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 SERMON 
 
 PREACHED AT 
 
 KING'S CHAPEL, BOSTON 
 
 ON SUNDAY, MAY 29TH, 1870, 
 
 WITH A LIST OF THE SONS OF THE CHURCH WHO ENTERED 
 THE SERVICE OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY W. FOOTE. 
 
 PRINTED BY REQUEST. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 1870. 
 
 BARKER, COTTER & CO., PRINTERS, 
 
 14 State Street. 
 
\ 
 
i^lcmoviul 3Je.^4.oo»,o'. 
 
 A 
 
 SERMON 
 
 PREACHED AT 
 
 KING'S CHAPEL, BOSTON, 
 
 ON SUNDAY, MAY zgrn, 1870, 
 
 WITH A LIST OF THE SONS OF THE CHURCH WHO ENTERED 
 THE SERVICE OF THE COUNTRY. . .-, .., 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY W. FOOTE. 
 
 PRINTED BY REQUEST. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 1870. 
 
 BARKEU, C0TTP:II & CO., PRINTERS, 
 
 14 State Street. 
 
SA2 
 
 'wv-aX<rK^ ^bljL<^i<.^4U4.<*-'>V-^ 
 
 First Lesson : 
 
 First Maccabees, Chap. IX : 9, 10; 
 
 Wisdom of Solomon, Chap. Ill: 1-6; IV: 8-10; 
 
 Isaiah, Chap. XLIII: 1-4. 
 
 I Seconq ?Ii«J;dN : J c ^ e . ' " 
 
 Ephesians, Chap. VI: ic — 18. 
 
 9 (j 
 
 -J 
 
SERMON 
 
 ACTS II, 20: "MEN AND BRETHREN, LET ME FREELY SPEAK UNTO YOU OF . . . . 
 DAVID, TliAT HE IS BOTH DEAD AND BURIED, AND HIS SEPULCHRE IS WITH 
 US UNTO THIS DAY." 
 
 "The beasts that perish" die and are forgotten; 
 but man, if he has wrought anything glorious and 
 serviceable, overmasters death, and survives himself 
 in a luminous immortality of memory and praise. A 
 thousand years and more had rolled away, since David 
 "died and was buried," when St. Peter spoke thus. 
 It was the day of Pentecost, and in that memorable 
 address to the people, which converted three thousand 
 souls and suddenly brought the Christian Church out 
 into full day, when he reminded them of David, 
 as touching the proudest chord of their national 
 memories. And thus the Christian Church, at its 
 beginning, receives its first consecration beside the 
 ancient sepulchre of the hero-king who died ten 
 centuries before, — even as a knight in the Middle 
 
Ages watched out the vigils of his taking the vows 
 of knighthood, beside the tombs of his ancestors, 
 where cross-legged crusaders slept in stone. 
 
 The Jewish people held the memory of their 
 captains and leaders in especial honor. To this day 
 "the tombs of the kings" are pointed out on a rocky 
 slope outside the walls at Jerusalem. If a man had 
 "done good unto Israel," like the great Jehoiada, they 
 buried him "among the kings," with royal remem- 
 brance. But the sepulchre of David alone was 
 admitted within the w\alls, as his own memory was 
 enshrined within their inmost hearts. Other tombs, 
 even of the noblest, seemed to them to desecrate the 
 holy city ; but his to consecrate it. For in David 
 they saw the hero-warrior, the deliverer of his country, 
 the type of the national idea, the man whom God had 
 raised up to make real the sublime vision of a people 
 consecrated to himself. 
 
 Every age, and every people, builds, and renews, 
 and crowns with flowers, the sepulchres of its heroes. 
 It feels that its own history is written in a concrete 
 form in the names of the men who ' have lived for it 
 and wrought for it, who have fought for it and have 
 died for it.' In different ways at different times the 
 heroic type has manifested itself, — now as teacher 
 and prophet, now as discoverer and toiler, now as 
 
warrior, now us saint. But in all, the root of the 
 matter is the same. The heroic quality consists in 
 that they have " fought a good fight." They have 
 recognized that the thing they had to do cost a 
 battle, — and that it was worth a battle. That which 
 makes them of enduring significance in history is, 
 that they cast their very lives, in one form or another, 
 into the scale. And so the gratitude of mankind 
 builds them a monument which is a mediiorial notjof 
 death, but of life. It may have words of sorrow upon 
 it, but yet it is a sign of proud rejoicing. On the 
 tomb of the Cid near Burgos is written the last line 
 of David's lament for his friends: '-Quomodo cecidere 
 robusti et periere arma belli." Yet the tomb testi- 
 fies not so much to grief that he is gone as to joy 
 that he has been. The very ground of the old world 
 thrills with the presence of sacred dust which once 
 changed the course of human events. I envy hhn not, 
 who can walk the shadowed aisles of old cathedrals, 
 wdthout being quickened as he reads the names 
 written on the very stones beneath his feet. Men 
 " died and were buried " many generations ago ; but 
 " their sepulchre is with us unto this day," to quicken 
 us to noble action and self-sacrificing service ; at once 
 to keep fresh our memory of them and to inspire a 
 loftier spirit in us. 
 
It is well, then, that from time to time, we should 
 gather round these memories which are nearest to 
 our own hearts, that great monument which proud 
 recollection and reverent gratitude and loyal, unfor- 
 getting love have reared in our thoughts over those 
 who, in our own supreme hour of struggle and trial, 
 made real before our eyes the best heroism of all the 
 historic past. To this day the Jews at Jerusalem 
 come together at stated times to weep beside the 
 wall which is a funeral monument of their hopes. 
 Long ages come and go, but they never forget their 
 tryst. Not in weeping of despair, but in tender, 
 grateful sorrow, this broad land will to-morrow keep 
 such an hour, and bear Howers to half a million graves 
 of its soldier dead. We will bring these memories 
 into the church, to make the church yet more sacred 
 to us, as David's sepulchre was reared within the walls 
 of the holy city. Nay, do not the names which we 
 have written in marble on our walls speak from 
 yonder tablet, to bid us remember, not them alone, 
 but all who shared their service and their sacrifice ? 
 
 But the higher their claim on us, and the more 
 eager our homage of love and gratitude to them, — 
 the more spontaneous the feeling which goes out all 
 over this broad land, to follow to-morrow's sun from 
 the Atlantic to the Pacific, with Memorial Rite, — the 
 
more does it demand that we should lift up the service 
 and all our thoughts of them into the hio-hest con- 
 secration. We lay to-day another course on the 
 monument of memory, at the sepulchre of our dead; the 
 natural subject of our thought is the question, How shall 
 we build their sepulchre ? There may be a worthy, and 
 there may be an unworthy commemoration. The 
 Saviour of the world saw his own contemporaries 
 "building the tombs of the prophets," while they were 
 blind to him who was their Prophet, Priest and King. 
 Let us see to it, that we build to them in such a spirit, 
 that it may unseal our eyes to behold how near the 
 Lord comes to us in the present hour, and what 
 lessons of life the Great Healer and Consoler would 
 teach us, as he stands between our memories and our 
 own souls. 
 
 And, first of all, we should build the sepulchre of our 
 dead by a living memory of them. We should guard 
 ao-ainst allowino; the sentiment with which we cherish 
 them to become cold; or any rite of remembrance 
 to degenerate into a mere form. There are thoughts 
 too sacred and dear ever to grow old. Love and grati- 
 tude are too much a part of ourselves, when we have 
 once had reason to feel them, for us ever to let their 
 tiame die away in our hearts and become smothered 
 in an ashen crust of low, self-absorbed thouo-hts. Go 
 
l)ack over the few swift years that have passed, and 
 remember how your whole being hung on what these 
 men did. How sacred hfe seemed for a time. God 
 was more in it; because it brought ojDportunities of 
 service and of sacrifice. lie spoke to our hearts in 
 the terrible sounds that rolled across the land from 
 where these men stood in the front of battle. When- 
 ever we remember our own deepest inward history 
 for those years, we must remember what these men 
 did. In the solemn light of this place, we lay the 
 corner-stone of our living memory of them, in the 
 remembrance of our experience in that fiery furnace 
 where the Nation walked unconsumed, because by its 
 side was a Divine form of cheer. 
 
 And, remembering those great j^ears, so crow- 
 ded with what these men were and what they 
 did, we feel the fitness of crowning their graves with 
 flowers. There is " a language in flowers," we say ; 
 they speak of that which cannot be put into words, 
 fragrant memories and blossoming hopes, and grati- 
 tude which springs afresh as the seasons change, like 
 the flowers of the Spring. Nothing that the Creative 
 Hand has made is so purely the embodiment of the 
 purest sentiment, as these exquisite blooms. It is 
 well that they should cover every grave where one of 
 our 1)rothers sleeps. Let not one he forgotten ! A 
 
friend of mine visited a sick and suffering soldier, two 
 years ago, and found his heart full of this touching 
 memorial rite. He was himself fading away out of life 
 with disease contracted in the camp. His only boy 
 had given his life for his country — a little drummer hoy, 
 that was all, — but his life was all he had to give. 
 Over the chimney hung the dead boy's drum, silent 
 from his last march. The sick man knew that his 
 comrades were bearing flowers to the graves of their 
 brothers-in-arms, and feeling already that he was 
 enrolled in that great invisible army, he said to his 
 w^ife doubtingly, " I wonder if anybody '11 remember 
 to put flowers over me, next year." Yes, brother 
 who didst pay thy part of our great ransom, neitlier 
 thou, nor any shall be forgotten ! Where the martyrs 
 of the prison-house rest in peace, — where the precious 
 dust of those who fell by the way in march and skirmish 
 is laid in scattered spots, and graves like lonely 
 sentinels mark the course of armies through the conti- 
 nent, — where pious hands have gathered up the bones 
 of those who fell in the murderous thickets of the 
 Wilderness, — where, like sleeping armies, the "bivouac 
 of the dead " is encamped on ground that was shaken 
 with the thunder of cannon, the thirteen thousand at 
 Marye's Hill, one-half of them marked by the simple 
 name " Unknown," the thirty-five hundred that keep 
 
10 
 
 proud guard at Gettysburg, the nineteen hundred that 
 Avatch at Cold Harbor the still and peaceful fields so. 
 harmless now; — everywhere, Nature herself conies to 
 scatter some joyful blossom of the Spring, and our 
 memories "bud and blossom like the rest," and remem- 
 ber, and are grateful, 
 
 A year ago I stood in the National Cemetery at 
 Arlington, beside the stone which marks where more 
 than two thousand unknown soldiers are laid, and saw 
 the Chief Magistrate of this great Nation and the 
 Heads of his Departments and the Captains of our 
 Armies gather there to do their memory honor ; and 
 in the same procession followed humbly an old Wegro 
 holding in his hand a bunch of clover blossoms which 
 Avere all he had to offer. Shall we not take it as a 
 symbol of the universal claim which these, our dead, 
 make on our remembrance ? The proud homage of 
 the Nation, by its rulers, is not too costly for them ; 
 and they will not disdain the humblest blooms of 
 the grass of the field, from that race to whom they 
 brought the light of a new hope. Call them to mind, 
 — the young, — the beautiful, — who were themselves 
 the flower of the land, and laid down their life in its 
 bloom. Then bring the flowers that typify the souls 
 which were in them, the lilies whose pure white is 
 like their stainless honor, the violets sweet as their 
 
11 
 
 memory, the passion-flower, emblem of their sacri- 
 fice. Who of us is there, whose life is not lighted up 
 by these proud memories of friends, of kindred, who 
 have made real to us the noblest legends of knightly 
 virtues, of Christian chivalry ? They are for us the 
 representatives of unnumbered thousands in the land; 
 and w^e know that if an}^ out of the great army of 
 the Nation's dead had lived at a lower level, — if any 
 found death the refuge from a wasted or sinful life, — 
 at least in that hour the}' ros^to the true 'height of 
 the soul, so that it is well to lay on their graves 
 also the blue, and green, and red, the colors in which 
 Nature herself weaves the emblem of Faith, and Hope, 
 and Love. 
 
 And let us remember, in this hour, that there is no 
 better way of honoring the dead than by honoring 
 the living also, — those who shared their dangers and 
 sufferings, — who, many of theui, bear in their own 
 bodies the burden of disease or woiuids. For my own 
 part, I see not how any can think of the Nation as 
 stinting its gratitude, without a burning sense of shame. 
 I am troubled, when I see the poorest private 
 eking out his pension by grinding an organ, or dis- 
 playing his poor broken body. Let us be generous, 
 that we may be just! And let every man who 
 deserved well of the land, from the humblest to the 
 
12 
 
 highest, be assured that his record is written on Uving 
 memories, — that, as the Nation looks to see in liim a 
 life which shall not foil below the height which he 
 once reached, so she is not ungrateful nor unmindful. 
 
 In the presence of yonder memorial, we keep 
 closest to our hearts, in this hour, the memories of 
 our own church dead. friends ! tenderly, with rever- 
 ent reserve, would I lift here for a moment the sacred 
 veil which hangs over our mention in words of them 
 whom we cherish in our heart of hearts. You remem- 
 ber how in the Middle Ages, the old Count Eginhard, 
 as he bent over the body of his only son, slain in 
 warfare, could say, " I had rather have my dead son, 
 than any living son in Christendom." So may this 
 ancient church say, " I count these among my dearest 
 jewels in all the well-nigh two centuries of my life." 
 Here, in those years of war, God's Messenger entered, 
 how often, sometimes in the rumor of disaster, some- 
 times in that of triumph, and brought that solemn 
 message which was received in silence and in tears. 
 
 Side by side their names are writ in marble, (\) 
 from the private soldier to the division commander. 
 From the catastrophe of Ball's Bluff to the eve of 
 the great Surrender, those names are intertwined with 
 the history of the time ; and Antietam and South 
 
 (1) See Nulc A, p. 22. 
 
13 
 
 Mountain, and Gettysburg and Fort Wagner, and Bull 
 Run and Cliickamauga,and Whitehall and Spottsylvania, 
 and Averysboro, and Cedar Mountain, and Hatcher's 
 Run, all cast their deep shadow over these dim aisles. 
 Shall I venture to speak of them, as one by one they 
 come back to our memory ? — One, whose name stands 
 written first in that proud record, born into this 
 Church, but long absent from it, who fell on that 
 wooded hillside in the vallej^, whose slope was fatal to 
 so many precious lives: — the merciful Surgeon of whom 
 his fever-patients, in the wards where he and they were 
 fellow-prisoners, said, "When he came, sunshine came 
 with him, and when he went away, darkness followed," 
 under whose care, in that house of doom, not one 
 man died, during three weeks that he was with them, 
 though previously they had died five or six daily : 
 — the brave boy who lingered through eleven weeks 
 of suffering and was released on the eve of the day 
 when his comrades were mustered out of service ; 
 whom, when I last saw him, I remember, as I wished 
 him God-speed, and that he might escape the dangers 
 of the camp, as well as of the battle-field, pulling 
 with a bright look a pocket testament from the pocket 
 next his heart, and telling me that he should try to live 
 by that : — the gallant gentleman, in whose veins was 
 l)lood that had leapt at the first low murmurs of the 
 
14 
 
 Revolution, and whose name was historic, who endured 
 imprisonment, wounds, sickness, death, with quiet 
 dignity of demeanor, simphcitj of speech, and silent 
 heroism of Hfe, who could put aside the suggestion 
 of how much he was giving up in the way of oppor- 
 tunity and future success, with the few simple words, 
 " Yes, if this life were all:" — the high-toned officer, 
 wdiose face, as I watched it in earliest college days, 
 bore the marks of dignified and modest refinement, 
 and won for his steadfast moral nature confidence and 
 respect, that grew into admiration for the unpretending 
 service of duty ; — " Do as I do," he said, and stood up 
 upright and firm before the enemy's rifle-pits, when 
 the fatal Ijullet came : — The tw^o brave brothers, in 
 whose soul burned a flame of courage and manhood 
 unquenchable ; one, of whom it has been said, " he 
 might well stand as the typical young soldier of the 
 North," dying instantly, at the head of his men, in a 
 disastrous battle ; the other, wounded in the first 
 skirmish of the war, winning by his gallantry as 
 private soldier, a commission in the regular army, 
 doing great things to avert our heaviest disaster in 
 the West, giving up at last, by slow degrees of 
 wasting sickness, the life whose strength was spent 
 for his country : — two others, wdio singularly shared 
 a fate, in which uncertainty slowly rlarkened into 
 
15 
 
 assurance, that they were no more ; one, among our 
 youngest, bore from the University powers of mind 
 and native observation, which quickly raised him from 
 the unnoted station in which he had sought to serve 
 a great cause. Riding alone, he was set upon by a 
 band of guerillas, and disappeared from human sight, 
 leaving only a fresh and beautiful memory. The 
 other, educated in the best military discipline of 
 foreign schools, born for the profession of arms, with 
 his brigade of Regulars first stayed the hostile rush 
 at Chickamauga. Like a wall of rock his men stood 
 around him. He was seen sitting "on his horse, as cool 
 as ever, without changing face," while the volleying 
 line surged on toward him, — then with drawn sword, 
 surrounded by the foe. The waves of the conflict passed 
 over him, and when it had ebbed, no certain trace of 
 him remained Ijehind : — The bright, winning spirit 
 who took up the mysterious peril of a command over 
 colored troops, and, falling on that sand island which 
 cost so dear, was buried with his men ; his last 
 words being: "Follow your colors," as he himself had 
 followed the star of duty: — the rare, beautiful soul, 
 well-named " the gift of God," who hastened home 
 from the study of foreign culture, at the echo of war 
 heard across the Atlantic, the color-sergeant who fell 
 bearino; the Has: that he loved with his heart's l)lood : 
 
in 
 
 — he, who bore the highest rank of any who went out 
 from this place, idolized by his men, trusted by his 
 superior officers, whose warm, true nature glowed 
 with love of friends and of countrj', whose modesty 
 perfected his manliness but could not hide his worth 
 or his value to the countrj^, wdio gave up his life 
 in the great advance : — and yet two others, among 
 the youngest and the dearest that this church gave 
 to the cause, who fell just before the dawn of that 
 d.ay of Peace for whose coming they willingly died, 
 one in the victorious march of that army which 
 cut the Gordian knot of the war, slain in its last battle ; 
 the other, after wounds and ex^^osures, after months of 
 daily peril in the memorable siege, struck down by 
 almost the last shot that rang out from the expiring 
 Rebellion; both dying in the arms of victory. 
 
 Friends, forgive me if I touch too nearly the memo- 
 ries which are laid up in your hearts. Most of us, 
 indeed, do not need it. But it is well to remind 
 the younger among us of what was done and what 
 example was left by those who, out of the fifty-two (-) 
 sons of this church who went forth, never returned. 
 With us they live forever as they live with God, — 
 fidl of encouragement and example, privileged to be 
 household words on the lips of children's children. 
 
 (2) Sec Note B, p. 2.'^. 
 
17 
 
 ''(.)iir souls grow fine 
 Willi kcL'U viliratioiis t'roiu the touch ili\iuc 
 
 Of noble natures gone." 
 Sncli " obsequies 'tis meet 
 Not to seclude in closets of the heart, 
 But church-like, witli wide doorways, to impart 
 
 Even to the heedless street." 
 
 Let us thank God for them, for their self-devotion, 
 their trust, their truth. We will remember them 
 with reverent love while life endures, trusting that 
 then our memory shall be transformed into compan- 
 ionship. 
 
 But we should build the sej)ulchre of our dead not 
 only in a living memory of them, but also in learning 
 the lesson which they have for us. Everj^ true life is a 
 message from God to man ; especially so is every life 
 which goes dow^n to the ver}^ root of things, and touches 
 a great cause, and is transfigured by a great principle. 
 Not only does that which such men die for, become 
 eloquent through their deed, but the whole range of 
 spiritual truth is illuminated by it. 
 
 First of all, they teach us to esteem the eternal 
 relations of things. Since we have seen souls in face 
 of the loss of what the world counts dear, living 
 and dying for simple duty, for country, for God, — 
 duty, and country, and God have become facts 
 for us instead of visions. I remember that one 
 
 3 
 
18 
 
 said to me, speaking of the calm, triumphant deatli of 
 a dear friend of my own, that it was impossible to 
 comprehend how he, who had everything to live for, 
 could thus willingl}^ go out from life. It was just 
 because he had won faith, and so could set life and 
 death at their true value. The Chaplain 
 
 of the First Massachusetts Regiment says, that he 
 bent over a man wdio had been wounded in a 
 terrible battle. His shoulder was shattered, and 
 feeling his hand benumbed, he stuck a pin through his 
 hand, then, finding no sensation, looked up inquiringly. 
 "My good fellow," said the Chaplain, "it means that 
 you are dying." "Is that allf' was the answer. The 
 plain lesson is, that God is so near us that, if w^e fall, we 
 shall drop into His hand, — that life is good for naught 
 except as it is spent for good, — that the things are 
 real which are eternal. 
 
 And then, they teach us the worth of human nature. 
 This very humanity of which we are a part, often in 
 very rough, uncouth forms, was equal to the great 
 demand, and really showed that it w\as a child of God. 
 One who did noble service, writes, in her " Hospital 
 Days," "When the prisoners in the great j^ens (in 
 Macon jail) carved little trinkets, they Miad almost 
 nothing to work with, and when they made anything, 
 they put on it, Union, or Forever, or two clasped 
 
10 
 
 hands, to mean True till Death.' It is a prison 
 sign, as characteristic as the palm-branch of the Cata- 
 combs." Like unto this is the inscription which the 
 war burnt in upon many and many a soul, which by 
 suffering showed forth its own nobleness. Then was 
 made manifest the h)yalty, the essential truth of that 
 human soul which God has "made in His Hkeness," 
 crusted over though it may be with those things which 
 dull its light, yet still at heart "true until death" and 
 beyond it. 
 
 And yet again, the lesson that sacrifice is con- \ 
 summated in self-forgetfulness : that when we really 
 lose ourselves in a great cause, the loss is a gain. 
 It is not the giving ourselves to the service of duty 
 and God, because we find it most convenient to do 
 so : it is the giving ourselves up to it with a grand 
 passion. I shall never forget a noble fellow whom I 
 visited in Baltimore, among a great hospital full of 
 men, just brought North from that frightful exposure 
 of Belle Isle. Among the wrecks and fragments of 
 humanity, whose image haunts me often, I was at- 
 tracted to this one by a certain eager expression in 
 his look, and stopping beside him he told me his story, 
 and I wrote to his friends at home in Ohio. He told 
 what he had suffered, (Alas ! it was written on his poor 
 shattered body,) with an almost stoical calmness, till 
 I asked him how lie felt when he saw the flag again. 
 
20 
 
 Then a sudden rush of tears choked hnn for an 
 mstant, but recovering himself, he simply said, " I 
 would go through it all again for the same cause." 
 And all these teachings in their life and work bear 
 directly on the question, How we are to build their sep- 
 I ulchre. I answer : first, — the only worthy monument 
 is that which we build in our personal character. 
 We rear it when we learn, from their loyalty to 
 eternal relations, to bring God into our smaller lives, 
 — from the worth of their nature to make the human- 
 ity which God has given us more worthy, — from their 
 self-sacrifice, to subordinate ourselves every day. The 
 character which knows that it has been " bought with 
 . a price," and is hallowed and lifted up by that mys- 
 terious consecration, is a more precious memorial than 
 bronze. Persons sometimes say to me, 'Would that 
 it were possible for us to feel as in those days, when 
 the contagion of a great enthusiasm lifted us out of 
 ourselves, and we seemed to partake in a larger life.' 
 But God came to you then, in that great experience, 
 in order that he might be with you now. Surely, the 
 earnest of his presence with us then should be the 
 earnest of his continuance with us to-day. "Truly," 
 says old Rutherford, " no cross should be old to us ; 
 we should not forget them, because years are come 
 betwixt us and them, and cast them bv hand, as we do 
 
21 
 
 old clothes ; we may make a cross, old in time, new in 
 use, and as fruitM as in the beginning." 
 
 If thus, in hearts and lives that have taken up 
 these memorial lessons into their own being, we build 
 the memorial of our dead, we shall also be laying the 
 foundations of that larger commemoration, which 
 centuries will complete, in the life of the nation. 
 As '-the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the 
 Church," so is it with those who die for their country. 
 The nation takes up their life into its own, when its 
 children are renewed by these high examples. In 
 purity and disinterestedness of political life, in justice 
 and humanity of laws, in a public spirit of love and 
 fiiithfulness, " this mighty mother of us all," will bring 
 worthy sign of grateful remembrance to her sons' 
 graves, and show that they rightly counted her worth 
 dying for. When Athens was threatened Ijy the 
 enemy, Themistocles called every citizen, man and 
 woman, to the building of the walls, and quarried the 
 materials from the homes of the living and the tombs 
 of the dead. So shall the walls of this ransomed 
 America be builded to endure, if they are wrought 
 from our own lives and our dearest memories, cemented 
 by our prayers and our faith. 
 
 Nay, so shall we build, not walls or sepulchres alone, 
 but a temple for the living God. 
 
«:)<^> 
 
 Note A, p. 12. 
 
 The names inscribed on the monument in King's 
 Chapel, erected 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE YOUNG MEN OF KING'S CHAPEL 
 WHO DIED FOR THEIR COUNTRY. 
 
 18G1. 1865. 
 
 Are as ibllows : 
 
RICHARD GARY, 
 
 Captain 2nd Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Cedar Mountain, Va. Aug. 9, 1862, 
 
 JE. 26. 
 
 WARREN BUTTON RUSSELL, 
 
 First Lieut. 18th Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Bull Run, Va. Aug. 30, 1862, 
 
 M 22. 
 
 EDWARD H. ROBBINS REVERE, 
 
 Asst. Surgeon 20th Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Antietam, Md. Sept. 17, 1862, 
 
 JE. 35. 
 
 FRANKLIN MOODY ADAMS, 
 
 Private 8th Battery, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Wounded at So. Mountain, Md. Sept. 14, 1862, 
 
 Died Nov. 28, M. 20. 
 
 THEODORE PARKMAN, 
 
 Sergeant 45th Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Whitehall, N. C. Dec. 16, 1862, 
 
 ^. 25. 
 
 PAUL JOSEPH REVERE, 
 
 Colonel 20th Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Wounded at Gettysburg, Penn. July 2, 1863, 
 
 Died July 4, ^E. 31. 
 
 CABOT JACKSON RUSSEL, 
 
 Captain 54th Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Fort Wagner, S. G. July 18, 1863, 
 
 M. 18. 
 
ARTHUR CORTLANDT PARKER, 
 
 Second Lieut. 33d Regt. Infantry, Mass. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Warrenton, Va. Aug. 24, 1863, 
 
 M 23. 
 
 JAMES AMORY PERKINS, 
 
 First Lieut. 24th Regt. Inftintrj, Mass. Vols. 
 Killed at Fort Wagner, S. C. Aug. 26, 1863, 
 
 .E. 27. 
 
 SIDNEY COOLIDGE, 
 
 Major 16tli Regt. Infantry, U. S. A. 
 
 Killed at Chickamauga, Ga. Sept. 19, 1863, 
 
 JE. 33. 
 
 THOMAS GREELY STEVENSON, 
 
 Brigadier-General U. S. Vols. 
 
 Killed at Spottsylvania, Va. May 10, 1864, 
 
 jE. 28. 
 
 FRANCIS L. BUTTON RUSSELL, 
 
 First Lieut. 4tli Regt. Artillery, U. S. A. 
 
 Died May 11, 1864, 
 
 .E. 19. 
 
 SAMUEL STORROW, 
 
 First Lieut. 2nd Regt. Infontr}-, Mass. Vols. 
 Killed at Averysboro, N. C. March 16, 1865, 
 
 ^E. 21. 
 
 CHARLES JAMES MILLS, 
 
 Brevet Major U. S. Vols. 
 Killed near Petersburg, Va. March 31, 1865, 
 
 M. 24. 
 
Note B, p. 16. 
 
 To put on loermanent record the roll of honor of 
 the Sons of the Church who enoras-ed in the service 
 of their country and still survive, the following list 
 is given. There is not one whose military record is 
 not honorable to himself and to the cause in which 
 he took part. In this list are included the names 
 of several who formerly belonged to the Society 
 but ceased to do so previously to the war, and who 
 are recorded on the Baptismal Records of King's 
 Chapel, — among them, the names of one who died 
 from sickness and of two who fell in battle, but, not 
 being ' Young Men of the Church ' at that time, could 
 not be inscribed on the mural tablet. It has seemed 
 proper that these should be recorded here, with those 
 who were in past years their fellow-worshippers. The 
 names of several who have connected themselves with 
 the Society since the expiration of their period of 
 military service, are reluctantly omitted, as belonging 
 more properly to records elsewhere. 
 
24 
 
 *EDWARD STANLEY ABBOT. 
 
 2iid Lieutenant 17th IT. S. Infantry, Nov. !<•, 1SG2 ; 1st 
 Lieutenant, April 27, 1863; died, July 8, 18G3, of wounds 
 received at Gettysburg, Penn. 
 
 CHARLES WALTER AMORY. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 2ud Mass. Cavalry, April 9, 18G1; prisoner 
 at Aldie, Va., July 6, 1864 ; 1st Lieutenant, Sept. 9, 1864; 
 Captain, June 16, 1865 ; mastered out, August 1, 1865. 
 
 NATHAN APPLETON. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 5'th Mass. Battery, July 30, 1863 ; 1st Lieu- 
 tenant, June 19, 1864; wounded, May, 1864; resigned on 
 account of disability, August 25, 1864 ; Captain and A.D.C, 
 March 18, 1865. 
 
 HENRY BELKNAP. 
 
 Captain 18th U. S. Infantry, May 14, 1861 ; resigned, May 
 20, 1863. 
 
 HENRY JONES BLAKE. 
 
 Acting Midshipman, at U. S. Naval Academy, Sept. 29, 1858; 
 ordered into active service, June, 1861 ; attached to Admiral 
 Farragut's Flag-ship " Hartford," at New Orleans and Vicks- 
 burg ; Ensign, Feb. 24, 1863 ; Lieutenant, Feb. 22, 1864 ; 
 attached to iron-clad ''New Ironsides," at Fort Fisher; re- 
 signed, April, 1866. 
 
 CHARLES PICKERING BOWDITCH. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 55th Mass. Vols., May 23, 1863 ; 1st Lieu- 
 tenant, June 7,1863; Captain, June 29, 1863; Captain 5th 
 Mass. Cavalry, January 7, 1864; resigned on account of 
 disability, Aug. 23, 1864. 
 
 HENRY PICKERING BOWDITCH. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 1st JMass. Cavalry, Nov. 5, 1861 ; 1st Lieu- 
 tenant June 28. 1862; Captain, iNIay 13, 1863; wounded, 
 Nov., 1863; discharged, Feb. 15,1864; Major 5th Ma.^s. 
 Cavalry, March 26, 1864; resigned, June 3, IHC)"). 
 
Z^J 
 
 ALGERNON COOLIDGE, M. D. 
 
 Acting Ass't Surgeon U. S. V., at " Chesapeake " Hospital, 
 Va., and " Portsmouth Grove" Hospital, II. I., April, 1802 
 — May, 18G3 ; at " Armory Square " Hospital, Washington, 
 May, June, 1804. 
 
 CALEB AGRY CURTIS. 
 
 Acting Master U. S. N., September 1, 18C1, on the " Cuba " 
 and the " Potomska ;" Acting Master Commanding, IMay 1 , 
 18G3, on the " Memphis " and the "Flag;" resigned, Dec. 
 10, 1803. 
 
 GREELY STEVENSON CURTLS. 
 
 Captain 2nd Mass. Vols., May 11, 18G1 ; Major 1st 
 Mass. Cavalry, Oct. 31, 1801; Lieutenant-Colonel, Oct. 30, 
 1802; resigned, March 4, 1864, on account of disability ; 
 Brevet Colonel and Brigadier-General. 
 
 HERBERT PELHAM CURTIS. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 1st Mass. Cavalry, Dec. 19, 1861; 1st 
 Lieutenant and Adjutant, July 11), 1862; Captain, Jan. 2, 
 1864; Major and Judge-Advocate, June 20, 186.3; Brevet 
 Lieutenant-Colonel and Colonel ; still in service. 
 
 JAMES FREEMAN CURTIS. 
 
 IMajor 1st California Vols., 1861 ; Colonel 4th California 
 Vols., 1863 ; mustered out at end of war, 180-; ; Brevet 
 Brigadier-General. 
 
 HENRY ROGERS DALTON. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 14th Mass. Heavy Artillery, Feb. 12, 1.S62; 
 Acting Adjutant, April, 1862 ; Ass't Adjutant-General, with 
 rank of Captain, June 4. 1862, serving in " JMilitary Defences 
 south of the Potomac" until September, 1862, then in 3rd 
 Division 3rd Army Corps, and 1st Division 6th Army Corps ; 
 Ass't Adjutant-General, with rank of IMajor, in 1st Division 
 (Uh Army Corps. July 27, 1864; resigned, November 2-3, 
 1864. 
 
 GEORGE DERBY, M.D. 
 
 Surgeon 23rd Mass. A'ols., Sept. 11, 1861 ; Surgeon V. S. 
 \oh., June 2. 1H64 ; Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel, March IK, 
 ISC)."); inusterod out. .buiuary IS. iSCCi. 
 4 
 
FRANCIS LEE HIGGINSON. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant ')4th Mass. Vols., Febvuai'v 2cS, ISC);!; 1st 
 Lieutenant, April 14, 18(')-'j ; Captain, July lit, 18(').") ; Cap- 
 tain 5th Mass. Cavalry, January 30, 18G4 ; mustered out, 
 October 31, LSCj. 
 
 HENRY LEE HIGGINSON. 
 
 1st Lieutenant 2nd Mass. Vols., July 8, ISCil ; Cajjtain 1st 
 Mass. Cavalry, October 31, LSOl ; Major, INLarcli -iC, 18C)2 ; 
 wounded at Aldie Gap, June 17, 18G3 ; discharged for dis- 
 ability, August 9, 1804. 
 
 JAMES JACKSON HIGGINSON. 
 
 2nd Lieuteua'nt 1st Mass. Cavahy, Januarj^ G, 18 Go ; pris- 
 oner at Aldie Gap, Va., June 17, 18G3, and imprisoned at 
 Richmond, Va., till February 18 G4 ; 1st Lieutenant, Jan- 
 uary 4, 18G4; Captain, September 1, 1864; Brevet Major 
 IT. S. A^ols., April n, 18G5 ; resigned, May 27, 1865. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, Jr. 
 
 IMvate 4th Battery M. V. M., April, 18G1 ; 1st Lieuten- 
 ant 20th Mass. Vols., July 10, 18Gi ; Captain, March 23, 
 18G2; commissioned Lieutenant-Colonel (not mustered,) 
 July o, 18G3 ; A. D. C. on Major-General Wright's Stall", 
 January 2!>, 18G4 ; mustered out, July 17, 18G4. Wounded 
 at Ball's Bluff, October 22, 1861 ; at Antietam, vSeptember 
 17, 1862 ; at Marye's Hill, Fredericksburg, May 3, 18G3. 
 
 EDWARD WILLIAM HOOPER. 
 
 Captain and A. D. C, U. S. Vols., on Brigadier-General 
 Saxton's Staff, June 17, 1862; resigned. May 19, 18G5. 
 
 ^WILLIAM STURGIS HOOPER. 
 
 Volunteer A. D. C, Staff of Major-General Banks, 18(;2; 
 died at Boston, Sept. 23, 1863. 
 
 CHARLES EDWARD INCHES, M. D. 
 
 Ass't Surgeon 37th Mass. Vols., April 7, 1-SG.3 ; transferred 
 to 20th Mass. Vols., June, 1865 ; mustered out, Aug. 1, 1865. 
 
 PATRICK TRACY JACKSON, Jr. 
 
 2nd Tjieutcnant 1st Mass. Cavalry, April IG, 1863; 1st 
 Lieutenant, 5th JNIass. Cavalry, March 2,1 SGI; mustered 
 out, October 31, 1S6.") ; left the service, Dec. 1, 1S65, 
 
'11 
 
 FRANCIS L. LEE. 
 
 Colonel 44th Mass. Vols., 8ej)t. 12, 18G2 ; mustered out, 
 June 18, 1863. 
 
 JAMES WILLIAM PAIGE, Jr. 
 
 In the service of the U. S. Sanitary Commission at "Armory 
 Square" Hospital, Washington, in 18(32, and subsequently 
 at Fredericksburg, Potomac Creek, Gettysburg, City Point, 
 and Petersburg. 
 
 SCOLLAY PARKER. 
 
 Acting Ass't Surgeon U. S. N., on the " Tuscarora," Se[)teni- 
 ber 0, 18Go; resigned, March 0, 18G6. 
 
 WILLIAM WHITWELL PARKER. 
 
 1st Lieutenant 2nd INIass. Cavalry, Aug. 12, 18G3 ; Cai)tain, 
 June 3, 18G5 ; mustered out, July 20, 18G.3. 
 
 JOHN ELIOT PARKMAN. 
 
 Captain's Clerk in U. S. Navy, from May, 18G1, to January, 
 18G5; prisoner at Charleston, S. C, and Macon, Ga., from 
 Jan. 9, 1864, to September, 1864. 
 
 WILLIAM EDWARD PERKINS. 
 
 Sergeant Co. F, 44th Mass. Vols., September 12, 1862; 
 2nd Lieutenant 2nd Mass. Vols., January 2G, 1863 ; wounded 
 at Chancellorsville, Va., INIay 3, 18G3; 1st Lieutenant, July 
 7, 1863 ; Captain, March 17, 18G5 ; mustered out, July 14, 
 1865. 
 
 WILLIAM PRATT. 
 
 Captain 24th Mass. Vols., Sept. 2, 1861 ; Ass't Adjutant- 
 General in Brigadier-General Thomas G. Stevenson's Bri- 
 gade, 9th and 18th Army Corps, and 10th Army Corps, 
 Department of the South, June 26,1863; mustered out, 
 April 21, 1 864. 
 
 JOHN CHANDLER PUTNAM. 
 
 Captain 20th Mass. ^V)ls., July 10, 1861 ; wounded at Ball's 
 Bluff, Oct. 22, 1861 ; discharged on account of loss of riglit 
 arm, Oct. 6, 1863; Captain V. II. C, Oct. 29, 18(J3; resigned, 
 Jan. 15, 1865. 
 
28 
 
 SAMUEL MILLER QUINCY. 
 
 Captain 2nd Mass. A'ols.. May 24, 1861 ; wounded and pris- 
 oner at Cedar Mountain, Va., Aug. 9, 1862 ; Major, Sept. 1 7, 
 18G2 ; Colonel, Nov. D, 1862 ; discharged on account of dis- 
 ability from wounds, June 5, 1863 ; Lieutenant Colonel 1st 
 Regt. Corps d'Afrique, (7.3rd V. S. C. T.,) Oct. 20, 1863; 
 Colonel, INIay 24, 1864; Colonel, (after consolidation,) 96th 
 U. S. C. T., until mustered out; Colonel, 81st U. 8. C. T., 
 January 11. 1866; Brevet Brigadier-General, U. 8. Vols., 
 ' for gallant and meritoi'ious services during the war,' IMay 
 22, 1866 ; mustered out, Nov. 30. 1866. 
 
 THOMAS P. RICH, Jr. 
 
 Private, Co. I, 4."nh Mass. Vols., Oct. 8, 1862 ; mustered out, 
 July 8, 1863. 
 
 CHARLES SPRAGUE SARGENT. 
 
 Volunteer A. D. C, on Staff of Major-General Banks, 
 November 1, 1862; 1st Lieutenant 2nd Louisiana Vols., June 
 25, 1862 ; Captain and A. D. C, V. S.Vols., March lo, 1865. 
 
 DANIEL SARGENT. 
 
 2nd Lieutenant 24th Mass. Vols., Sept. 2,1861; wounded 
 at Newbern, N. C, March 14, 1862 ; 1st Lieutenant, Jan. 19, 
 1863; Captain, Sept. 3. 1864 ; discharged, Oct. 14, 1864; 
 declined promotion. 
 
 ROBERT HOOPER STEVENSON. 
 
 INIajor 24th Mass.Vols., Sept. 2, 1861 ; wqunded at Newbern, 
 N.C., March 14, 1862; Lieutenant-Colonel, Dec. 28, 1862; 
 discharged. May 31, 1864 ; Brevet Colonel and Brevet Brig- 
 adier-General 'for gallant and meritorious services at battles 
 of Roanoke Island and Newbern. N. C.,' March 15, 1865, 
 
 CHARLES STORROW. 
 
 Captain 44th Mass. \'ols., Sv]^t. 12, 1.S62; mustered out, 
 June 18, 1863, 
 
 ^FLETCHER WEBSTER. 
 
 Colonel 12th Mass. Vols., June 26. 1861 ; killed at Bull 
 Run, Va., Aug. 30, 1862. 
 
 SAMUEL K. WILLIAMS, Jr. 
 
 Lieutenant 4;)rd Ohio Vols., June, 1861 ; Captain and 
 Major of Cavalry ; injured by fall of his horse and trans- 
 ferred to y. ]\. C. ; mustered out at end of war. l.S(;5. 
 
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