tried to sink her puny foe at once by a broadside, and be no longer delayed from tlie Minnesota, 240 CHAPLAIN FULLER. whose capture she had determined upon. After the smoke of the cannonade had cleared away, we looked fearing, and the crew of the Meniniac looked hoping, that the Monitor had sunk to rise no more. But she still lived. There she was, with the white wreaths of smoke crowning her tower, as if a coronet of glory. And valiantly she retm-ned the fire, too, and for five hours such a lively cannonading as was heard, shaking earth and sea, was never heard hefore. Lit- erally, I believe that never have sliips carrying such heavy guns met till that Sabbath morning. Every manoeuvre was exhausted by the enemy. The Yorktown approached to muigle in the fray. One shot was enough to send her quickly Ijack, a lame duck upon the waters, though she, too, is iron- clad. The Merrunac tried to run the Monitor down, and thus sink her ; she only got fiercer shots by the opportunity she thus gave her little antagonist. And so it went on till the proud Merrimac, disabled, was glad to retire, and, making signals of distress, was towed away by her sorrowing consorts. David had conquered Goliath vdth his smooth stones, or WTought-iron balls, from his little shng, or shot-to^Yer. Israel rejoiced in her deUverance, tlirough the power of God, who had sent that little champion of his cause, in our dicest ex- tremity, to the battle. Since then the Merrimac has not sho^ATi herself, and the enemy confess her disabled, and her commander, Buchanan, ominous name, severely wounded, four of her crew killed, and seventeen wounded. They ad- mit, too, the valor of oui* seamen, futile though it was. ' The Cumberland's officers and crew,' says the Norfolk Day-Book, ' fought worthy of a better cause ' ; say, rather, worthy of the best cause in the world, and we who witnessed the fight will agi'ce with them. " All that night, as well as the previous and for several succeeduig, om' regiments were imder anns. I will not detail the precautions taken to prevent a defeat by land, as, thi'ough MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 241 the providence of God, an ultimate defeat by sea has been averted. Few of us slept that night, and had we done so most of us would have been awakened at midnight by the fearful cries which came to us from the water, ' Sliip ahoy ! O God, save us ! Fire, fire, fire ! ' and occasionally a heavy cannon mmgling its roar with those fearful cries. I rushed to the shore, witli many others, and then a little distance from me beheld the gunboat Wliitehall burning, and apparently her crew per- ishing in the fire or drowning in the waters near. It was terrible, all the more so as we could do nothing to aid, no boat being near our camp. The balls from her shotted guns made even looking on dangerous ; one shell struck the United States Hospital at the fort and caused great terror among the inmates, all of whom believed for a while that the Merrimac had come down again and was shelling the fort. Only four of those poor seamen perished in the flames or water, through the mercy of God. The fire came from a shot from the Mer- rimac, which had tlie day before passed through the White- hall and left a little spai-k smouldering unknown within. " Amid all these events, disastrous or merciful, our soldiers still live, the fortress yet remains unscathed, and the ]VIinne- sota and Roanoke and St. Lawrence, though the first two need repairs, yet fly the old flag at their mainmasts. Above all, the little Monitor floats in triumph, a sentinel on the waters and a strict * monitor ' over the rebels. But for the wounding of her noble commander. Lieutenant Worden, she would have pursued and sunk the Merrimac, and will proba- bly do so if another encounter occurs. She has now another noble commander. Lieutenant T. A. Selfridge of Charles- town, whom I have known from his boyhood, and know to be brave and worthy of the proud Old Bay State. I have visited Newport News, and mourned there the death of the worthy Chaplain Lenhart and the heroic Captain Moore, whom I saw but a few days before, and talked with about his 11 p 242 CHAPLAIN FULLER. intended ^-isit liome to Boston. But wliile I have moumed, I have also rejoiced over our cainps, in which none were killed, and our officers and sailors so many of whom were rescued. America will never forget that battle. It will mark p i era in the history of the navy. It has taught us a useful lesson, and henceforth we have no more wooden walls as our reliance, but first our God and then plates of steel, and iron-clad frigates and monitors." Had the Merrimac been victorious, the fortress was ill-prepared for her, and much loss of life and even capture might have ensued. But the Chaplain was unmoved. In a letter to his family he says : " Fear not for me. God cares for me. I never felt less fear than now." Nor did this first fear of battle, which everything indicated would soon be the order of the day upon land, induce Imn to cast any longing looks homeward. He writes to liis wife ; " Much as I love you and my children, I am glad I am not with you, nor you with me. My duty is here; yours, there. In aU events, God bless you ! " Refemng to the bill which was before Congress for the reduction of the chaplain's pay, he says, " I would not leave, if I had to live on a crust, till the contest is over." In company with Vice-President Hamlin, the Prince de Joinville, Senators Hale, Sherman, Anthony, and Wilkinson, Hon. Charles R. Train, and many other distinoruished officials, he visited the scene of the naval conflict. " Early on Monday morning we embarked on board the fine steamer King Philip, which had been chartered for the occasion, and had brought the party from Washington. For three days the weather had been very stormy here. Vkginia MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 243 had stood like Niobe, dissolved in tCcars. Was she weeping over the sins of her rebellious sons ? For some cause, cer- tainly, she has been in a melting mood for long and weary- months ; but no fairer day ever shone than last Monday. Perhaps the hope that these officials, civil, milita"7, and naval, would devise something to crush out the treason wliich has made Virginia moum, had something to do with the un- wonted smile the face of the country wore that day. Wipe out rebellion from this State, and Virgmia will wipe away her tears. At any rate, we saw once again the 'sunny South,' and our faces smiled as well as Nature's at the glad and unwonted spectacle. An excellent band also ' dis- coursed most eloquent music ' on the occasion, from the steamer's deck. " Our first visit was to Newport News, which we reached after a delightful sail of about an hour. Here the party sorrowfully viewed the charred and blackened hulk of the burnt frigate Congress, and gazed mournfully, but proudly too, on the masts of the sunken Cumberland, — that noble sloop-of-war which never surrendered. By request of Sena- tor Hiile, we passed close to and slowly by this sunken vessel, in which are entombed ' the noble men who perished there,* and who had followed that heroic motto of a naval com- mander, ' Don't give up the ship.' They had died rather than surrender. The band played the ' Star-spangled Ban- ner.' Fitting requiem were those inspiring strains and the eloquent words to wliich they were adapted. No mourn- ful dirge befits our heroic dead, but rather our country's martial strains with which heart-strings vibrate in unison, as we resolve to emulate those who, on that blood-stained and sinking vessel, even in the death-agony and to the last gasj), ' fought the good fight,' and did conquer, though seem- ingly vanquished ; for ♦ The saints in all this glorious war Shall conquer, though they 're slam.' 244 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " As tliat martial tune was played, some voices joined in singing its words, — ' say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air. Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. say, does the star-spangled banner still wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? ' " And as we sang or listened, we looked, and lo ! our ques- tion was answered : there from the toj^mast of that gallant ship the star-spangled banner still waved. The sunshine of that beautiful morning glanced from the pennant of that heroic vessel, still streaming from the masthead as it had done Hlirough that perilous fight.' General ^lansfield has ordered a national flag to be affixed to another of the masts, still to wave in proud defiance to the foe, say, rather, as the most eloquent memorial to mark the grave of those men who had died for that flag and the principles it typifies." They also visited the Monitor. " Its iron deck seemed almost sacred as I trod it ; for had I not seen that fearful but glorious contest between our little David and the rebel Goliath ? and did I not owe perhaps my life to the prowess of the little Monitor? Does not the country owe a debt, also, to that gallant defender, which gold can never pay ? We were politely received by Lieutenant Jeffers, her commander, and all parts of the Monitor exhib- ited, and the tower, or ' cheese-box,' as the rebels called it, was revolved for our inspection. Of course I shall not de- scribe its armament or mechanism. Too freely has that been done by others already. I felt her invincibility, how- ever, as never before, and should now hear that the Merri- mac had steamed down for a conflict with almost as much MERRIMAC AND MONITOR. 245 joy as would tlirill the hearts of the brave officers and crew of the little Monitor." He says again in reference to the conflict : — " No officer was captured of any naval ship or military company on that eventful day. The enemy captured just twenty-three sailors, who went on board one of their tug- boats voluntarily, either through mistake or lured by a prom- ise from the perfidious foe that they should be set free on shore at Newport News. These men were carried to Norfolk, one dying on the way. But for the sharpshooters of the Indiana Twentieth from the shore, more prisoners, including officers of the Congress, would have been taken. Nor was a single man killed in camp at Newport News. Two Ger- mans were wounded among the soldiers on shore. Less than two hundred sailors and soldiers in all were killed dur- ing the entire naval engagement. The enemy's victory was a bootless one, and I believe will result in good to our cause, by changing our naval tactics, and forcing us to resort to plated steamers and gunboats, instead of wooden walls. Such a floating battery is far better as a means of defence than an entire fleet of wooden ships of war, or half a dozen forts, and much less expensive than are our steam wooden frigates or the maintaining a single fort sixty days." ^^4 ' '^^^'M J I CHAPTER IV. THE PEXINSULAR CAMPAIGN. " Glory seemed betraj'ed." EVER did military expedition set out under more favorable auspices than the Peninsular campaign in the spring of 1862. Victory had perched upon the Union banner in a series of momentous battles. Farragut's naval achieve- ment, transcending the rules of military science, as genius and genius only has power to do, had sailed by the embattled forts and seized the Crescent City. This glorious feat wrought up the zeal of the Union forces to a high pitch of enthusiasm, while it dealt to Rebellion a stunning blow, and little was needed to crush it forever. An immense army started to go up the Peninsula, fired with martial ardor and flushed with hope. The enemy were in no spirit nor force to resist its onward march. But the great expedition paused before York- town, and, observing the most cautious iTiles of military science, advanced upon the place with the progressive parallels of a siege, as if it had the strength of Sebas- topol. But the heart of the enemy failed them, and they evacuated. They were slowly and cautiously THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 2-17 pursued. They were vanquished in the battle of WiUiamsburg. But advantage was not taken of vic- tory to strike an effectual blow. Slowly feeling their way, the Union forces advanced. The enemy, mean- while, by this dilatory progress, gained heart and time and reinforcements. When Yorktown was evacuated, Richmond had been almost destitute. But time had been given to concentrate forces there, and make for- tifications. Within a few miles of Richmond the bloody field of Fair Oaks was fought, and the discomfited foe fled to the city. The rebels talked of evacuating the capital, and all expected it to fall ; but the Union army did not seize the occasion to attack it. Slowly ap- proaching, the Federals came so near that the clocks of the city could be heard in the Union camp as they struck the hours, and from a high tree, kno^^Ti as the signal-tree, its buildings could be discerned. But the enemy had been reinforced, not only by men, but by midsummer, which had been permitted to come upon the Union army, breeding pestilence in its marshy camp. This ally, in a heart-sickening, in- glorious way, laid more brave Union soldiers under the sod than all the balls and bullets of the Rebellion. The enemy soon made a concentrated attack, leaving Richmond feebly guarded. Now commenced a strate- getic movement, as it has been called,* by which the Union army was withdrawn, badly shattered, to the * Cliaplain Fuller related, that after the Peninsular retreat he was in conversation with a Frcuchmau, who spoke very disparagingly of the operations of the Union anny ui that campaign. To offset it the Chap- lain reminded him of Napoleon's reti-eat from Moscow. "Ah!" cried the Frenchman, *' Napoleon never retreated. That was only one (jrand rdrotjradc movement ! " 248 CHAPLAIN FULLfeR. protection of the gunboats. The right wing, as they retired, fully beheved that the other wing was being hurled upon Richmond ; but in this belief they were destined to cruel disappointment ; and they arrived weary and broken to the river-banks, to learn that the day was lost, the most reasonable anticipations of victory rendered vain, and one of the largest armies known to history, composed of a rank and file of un- equalled valor and endurance, reduced to a shadow. This was a disastrous blight upon Union hopes, and it thrilled painfully through every pulse of the nation. That most dehcate thermometer of pubhc confidence, finances, sunk immediately. Gold rose to an unprece- dented premium, and public secui'ities declined. On the Saturday when the telegraph announced the sad finale of the Peninsular campaign, the afii'ighted silver dollar and all his progeny of change retreated instantly to hoarding-places, and the market was left to make shift, as it might, with postage-stamps and other paper substitutes. But w^e must leave to the deliberate inquest of his- tory the searching out of the causes of this dreadful national disaster, while w^e record the Chaplain's notes by the way. He writes respecting the encampment before York- town : — "Three times have I visited McClellan's grand and noble army while it was encamped before YorktowTi. The roads, fearful beyond belief or expression ; the uncouth speci- mens of Southern ' cliivalry ' and coarse, vehement Secession women ; the rich soil, almost wholly untilled, and evidencing years of a^^cultural neglect, — these have been too often THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 249 described by correspondents to require any recital on my part. Nor shall I speak of privations and hardships insepa- rable from the condition of any large army moving rapidly through a hostile country. What do soldiers or visitors to soldiers expect, if not these ? I am stopping at the far-famed Nelson house, which Lord Cornwallis occupied while in Yorktown in 1781. It is now occupied as a hospital, and in these rooms, which once were filled with British officers, and but a few days ago with Jefferson Davis, Magruder, and other rebel generals, now our sick officers and soldiers of the loyal army can be found. "Tliis morning I breakfasted ^vith three rebel officers, captured by us last Sabbath as they inadvertently rode into our lines, believing the Yankees still in front of and not in Yorktown. These officers I found every way gentlemen, and though defiant of the North and a" little grandiose in their Southern hopes, our morning breakfast, which was casually made together, passed off very agreeably to me. They declared, in answer to my questions, that they be- lieved a decided stand would be made at Richmond by the rebel army ; they thought defeat possible, and that Virginia would be very hkely to be evacuated, but that this would hj no means end the contest nor mjure the South, except with foreign nations, whose assistance they have ceased to hope. The capture of New Orleans they admitted to be a heavy blow to their cause, and they candidly acknowledged that Beauregard, though victorious on the first day's fight at vShiloh, was repulsed on the second day with heavy loss. The blockade they believed a great hardship, and severely felt, but ultimately would do the South good, by maldng her self-sustaining." Here he secures some trophies. " I bring with me nuuiy relics, collected at Yorktown. One, a fierce, ]»loodthirsty-looking pike, used by the rebel 11* 250 CHAPLAIN FULLEE. soldiers. It is fourteen feet in length, adapted to cut or thrust, ^Yith a sharp side-knife to cut off an adversary's head or make him captive. I have also a piece of a shell, dug from the old Yorktown intrenchments near the Nelson house, and suj^posed to have been used in the ancient siege. As we approach the fortress strange sights and sounds salute the eyes and ears. We see the bombs bm-sting in the air, and hear the big gun Union and our war-ships and gunboats dis- coursing in thunder tones. We see tlie fire and thick smoke at Sewall's Point, and as we near the fortress we can distinct- ly see the rebel Goliath, the Merrimac. The fires from Sewall's Point are gro^\dng faint by degrees and beautifully less. It is an animated scene, I assure you, though what it all means we cannot yet make out. We trust it 'means business,' and the business which the country so urgently demands when it asks that the Merrimac and its den, Nor- folk, shall alike be taken or destroyed." His regiment, wliicli had not yet joined the Penin- sular army, was employed in the occupation of Norfolk, Portsmouth, and Suffollv. The Chaplain writes, under date of May 12th : — " Tliis Southern city and its neighbor, Portsmouth, are now centres of interest, and the scenes witnessed on every side are novel and striking. Your coiTespondent arrived yesterday morning at early dawn, and found the city in full and quiet possession of the national army. The Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment was the first regiment entering either city; the right wing, with Colonel Wyman at its head, occupying the Gosport Navy- Yard and Portsmouth, of which city Colonel Wyman has been appointed military commandant, the left wing being stationed at the court- house and jail in Norfolk. Passing up the street, I found the stillness of the Sabbath unbroken, as the soldiers m Httle THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 251 squads walked quietly here and there, and the sullen men and women at street corners or beliind the blinds of their houses, looked curiously and maKgnantly at the victors, but were too much cowed down to make any hostile demonstra- tion. Suddenly the stillness was broken by the roar of can- non not far off, and then a few minutes after by an explosion whose concussion shook earth and sea. The Merrimac ! was instantly the name on every lip, and a more fearful gloom quickly settled on the brow of every rebel citizen of Norfolk. The fire which the rebels had kindled in the ship had reached first the loaded guns and exploded them, and then the maga- zine of the world-noted tyi-ant of Hampton Roads, and she was no more. Soon deserters from her crew arrived, and confii'med the glad intelligence of the destruction of this monster, who had committed suicide in despair of a suc- cessful encounter with our champion, the little Monitor. The news was received with very mingled feelings by our troops ; they rejoiced that the Merrimac was destroyed ; they regretted that she was not captured or vanquished by the Monitor. No other vessel will ever be built on the same model, for she di-ew too much water, and was too unwieldy for sea or river service, and was at best but a floatmg battery for harbor defence. Mayor Lamb of Norfolk assured me last evemng that she was not injiu-ed in her contest mth the Monitor, save that her prow, having been bent by the Cum- berland's guns, was yet further displaced by a shot from the Monitor, which caused her to leak badly, and necessitated her return to Norfolk. " Reaching the ferry, I crossed to Portsmouth, finding the EUzabeth River positively yellow with tobacco and covered with a black scum from burning rebel steamers and gunboats, and the ruined navy-yard. These were all fired by the rebels, and were still ])urning or half concealed by wreaths of dense black smoke. O what a contrast Portsmouth presented to 252 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Norfolk ! The burning of the navy-yard, ruinhig every mechanic in Portsmouth, had filled full tlie cup of indig- nation against their traitorous tyrants. Our troops were welcomed as deliverers. Women, and even men, thronged about the advancing column of the Sixteenth Regiment, and insisted on kissing ' the old tlag,' weeping tears of joy as they did so. Almost every woman I met, and half the men, bowed and smiled, gladly saying, ' You are wel- come.' This was of course not as an individual, for I knew none of the tlirong, but was a recognition of my con- nection with the anny. The humblest soldier received an equal welcome. Bouquets of flowers were brought us from the blooming gardens, and two citizens earnestly prof- fered me a breakfast in an eating-house near. Ex- hausted and hungry from a night's mai'ch, diversified only by a ride for a part of the way in a mule-wagon over the worst of roads, I cheerfully accepted the invitation. On entering the house, the good woman who kept it said, ' Well, sir, what will you have? recollect we have to live pretty plainly here.' ' Oh,' was my answer, ' I am used to simple living in the army ; give me a bit of beefsteak, and that will do.' ' Steak ! ' was the exclamation ; ' we have none.' ' Very well, some ham and eggs.' ' Eggs ! there are none to be had now.' ' All ! then just some bread and butter, and a cup of tea.' ' Butter and tea ! ' said my poor hostess ; ' sii*, the hke of us poor folks have n't seen such things for a long time, nor is there a pound of tea to be bought in all Portsmouth.' I rather despaired of any further calling of the bill of fare, and left it entirely to my entertainers, who soon produced some ham, com bread, rye coffee, and excellent oysters. This I find to have been a luxurious meal amid tliis starving population. The excitement was intensified when I insisted on paying a quarter of a dollar for my entertainment. 'What, real money ! ' said the poor woman, and she exhibited it at once THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 253 to an admiring crowd, who looked upon it as a memento of their bygone happy days. I have nan-ated this incident accurately, as it shows the almost utter destitution both of money and provisions on the pai't of the inhabitants of this long-oppressed people. " Leaving the house, my attention was attracted by a throng swarming to the river. It seemed as if Norfolk and Portsmouth were shaken to the centre with excitement. Many whispered hopefully, some mournfully, 'The citizens are rising against the Unionists.' All such hope or fear was soon dissipated, for, elbowing my way through the crowd, I saw the little Monitor anchored in the stream, and let me assure you she excited as eager a gaze as could the Merri- mac in New York harbor. A great many ' could n't see it.' ' Where ! where is she ? ' they cried, refusing to believe that the insignificant tub or cheese-box was the dreaded Monitor who had fought the monster Merrimac five hours, and driven her back leaking to Norfolk. " I cannot describe the ruined navy -yard adequately. The scene is too soiTo^vful. Fifty large mechanic shops and ware- houses are smoking ruins ; blackened hulks of steamers or gunboats lie on every side ; huge piles of coal are still burn- ing. The houses of officers alone are saved, and these by the effi)rts of citizens, not by the sparing mercy of the rebels. What folly, as well as sin ! By that conflagration, a fatal blow is dealt to Virginia, and that by the hands of her pro- fessed special friends. Tliis rebelhon is making itself in- famous, even at the South, by its wanton incendiary fires. The navy-yard dry-dock yet remains but little injured, only the front stones being loosened and the gates burned. The attempt to blow it up proved a failure. " We are just in time to prevent another crime of slaveiy. The Norfolk Day-Book of Saturday, now in my hands, has the followincr advertisement in its cohunns : — 254 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ' Sale of Free Blacks for City Taxes. ' City Collector's Office, Norfolk, May 6, 1862. ' Under the provisions of an ordinance directing the sale of all free blacks who fail to pay their city taxes, I shall, before the door of the City Hall, on ]\Ionday, May 12, at 12 o'clock M., sell the following- named persons for the term specified by said ordinance.' " Here follow the names of 07ie hundred and twelve males, and two hundred and four females. I was at the place at the given time, but found no opportunity to buy a slave, had I desired so atrocious a crime. God be praised, slavery is doomed ! None welcome so loudly, none so gladly, our sol- diers as the slaves of these two cities. Whether others be Unionists or not, they surely are. " All speak enthusiastically of the noble head of our na- tion, — the providential man, the Moses of our Israel ! I never witnessed so much enthusiasm about any man as about that plain, homely, gaunt being, who walks unostentatiously among our soldiers, and whom they gi-eet as their tmest friend." The regiment were soon ordered to Suffolk. The Chaplain says, in a letter dated June 9th : — " We are here, for a time, encamped on the ' Fair Grounds,' less than a half-mile from the centre of the town ambitiously styled Suffolk City. In the whole town, or city if you ^vill, are sixteen hundred inhabitants, two hundred of whom are free negroes. The slaves have mostly disappeared, such Southern riches taking to themselves, not wings, but legs, in times like these, and disappearing rapidly ' between two days.' Many more have been sold into further and more hopeless Southern bondage, to save them from the misfor- tune their masters assure us freedom is to the black race. The principal street in Suffolk is lined on either side with elm-trees ; the houses are neatly built, and in general in good repair, and, on the whole, the town wears a more trim, THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 255 New-England aspect than I have elsewhere seen in Virginia. This was one of the old Whig strongholds in the days gone by ; now no place is more bitter in its Secession tone, though growing much more moderate since " the occupation of the place by the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment, who, by the wise discipline of the othcers, and their firm, sti-ict bearing toward the citizens, and by the good order of its private soldiers, have won the involuntary respect of the inhabitants. The absence of any attempt at ' conciliation ' on our part, and the unhesitating avowal of our opinions and their rea- sons, have proved most salutary. A weak pohcy is always a false one, and amiability is a synonyme for imbecility, and conciliation for cowardice, in the rebel dictionary. The town is on the very borders of the Dismal Swamj), and the location can hardly be a healthy one ; but thus far, by strict sanitary regidations and the utter proliibition of the sale of spirituous liquors to the men, the health of the regiment is as good as ever. In the north parish of the town, I am told, two schools exist which are termed free. They are supported by a fund accumulated by the earnings of several slaves, who were left by wdll for that purpose seventy years ago. The slaves are dead now, but the monument of their um-equited toil remains. Of course no colored person is permitted to be educated in these schools. The very children and grand- children of these swarthy laborers have been and are ex- cluded. Only white children can be benefited by the coined blood and sweat of these sable sons and daughters of Africa. A free institution founded on slavery ! Can such im anomaly long exist? Must not either the institution or its founda- tion perish ? " He thus refers to the Secession females : — " The women, misnamed ladies, and disgracing womanhood itself, continue to insult our soldiery, relying on the immu- 256 CHAPLAIN FULLER. nity from punishment tlieir sex receives. General Butler's order, rightly interpreted, would do no harm here, and some- thing of the kind is greatly needed. " I know how difficult it is to deal with such rebels, who forget their sex, and with it decency itself; but if they forget that they ever were ladies, can they complain if occa- sionally we forget it likewise ? " His regiment is now called to join the Penijisular army. He writes on June lltli : — "I rejoice that my regiment is not left at ease and in safety as the decisive hour draws nigh. Terrible as is the ordeal of battle, I would not shrink from that fearful sight, nor for whole worlds be absent when word or prayer or feeble act of mine might avail anything to soothe or aid the noble men who fight for all that is dear and holy. I know no holier place, none more solemn, more a^vfiil, more glorious, than this battle-field shall be. Let any deem the feel- ing wrong who will, on that ground I would rather stand than in any pulpit in America, and never can I pray more fervently than on that day that God would bless our dear soldiers and give them success, and scatter before them the enemies of all righteousness, the enemies of man and of God, like chaff before the driving storm. I love peace, love it so much that, were it needful and consonant with my vocation, I would fight for it. ' Blessed are the peacemakers,' and these to-day I believe pre-eminently to be the men who carry a rifle at the shoulder or a sword by the side, and are determined to ' conquer peace,' and to establish it ' by force of arms,' on so firm a foundation that our children and chil- di-en's children shall never be vexed by war's rude alarms." Of an historical mansion he says : — " To-day I have visited the White House here, built on THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 257 the foundations of that in which Wasliington wooed and won Mrs. Custis as his wife, and in wliich the first years of his married life were passed. Singuhxr to say, the White House is not white, hut brown. It was recently owned and occupied by Colonel Lee, a son of General Lee of the rebel army, and himself m the same ignoble service. The house is beauti- fully situated and prettily fimiished. An old table and clock which belonged to AYashington are still in its rooms, and these are the only relics of the immortal Washington I saw. IVhen our sokliers entered the house, they found the piano open, and a music-book also outspread, as if just used by some fair rebel. On it Mrs. Lee had written, ' Northern soldiers, who profess to venerate the memory of Washington, respect this house, in which he passed the first years of his married life.' They have done so ; the house is uninjured, and carefully guarded, though IVIrs. Lee's modest request yesterday, to have the table of Washington and several other things sent to her within the rebel lines, has not yet been granted. Opening tlie music-book I found also the opera I Puritani, The Puritans. I wonder how JVIrs. Lee and the Colonel like the Puritans of to-day, and whether slie rejoices m the triumphs which shoAV the Puritan blood yet runs in their veins, while the descendants of the Cav- aliers run before Massachusetts Puritans, as their ances- try did before Cromwell's army." He visited, too, a memorable church. " We rode through an avenue of trees, which form the entrance to the White House, and soon came to an opening or intervale, which for extent and beauty rivalled a Western prairie. It was enamelled with flowers, and looked as peace- ful amid tlie lofty groves and rugged bluffs, as tliough it were some liapi)y valley smiling serenely amid frowning dills and stately, solemn trees. A half-mile UKjre brouglit us to a Q 258 CHAPLAIN FULLER. fountain sheltered by a few stately oaks, beneath which it murmured forth its gentle mvitation for the tliirsty traveller to stop and drink of its refreshing waters. We were not unmindful of the request, and found the draught a pleasant contrast to the brackish waters common in Virginia. Strik- ing into a bridle-path, we entered a little glen, as charming as I have ever seen, even in the groves of dear old Massachu- setts. Passing on as rapidly as my unchristian horse would allow, who resented eveiy appHcation of my spurred heels by kicking viciously, we went through a camp strewn with coats and knapsacks which our soldiers left behind them as they ' went marching on,' and saw anon the quaint old church in which Wasliington was married. It is beautifully located, amid arching oaks, whose interlaced branches tmne appro- priate chaplets to his memory. The church is built of bricks imported from England. It is a rude and simple structure, as we judge by the light of to-day, though in its time deemed rather an elegant edifice. None worship there just at present but the twittering swallows, who ' have made there a nest for themselves, even thine altars, my God.' " But there were sadder scenes to witness. He writes : — " I have visited most of the tents whereui lie the sick and wounded, and their inmates bear uniform testimony to the skill and kindness of these noble surgeons who are per- forming such holy and honorable service at this hour of our country's need. God bless them! I find here also JNIiss Harriet Fanning Eead, the poetess, a native of Boston, who is here nursing and caring for the suffering and the dying. Here too are most excellent and devoted ladies connected with the Sanitary Commission, and our friends at home may be well assui-ed that all possible is done for the sick and wounded of this ' grand army of the Potomac' " THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 259 Martial scenes were now the order of the day. On June 14th he writes : — " TVe are encamped on this field, but recently the scene of the most sanguinary encounter which this war has yet wit- nessed or the country itself ever known. Beneath us and on every side are recent graves, sown thick with men, while the woods aU around us are full of the bodies of rebels, as yet unburied, the number of the slain being too great to have yet been entirely disposed of Ai-ms, accoutrements of every kind, are strewn about, while the two or three houses beneath the ' fair oaks ' which give the true name to this battle-field are completely riddled vdih balls and shell. The ' seven pines ' are close by, which first gave an erroneous title to the battle-field, which all the resident Virginians call ' Fair Oaks,' which is the designation of the railroad station near. "This division (Hooker's) is emphatically a fighting di- vision, its general being famiUai-ly termed ' Fighting Joe Hooker,' and is abundantly dreaded by the enemy. I be- lieve the Sixteenth Regiment ^vill not bring upon it any reproach, but will do its entire duty in the approaching con- flict. Time will erelong show m reference to this, and may it exhibit an honorable record. " We are living with republican simplicity here, I assure you. The staff oHicers have but soldiers' rations, and we all sleep on the ground, and officers and privates share hardships together. But such is a soldier's life, and I hear no murmur- ing, and have none myself to utter. " Of course I cannot speak of plans or positions lie re. Suffice it that we are close upon Richmond, and hope soon to enter the rebel^capital. How soon or by wliat movemcntif it would be improper to write. " All our baggage is left behind, we retaining no more than what can be carried in the coat-pocket or havei-sack." 260 CHAPLAIN FULLER. On the 17th he writes : — " We are encamped on the field recently the scene of the most sangumary strife in the annals of American warfare, for on this spot, when the true narrative of this war is wiitten, it will appear that more lives were lost, more wounds re- ceived, than in any other conflict of this struggle, or in any of its predecessors on this continent. " The terrible evidences of the bloody nature of this fight are all about us. In one grove sixty-seven bodies are buried, and the soil is sown thick with mounds, in which lie heaps of slain. "Nor do we need to read the record of the past week, written in blood and bones on tliis plain, though each day has its own dangers and hoiTors. On Sunday I was three times under fire, — twice in my own regiment and once while on a brief visit to the Twenty-ninth Massachusetts. Early in the morning of that day the shot and shell flew tliick and fast over our heads, and we were momentarily expectmg a general engagement, and in the evening the same scene was repeated ; but prudence was, on both occasions, the best part of rebel valor. At noon of same day, a very fierce attack was made while we were at dinner wdth the Twenty- ninth, in Meagher's Brigade. " Add to this a most fearful, raging thunder-storm, in which the artillery of heaven rivalled and drowned at intervals the jarrmg thunders of our cannon, and you have a day more stirring than coidd be dreamed of on a peaceful New Eng- land Sabbath. On Monday morning, very early, at two and five A. M., we were twice called again mto hue of battle by similar attacks, but no general engagement eiisued, though in these encounters lives and limbs were lost on om* side and doubtless on the other. "We realize here what war means, and that it implies sufiering, wounds, death. THE PENINSULAR CAMP.UGN. 201 " Wc make no complaint of privations. They are unavoid- able, generally, wlien large masses of men are moved. And this swampy gi-ound, this cold summer with its incessant rams, the necessity of leaving most of our tents and other comforts behind, render such hardships unavoidable for us. For three nights ' My lodging was on the cold, cold ground,' with but a solitary blanket for protection. Yesterday we made rude beds of pine-boughs, and are more comfortable in that respect. 'Hard-tack,' or crackers, what the soldiers call ' Hardee tactics,' coffee destitute of any milk ai' sugar, and * salt-horse,' as the men term salt beef, were the rations of officers and privates alike, but we are doing better to-day, and shall doubtless be better provided for when our supplies can reach us. " The rainy days, and strangely cold nights following even the days most glowing and sultry, have tried and must try our constitutions, but sanitary care wards oflf most of the dan- ger ; and all will be well if only we can witness Richmond taken, the rebel army routed, and can hear that Charleston, the head of the snake Secessia, is crushed, and the rebellion dead or dying, and tliis consummation devoutly to be wished cannot be far off. God speed the day ! " On the 19th he describes an enfrao-ement. " Yesterday witnessed the first bloody, skirmish in which the Sixteenth Massachusetts regiment has been enjiaired. We call the battle a skirmish, — 'Woodland Skirmish,' — it being in advance of the scene of the Fair Oaks battle, or of any place where a fight has yet taken i)lace between us and our foes. "Tlie camp of this regiment has been some tliree times exposed to fire, shot and shell reaching us, but jiroilucing no casualties; and yesterday a shaqi attack upon the Icl't wing 262 CHAPLAIN FULLER. of the aiTny, where we are located in the front rank, called out this whole brigade under arms. It was deemed best by General McClellan to order a reconnoissance in force by one regiment, and ours was selected for the dangerous and im- portant service. At 3 J P. M. the entire regiment was ordered under arms, and sent forward into the woodlands where it was supposed the enemy lay, and beyond which his batteries were known to be. No man shrunk from his duty. Your correspondent was ill with a sick-headache, but felt it to be no more than his duty to go forward with his regiment to a scene wliich was certainly one of peril, though of honor also. We marched over the field, where a multitude of graves of the fallen in the late battle of Fair Oaks met our \'iew ; indeed, we are encamped on that field where Casey's division were before the last battle. We soon reached the woodlands in our front, where the regiment deployed as skirmishers. The woods proved to be fuU of rebels snugly ensconced in their rifle-pits, and a large fortification suppUed with artillery was just beyond the woods. The action was soon brought on, and was short, sharp, and terrible. I can tnily say that our regiment behaved nobly, and I saw no flinching on the part of any man. The only fault I will find, if any, was that they were too rash, and pushed forward too detei-minedly, considering the tremendous odds both of position and men against which we were contending. The enemy were cer- tainly in force, five to our one, knew every tree and ravine, and were protected by rifle-pits. Of course our brave men fell fast, and soon we bore away, wounded or dymg, five brave soldiers whom I have since buried. " We drove the enemy back from the woods to their in- trenched fortifications, but were unable to hold our ground or bring off our dead under the murderous fire of their artil- lery. Double the number of our loss must have fallen killed and wounded of the rebel forces by the courageous fire of THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 263 our men. We took three prisoners. We ascertained, too, the force and position of tlie enemy, which was the wliole intent of the reconnoissance." On the 21st he speaks of an assault. " Yesterday afternoon at three o'clock, the battery of the enemy wliich was unmasked by the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regunent, in their reconnoissance of last Wednesday, opened full fire upon Grover's brigade, then doing guard and picket duty, wliich here requires an extra brigade for each Aving and one for the centre of the army. As the Sixteenth Regiment was then on the advance picket, your correspondent at once proceeded to the field. The 'fair oaks' were struck by many shot and shell, and the enemy's missiles flew pretty lively for about an hour. Several shrapnel shell burst and spilled their contents about our heads in a very disagreea- ble way. These shells were filled mth large bullets, Ken- tucky rifle-balls, IVIinie bullets, &c. They fired also some canister shell and a few solid shot. This firing was more severe than any we have yet been exposed to, and the guns were evidently of long range, as some shell passed over our camp as well as the regiment in the field in front. No cas- ualty, however, took place, the shell doing no special damage to us.- Artillery firing on men in an open field is really less dangerous, though more noisy, than rifle voUeys in wood or field. The Sixteenth certainly gets its share of action and peril now, but the boys are fast becoming accustomed to the smell of powder. "We hear regularly, morning and evening, the enemy's band playing, and their drum-beat at reveille and tattoo. The object of the assault yesterday was to prevent the further construction of our works and reach our batteries, and if possible destroy our camp. Their effort was in all respects a failure. On the field, attracted bv tlic firing, I met Gen- 264 CHAPLAIN FULLER. era! Kearney, the brave general who lost an arm in the Mexican war, but who rides flow into the battle-field with liis rein in his mouth and his sword in his remaming hand, an impersonation of military skill and precision, and greatly admired and loved by all the soldiery. He was accompanied by the Count de Paris, who wa^ full of interest m the result of our arms, and seems a truly noble and wortliy young man." On the 22d he writes : — "Each day brings its own excitement and novel scene; almost each hour witnesses here in the front line some in- cursion of the enemy or reconnoissance by ourselves, some wounded, perhaps dying soldier, shot barbarously on picket by the rebels, or some deserter or prisoner brought into our lines and passing through our camp. We occupy the ground on which Casey's division lately w^ere ; a field wliich, by its graves and yet unburied dead, shows evidences of its sangui- nary scenes. " Every now and then a shrapnel or canister shot or shell reaches the camp, and throws it into a little confusion, though not causing, I believe, so much alarm as rather pleasing excitement. " Yesterday we had a whirlwind, or wind-spout, which took stray blankets, newspapers, letters, &c. high m air, and passed rapidly through this camp and others, certainly afford- ing us some little variety. " Yesterday noon an attack was made with artillery upon this division, while the Sixteenth Massachusetts was on the outer picket, causing no small stir, as the shot and shell flew all about us. "I was under the 'fair oaks,' which gave the name to the recent battle, and where the shell scattered in great pro- fusion. After the attack I gathered one or two handfuls of THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 265 bullets and IMinie balls with which shrapnel sheU were filled, and which flew almost like rain about us, yet, strange to sayi no one was hurt by any of them." Another conflict is near. Under date of June 27th lie writes : — " This exciting life, amid the noise of screaming shot and shell, with daily attacks upon our front Hue, affords incident enough for correspondence, but scarce one quiet moment in which to Avrite. Day before yesterday was one of unusual stir, and marked by a most sanguinary conflict, m which tliis whole division (Plooker's) was engaged, and iii wliich many a gallant soul breathed its last sigh as it quit its mortal tene- ment. At an early hour the entu-e division was notified to be under arms and ready for the field. At seven o'clock the Hue of march was taken to the woodlands occupied by the enemy, in front of the late Fair Oaks battle-field. The First and Eleventh Massachusetts and Twenty-sixth Pennsylvania were among the earliest to enter the woocUauds, where they deployed as skirmishers. The Sixteenth Massachusetts, Eighty-seventh New York, and Twentieth Indiana, and other regiments remained in the outskirts of the woods as support. Action was not long delayed ; soon the forest echoed with sharp volleys of musketry. Each dell and ravine was alive with rebels in ambush. They were cour- ageously di'iven from these fastnesses, but not without heavy loss on both sides. Just beyond the groves, in a field, the rebels have a battery. Our forces penetrated through the woods to this field, and found themselves under fire from the rifle-pits and battery there. The enemy poured forth in solid column, and with wild hurrahs attacked our soldiery. At tliis time, many of the First Massachusetts, Second New Hampshire, and Twenty-sixth Pennsylvania were wounded or killed ; but all along the Une the enemy were repulsed, 266 CHAPLAIN FULLER. and retreated. Wounded rebels, vdih some prisoners, were now brought in to the spot where your correspondent was standing, and where also the surgeons and some commanding officers were. These rebels seemed defiant, and, though ex- pecting ultimate defeat at Richmond, declared that would not end the war. Their haversacks were pretty well supplied with soft biscuit and bacon for food, but they had no coffee in their canteens, and they said that was ' long since played out in the Confederate army as part of rations.' Their wounded bore their pains less cheerfully and uncomplainingly than our own men, though cared for with equal tenderness. I think my feeling toward the rebellion does not bias my judgment on this point, but the difference was noticeable with all present. " Toward evening the Sixteenth Massachusetts, Twen- tieth Indiana, and Eighty-seventh New York were subjected to a fierce attack by the rallying rebels. The first-named regiment had but little share in the earlier portion of the conflict, but at five o'clock were sent forward to support advancing artillery, and the rebels attempting a flank move- ment, the Sixteenth was encountered by a full brigade of the foe, and endured a cross fire for some little time. Tliis regi- ment, which distinguished itself in a brilliant skirmish on the 18th instant, fought with much determination now, but was obliged to fall back, owing to the immense superiority of the force arrayed against them. Being reinforced by a portion of Couch's division, it rallied anew under its gallant officers, and thus returned to the charge, the enemy being driven from the field. I sent you yesterday a Hst of the killed and wounded and missing of this regiment, twenty -nine in num- ber. I did this, not because their conduct in action was more meritorious than other regiments, or their loss greater in a contest where all did well, and many regiments suffered even more than they ; but, being with them, I kno^v more accu- THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 2G7 ratcly the details of their h)sses. T^\^ce during the week the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment, just arrived on the tield, has had a baptism of blood, losing sixty men in casualties on the 18th instant, and twenty-nine on the 25th.* It has proved worthy to stand by the side of other noble regiments from the glorious loyal States. It asks no higher praise or honor. " The houses and trees beneath which wounds were being dressed by the surgeons presented sad scenes indeed; but many of these were noble and worthy of note. Private William C. Bentley, wounded by the shell of the enemy, both legs broken, and arm and head mangled, yet not im- mediately killed, displayed great calmness and courage. He declined any stimulating drink or opiate which might dim his consciousness until he had first heard prayer, expressed his religious trust and faith, and sent messages of love and advice to his mother; then he sank into that sleep which knows no earthly waking. Private Francis Sweetser of Company E, Sixteenth Massachusetts, lay wounded through the abdomen, in much pain, but quiet and smiling, as though the hour was full of joy to liim. ' Thank God,' he said, * that I am permitted to die for my country ; thank God yet more that I am prepared ' ; tlien he modestly added. ' at least I hope I am.' We who knew him, and his hum])le Christian life in his regiment, have no doubt of the full assurance of his faith, and that all he hoped is now realized in Ijliss. Of the Fii-st INIassachusetts there were noble men nobly dying, and of the Twentieth Indiana and other regi- ments the same could well and truly be said. None can realize the faith and heroism, the high and noble character of our volunteers as a body, who has not witnessed a scene like that. * Afterward, during Pope's retreat, this regiment lost a hundred men in less than fifteen minutes, while charging upon the enemy. 268 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " Our own artillery was not idle, and the havoc among the enemy must have been fearful. Repulsed on every side, they withdrew, and as a result of the battle our pickets were advanced more than a mile nearer Richmond that evening than ever before. The cheering along our lines last night, and the rejoicing bands of music show that the right wing of the army, too, were not idle, while we of the left were ex- posed in conflict. This advance is very gratif}dng, and the heavy cannonading of yesterday and to-day proves that the enemy is being driven from his stronghold." The unlooked-for retreat now commenced. The Chaplain was providentially spared its sufferings. On June 28th he is again at the White House, and writes : — " Once again I am visiting this now famed and henceforth doubly historic locality. Yesterday morning all was unusual- ly quiet in our camp. It seemed to me an appropriate time to visit "White House Landing, and secure some expressage which had been sent me, and forward by Adams's express, which had an office there, some money and other valuables wliich had been committed to my charge by members of the regiment, for the purpose of safe forwarding. There m as then no dream of immediate movement any more than there has been for weeks and even months past, — all was sup- posed to be triumphant along our entire line. Martindale's brigade was reported to have taken a heavy battery from the enemy, and the evening before our regiment had been sum- moned from their repose to fall into line to hear two de- spatches from McClellan as to the success over the enemy at Mechanicsville. An hour before my departure came an order to be ready for a movement at any moment, and as several of us were encumbered ^dth trunks and other com- forts of home, deemed superfluous luxuries in camp, it seemed THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 269 doubly advantageous that I should proceed to White House and see to their safe storage. About the same time sprang up a fiiintly whispered report of some disaster on our right wing, at a distance from our position ; but none seemed to credit it, so opposite was it from what we were expecting. Some panic was said to have existed at White House, from apprehensions of another raid ; that, too, was deemed a mere frightful memory of the former disaster in that neighborhood. It did seem best, however, if a movement were soon to be made, to at once disencumber ourselves of all extra baggage and money, and other valuables, and then we should be idl ready for action. So at nightfall I started for the Wliite House, sorry to be absent even an hour from camp, but as- sured of being back again the next morning. " I found on arriving at White House that all was confu- sion. The Quartermaster would store no more baggage. Adams's express-office had abruptly departed, and it did seem for a while as if all things under my charge must be abandoned to their fate. I was counselled to take that course, indeed, but refused, and finally succeeded in getting a guard stationed over my baggage, which was left in the open air on the river-bank till morning. Where I was to sleep was a difficult problem. Many tents were struck al- ready, the steamers were crowded, and, homeless and shelter- less, I stood on the river's bank at nine o'clock in the evening, hungry, weary, but afraid to sleep on the ground with so many valuables intrusted to my charge on my pei-son, yet utterly exhausted. At last I did manage to lie down, without mattress or blanket, amid a group of sleepers on the floor of a steamer's cabin, and there sle[)t, and slept soundly too. No New England servant but would ' throw up his connnission,' abandon the service very quickly, had he such fare tuid lodg- ing" as is the choicest given to oilicers or soldiers in the Grand Ai-my. It is well enough, doubtless, tluit we should 270 CHAPLAIN FULLER. thus learn to prize the comforts of home. Next morning I succeeded in getting all my stores and valuables into the hands of a trusty messenger of Adams's express, and gettmg my pass, proceeded at an early hour to the railroad station to take passage for my regiment; but alas for such plans and my hopes ! just as the train was about to leave for its destination, tidings came that the station above was in the hands of the rebels, and our communication with the main army by railroad cut off. Of course there was no way to be taken but to go down the river in a steamer to Fortress Mon- roe, and thence up the James River to some point whence the main army can be reached again. To go forward any other way would be to advance ' onward to Richmond,' and visit that city a Httle prematurely. I prefer to go there with my own regiment, in due time, rather than under rebel escort now. " Then ensued a destruction of all stores and buildings, which was fearful, yet grand to contemplate. All supphes were put on board schooners and transport steamers, wliich were sent down stream. Tliis was done calmly by the mili- tary authorities, but with great energy. A vast deal, how- ever, of public property could not be saved. Soon a large encampment of tents was in flames. Two long trains of raih-oad-cars were burned, with their contents. Every now and then an explosion took place which filled the air with fragments and towering columns of smoke and flame. A huge storehouse of bacon sent volumes of black smoke up- ward. The stores chiefly abandoned were sutlers' stores, belonging to a class who excite less sympathy than any other in the army when they suffer loss. One sutler abandoned a storehouse containing four thousand dollars worth of goods ; another of one thousand dollars in value. The ' boys ' rev- elled in these, as all things were free that day, and men procured a good dinner or clothing outfit 'without money I THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 271 and without price.' As they sorely needed one good meal and to be redothed, and the sutlei'S could well afford the supply from their profits, the sight was, upon the whole, a pleasant one. All this time the White House, belonging to the rebel Colonel Lee, stood unharmed. It is a modern structure, and it is a shame that any such house should stand on the site of what once w^as the home of Wasliington, to shelter rebels and hatei'S of the country for which he lived and suffered. Few of us grieved when this property of a rebel officer was in flames, also, as by its destruction notliing which Washington ever touched or looked upon w^as consumed. " Meanwhile the old scows, filled wdtli bulky stores, were burned, some wagons which could not be removed were burned or rolled over the bank and broken, while old mus- kets, rebel relics from Fair Oaks, shovels, pickaxes, etc., were committed to the bosom of the Pamunkey, to be con- cealed there in that muddy stream. Horses careered wildly about, terrified contrabands brought over boats, w^hile the in- cendiaries, with a good purpose, applied the torch on every side. Surgeons were detailed to destroy such of the hospital stores as could not be removed, which they did effectually. The scene was soon grander, wilder, more brilhant tlian I have ever witnessed before. The very clouds caught tlie lurid glow, and reflected in radiant hues the sad, fearful splendor below. Bursting bombs made noise like the shock of thunder-clouds, and scattered fragments about till eartli and sky seemed mingled in one awful conflagration. The old theories and pictures of the judgment-day seemed glow- ingly actualized and painted anew on the twofold canvas of earth and sky. That scene it was a sorrowful but great privilege to witness ! Since it must have been done, I am glad to have had sucli an experience. An artist was sketcli- ing it, so tliat some faint idea will be given of it to the pub- lic by a sketch other tlian this of words. () tlic desolation, 272 CHAPLAIN FULLER. the waste of war ! When shall it end, and a righteous peace be declared, without comjDroniise or surrender of justice or the Union? "This river upon which we are now floating was pre- viously almost a stranger to me, even by its name, so little euphonious. It is the most Avinding and tortuous stream 1 ever saw, making such bends as to give the idea, as you see steamers in the distance almost parallel with you, that it is a different stream upon which they must be floating. It plays strange tricks of illusion in that way. It is a singularly broad and beautiful stream, and were it in New Enghmd its banks would be lined with smiUng villages ; now scarce a house is upon its banks, and its shores are either neglected or deso- late. In the stream, near where the White House stood yesterday, is an island, where live one hundred and fifty Indians, many of them sldlful pilots, and better agriculturists than any white Virginians on the Peninsula. These are the remnant of the once powerful tribe of whom Pocahontas was one. They are passing rapidly away. So is, indeed, every- thing which once was the glory of fair, but sinful and deso- late Virguiia." When the army reached Harrison's Landing, it pre- sented to ^dew many a sad scene. The Chaplain writes : — " I have been at this hospital for most of the past week, not as a patient, but caiing to the best of my ability for the wounded and suffering sick of my own regiment, and the countless number from the other various regiments of the loyal army, scarce one of which fails to have more or less representatives here. The scenes one is called to witness here are terrible. Ghastly wounds innumerable greet the saddened vision ; men, sick nigh unto death with swamp, pestilential fevers, make their weak moans, asking for pity THE PENINSULAK CAMPAIGN. 273 and for succor; exhausted soldiers, after four days' hard fighting, with scarce any food, plead for a piece of bread, or they must perish with hunger ; the dying ask a word of counsel and of prayer, and to transmit some message to wife or child or mother ere the last breath be drawn and the last sigh heave their panting bosoms. The deail, too, lie on the earth beneath the sweet heavens, and their dumb, passionless forms require, as their once spirit-tenants have deserved, that those bodies lately instinct with vigorous life should be decently buried. " Beautifully situated is this building where we now are. The James River flows silently by, its gleaming waters whit- ened with countless sails rafting supplies to the hungry army, or its else placid face ruffled by the steamei-s which come daily to the landing, bringing hospital stores to the wounded and sick, and returning down the stream laden with those whose only hope of recovery or future usefulness lies in the revisiting of their homes and the solace of care and kindness there. Lofty elms line the avenue which leads to this dwell- ing, and the gigantic cottonwood interlaces its branches with the lordly oak, though causing its vigor to decay, and blight- ing by its contact. The cottonwood-tree grows almost en- tirely in the South, and is its representative tree, as the oak is of the North. As these trees intertwine and mingle, yet have distinct organic life and diverse qualities, so has it been with the North and South. Shall it ever be so again, or must the axe be laid at the root of the institution of one of them, and the soil sown afresh with some seed which shall bear a growth homogeneous with, and not destructive to, tlie otlier? This is the base of the new line of operations. It is beauti- ful, and has solid advantages. May its superstructure, the noble army, once of tlie Potomac, meet with substantial suc- cess, and win laurels which shall bo beautiful in the eyes of all loytd Americans and ol" the friends of freedom thiouL^hout 12* K 274 CHArLAIN FULLER. the world. To-claj that army is war-worn, and its purposes temporarily baffled; but such men, fighting in such a cause, cannot be pennanently defeated; for ' Freedom's battle once begiin, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, . Though baffled oft, is ever won.' " Lovely as is this situation, it is not more beautiful than the dwelling-house which is in the centre of the town and its skirting woods. It is a fit gem for such an emerald and beau- tiful setting. The house is of ancient brick, imported from England many years since, whence also came the carved panel-work and cornices in the rooms. President Harrison is reported to have been born in this house, so it has an his- toric interest already, and w^ill have more in the future. It is elegantly furnished with rosewood and black-walnut furniture. Fine pictures look down upon you from the walls, and the libraiy is filled with costly volumes, many of them books which have crossed the Atlantic ere reacliing here. Around the house cluster some twenty or more whitewashed build- ings, in which the one hundi'ed and twelve plantation slaves lived, if theirs can be called life, and not existence only. The owner of tliis house and all its suiTOundings, the owner, in man's sight, but not God's, of all these human beings, is Pow- hatan B. Stark, M. D., now a surgeon in the rebel army, and claiming to be a lineal descendant of Pocahontas. He fled precipitately when our transports hned the shores, carry- ing off to Petersburg all the household jewels and the most valuable slaves also, and ordering the house to be burned by those remaining, an order they did not see fit to obey. He told such slaves as could not be hurried away, that, if they were asked by the Yankees whether they wished to be free, to state that ' they are and always have been as free as they wanted to be'; that order, too, they have failed to obey, but shout hallelujalis over their deliverance from a bondage THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 276 which, though not as heavy as usual, was nevertheless giiev- ous, as slavery must ever be to the soul of a man made in the image of God." The Chaplain's labors in these fearful scenes were publicly acknowledged. An army correspondent says : — " I know but little of the theological notions of Chaplain Fuller, but I can tell you that he has got the name, in the army where he is known, of ' a man going about doing good.' It matters not how poor or how degraded a man is who comes in contact with Mr. Fuller, he withdraws from that contact a better man. 'None know him but to love him.' " Another writes : — " Prominent among those who are active in reUeving the sufferings of the sick and wounded soldiers, I notice the Rev. Ai'thur B. Fuller, Chaplain of the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment. ]Mi\ Fuller has been busy at the hospital from morning till night, admuiistermg medicines and words of comfort to such as were in need." Shortly before the Sixteenth Regiment unexpectedly left Fortress Monroe, the Chaplain had obtained a fur- lough. On his way home the movement reached his ears, and he immediately retraced his steps, writing the following letter to his family : — " I am sorry to disappoint you, by not meeting you this week ; and it is painful to turn back to increased hardship, when my face was once set homeward. But I learned last evening, on board the boat, that my regiment had mo\ed for- ward to occupy Sewall's Pomt, and thence to Norfolk. I cannot leave them in their hour of peril, when perhaps my prayers and counsel may be especially valuable. Tliis is 276 CHAPLAIN FULLER. the first really active service of the Sixteenth. Its hardsliips, its privations, its dangers, I too must share." When the summons came to join the Peninsular army, he writes to his home : — " God be praised that we are permitted to do something to serve our country ! May He who doeth all things for liis glory and man's welfare secure for us a splendid triumph over the forces of rebelHon and treason ! I pray for my country's redemption, and that even through war may come that freedom for which the bondman sighs, that unity which is the strength of a nation, that righteousness which is her highest glory ! " From the battle-field he wi-ites home : — " I am enduring much privation in the way of food, cloth- ing, and exposure. But I do not think it manly to write particulars, as you desire ; indeed, I endeavor not to think about it. Almost every day, and sometimes tT\dce a day, I go out with the regiment in line of battle. I deem this my duty. For nine days I had no change of raiment, not even a clean shirt or handkerchief, and lived on hard crackers and sour coffee. But God blesses my labors, particularly among the sick and wounded, and I am far enough from repining. Of all places in the world, I am glad I am here now. I find no physical fear to be mine. This is a mere matter of organization, not merit. Meet me on earth, if it may be ; in heaven, surely. And know that nothing will make me swerve from my fealty to God, to Christ his Son, to my fam- ily, my State, and my Cotixtry." But the Chaplain's body was unequal to his spirit, and sank under disease caused by exposure and hard- ship. His sickness was so severe that the physicians pronounced it incurable in the Virginia climate. He THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN. 27T was urged to seek the recovery of health at home. Among others, Hon. Frank B. Fay, Mayor of Chel- sea, who labored m the army on the errand of mercy and philanthropy, visited him and urged him to re- turn. His agency had much to do on this occasion in restoring the Chaplain in life to his family, as it finally was instrumental in furnishing to them the sad consolation of weeping over his remains and paying them the mournful rite of sepulture. CHAPTER V. SHADOWS. " country, marvel of the earth realm to sudden greatness grown ! The age that gloried in thy birth, Shall it behold thee overthrown ? Shall traitors lay that greatness low ? No, Land of Hope and Blessing, no ! " And we who wear thy glorious name. Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, When those whom thou hast trusted aim The death-blow at thy generous heart? Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo ! Hosts rise in harness, shouting. No ! " Bryant, HAPLAIN FULLER returned to his family broken in liealth and depressed in spirits. Tlie sufferings lie had witnessed were enough to overshadow a sensitive and sympathetic temperament, such as his ever was. Disease, too, contracted in the malarious swamps of Virginia, had fastened a hold upon him most difficult to be shaken off, and death seemed waiting, at a brief remove, to make the finale of sickness. But it was not these things that clouded the mind of the Chaplain. It was the disappointment worse than death which had snatched victory from the expecting army, deferred the doom of Rebellion, and cast a gloom over the loyal nation. SHADOWS. 279 To share a joy or sorrow with others, we know, intensifies the sentiment, giving it a muhipHed force. This almost all have experienced, when the individual heart has shared the sentiment of the circle of family or friendship, or, still more, when it has beat in con- cordance with the emotion of a popular assembly. But it is impossible adequately to describe, and diffi- cult to realize without actual experience, the power of an emotion in which the hearts of a nation throb in unison. Such was the revulsion of popular feeling when it was at length understood that the enterprise against Richmond had actually been abandoned, and the grand army reduced to a remnant. The blow was broken by veiling the news under the name of " strat- egetic movement " and " cliange of base." But the shock vibrated through the loyal nation. Rebellion once more raised its vaunting crest, and loyal resolu- tion was tried by a stern ordeal. Previous reverses, the " three stinging bees " of Bull Run, Big Bethel, and Ball's Bluff, had only roused and exasperated Union patriotism to fresh en- terprise. This new and gi'eat disaster stunned the nation for a moment ; it ran so counter to public ex- pectation and to confident hopes held out to the ])ublic to the very last, and was so inexplicable, considering the advantao-es of recent success and of numerical superiority enjoyed by the Federals, at the outset cer- tainly, and up to the last days, if not throughout the tedious protraction of the Union advance. Yet there was little disposition to accuse or recriminate, or even whisper of betrayal. The disappointment was deep and mute ; as nature often seems to be, after some 280 CHAPLAIN FULLER. dread convulsion, or as in the drama of the Apoca- lypse it is said, after the opening of the seventh seal, " there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour." The effort of Pope to retrieve the fortunes of the day with his little army of forty thousand, expecting aid from the Peninsular army, which a portion failed to render, was foiled, after the Union army had fought for many days, with unprecedented bravery and endur- ance, in a fiery furnace of repeated battles. But the nation aroused itself to fresh efforts. In response to the call of government for a new army, municipahties and individuals poured out money like water to encourage enhstments, and nobler motives induced heroes of every condition in life to leave home pursuits and the bosom of the loved family, to buckle on the patriot's armor. A host of half a milUon came forward as if by enchantment. During most of the summer. Chaplain Fuller was a very sick man. For a time the flame of life flickered so low that it seemed about to expire. He was un- concerned for himself, though so fully conscious of his condition that he made some suggestions as to his funeral. But skilful medical care,* devoted nursing, and especially the brightened aspect of public deter- mination and renewed confidence, contributed to his gradual and partial recovery. As soon as his malady would permit any exertion, he raised his voice in public to encourage enlistments. But the returning violence of his disorder compelled him to desist from such efforts. * His physician was Dr. Otis E. Hunt, of Weston, Massachusetts. SHADOWS. 281 Now came tlie rebel invasion of Maryland, finally repulsed, with tlie aid of the new levies, at the bloody field of Antietam. Soon another campaign was in- augurated against Richmond, and the Chaplain deter- mined to rejoin the army, though his health was by no means restored. He bade a tender farewell to the loved ones at home he Avas never to see again in the body, and departed m the latter part of October, 18G2, to share in the renewed struggle. Under date of November 4th, he gives an account of his journey, and thus speaks of the Citizens' Volun- teer Hospital in Philadelphia : — "This noble institution is another monument of tlie un- tiring zeal and ardent patriotism of the -worthy men and devout women in the city of brotherly love. It is under the combined care of the government and citizens. The writer returning, still an invaUd, to his regiment, then at Alexandria, found the journey too great for his strength, and was taken again ill in Pliiladelpliia. Fmding it impos- sible to proceed, I was about seeking such ease and care as an inn affords in these busthng days, when it was amiounced to me that an army hospital just opposite the depot was open night and day, and there could be obtained the mcdicid attendance and the kind care I required. Nor did the state- ment prove illusory. Though eleven o'clock at night, the hospital was still open, and benevolent physicians and nui-ses were ready and anxious to be of scrWce to the sick and suf- fering. I found it even so ; the good Father had put it into tlie hearts of the citizens of Pliiladelpliia to build this hos- pital just in the place where it was wanted, that weary and sick ollicers and soldiers need not have a lon^^ and painful ride or march before the kindness of the excellent iiicu and women of the city should be exerted in care of the ill or 282 CHArLAIN FULLER. wounded. Six weeks ago, not a stick of timber was on this spot; now a comfortable edifice is here, its arrange- ments not yet completed, but all deficiencies more than supplied by the unpaid yet devoted services of the best physicians and some of the most cultivated gentlemen and ladies to be met with in any city. Here I found, as daily visitants, wealthy and refined men and women, who were un- wearied in their acts of kindness and attention. God bless them ! I entered there a stranger, yet, leaving at the close of a few days, felt that I had formed ties of friendship which time or death can never sunder, and which shall be perpetu- ated in that land where ' the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick,' and where no battle shall cause ghastly wounds, or exposure on the tented field make the frame languid and weary, but where the tree of life shall cover all with its outstretched arms and 'its leaves be for the healing of the nations.' " The next day was the Sabbath, and I was suflficiently recovered to visit many sick-beds in that hospital. Here I found several ill or wounded whose nativity was in loved New England. I noticed also a fine youth, a Scotch clergy- man's son, from Canada. He belonged to the Cameron (Scotch) Regiment of Highlanders, of whom ninety only remain, having survived the hardships and wounds of the battle-field and the stem ordeal of their rough campaign. All the others have been discharged from the ranks, or have perished by disease or wounds. Their leader, the brother of Secretary Cameron, was kUled early in the war. One youth from Vermont was evidently dying. He seemed glad to have prayer offered, and all our dear New-England boys welcomed service from one of their own region. In- deed, the religious element was a pleasant feature of this hospital. Regular services are held each Sabbath, and it was a request of the soldiers that your correspondent should I SHADOWS. 283 hold a short service with them each evening while he stayed. I never saw any audience of more reverent, eager listeners than those suffering men. They realize, as few civiUans do, the need of religious support and comfort, and welcome the humblest effort to afford it. And here let me say that, contrary to the usual impression, no class of men are more receptive of religious instruction than those who compose our loyal army. War develops the worst and tlie best traits of character. The Gospel among the soldiers may meet with bitter opposition from some, with earnest welcome by others, but, if rightly presented, is heard with indifference by very few. The next morning our Vermont soldier died. It was pitiful to hear his cries for mother and sister then. They were perhaps far off among the green hills ; or did he see them at that home in the heavenly land, beckoning him on, as he was about to cross the portals of death? Be this as it may, his last whispered word was that wliicli I have noted as one of the three which most often tremble on dying lips, as it is indeed the fii'st which those lips have uttered, — Mother. The other two are home and heaven. " Resuming my journey when a few days had given suffi- cient strength, I reached Alexandria, and found the Sixteenth Massachusetts encamped on the most beautiful spot I have ever yet seen selected for an encampment. It is the brow of a high hill, near Fairfax Seminary, about five miles from Alexandria. By day, the \vide prospect of rich autumnal forest, crowning hill and decking valley, is glorious beyond adequate description ; and on a moonlight night, the soft light on the landscape, and the gleaming watch-fires from a hun- dred forts or camps, present a scene surpassing the dreams of fairy-land. The air here is as pure as tlie breath of heaven, and the debiUtated and suffering men of Hooker's old and brave division were flist recovering, when marching 284 CHAPLAIN FULLER. orders came, a day or two since, and they have gone to the battle-field. It was cheering yet sorro^^^ul to take by the hand again the officers of this noble regiment and my brave soldier-boys, if I can longer call ' my boys ' those who are now the veterans and tried warriors of many a hard- fought battle. Never did I feel prouder of them; never sadder, than when I saw so many wasted forms or noted how thinned their ranks, or marked the solemn silence as I asked after this man and that whom I had left alive, and now learned, by that silence or a single monosyllable, was — dead Yet not dead ; such heroes must live, on other heights than these, in fields elysian, and be pronounced by the great Cap- tain of our salvation conquerors and more than conquerors through Him that loved them. They have but joined that silent throng who compose the army of the living God, and are ever marcliing on through Enunanuel's land, and shall one day make heaven echo with their ' Glory hallelujjili,' as they chant the praises of Him whom God gave as a ' Leader and Commander to his people.' " He writes with a more full and free expression of his heart to his family, never expecting it to meet the public eye : "I have reached my regiment safe and sound. How warm the greeting, both upon the part of officers and men ! My own family could not be more cordial and more affectionate. It touched my heart. The poor sick men clasped my hands and said, ' Oh, we have missed you so much ! ' I went from company to company, shaking hands with the officers and men, and came near shedding tears myself, when I found how much they had suffered, and how many were missing, prisoners, wounded, and dead ! I feel now that my sickness was providential. I should have died months ago, had I remained in the regiment going SHADOWS. 285 through such a terrible campaign.* I was a httle sick, and slept in the hospital, last night, but feel quite well this beautiful morning, and shall occupy my own tent. It ivas right that 1 came back. Sorry as I am to have left you, I should never have been happy, without at least bidding these dear officers and men good-by. Nor should I have known how much they loved me. I never had a parish equally enthusiastic. Many came to the foot of the hill to meet me and carry my valise, and pressed about me with offers of service. The men who were sick at Harrison's Landing declare that they owe their lives to me, and I am praised much beyond my deserts." The Chaplain found plenty of occupation, and he never confined himself to the limited duties of the regiment, but cheerfully extended his labors to the army division. He writes : "I work very hard among the sick and dying soldiers. We have five large buildings and several tents crowded vnth more than five hundi'ed sick men, and only two sm-geons in attendance, and my services are greatly needed." His regiment was soon sent forward, but the sur- geon pronounced the Chaplain disabled by the state of his health from accompanymg them. He writes home to his family : "I shall care for my health and life as much as I can consistently with duty, but I shall cheerfully bear such hardships as are inevitable." Again he says, in the same confidential communica- tion : t " I may rejoin my regiment, who have been ♦ The regiment had a prominent share, not merely in the Peninsular battles, but in the subsequent severe engagements of General I\jpe. t It is hoped that the reader will bear in mind throughout these 286 CHAPLAIN FULLER. sent to tlie front of tlie line of battle. If I could en- dure marching and hunger and sleeping on the cold ground, without even a tent to shelter me, I would go at once, having no fear of rebel bullets, but I do not want to throw my life away. There are fifty-two of the Sixteenth Regiment sick here, and it is plainly my duty to stay with them, as the sick are my chief charge." He soon determines to make another experiment of camp-life. He writes : — " Duty calls me to rejoin the brave Sixteenth Regiment at Manasses, to bear and suiFer ^viib. them such hardships as they shall be called upon to endure. Pray Heaven tliis war be speedily ended, and all our trials over ; but may it not end by dishonorable compromise or one backward step by our good President, or by hoisting the white flag of surrender, or trailing our starry flag in dishonor before the columns of the rebels, who bear the black flag of jiiracy and the stars and bai-s of treason. Better war than dishonor. Better still give up our heart's blood in brave battle, than give up our prin- ciples in cowardly compromise. * Nothing is ever really settled that is not settled right.' May the adjustment of our national troubles be upon the immutable basis of justice to all men, freedom to all, and that basis shall be as firm as the rock of ages, and the peace built upon it shall be enduring as is eternal righteousness." A recurrence of his disorder detains him a few days, during which, however, he visits the sick. He thus describes the Fairfax Seminary Hospital : — "This beautiful cluster of buildings is in our imme- pages that most of the Chaplain's references to himself were made in the intimacy of confidential correspondence, and without a thought of pubhcity. SHADOWS. 287 diate vicinity. They were previously occupied by an Epis- copal Theological School, but several of the professors were disloyal, and the school is removed or discontinued during the war. The owners are emphatically loyal men, and the buildings are rented by the government for our sick and wounded. Eleven hundred names were on the list as patients yesterday, many of these from Massachusetts. The little burial-ground here is sown tliick with soldiers' graves. Tliree large barracks for the sick have been erected, besides the five brick buildings. O how wasteful of human life is war, and how fearful the guilt of the traitors and rebels who have brought such devastation upon the whole land and filled so many homes with mourning ! I was glad to have looked out from the cupola of the seminary ere descending into the chambers of pain. I could not have enjoyed the prospect above and about me, though glorious in the crimson and golden splendor of autumn, had I first seen the womided in those rooms below. And yet we need often to ascend some height of vision and look above and far beyond us, that we may not lose sight of the purposes of Heaven, or of the brilliant future which it shall give us as the recompense of all this sickness, pain, and death. Yes, we need to turn from the bloody and fearful work of war for a time, to hear no more the stifled groan of anguish, that we may behold the works of God, and believe from all tliis evil he will educe good. God is ever beneficent and kind, and working out his good purpose, whether the skies are serene and the earth mantled in autumnal robes of glory, or whether the sky be overcast and stormy, and the earth covered with its cold and snowy mantle. He is around and above us, too, in times of peace and gladness, or now when war makes gloomy our horizon and fills our hearts with sadness. Above the clangor of war's claiion, above the roar of the cannon, more penetrating ihiui the gro;uis of the sick and 288 CHAPLAIN FULLER. wounded and dying of this dreadful hour of strife, let us hear his voice saying, as our Saviour did on earth, ' Lo, it is I, be not afraid ; peace, be still ! ' He who makes ' the wrath of the heathen to praise him,' shall, by even this fearful war, advance the cause of permanent peace, of true liberty, and a national prosperity founded on righteousness." He sees, too, the convalescent and the paroled camps, which are in the neighborhood. He writes respecting them : — " These two camps adjoin one another, and are about two miles from tliis place. I visited them yesterday to see such Massachusetts men as might then be within their hmits. About five thousand soldiers from all the loyal States are now in the convalescent camp. The men are located each State by itself. In the Massachusetts portion of the camp I found all in admirable order, and every tent and street kept with perfect neatness. All are comfortably cared for ; but I was sorry to see some of our new recruits already in hospital, and some who should have been rejected at home, and thus their hves and health saved, and the government not saddled with the incubus of soldiers unfit to do a day's duty. The surgeons of our State are as careful as those of any other, but more care is still needed everywhere. " A part of this camp is devoted to the reception of recruits sent hither for all the army, and yet another part to stragglers from the ranks. This part I did not ^dsit, having no desire to look men in the face who flee their country's service or leave the post of duty, mthout adequate cause, at such a time as this." Of the paroled camp at Annapolis he -writes : — " Here are over seven thousand men, who have tasted all the bitterness of rebel bondage in Richmond and other Con- federate prisons. They give a fearful account of their hard- SHADOWS. 289 ships and privations during captivity, and the brutality with which they generally were treated. " While in the camp, some four hundred and eighty pris- oners, just paroled, arrived from Richmond. They were destitute, cold, and hungry. Their overcoats had been taken from them by their rebel captors, and they had suffered much from hunger, but not more, they said, than their jailers themselves ; for the rebel army are feaifully destitute of clothing and provisions." He thus refers to Annapolis : — " Coming to Annapolis on Saturday, I was struck, even in the twilight, with the forsaken, dull aspect of Maiyland's capital. The day revealed its location as exceedingly beau- tiful, but with none of that thriving, progressive aspect which marks the appearance of every Northern community, where slavery does not curse and destroy with its blight and mil- dew. The Capitol is, indeed, a finely-proportioned building, erected long since, even before the Revolution ; and from its lofty dome, a most glorious landscape lies spread out like a scenic panorama before the vision. Thence you behold the city, with its curious squares, and intersecting streets, and antique buildings, while the river whids its devious way, in beautiful undulations, about and through the city." A military funeral calls him to the burial-ground. He writes : — " O, how crowded that burial-ground is with those who, full of hope, and inspired by earnest jjatriotism, and many of them by devout rehgious zeal and motive, volunteered for the suppression of this foul and treasonable rebellion wliich now makes our land desolate ! Shall all tliese sacrifices be in vain ? Sliall these young, precious lives be offered up on our country's altar, and nauglit be nc- 13 a 290 CHAPLAIN FULLER. compiislied by it ? Not so ! not so ! but God shall yet permit us to dwell in a land purified of the foul stain of slavery, and the American nation shall become a regenerate people, lo\^ng liberty and working righteousness. How long, O Lord ! how long ere this shall be ? Tens of thousands of Christian soldiers on the tented field pray thee to hasten the dawn of that glad day ; while lonely wives and mothers and children in our homes echo their prayer, and while the souls of our martyrs in heaven take up the cry of earth, and mingle its prayers with their praise, as they too say, * How long ere thou avenge us and our brethren and fellow- witnesses for Liberty, whose blood calleth from beneath thy altar?'" Of the convalescent camp at Alexandria he writes : — " On Sunday last, in company with several members of the Sanitary Commission, I visited this large encampment, and accej)ted an in\dtation of its commanding officer to hold re- ligious service there. As the camp contains some fifteen thousand men, there was work enough to do without trench- ing upon the duties of the newly-appointed chajDlain of tliis camp, who, indeed, welcomed me and shared in the services of the occasion. His Honor, Mayor Fay of Chelsea, and his niece, so kind and attentive to the sick soldiery, wei*e also of our number, and several members of the Christian Commis- sion were likewise present, and aided in the singing and by distribution of rehgious reading. I think I never was present on an occasion more interesting. The singing, in which the soldiers joined heartily, lent it a charm, and, independent of the inadequate words spoken, the fact that such a listening throng of soldiers, all far from home and from so many differ- ent States, were assembled, and all eager, all attentive, all apparently longing for some eai-nest utterance of needed truth, might well have touched every heart-string. Truly it was good to be there.'* SHADOWS. 291 The hope of the Chaplain to be able to- share the hardships of the campaign with his regiment was dis- appointed. The diet and exposure at once renewed the violence of his malady, incapacitated him for duty, and sent him to the hospital, to be a hinderance mstead of a help. He is reluctantly brought to the conclusion that he must conform to the army surgeon's advice, and relinquish it. He writes home : " You can hardly realize the pain I felt when I found I could not share the field campaign without throAving away health and life. I love the regiment, and beheve their feeling: toward me to be so cordial that I am very reluctant to sever the tie." * He was consoled, however, by the prospect of serv- ing his country's cause in a new position. He writes to his family : " The President of the United States promises me, through Senator Clark, a commission with full powers as chaplain in a hospital or stationary camp. The Surgeon-General gives the same assiu-- ance. But it is necessary that I should resign my present position before assuming the new. I go to the * The following is the surgeon's certificate and order : — " Hospital of 16 Mass. Vols., Warrenton June, Va., Nov. 16, 1862. "I do hereby certify that Rev. A. B. Fuller, Chaplain of the 16th ^lass. Vols., has been under my care since his return from absence on sick leave, and it is my opinion that his state of health precludes all idea of his remaining iu the field. I find that he has Chronic DiarrhaMi, and that his disease is aggravated by exposure to cold, injudicious diet, or fatigue. " It is by my order that the said officer of this regiment remains be- hind in Alexandria or Washington till such time as competent surgeons pronounce him fit to return to his post. " C. C. Jkwktt, Surg. 10 Mass. Vols." 292 CHAPLAIN FULLER. camp at Falmouth to-morrow morning, in order to re- sign. I do this with much regret." The following is a published account of his leave- taking with his regiment : — " On Sunday, Dec. 7, the regiment was di-awn up in a hollow square, at the close of dress-parade, for the purpose of holding religious services and hearing the farewell address of their chaplain. The services were deeply interesting. Rev. ]Mi*. Fuller expressed his great regret in parting with the regiment, whose officers and soldiers he regarded, after so many hardships and peiils shared together, as his broth- ei-s. Notliing but the state of his health, which had suf- fered gi-eatly from exposure in the field, mduced him to leave them. He should not cease his care for the soldiers, but according to his abihty should continue to minister to theh wants, temporal and spiritual. If the convalescent camp at Alexandria were made a post-chaplaincy he should probably be appointed there, and he sought the place be- cause there was most suffering and most opportunity for usefulness. If it were not, he had nevertheless been as- sured by the proper authorities of a chaj^laincy in a hos- pital, as soon as he resigned his position in the regiment, and m either place he would find abundant field for labor and usefulness. He closed with a fervent prayer for the blessing of Heaven upon our noble chief magistrate, our country, its brave, loyal amiy, and the gallant and heroic regiment with whom he had seen so much peril and exposure, and whose members would ever find in theh chaplain a friend, wherever and whenever, in the future, the hues of their hves should meet." On the 9th of December he writes his last letter, in which he says : — " For nearly a year and a half I have been constantly SHADOWS. 293 ■\vitli my regiment, except when absent from sickne?s, and have learned to regai-d its noble officers and brave soldiers as brothers and its camp as a home, second only in aiFection to my own domestic household. I am here once more, not alas ! long to remain, for exposure to the Virginia summer's heat and winter's cold, together with privations and hardships necessarily incident to campaigns such as ours have been, these have done their work, and for years I can scarcely hope to be as well in the future as I have been in the past ; but I have no complaints to make or regrets to express ; what I have seen is worth all it has cost, and I thank God it has been my high privilege to be with our loyal and heroic army during its hours of trial and danger. If any regret were mine, it would be that I am not able to remain with my regiment longer ; but this is, doubtless, in God's provi- dence, all right, and I am grateful that in some hospital or stationary camp I am still able to labor on for the officers and soldiers of our army, for whom in hours of sickness, or when wounded and suffering, none of us can do too much. Meanwhile I am here, home again for a little while." On the 10th of December, his resignation was ac- cepted, and he received an honorable discharge.* * The following is the order: — "Head-Quarters Centre Grand Division. Camp near Potomac Creek, Va., " Special Orders, No. 26. December 10, 1862. "The following-named oHicers, having tendered their resij^nations, are honorably discharged from the military service of the United States, on surgeon's certificate of disability. " By command of Major-General Hooker, " Cluiplain Arthur B. Fuller, 16 Mass. Vols "JusEi'ii Du'KENSoN, A. A. Ccn'l.'* CHAPTER VI FREDERICKSBURG. " Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it ; he died As one that had been studied in his death." " I must do something for my country ! " HE Union army had been replenished, the invading rebels driven back, and a new ad- vance was now made upon Richmond. The Peninsula route had proved the most unfa- vorable that could have been selected, not only by reason of the marshy and unhealthy ground to be traversed, but because it necessitated a di^asion of the Union army. The advance up the Peninsula did not cover Washington, and, unless a force were kept about the city and • in the region lying between it and Rich- mond, a very obvious and effective mode of defence would be left to the enemy, who would have an oppor- tunity to seize upon the Federal capital. If Rich- mond could thereby be taken, it would be a poor exchange in every point of view ; nor could it be sup- posed that the Federal army would continue to move against the Rebel stronghold when their own capital was assailed. The Rebels had means of transportation by which they could advance upon Washington almost FREDERICKSBUKG. 295 before tlie movement was known, and much sooner tlian the Federal army could be transferred from the Pemnsula for its defence. This was proved in the sequel by Jackson's raids against the insufficient armies which were kept as a guard between Washington and Richmond. And the reflecting mind will be satisfied, that it would have been the height of imprudence to add to the great host of the Peninsula the small armies of Banks and McDowell and the few undisciphned forces detained about Washington. The result must have been the ruinous loss of the Federal capital, while it is by no means demonstrable that the further in- crease of the vast army upon the Peninsula would have changed its fortunes. History will not ascribe the failure of that campaign to lack of numbers or deficiency of courage in the troops, or want of ample munitions of war. A route was chosen for the new advance upon Richmond, via Fredericksburg, wliich would at least have the advantage of not leavino; Washinp-ton \nv- covered. The campaign commenced under critical circumstances. The time of the nine-months volun- teers was wearing away, and unless some important blow were struck before their term had expired, the cost of them to the country would be thrown away, nor would they easily be persuaded to enlist again, while it would be still more difficult to obtain fresh recruits. The cry was, from every part of tlie loyal country, for an important victory. This would restore pubhc confidence, reduce the premium on gold, and luro forth silver change from its lioarding-places, while it gave to business a fresh ini2)uLse. 296 CHAPLAIN FULLER. This, too, Tvoiild repress the disloyal element in the Free States, which Federal reverses had embold- ened to come forth from its hiding-places and take advantage of the absence of loyal voters in the vol- unteer aiTQies, to make itself felt in the elections, while, though pretending loyalty, it sought popular pretexts against the government. To obtain this most needed victory, it was of the utmost importance to revive the enthusiasm and con- fidence of the army, which had been somewhat de- pressed by finding that the unflinching valor and endurance of the rank and file had not availed to win decisive success, or even to avoid disastrous reverses. Great, therefore, was the anxiety with which the nation regarded the new campaign. A decisive battle it was expected, must soon be fought, as it was not supposed that the Rebels would retire to Richmond without a sanguinary contest. But should the Union aiTQy prevail in the battle, it was believed that vic- tory would this time be so promptly followed up as to make sui'e of the capture of Richmond, and with this capture the war would be practically ended. In this state of pubhc expectation, the army of the Potomac advanced from Aquia Creek till it reached the Rappahannock. It was determined to cross the river at the city of Fredericksburg, although this purpose was disguised by feints at other pomts. The design was rendered patent to the enemy by a delay of many days, caused by the failure to furnish the requisite pontoon-bridges. Summons to surrender and notice to remove women and children also preceded the FKEDERICKSBUEG. 297 attack for several days. Meanwhile the active foe had fortified heights at the distance of two or three miles in the rear of Fredericksburg, while they re- fused to surrender the city, and took measures to obstruct the crossing of the stream. The lltli day of December, 1862, was the day fixed for the passage of the Rappahannock. The pontoon- bridges had been conveyed to its banks, during the previous night, and one hundred and forty-three pieces of artillery had been so placed as to command the city. During the night rockets had been seen to rise within the lines of the enemy, and at five o'clock in the morning, as the Federals began to construct three pontoon-bridges, two signal-gims were fired by the Rebels. At six o'clock, when the pontoon-bridges were half completed, a murderous fire from the enemy, under cover of the houses in Fredericksburg, was opened upon our infantry and upon the engineers engaged in constructing the pontoons, and the latter were driven from their work. Thus the enemy took advantage of General Bum- side's forbearance toward the city ; and such forbear- ance ceased to be a virtue. The order was now'given for all the guns to be opened uj^on the city. The can- nonade was terrific, and the main body of the enemy's inftintry was compelled to retire. Yet, upon a fresh attempt to construct the pontoons, it was found by the enemy's fire that they were still in sufficient force in the city to render the work impracticable. Again our artillery was opened upon the city, firing it in several places. Yet the enemy were not induced tp evacu- 13* 298 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ate. By tliis time it got to be noon. The Federals now placed every available battery in position, and, at a given signal, opened upon the city a temfic cannon- ade of one hundred and seventy-six guns. The con- centrated thunder of this artillery exceeded any pre- viously heard during the war. The shot and shell went crashing through the houses, firing them in many places. The smoke of the conflagration and of our own artillery almost hid the city from view. It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and under the belief that the enemy had been forced to retire, the work upon the pontoons was resumed. But the fire of their sharpshooters from cellars, rifle-pits, fences, and every available shelter, was still so deadly, that the pontoons could not be laid. A new expedient must be adopted. The main body of the enemy had un- questionably retired, and though the sharpshooters were evidently numerous, they were of necessity somewhat scattered, and might not resist a bayonet- charge, could it be brought to bear upon them. But how could the Federals be got over the river ? The boats at hand would not transport much over a hun- dred, and during their transit they would furnish marks for more than a hundred rifles. To select a particular company for so hazardous a ser\^ce might be invidious, and should they obey with unwillingness or hesitation, their example might have a damaging influence. It was resolved to call for volunteers ; for thus not only would those engaged in the service be best adapted to it by the possession of superior bravery, but, in case of a fatal result, should all or the greater number of them be killed or wounded or taken prisoners, they could not FREDERICKSBURG. 299 reproach their commander with requiring of them a desperate service. The call was made for volunteers. Would it be responded to ? If not, it would scarcely then be prac- ticable to resort to compulsion. The crossing of the river must be abandoned, while at the same time a reproach was put upon the courage of the army, and their failure in the crisis must have a demoralizing in- fluence. Nor was this the only evil to be anticipated. This was the first engagement of the army of the Po- tomac under the command of Burnside. How many there were at hand to say, " Ah ! this proves that he cannot command the enthusiasm of the army ! The change of generals has ruined the Federal cause. This results as we expected." How important to prove, in that hour, that the Federal army was composed of patriotic hearts, who understood and prized principles more than men, and were too devoted to their coun- try's cause, too enlarged and intelligent, to identify their cause with any general, even if he enjoyed the popularity, inexplicable on the score of success, which partisan clamor asserted on behalf of a past connnander. Chaplain Fuller was the man to appreciate these considerations, and to feel the momentous issue of that hour through every pulse and fibre of his enthusiastic nature. And he was upon the spot, watching with anxious concern the events of the day. He had, in- deed, been discharged from all official obligations to the army; but not from the higher duty which had called him to his army mission. On leaving Washing- ton to resign his cliaphiincy, he had said that he should return in a few days, uidess he learned there was to 300 CHAPLAIN FULLER. be a battle. In that event he should be present at the conflict. To mmister to the wounded and dying, on such an occasion, and to inspirit the soldiers by his sympathy and uncompulsory presence amid their dan- gers, required no army commission. He could do this as one of the self-commissioned, devoted lovers of God and man, who attended, like good angels, upon the army in its contests, receiving their compensation in no earthly coinage. The view which he took of his duty in the emer- gency which now presented itself, and the considera- tions which rapidly passed through his mind and in- duced him to make one of the volunteers, we are left to infer from knowledge of his character and circum- stances ; for our mquhies in all quarters have not obtained information of any conversation which he had previous to the act. Indeed, it is scarcely probable that in his decision he made any oral statement of his motives. It was a time for action, and not words. Yet those who knew him, and we trust those who have read these pages, need no verbal exposition from the Chaplain to understand his motives. Should one in his position respond to this call for volunteers, it would indicate no common devotion. It was a duty which could not be required of him. And for one of his profession to consistently engage in this enterprise would prove his strong conviction that it was a work so holy, so acceptable to God, that even those set apart for sanctuary service might feel called to have a hand in it. His prowess was nothing ; yet it was not his unpractised right arm, but his heart, which he devoted to the service, and which would tell FREDERICKSBURG. 301 on the result, not merely of that special enterprise nor of that battle only, but, by affording a powerful proof of love of country outweighing considerations of safety and life, would have the influence which a living ex- ample, and only a living example, can have. It is easy now to say that it was unnecessary for the Chaplain to volunteer ; there would have been enougli without him. Such an excuse woukl have availed every volunteer. The chaphiin did not belong to that larffe class who wait for others, and refrain from self- sacrifice in a good cause, under the pretext that there are enough others to sustain it. The first impulse of such a movement must be improved. Waiting for others quenches its spirit and makes it abortive. His immunity only rendered his volunteering more strik- ing, and more influential in the contagion of example. The sudden emergency in which the Chaplain de- cided in a moment how to act, was wholly unexpected by him. He was arrayed in the uniform of a staff officer, which made him a special mark for the sharp- shooters. He had been cautioned, early in the day, against exposing himself, and reminded that as he had his discharge on his person, he would not be exchanged if taken prisoner, and if he were killed his fimiily would not be entitled to a pension.* He had also valuables with him. And there was no time to place them in security or to change his costume. That tlio Chaplain loved home dearly, has fully appeared from evidence furnished in these pages. That, though ho w^as a stranger to fear, he was careful not to throw * An army officer informs us that he made these suggest ious to tho Chaplain. 302 CHAPLAIN FULLER. away his life, even in the cause he loved dearest, that of his country, his correspondence proves. We are led to the conviction that he deemed the issue of the hour, and the influence he might have upon it, of more importance than the life which he staked. He volun- teered, musket in hand, and crossed the river in safety ; but fell soon after entering Fredericksburg, pierced with two bullets, the one entering his chest through liis arm upraised to discharge the musket, the other piercing his hip. A third bullet struck his breast laterally, tearing his coat and vest, but inflictmg no wound. Sergeant Hill of the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regi- ment informs us that he was the Chaplain's guest at his last dinner, on the day of his death. " He asked «?Z," says the Sergeant, " to partake with hun, — teamsters, sergeants, and myself. I told him I feared he had none too much for himself. ' O yes ! ' he said, he had plenty. And, whatever he had, he always wished to share with those around liim." The following letter from Captain Dunn to the Chaplam's brother gives an account of the Chaplain's last momenta : — " In answer to your inquiries, I would say, that, althongli I had previously intended, at the suggestion of a mutual friend, to make the acquaintance of Chaplain Fuller, I saw him for the first time, in the streets of Fredericksburg, on the 11th December ultimo, at about half past three P. M., where I was in conunand of twenty-five men deployed as skirmishers. We came over in the boats, and were in advance of the others who had crossed. Pursuant to orders, we marched up the street leading from the river, till we came to the third FREDERICKSBURG. 303 street traversing it, parallel with the river, and called Caro- lina Street, I think. We had been here but a few minutes when Chaplain Fuller accosted me with the usual mihtary salute. He had a musket in his hand ; and he said : ' Cap- tain, I must do sometliing for my country. Wliat shall I do ? ' I replied, that there never was a better time than tlie present ; and he could take his place on my left. I thought he could render valuable aid, because he was perfectly cool and collected. Had he appeared at all excited, I should have rejected his services ; for coolness is of the first im])or- tauce with skii-mishers, and one excited man has an unfa\or- able influence upon the others. I have seldom seen a person on the field so calm and mild in his demeanor, evidently not acting from impulse or martial rage. " His jDOsition was directly in front of a grocery store. He fell in five minutes after he took it, having fired once or twice. He was killed instantly, and did not move after he fell. I saw the flash of the rifle which did the deed. " I think the Chaplain fell from the ball which entered the hip. He might not have been aware of the wound from the ball entering his arm, as sometimes soldiei*s are not con- scious of wounds in battle, or he may have been simult:uie- ously hit by another rifle. We were in a very exposed posi- tion. Shortly before the Chaplain came up, one of General Burnside's aids accosted me, expressing surprise, and saying, ' What are you doing here. Captain ? ' I replied that I had orders. He said that I must retire, if the rebels pressed us too hard. In about half an hour I had defuiite orders to retire, and accordingly fell back, leaving the Clia})lain and another man dead, and tdso a wounded man, who was unwill- ing to be moved. It is not usual, under such pressing cir- cmnstances, to attempt to remove the dead. In about an hour afterward, my regiment aerhaps he was imprudent, in the worldly sense of the term, for taking a gun and going into the ranks. But it was just like him. "When the battle was raging, and his men, his children, liis pastoral charge, were called to face the danger, it was not in liis nature to sit idle in his tent ; and if he forgot his head- ache, and his weakened frame, and as some say his profes- I OBSEQUIES. 311 sional character, I should feel rebuked and ashamed, if, as his friend, I attempted to make an apology for him. No, it was an act of generous emotion, of noble heroism, of self- sacrificing patriotism, ^vhich will endear him to his associates in the army, and place him high among the martyrs in this struggle. Sure I am that neither the soldiers to whom he ministered as chaplain, nor those churches in New England of which he had been the beloved pastor, will think the less of his religious character now that his blood has been poured out in his country's cause. " Wlien settled in this city I became acquainted with liini. Our friendship was intimate and unreserved. With his ear- nest, genial, and pre-eminently humane spirit, we forgot our theological differences, and ' wherein we were agreed walked by the same rule and minded the same thing.' Deeply do I sympathize with liis relatives, his brothers, his bereaved wife, his orphan children. No public tribute to his memory, no official funeral solemnities, are necessaiy to exalt him in their estimation. They knew him at home, the sphere he loved the best, amid the thousand sweet and tender chari- ties of life. He loved the circle immediately around him, and cherished an affectionate remembrance of tliose who had previously been removed by death, — esteemed parents, a lamented brother, an honored sister. "The quiet rural spot at Mount Auburn which he has described and cai-efully laid out and adorned for ' our family ' now waits to receive all that was mortal of himself. It is hallowed ground, fit emblem of the peaceful rest which liis weary spirit has now entered. No more fiitigurng marclies. Strifes and feai'S and dying groans shall agitate his soul no more. 'No rude alarms of angry foes, No cares to break the long repose, No midnight shade, no clouded sun, But sacred, high, eternal noon,' " 312 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Rev. E. O. Haven, D. D., was the next speaker. He said : — " "We see before us to-day an extraordinary sight. IMinis- ters of the Gospel of Christ of different denominations pay theii' tribute of honor and affection to a brother minister who has finished his course, — not as is most common for men of his profession, dying peacefully among his people, breath- ing upon them a benediction, and bearing testimony to the fidelity of the Saviour in the closing hour of life ; not, as is sometimes the case, expiring suddenly in the midst of official duty, and translated at once from the pulpit to the congrega- tion of the faultless and immortal, — but who died on the field of battle, clad in the soldier's garb, with deadly weapons in liis hands, in the forefront of terrible strife. , " Many are shocked at the thought of such a scene. Dis- tant lands will wonder when they hear the report. It will be quoted as an indication of a fearful passion for blood which has usurped the American mind. There are some, even at home, who will timidly inquire, Why is this waste of life ? "VMiy must the ambassador of the Prince of Peace subject liimself to the "vdolence of war ? Has there not been a forget- fulness of the proprieties of official dignity ? Has there not been a misapprehension of the duties of a Christian minister ? " Could he whose mangled body now lies before you, from which the deadly bullet has expelled the noble Christian soul, rise again and speak out as he was wont to do in ringing words, they would not be apologetic, but words of exultation. Were it possible for him to be at once fallen in battle and yet alive with us, I know that he would fill our souls with liis own holy enthusiasm. I know that he would make us under- stand and feel the mao-nitude of his thought and the love of his heart, when he offered to his country, in what he thought her bitterest trial, the sight of his eye and the strength of his arm, and above all the moral example of his character, won OBSEQUIES. 313 by many years' devotion to the good of liis fellow-nu'n. lie offered all this to his country, and he did right. It was an overflowing love. He gave away his life for liberty to all men, instead of slavery for negroes, vassalage for the great majority of the whites, and a despotism — greatest curse of all — for a few. He offered his life to inspire the army with noble pur- pose, and if need be to inspire the nation. He knew that his life might be taken, and is not now surprised ; but there comes a voice from his spirit to us saying : Waste not your sympa- thies in inactive sorrow, but convert the strong tide of your emotion into vigorous thought and powerful action. ' Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and your children,* or see to it that they are so protected as not to need your tears. " He was a brave man. He had shown that long before he crossed the perilous bridge and preceded the great army in their passage over the Rappahannock. His bravery was not rash jDliysical courage. His was a cultivated mind and a full heart. Life was to him full of hopes, affections, and ambi- tions. He had the poet's imagination to paint the future, and the Christian's purpose to produce it. To him life was in- tensely valuable. The great teacher of modern philosophy has said : ' A little pliilosophy inclineth man's mind to athe- ism, but depth in pliilosophy bringeth men's minds a])Out to religion.' So a little thought makes man a coward, but deeper thought fills him with courage. Our friend was brave because he was a man of thought, of self-control, of obedience to God's law, and of faith. Sucli a mjm ciuuiot be timid, for Gk)d is in him. He had long ago determined what to live for, — to advocate what he believed to be true, to benefit man, to imitate Christ, to honor God. That I believe he hsia ti-ied to do. Tliat gave him tlie courage of an apostle. I jua not s])eaking words of formal eulog}^, but what the character of tliis good man deserves, u 314 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " He was a pliilantliropist. His habits of thought, his mode of expression, hLs life aiid his religion were pre-eminently practical. He saw the desolations of alcoholic di'inks in this and other lands, and devoted liis strength at once to promote temperance, and deserves to be ranked among the strongest advocates of total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. He was a friend of popular education, he was a great lover of children, and contributed much influence to make Sunday- schools efficient. He advocated every depai-tment of prac- tical Cliristianity. Many of the benevolent associations of this city and State have been cheered in their anniversai'ies by his ready utterance and eloquent appeals. " When the nation was suddenly shocked by the eruption of the pent-up volcano of treason and rebellion, when that cruel ejSfort to strike down constitutional liberty, long foreseen by sagacious mmds, burst upon the people, then such a sym- pathetic and patriotic heart as his could not but be thrilled with emotion. His was not a nature to suppress feeling, or to consume it upon himself. He sought opportunity to speak and to act. He was soon in the army as an ambassador of Christ, to bless the soldier and strengthen him for his work. His letters from the camp and field have been read by thou- sands. He labored faithfully for his country. And when, in the providence of Gk)d, a crisis came, — an emergency for which only the noblest souls are fitted, — he sprang to the post of hottest danger. The army saw, the nation sees, all the world shall know, how a Christian like him can give to his country and to right all that he has, even his life. God accepted his offering, as he had that of many martyrs. The family name, highly honored before, has received fresh lustre, and when the historian comes to gather up the jewels that this terrible convulsion has brought to sight, among the names that shall shine with pei-petual light shall be that of Ai'thur B. Fuller." OBSEQUIES. 315 Next in order was the following tribute from the Rev. E. H. Sears: — " I have no right to speak of my brotlicr from any such intimate relations as those must have had who met him often in the sphere of his daily duties. I saw him last summer when he came into my neighborhood with his health shat- tered, liis constitution perhaps broken, in the hardships of the Peninsular campaign. Those who saw him then must have known, that with him it meant something to be chaplain of a regiment. There, under the kind ministrations of wife and brother and friends, and breathing the pure country air, he tried to drive out of his system the poison he liad breathed into it in the swamps of the Chickahominy. But even when prostrate on his sick-bed, his zeal for the cause to which he had devoted himself burned in him Hke a flame of lii-e, and his chief thought was to get back to his regiment, to be with ' his boys,' as he called them, to share their dangers, to minister to their suffering, to nurse the sick and pray with the dying. He returned before half recovered ; and when we saw him go away with pale face and faltering steps, we trem- bled for his life, for we thought he might end it in the hard- ships of the camp or in the hos})ital. We did not expect to see him brought home from the caniage of the battle-field. But he took this view of his duties : ' I will not urge others to go,' said he, ' w^here I am not ready to go myself I will not preach what I am not willing to practise. I will not nsk God's protection of others in dangers which I will not sliare.' And so on the eve of that most terrible battle of all, when he must have known how fierce the conflict was to be, wdien he must have known that to thousands before niglitfall, ' a heavier sleep was coming fast, than seals the living eye,' he placed himself in the fore part of the danger, and soon fell by two mortal wounds. And I cannot but recognize here the tender adaptations of the Divine mercy iia a cuusolatiou 316 CHAPLAIN FULLER. to his friends. If he must fall, we could not wish it other- •^ise. He was spared the long agonies which others have endured, spared from slow death in the hospital. He passed with one step through the opening gate, and left the tumult and the agony behind ; one moment in the battle-storm, the next moment with loved ones gone before in the eternal calm ! The martyr's crown, without the martp-'s protracted suffer- ing ! He died, in the words of Job, ' when his glory was fresh with liim, and his bow gathered strength in his hand.' " So, too, in the time of his death, if he was to fall, there is much consolation. It may be that for all our sins as a nation — which have been very great — the cause for which our brother has given his life is to fail. Perhaps it may go down, for a time at least, in darkness and blood. K so, who of us would not rather lie as he does in his peaceful coffin ? It is better to die for one's country, than to live on with no country to die for. If we are to lose all we have held most sacred and dear, I would say more truthfully a thousand times than Hector said of the impenduig ruin of his beloved Troy, ' Let me lie cold before that dreadful day, Pressed with a load of monumental clay.' But if, as we do believe, our country is to rise through this agony and bloody sweat to a new and a glorified existence, then, again, how could hfe be given with such large returns ? The beauty of our Israel slain in its high places for this great redemption, is raised up and separated to the special sphere of the Divine mercy. " There is one lesson which comes to us now, and which our brother's hps would speak, I doubt not, could they break their silence in tliis solemn hour ; there are evils more to be feared than death ; and there is something better than life, and for which life may be joyfully given away. Do not doubt that the good will be achieved ; for God never wastes the blood of liis martyrs." I OBSEQUIES. 317 The closing addi-ess was from tlie Rev. James Free- man Clarke : — " I first knew Arthur Buckminstcr Fuller as a httk' boy. Being a distant relative, I was in the habit of visiting liis father's family while a student at Cambridge. They lived at that time in the old Dana House, on the bend of the road from Boston. In the large, old-fasliioned parlor, the family sat together in the evening, Mr. Timothy Fuller sittmg by one corner of the open fire, with his stand, holding his papers and a lamp, at work preparing for his law duties of the next day, but occasionally taking part in the conversation, usually, as I remember, in moderating what he thought some too en- thusiastic statement of liis daughter JMargaret. She sat talk- ing with her friends as only she could talk, and the younger children studied their lessons or played together ; and among them I well remember the bright eyes and clear, open fea- tures of Arthur. Near by sat the mother at her work, serene, gentle, kind, a comfort and joy to all. " Ai'thur graduated at Harvard in the class of 1843, which class contained, among other honored names, that of the pres- ent President of the College. He graduated from the Cam- bridge Divinity School in the class of 1847. Among his classmates at the Divinity School, one is a minister of this city, and another is the Colonel of the Fii-st Regiment of Carolina Volunteers at Port Royal. Mr. Fuller went to tJie West, and settled in Northern Illinois as teacher and mission- ary. I well remember his labor and his zeal in both depart- ments, for I met him on his field of work on (lie Kock Kiver, and knew how he put his heart into it as into all that lie did. And, afterward, when he returned to New ICngland, and was settled over various parishes, I saw him, alwa}s characterizetl by the same activity and devotion. He wjw an earnest Christian mmister, believing in the great doctrme of redeem- ol» CHAPLAIN FULLER. ing love through Christ, and ready to take part with every Christian brother who was working for the same end. So it happened, that he often went over the boundary line of sect, and found himself side by side in brotherly labors in various religious and philanthropic works with those bearing other denominational names. They did not like him less for being a decided Unitarian, finding in him more pohits in which they could agree than those in which they were obliged to differ. And, therefore, we find that they are here to-day to honor their friend as a brother in many Christian labors, following, in his own way, the same Master. " So have the rapid years passed by, until this war broke out, and Ai-thur felt it his duty to go as a chaplain. Of his services there I am not the one to speak, but I know that he must have been active and kind and useful to the soldiers, for it was his nature always to be active, kind, and useful. " Arthur Fuller was, like most of us, a lover of peace, but he saw, as we have had to see, that sometimes true peace can only come through war. In this last struggle at Fredericksburg, he took a soldier's weapon, and went on with the little forlorn hope who were leading the advance through the streets. He had not been much in battle before, but more among the sick in the hospitals. Perhaps he thought it right to show the soldiers that in an hour of emergency he was ready to stand by their side. So he went, with a courage and devo tion which all must admire, and fell, adding his blood also to all the precious blood which has been shed as an atonement for the sins of the nation. May that blood not be shed in vam. May it be accepted by God as a costly sacrifice, and may we as a people, when our necessary trials and punish- ments are sufiiciently endured, become that righteous and happy nation God meant us to be ; setting an example to mankind of a Christian republic in which there is no master and no slave, no tyi-ant and no victim, — not a mere rabble OBSEQUIES. 810 scraniV)llDg for gain, but brothers co-operating in building up a grand commonwealth of true liberty, justice, and humanity Let our friends go or stay, let us live or die, — ' So we wake to the higher iiims Of a land that has lost for a little her love of gold, And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and shames, Horrible, hateful, monstrous, — not to be told. And hail once more the banner of battle unrolled ! Though many an eye shall darken, and many shall weep, — Yet many a darkness into light shall leap.' " Our brother has fallen in the midst of active usefulness, in a life which seemed only half lived. He has gone to join the many dear-beloved friends who have preceded him, — the upright, industrious father, the saintly, tender mother, the noble child of genius, Margaret, his brother Eugene, his sister Ellen. The few of the family who remain vriW miss his active, useful friendship and brotherly love. We shall all miss him from among our thinned ranks. But if this teaches us again how ' in the midst of life we are in death,' it teaches us, too, that in the midst of death we are in life. To die thus, full of devotion to a noble cause, is not to die, — it is to live. It is rising into a higher life. It is passing up into the company of the true and noble, of the brave and generous, — it is going to join the heroes and mart}TS of all ages, of all lands, who have not counted life dear when given for a good cause. Such devoted offerings by the young and brave, surrendering up their lives, raise us all above the fear of death. What matters it when we die, so that we live nobly ? — ♦ They are the dead, the buried, They who do still sunive, In sin and sense interred, — The dead ! — they are alive ! ' " Fathers, mothei-s, l)rot]R'rs, sistei-s, friends ! You who are in grief to-day, mourning the dear sons, the noble husbands and brothers, who have fallen on iill these bloody liehls, do 320 CHAPLAIN FULLER. you not also rejoice as you mourn ? Do you not also thank God for the great opportunity he has given you to render up in his service these precious lambs, these costly offerings? Ah ! I know that you feel thus. I have seen it in your serene look of inward joy, which tells me you are talking with your angels. They have not wholly left you. They go, but they return. To each of these noble brothers of ours we look and speak from the depths of our truest instincts and insight. ' So we may lift from out the dust A voice as iinto liim that hears, A cry above the conquered years, To one that with us works, and trust. • Known and unknown, human, divine ! Sweet human hand, and lips, and eye, Dear heavenly friend that cannot die, Mine, mine forever, ever mine ! ' So all is well, though faith and form Be sundered in the night of fear. — Well roars the storm to those who hear A deeper voice across the storm.' " The addresses were followed by the singing of a hymn written for the occasion, by Mrs. J. H. Hana- ford. " Softly sing the requiem holy O'er this still, most precious clay, Loving hearts are bending lowly 'Neath the chastening rod, to-day. " Father ! in thy care we leave him Whom our hearts have loved so well. Nevermore earth's sin shall grieve him, Now with thee his soul shall dwell. " There with loved ones gone before him, He will wait our steps to greet ; With the sainted one who bore him, Sino; the angel-anthem sweet. OBSEQUIES. 321 " Grieve we not in hopeless sorrow, O'er our honored hero slain, Soon shall dawn a brighter morrow, And we all shall meet again." " The hearse which bore his remains to their last restin"-- o place in Mount Auburn was draped with the national colors and trimmed with rosettes of black and white, and drawn by four horses wearing heavy black plumes. A large number of mourners followed the remains to the grave, and dropped their tears over the sepulchre of this fallen patriot and phi- lanthropist." * * Boston Herald. 14* CHAPTER VIII APPRECIATION. "Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietcm.' HE libation of the Chaplain's life has been, we trust, accepted, like the sacrifice of Abel, and he has taken his place under the altar with the souls of those slain for the word of God. His devotion touched the hearts of his country- men ; nor was it regarded as out of keeping with the sacred office he had so recently laid temporarily aside, nor as a close unmeet for a life of religious and philan- thropic labors. Although it is not a common event for a chaplain to enter the lists of the combatants, yet loyal hearts felt that the exigency of a holy cause rendered the act noble, appropriate, and heroical. One of the first expressions in reference to it came from the heart of the chief magistrate of Massachu- setts, whose patriotic and zealous discharge of his high duties in this our national crisis will win for his name a proud place on the page of history. We insert the letter : — "COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACmJSETTS. " Executive Depabtment, Boston, Dec. 15, 1862. " Richard F. Fuller, Esq., Court Street, Boston. " My dear Sir : I observe, mth grief at the loss sustained by his friends and by the service, but with admiration for his APPRECIATION. 323 heroic enthusiasm, the death of your brother, the Rev. Artliur B. Fuller, Chaplain of the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment, while figliting in the ranks of the Nineteenth Massachusetts as a volunteer, in the battle of Fredericksburg. " My long and intimate acquaintance with him and all your family render this instance of bravery and of afHiction one of unusual interest, as it really is of unusual pathos. " His conduct was worthy his State and liis blood. It will be forever remembered. Nor was it too soon for a good man to die, falling as he did in splendid devotion to a sublime idea of duty, adventuring his life beyond the necessities of Ms position or the occasion of his oflice, but not beyond the dic- tates of an ardent nature, nor, in my judgment, beyond tlie highest and best idea of the example and decorum of the occasion. " How many friends at home, how many soldiers in the field, will feel kindled, consoled, and encouraged by this ex- ceptional and more conspicuous act of unselfish and spontane- ous patriotism. " I am faitlifully, your friend and servant, "JOHN A. ANDREW." Such, too, was the sentiment of the army. We quote from a sermon by Rev. Edward A. Widker, re- cently chaplain of the 1st Conn. Vol. H. Artillery. " I have just heard of the death of Chaplain Fuller of the Sixteenth Massachusetts Volunteers, one of the most earnest and faithful officers in the service. I visited him once at Fortress Monroe, and saw the results of his laboi-s in his own regiment, and met him afterward repcatcHlly in circumstances where liis abiHty and energy were abundantly cxliibited. After the battle of Malvern Hill, when our forces removed to Harrison's Landing, and when some five thousand womid- ed and disabled men were gathered at the old I lui-rison estate, 824 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Chaplain Fuller rendered himself eminently serviceable, ministering both to the spiritual and physical wants of the sufferers. " The miserable condition of these men can scarcely be described. After a week of fighting and marching, the heat having been oppressive and the air thick with penetrating dust, they arrived by night in a drenching rain at the Harri- son estate. The overseer had been directed, in the event of the coming of the Federal troops, to destroy whatever he could not secrete ; but our coming was so sudden as to prevent this. The house was soon filled from cellar to garret by those whose wounds were not so serious as to impede their locomo- tion. Then those wounded in the legs, or who had suffered much from loss of blood, came feebly up and filled all places about the dweUing that were left, some crawling under the bushes in the garden, others lying by the fences, and others still sinking directly down into the mud, glad of the sight of a house and shelter, and of the hope of medical attendance. Within, the floor was so occupied with men, that all passage was for a time impossible. The carpets were covered Tsdth mud and stains of blood, while the rich mirrors, furniture, and paintings presented a painful contrast of domestic luxury with all the horrors of war. " Amid these scenes of suffering, Chaplain Fuller labored with untiring energy, now unobtrusively assisting the sur- geons in their more arduous labors, now bringing food and drink to those who were imable to help themselves, now speaking words of comfort and religious consolation to the disheartened, himself at all times cheerful, patient, and heljD- ful. " With regard to the circumstances of his death, although he was shot with musket in hand while taking part in the attack on Fredericksburg, I cannot believe that he was out of his proper place, or acting otherwise than with a conscien- APPRECIATION. 32.J tious regard for his duty toward his men. lie doubtless felt that his example would inspire them M'ith greater heroism, and therefore willingly sacrificed his life at one of the most critical moments of the war. " I trust that the record of services so valuable may be preserved. It may well be placed side by side with that of liis distinguished sister." The voice of the press was of a similar tenor. Says one : * — " He volunteered in the hazardous task of crossing the river, and gave his life as the price of his zeal and i)atriotism. As chaplain of the Massachusetts Sixteenth, Mr. Fuller has been unwearied in his labors for the material as well as spiritual good of the men, and has exercised over them a remarkable influence. No hardships appalled him, and he always sustained others by his own unflinching courage and his devotion to the great cause he had given himself to serve." Another,! among its frequent allusions to the sub- ject, says : — " He was an active, energetic, devoted soldier of the Cross, who did his best to awaken a true religious sentiment in camp, who visited the hospitals, who was an honest almoner of bounties intrusted to him, and who was not only ready to chronicle the heroism of others, but who took his place in tlie ranks. "Tlirough his death the Union cause has met willi no common loss; for few chaplains in the army have been so active, energetic, and devoted to the interests of their charge, or more fully inspired by a patriotic love of country." * New York Tiibiuio. t Tlie Boston .Tomiml. 326 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Anotlier,* under the head of " The Glorious Death of Chaplain Fuller," says : — " Ever a lover of liberty and the advocate of freedom to all the human race, of whatever creed or complexion, he has manifested his devotion to his principles by his deeds in the moment of personal peril. " He fully appreciated the extent and purposes of the rebellion, and the sacrifices needed to put it doA\Ti, and was willing to labor and suffer with others in the great work. " His death was feelingly alluded to by the pastors of sev- eral of the churches in this vicinity yesterday." And, in another connection : — " Eev. Mr. Fuller had his own ideas of the duties of a chap- lain in this war. He had previously been a peace man, and he never relinquished his love of peace. But he felt, unless all government is to be at the mercy of traitors, force must be lawful for its defence against the wicked and unprovoked rebellion, — nay, more than lawful, an imperative obhgation. It was from this conviction that he accepted the place of chaplain, beheving an important part of his duty to be to stim- ulate the men to a brave and noble bearing as Christian sol- diers in the field. He thought a minister should not be like a guide-board, pointing the way it does not go itself. He often said he would not urge the men, or rather ' his boys,' as he styled them, to go where he would not go himself. It was on this principle that he went forward mth his regiment, deployed in the van as skirmishers, last summer, before Rich- mond. " He was suffering under a violent attack of headache ; but some of the men, as they passed his tent, remarked they wished they had a headache. This determined him to go forward. He was made a mark for the enemy's sharpshooters, * The Boston Traveller. Ari>Ki:ciATiON. 327 and narrowly escaped two bullets which struck trees very near him. This oocuiTcnce gave him a strong hold uj)on the soldiers, who delighted to hear the admonitions of one wlio did not flinch from the dangers he encouraged them to on- counter." A correspondent in the same paper writes, in refer- ence to the Chaplain : — " Ck)uld hero ever have a nobler sentiment engraven on his tombstone than that which, living, he thus said, and, dy- ing, acted : ' Better still give up our heart's blood IN BRAVE BATTLE THAN GIVE UP OUR PRINCIPLES IX COW- ARDLY COMPROMISE ! ' " Let these heroic words be cut in enduring letters on his monument, — let them be rendered into immortal actions m the lives of liis friends." A Western paper * says, in reference to the Chap- lain's funeral : — " It was attended by a great multitude, among whom were to be found the chief official dignitaiies of the State and of the city. And they all honored themselves in thus doing the last offices for the noble dead. For, the devoted sen\ant of his God, he had, as the ardent friend of the soldiers of liis regiment, shared their sorrows and sufferings throughout tlie sad Peninsular campaign ; and in the late passiige of the Rap- pahannock he volunteered to be among the fii'st to enter the boats and receive the fire of the sharpshooters of the enemy. And here it was he fell. " A man of eloquence, of high culture, of sincere piety, of ardent patnotism, of firm and true courage, he was ever to be found in the i)lace where duty called, no matter what the * The Northwestern. 6'J.b CHAPLAIN FULLER. personal sacrifice, no matter what the danger. In peace and in v>'dv he fought the good fight as a Christian and a hero." The tone of tlie religious press was of like import. Says one : * — " He died a glorious death of devotion to his country, and cheerful self-sacrifice to save its life and liberty. It is not an unfit close to an earnest and warm-hearted Christian min- istry. " From extensive correspondence, I know that Liberal Christianity never had a more valuable Western missionary, and perhaps this is not saying enough, — that, by teaching and preaching through a wide section, he sowed precious seed which cannot perish, doing as much work as any two men, — unquestionably going beyond his physical strength, which was never great, — and leaving through Central Illinois memories which time cannot efface. It was our notorious misappropriation of men which sanctioned the removal of this rarely adapted missionary from those who loved, appreciated, and in some cases idolized him." And again a correspondent in the same paper writes : — "I attended, at Chauncy Place Church, the services of music, reading, prayer, and addresses, which united the voices of three denominations of Christian speakers over the lifeless form of our Brother Fuller ; not our ' late brother,' for he is more our brother now than ever. All seemed to feel that he had done nobly. I feel that he did wisely, and for him most wisely, in acting promptly, as he did, upon the inspiration of the hour. His case seems to me that of the Magdalen, when she broke the alabaster box of spikenard, * The Christian Inquirer. APPRECIATION. 329 and would have poured out her very life, on the feet of Jesus. Obsei-vers, prudent and economical, rebuked her; but the Master, of a diviner wisdom than theirs, said, defending tlie act, ' Trouble her not ; she hath wrought a good work ; she hath done what she could ; and wherever the Gospel shall be preached in all the world, there shall this deed of heart- sacrifice go, as a memorial of her.' So will it be in this case. Did the world ever need more than now, — when has our country needed so much as now, — the instant daring of fear- less self-surrender ? " It is Ruskin's ' lamp of sacrifice ' that Brother Fuller kindled, at such cost to himself, on the south bank of the Rappahannock. Such a soul is a lamp snatched away all too soon for us, and set in the firmament of heaven. We that loved him and valued him even more for his heart than for his head, preferred to keep his beacon-light on our own rocky shores ; but God knew better, and took him away. " I delight, and shall delight, to thmk of the last day of liis earthly Hfe as a splendid exhibition of that impulsive and lofty energy which, put forth for God and liberty and duty, is justly adored by the leading nations of Christendom." Another says of him : * — " His love of country required no artificial stimulant, for in liis warm heart was the clear flame of patriotism ever burning brightly, communicating its glow and warmth to all with whom he had to do. " Faithful in the discharge of his duties as a Christian minister at home, he was faithful to his highest conceptions of duty to his regiment. He was a friend to those who looked for friendly counsel, he was a brother to those who needed a brother's sympathy, and in hours of weakness and suffering, the tenderness of his heart, imd the self-forgctful- * The Christian Rcfiister. 330 CHAPLAIN FULLER. ness of his spirit, rendered his service to those under his charge a grateful alleviation of their loneliness and pain. As a Christian minister, liis record is upon the purer tablets above, and he will live in the memories of those with whom he has been associated as pastor, preacher, and friend. His consecration to a glorious service is now rencAved in another world." And the same paper thus refers to his funeral : — " It was a most impressive thought, that he who but a few months ago had spoken so eaniestlj in the morning confer- ence meetings of Anniversary week, from the very spot upon which his body then rested, was lying there silent and cold in the embrace of death. However moving liis appeals had been when Hving, there was a greater eloquence in his marble lips and brow, which told of self-sacrifice, of suffer- ing in the holy cause." A correspondent in another * writes : — " Chaplain Fuller spent several days with me at this hos- pital and the parole camp just before he joined his regiment, and went into the battle of Fredericksburg, where he fell. I became veiy much attached to him, and never have I met a chaplain in the United States army that in my opinion was better adapted to the anny loork. His heart and soul were in it. He spoke plainly, and with gi-eat kindness and power to the soldier. All heard with interest, and many with profit Many soldiers at Camp Parole wept like children as he spoke to them of home and loved ones, and as he }X)inted them to Jesus, the soldiers' friend, and instructed them to copy his noble example, and seek the favor of Grod. He was the right man in the right j^lace. He remai'ked to me on Sabbath morning, as we were on our way from this city to * Chnplain Henrj- C. Henries, in Zion's Herald. APPRECIATION. 331 the Parole Camp, 'We all have to turn itinerants in the army, and preach Metliodist doctrines.' But he has gone. Side by side he lay with many of the noble and brave on that fatal day. May God bless the dear ones of his house hold he loved so well." We quote fi'om still another : * — " From merely a Imiited acquaintance with him, we were led to admire his intense patriotism, his self-devotion, and his noble, catholic spirit. The patriot-martyr has fallen. An- other precious, cherished life has been laid cheerfully down for the redemption of our country from the barbarism of slav- eiy. Rest, noble hero, Avith the patriot dead ! Green may be the turf above thy mortal form, yet greener and fresher, yea, perennial, shall be thy memory in the hearts of thy sur- ■\aving friends and thy grateful countrymen ! " TVTiile our country shall have a name and place among the nations of the earth, so long will the heroic life and more than heroic death of Arthur B. Fuller be remembered and pointed to as worthy of admiration and imitation." Nor did his fellow-laborers in the temperance cause forget him. The Massachusetts Temperance Alliance « Resolved, That in the death of the Rev. A. B. Fuller, Chaplain of the Massachusetts Sixteenth Regiment, the Massachusetts State Temperance Alliance has lost a faith- ful member, who, by his wise counsels and liis earnest, able, and eloquent advocacy of the cause of temperance for many years, has contributed greatly to its success, and has won tlie admii-ation and shall have the affectionate remem- brance of tins Alliance." We must not omit the followiiio- testimony of Rev. John Pierpont, written in the Cliaj)hiln\s lifetiiiR' : — * Ilcnild of C;o>.i)cl Lil.orty. 332 CHArLAIN FULLER. " I know, and for about twenty years have known, Rev. Arthur B. Fuller as a preacher of the glorious Gospel of the blessed God, — a preacher ' sans peur et sans reproche,' — without the fear of man or reproach from man. Nor, m my humble opinion, is he half so much afraid of the De\'il as the Devil is of him." The Chaplain's widow was not entitled to a pension, as he had been discharged, and had not ye.t received a new appointment. On her petition to Congress, a special law providing her a j^ension very promptly passed both Houses without opposition. Hon. Charles Sumner presented the petition in the Senate, remark- ing, that " From the 1st day of August, 18G1, Arthur B. Fuller had been a duly commissioned chaplain in the Sixteenth Massa- chusetts Regiment of Volunteers, and had followed its flag faithfully, patriotically, rehgiously, through all the perils of the Pemnsula, and wherever else it had been borne." The petition having been referred to the Committee on Pensions, they reported, " That it appears that Arthur B. Fuller was the chaplain of the Sixteenth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteei*s ; that his health was much impaired by the hardships and exposures of the Peninsular campaign ; that after repeated efforts to renew his labors in the camp of his regiment, which were foiled by his sickness returning upon every such attempt, it was finally determined, by the advice of army surgeons, that his malady was such that he could not bear exposure in the field. He was accordingly honorably discharged, on surgeon's certificate of disability, on the 10th day of December, 1862. On the 11th day of December, on the call for volunteers to cross the Rappahannock at the battle of Fredericksburg, he APPRECIATION. 333 volunteered, and was killed in the seiTice soon after entering Frcderioks})urg. " The committee think that, though Chaplain Fuller was technically out of the service of the United States, still he was really in the service of his country and in the line of duty while bravely leading on the soldiers, and dying on the field of battle. They therefore think the petitioner entitled to the relief for which she prays, and accordingly report a bill." The proceedings of the same Congress in reference to the Conscription bill illustrate the view entertained by the nation of the holy cause of suppressing re- bellion and the propriety of clergymen bearing arms in this war. Senator Sumner moved an amendment to the bill, exempting clerg^mien from military conscrip- tion. In support of his amendment he said : — " In former days bishops liave worn coats of mail and led embattled forces ; and there are many instances where the chaplain has assumed all the duties of the soldier. At the famous battle of Fontenoy, there was a chaphun in the Brit- ish army, with a name subsequently historic, who, by his military services, acquired the title of ' the fighthig chaplain of Fontenoy.' This was the famous Edinburgh professor, Adam Ferguson, author of the History of Ancient Rome. And only a few days ago, I presented a petition for a pen- sion from the widow of Rev. Arthur B. Fuller, chaplain, who fell fighting at Fredericksburg. But these instances are ex- ceptional. Legislation cannot be founded on exceptions." '^ Mr. McDouGALL. I have as much regard for the min- isters of the Gospel as any gentleman on thu^ iloor; l»ut I tliink there is no reason why they should be exempted more tlian any one of those who profess to believe in the doctrines they teach. 334 CHAPLAIN FULLER. " The men in the days of the Revolution who lilled tlie pulpit not only called the men of the young nation to arms, but they led them to the field ; and a man who has faith enough to bear the banner of the Christian fiiith is fit to be a soldier in any war supported by just principles, any war in the maintenance of a righteous cause. There is not a true believer in the great principles of democracy, as taught by Him who first bore the cross, who is not willing to fight for the maintenance of the great right of a people to maintain themselves in the forms of government. I will ask the Senator from Massachusetts to modify his proposition so as not to include the Methodist clergy, because they are a fighting clergy." " Mr. Fessenden. I have but one word to say. I shall vote against the exemption, for the simple reason that I tliink it will be an imputation upon the clergymen of my section of the country which they would resent." The amendment was rejected, and the bill as it passed included the clergy. CHAPTER IX TRIBUTES IN VERSE. "Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring,— Begin, and somewhat louder sweep the string ! " FUNERAL OF CHAPLAIN FULLER. UPON the church altar what form lieth low, The flag of his country wrapped round him ? The seal as of peace sleeps on his broad brow, In battle though Azrael found him ! Ah ! this is the chaplain who offered his life, And, dying for country, won peace in the strife ! The lips of this martyr, now silent and cold. Were wont, with their eloquence glowing, The soldiers to kindle, with loyal hearts bold And firm, to the battle-field going : Where, wiUing to practise what others he taught, In van of the peril he fearlessly fought. Hark ! what martial music is heard in the streets. Of mingled gloom, glory, and gladness? The throb of the mufiled drum mournfully beats ! The trumpet speaks triumph and sadness, — A strain swelling proudly in praise of the brave. But sinking to grief as it leads to the grave ! 836 CHAPLAIN FULLER. The train of the mourners thus slowly proceeds, By soldiers in sorrow escorted, With draped carriage drawn by four black-plumed steeds, Its pall with the banner consorted : And hushed is the crowd where it moves in the street, Their hearts with the muffled drum seeming to beat ! And now to Mount Auburn they bear the dead brave, The soldiers his coffin surrounding, Who lower their heads as he sinks in the grave, — And then, with the volleys resounding, Is sorrow of martial hearts fitly expressed. And earth folds the hero to sleep in her breast ! REV. ARTHUR B. FULLER. Servant of God ! thy race is run, Life's toils and trials o'er ; A crown of glory thou hast won By Rappahannock's shore. Thou wast not kissed by fragrant breeze. Where Summer reigns the year. Nor stretched on " flowery beds of ease," When Azrael grim drew near. 'Neath smoke-wreathed sky, in battle-storm. While heroes led the van. With musket clenched and heart all warm. He found thee, noble man ! Anon a winged death-shot came. Unerring, to thy breast ; It quenched at once the vital flame, And brought eternal rest. TRIBUTES IN VERSE. 337 It let thy spirit upward soar, To join the martyred throng Who chant, as angels did of yore, Sublime, joy-giving song. Now let the martial paean swell, Loud, sweet, and clear in air ! Toll not a solemn, dirge-like knell, — Thy bliss we hope to share ; To tread at last the heavenly strand, "Wlien our course, too, is run ; To stand for aye at Christ's right hand. And hear him say, " Well done ! " WiLDEK. REV. ARTHUR B. FULLER. " Something for my country ! " was thy battle-cry, Man's great glory ; with Curtius, as with thee. Nor for " country " only wouldst thou gladly die. Man's cause was thine, by ready sympathy. That " something " was thy life, O generous soul ! Gav'st all ! and now to keep thee from the stain Of blood, angelic music's muffled roll Cajls Angel Death to count thee with the slain, To whisper his brief measure in thine ear, And snatch to heaven their tried and proved compeer. Christian Register. REV. ARTHUR B. FULLER. BY cmsLox. lie died, — but to a noble cause His precious life was given ! lie died, — but he has left behind A shining path to Heaven ! 15 338 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Altbougli the tidings of his death Came like a stunning blow, So nobly did he fall, we feel *T is blessed he should go. O, none can gain a brighter name, Or win a deeper love, Than he who sweetly sings to-day The songs of heaven above. We cannot find it in our hearts To raise a note of woe ; So nobly did he fall, we feel 'T is blessed thus to go ! NoKTON, Mass., Dec. 31, 1862. KEV. ARTHUR B. FULLER. BY MABELLE. No dearer the gift, O my Country ! is thine Than the one which in tears we lay on thy shrine ; And pray that his life, with its teachings so pure, May give us the strength which we need to endure. • Since our Father in mercy has set his soul free, When no more he could do, O my Country ! for thee. Write his name with living heroes. Though the noble soul has fled ; Write it still in golden letters, Arthur Fuller is not dead. To this work of Christ, his Master, O how faithful he has been ! As in all his deeds of mercy, To his suflfering fellow-men. TRIBUTES IN VERSE. 339 He has watclied beside their pillow With a father's tender care ; And no peril, death, nor danger Was too hard for him to share. Cold, white lips have left their blessing For the faithful, kindly hand, Guiding them beside still waters, Leading to the Better Land. NOW AND THEN. How narrow the terminal bound Dividing the now and the then ; Though scenes it encloses around We never may visit again ! It shows, like the cavern of yore. The footsteps returning no more ! * These ramparts the moments upraise Exclude us forever, alas ! Though soaring love vainly essays His wings, o'er the summit to pass. Nor higher can memory climb Than serves to look over the time ! Ah ! can it be, brother, that thou, Who shared every burden I bore. Whose life-lamp shone brightly but now, Hast passed to eternity's shore, Where mortal ne'er mixed with the choir. Save Orpheus, once, with his lyre ? * " Nulla ve&tigla rctrorsuui." 340 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Alas ! that I never shall know That hand's cordial pressure again, The living lips' musical flow, And features all lighted up, then ! Tiiat cadence I still seem to hear ! The pleasant laugh rings in my ear ! His body, devoted to Mars, Was all that rebellion could kill : His life broke in glorious stars. That burn in the firmament still ! In Jesus he slept, in the strife. Where death fitly ended his life ! REV. A. B. FULLER. BY MRS. J. H. HAXAFOKD. Borne o'er death's rolling wave on angel pinions, Our brother rests Where blessed Peace rules all the fair -dominions, And War's rude crests. And martial notes, and hosts arrayed for battle, Are known no more, And never swords shall clash, nor death-balls rattle, Upon that shore. A hero, in the strife for Freedom dying, Immortal bays Shall deck the brow in death's embrace now Ipng, And tuneful lays From hearts sincere his virtues be declaring WTio gave his all, — Home, health, and life, — obedient on heai'ing His country's call. TRIBUTES IN VERSE. 341 Yet sad our hearts, who mourn the friend so cherished, The noble soul. Thank God ! who lives, while but our hopes have perished, And at the goal Of our short race will bid us welcome gladly, And each true heart Forget the pangs which here it feels so sadly, While friends depart. O Brother ! 'neath the shadow we shall wander, And think of thee ; Upon thy many virtues sweetly ponder, And pray to be Where thou art resting on the shores immortal, - With those so dear Who earlier entered heaven's gleaming portal. And left thee here. Thou faithful servant of the High and Holy ! Heaven shall be Still nearer to the souls that, bending lowly, Now mourn for thee. And with the Everlasting Arm beneath them, Float with the tide Which bears them on where thou erelong shalt greet them, The other side. Hero and Saint ! enrolled upon the pages Of History, Telling of deeds sublime to future ages. Thy name shall be. And, better still, the Lamb's resplendent volume Thy name shall bear, Heading, perchance, a long and brilliant column Of heroes there. 342 CHAPLAIN FULLER. Farewell for Time ! no more we here shall greet thee, But, far on high, Among the angels, we shall surely meet thee. No more to die, And from our hps the chalice, now so bitter. Our God will take. And bid us drink from heaven's fountain sweeter, When we awake. THE END. Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. H 122 80 *o ^:j^'-" ;^' .0' <^ '^*. •^1 ^ '^-^^ .^' 0^- ^=^ MAR oJ , ,,_ ,, N. MANCHESTER. ^.^^iS^ INDIANA 46962 .HO, '^^ ^^' ^^ *^>. -« t^