YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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Kaelcett, Franlc Warren
Memorial address delivered
Portsmouth, 189 3#

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MEMORIAL ADDRESS

FRANK WARREN HACKETT

WITH PORTRAITS OF
REHR HD2&IRHL CRHYEJS arid
HENRY LHKEMHN RICHHRDS

Memorial Address

DELIVERED MAT 30 1892 AT

PORTSMOUTH NEW HAMPSHIRE

STORER POST NO. i

GRAND AEMY OF THE REPUBLIC

FRANK WARREN HACKETT

PORTSMOUTH
MERCER GOODRICH
1893

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MEMORIAL ADDRESS.

Again does this land, from ocean to ocean, wit
ness the inspiring sight of a people laying aside
the cares and the strife of their working-day exist
ence, to unite in one vast chorus of gratitude to
the memory of the saviors of their country; and of
invocation and praise to Him who giveth us the
victory, who hath the nation in His keeping.
Memorial Day ! How solemn, and yet how sweet
its associations ! Solemn, for it bids us pause and
measure, each for himself, the duty that he owes in
person to a common country. Sweet, since it opens
the flood-gates of memory to a tide of tender emo
tion, and brings before us in the bloom of his early
manhood, his face aglow with patriotic ardor, the
comrade, the friend, the brother, who welcomed
death in order that the Union might live.
Our heroes — can we ever forget them! In
church-yard; on rugged hillside; in smiling valley;
by the corner of the field on the old homestead; on
many a lonely spot far, far away from kindred; in
the serried ranks of cemetery, cared for and watched
over by a Nation, or in graves unknown, they
lie sleeping — a mighty host! The bosom of this
historic soil shelters not a few, in whose perpetual
honor stands yonder figure, on base of New Hamp
shire granite. In the fulness of strength, erect and

proud with high resolve, they went 'forth out of
these streets to do battle for the Union. It was at
the call of duty that they went — duty,
" Stern daughter of the voice of God."
Silently now do they all await the dawning of
the last, great day.
We would fain keep green the memory of each
soldier and sailor, and thank him for what he did,
and for what he was. And so, at this glad season,
we search out his last earthly resting-place; and
reverently, with eye not undimmed, we lay God's
own flowers there.
A simple act. But oh, how eloquent to voice a
gratitude profound for all that their loyalty, their
valor, their nobility of soul has rendered possible
for us, and for our children's children.
And you, my friends of a later generation, you,
who are too young to have heard the echoing guns
of the great struggle; you, who can picture to
yourselves the scenes of that mighty conflict, only
because you have drunk in the story from books,
or given ear, it may be, while some elder has recited
the tale, — did you, too, not feel the warm blood
pulsating through your veins, when to-day it was
permitted you to look upon the ranks (now, alas,
fast thinning!) of the veteran survivors, as once
more in military order they have followed the flag,
to the music of fife and drum?
It was a custom with the Athenians, at the end
of a campaign (so Thucydides tells us) , to bury in
the beautiful suburb of Ceramicus, with public
honors, the bones of those who had fallen in battle.

A vast concourse of mourners and spectators, upon
the occasion of these solemn rites, listened in the
open air to the eulogy pronounced by some eminent
citizen, whom they had chosen as their orator.
Such were the circumstances under which Pericles
delivered his renowned funeral oration, where oc
curs that sublime passage : " Of illustrious men the
whole earth is the sepulchre, signalized not alone
by the inscription of the column in their native
land, but in lands not their own, by the unwritten
memory which dwells with every man of the spirit
more than of the deed." Hearken to the majestic
Webster, in like strain, addressing his countrymen
at Bunker Hill : " We are among the sepulchres of
our fathers; we are on ground distinguished by
their valor, their constancy, and the shedding of
their blood." And it was to inspire the living, no
less than to honor the dead, that Abraham Lincoln
uttered words at Gettysburg, that the world now
knows by heart. The democracy of to-day, like
that of the past, yields its highest honors to him
who has deserved well of his country.
Yes, a deep and pervading sentiment of our
nature bids us keep alive the name and the fame of
each brave spirit, who has laid a last, great sacri
fice upon the altar of country. It is the element of
unselfishness in the deed that makes it gracious.
" Greater love hath no man than this, that a man
lay down his life for his friends." Our Revolution
ary fathers, and the preservers of the Union, alike
are consecrated in the hearts of the American
people. The former gained our liberties, and made
self-government a living reality. The latter res-

cued self-government from threatened overthrow,
and set it upon the firm foundation of an indis
soluble Union.
The War of the Rebellion will ever remain a land
mark in the history of civilization; for it was a
conflict between two phases of civilization, — be
tween the slavery of a past, and the progress and
enlightenment of a new, era. But the occasion for
bids our dwelling upon the meaning of the war
itself. To-day our thoughts cluster around some
fair-haired youth, who yielded up his life on field
or deck.
To live over again those days, which in misty
recollection seem but a dream, — the leaving home
and its endearments ; the ready submission to dis
cipline in camp, on the march, on shipboard; the
patient endurance, the wondrous fortitude in hos
pital, in prison, in the hour of battle; the equal
(nay, was it not ofttimes the greater?) heroism of
those at home, — parents who bade their sons God
speed, young wives their husbands, and then turned
to take up without murmur the daily burden of
absence, awaiting with blanched cheek the bulletins
from the front; and, at last, accepting with a resig
nation born of lofty courage, the dread tidings that
left no ray of hope. To revive these scenes — what
is it but to kindle afresh in our hearts the sacred
flame of love of country?
For the part that New Hampshire took in putting
down the Rebellion, her record shines with a lustre
that time shall never dim. When our misguided
brothers fired the fatal shot at Sumter, fortunately
for the State, she had in the person of her chief

magistrate a man of energy, and a patriot of purest
instinct. He lost not a moment in parleying about
forms of statute authority. He acted. He shoul
dered responsibilities, and he did it with alacrity.
While the country claims him as a bright star in the
galaxy of war governors, this community in no
narrow sense shares in the honor that invests his
name. As in 1776, Portsmouth gave one of her
merchants — John Langdon — to the cause of the
Revolution; so, in 1861, she gave to the Union that
peerless defender of the flag — Ichabod Goodwin!
What troops were sent more promptly into the
field than hers? What better equipped, better
cared for? The skill and intrepidity of her officers,
the valor and endurance of her men — where, I
ask, where in military annals are they surpassed?
When, for example, soldiers from other parts of
the country spoke of New Hampshire's " gallant
Second " and " fighting Fifth," they meant to em
ploy no mere holiday epithet. Of the former — a
regiment mustered into service here, and to which
this city furnished a company — I have lately been
told an incident that shows of what stuff our brave
boys were made. It was at the battle of Groveton,
better known as the second battle of Bull Run.
Without a support, the Second New Hampshire,
consisting of but little more than three hundred
men, was to attack the enemy at a most dangerous
position. My informant, Private Dillon of the color
company, heard each word that his colonel uttered,
indelibly engraved as it ever since has been upon
his memory: "Soldiers of New Hampshire, your
country expects desperate work of you to-day!

Cast not one thought toward home. Think of God
and your country. Stand firm as your granite
hills!" Then rang out the order for the charge;
and Gilman Marston asked no man to go where he
himself was not ready to lead the way! With sus
tained impetuosity the line of bayonets swept for
ward, in spite of fearful loss. So superb was the
onset that Stonewall Jackson, whose men gave way,
was moved to speak of it in terms of generous ad
miration. Did time allow, how gladly would we call up the
name and the figure of each brave son of Ports
mouth, who, at the call of his country, sprang to
arms. Let me allude, however, to one shining
exemplar, as the perfect type of an unstudied hero,
a true soldier, a knight beyond reproach. Well do
I remember him. An athlete, full-chested; an eye
beaming with animation; a voice deep, but gentle;
in manner, courteous, — his noble physique was the
fit home of the graces of a Christian gentleman.
If ever a man gave to the state in her hour of need
all that he had, unsullied by a thought of self, it
was he. Suited to command, with the opportunity
only too readily open to him to hold a commission,
he chose to serve in the rank's. To enlist in a
company of sharpshooters, he walked hence to Con
cord and back. The field of Gettysburg, crim
soned with the blood of so many a martyr to the
cause of human liberty, saw no spirit more noble
wing its flight, than that of our lion-hearted towns
man, Henry Lakeman Richards.
How shall we breathe a long farewell to three
wearers of the blue, whom to-day we specially miss;

9
into whose familiar faces we never again may look;
three, who, after attesting their manhood in the
field, sheathed the sword to prove that, valiant as
soldiers, they could be no less worthy of admiration
as citizens, — Hodgdon, Thacher, Goodrich ! Faith
ful in arms, as ye were respected and honored in
life, so are ye now mourned, and lovingly remem
bered. The laurels of the Navy, how fair a share belongs
to the.Pascataqua! Would that we might enter
even so much as upon the threshold of the narra
tive; might tell of many a stately ship, her guns
thundering for the stars and stripes, whose virgin
keel had kissed the waters of this beautiful river;
might tell of the sturdy arms and stout hearts of
sailors, whose home was on these shores, from the
days of John Paul Jones — down to the splendid
achievement of the - ever-memorable Kearsarge.
Would that I might speak of Craven, born here,
who went down with his iron-clad, scorning to save
his own at the cost of another's life. "After you,
pilot ! " is his glowing eulogy. Of Farragut, who
here breathed his last, leaving a fame secure. Of
him who fought the Brooklyn, that other Craven,
who returned hither to pass declining years, amid
the scenes he loved so well in boyhood. Of Storer
and Pearson, of Parrott and Pickering, of Thorn
ton, of Bradford, of Yates, and of many another
gallant spul, who served his country well. Long be
their memory cherished! May a sense of their
sterling virtues inspire generations yet to come!
The crowning lesson that the personal heroism
of the war period teaches, you have already antici-

10
pated. It is the lesson of the supreme force of the
moral idea in public affairs. When rebellion came,
it found the people of the Union states busily en
gaged in the work of developing a magnificent em
pire. We were extending our lines of traffic, sub
duing the prairie, building railroads, calling into
being towns — destined to grow into populous cities.
The South had been led to believe that here was a
race of money-getters, with instincts not extending
beyond love of gain; that "the Yankees" would
purchase peace at any price. Such an illusion, if it
ever existed at the North, vanished with the smoke
of that first rebel gun that, in the harbor of Charles
ton, dared send its iron message of treason to insult
the flag. The uprising of the people to defend that
flag, the outburst of patriotic enthusiasm — who
that witnessed the spectacle, who that felt the thrill,
can find words wherewith to tell of it to another?
That love of country, blazing like beacon fire on
mountain top, and then burning with the steady
glow of a pure, vestal flame of the temple, — think
you it came all suddenly into men's hearts? Should
time have it in store (far distant be the day!) that
the Republic in her need shall call upon her sons
to defend her against a foreign foe, think you that
the ardor, and the sacrifice, of a patriot's devotion
will be wanting?
But what application, you ask, has this in time
of peace? What has love of country to do with
practical every-day affairs? It has everything to
do, my friends ; and let me tell you how it manifests
its presence.
First and foremost, a man must realize that he

11
has a country; realize that he\has been put into the
world to live, not for himself and his family alone,
not for a little circle of immediate friends and
neighbors — but for humanity; that the range of
his duty reaches out far beyond the borders of his
own town — beyond his State, clear to the confines
of the dwelling-place of a whole great Nation.
The man who loves his country learns to look upon
an American as his brother. If the crop be bounti
ful in Kansas, he shall rejoice; if floods devastate a
region of the Mississippi, he shall sorrow and
hasten to give aid. He does not shut his eyes to
what goes on in the world around. He thinks that
he has no right to immerse himself in private busi
ness, to the total neglect of public duties. He is a
good citizen. "A good citizen." The term is full
of meaning to him who stops and reflects. He
goes to the caucus ; he goes to the polls, and votes ;
and he does it in the proud conviction that he is
exercising the privilege of a freeman. With a
jealous eye he guards that privilege. He asks
himself, What are my public duties ? What can I
do, here and now, as my part in preserving, and
transmitting to my descendants, this, heritage ines
timable of self-government ?
He reverences the names of Washington and of
Lincoln. He is a firm believer in democratic insti
tutions. He trusts the people; and though occa
sionally a wave of popular feeling sets, as it seems
to him, in the wrong direction, he does not wring
his hands and despair of the republic. Is he called
to fill public office — he aims to serve the people, not
himself. Has he sons — he brings them up as

12
Americans. He does'' hot, in senseless phrase, tell
them that theirs is the greatest and best country in
the world; he rather points out to them the many
blessings guaranteed by the Constitution; explains
the advantage that the youth of America have over
those who are growing up in foreign lands; and
bids them with grateful heart be true to the doc
trines that the fathers have made the foundation
stones of our national edifice.
Is it not plain that " the moral idea " animates
and vitalizes all that is best and highest to-day in
our public life? Does not the same spirit that made
men heroes in '61, abide with us still?
Members of the Post: You who are spared to
take part in these befitting exercises, your presence
testifies that at this very moment the love of country
burns not less dim in your hearts, than in the hour
when you faced the shot and shell of a brave and
desperate enemy. The sight of you is itself an
inspiration to duty.
Young men, just entering upon the responsibili
ties of life, do not dismiss love of country from
your thoughts, as a thing unpractical, fanciful.
Look deeper. Study the example of that noble
fellow who carried a musket in the days of a
nation's peril. Satisfy yourselves what it was that
bade him leave home; nerved him to face danger,
and suffer untold hardship; what it was that has
earned for him, living or dead, a gratitude that
only grows deeper and firmer, as the years go by.
Learn that what sweetens the toil, alike of the
humblest laborer and of the most exalted statesman,
is an abiding sense of duty loyally performed.

APPENDIX.

HENRY LAKEMAN RICHARDS.
[From the Portsmouth Journal, July 18, 1863.]
It pains us to say that this noble-hearted man is no more. At
the commencement of the Rebellion he offered his services in de
fence of his country. Though possessing sterling ability, he sought
no high position, but only that in which he was confident of being
most useful. When requested to take a commission, his reply was,
"No, I had rather be a good soldier than a poor officer." When
the company of sharpshooters was forming at Concord, he went on
foot to that place from Portsmouth ; was examined, accepted, and
he returned home in the same way, to fit up for his departure.
After an absence with the army of fourteen months, in which time
he was exposed in severe engagements, he came home wounded in
November last.
As soon as his health would permit, he again joined the army,
on the Rappahannock, and on the 2d of July, at the battle of
Gettysburg, was severely wounded in his knee by a Minie ball.
After remaining on the ground all night, he was taken up and
carried to the hospital, where amputation was performed, while
under the influence of chloroform, from the effects of which he
did not revive. His age was thirty-eight. His remains will proba
bly reach here in a few days, and the performance of the last sad
rites will bring feelings of heartfelt sorrow to our whole community.
And now, and in all future time, as those who knew him well
pass under the shade which is just beginning to be made by the
long range of trees in Auburn street [now Richards avenue] they
will be reminded of the one who selected and with his own hand
placed them there, to cheer the passage to the cemetery ; and the
name of the noble Richabds will be as green in their memory as
the leaves which every returning spring will renew.

14
[From an address by Joseph Hiller Foster, at the Unitarian Sunday
School, Portsmouth, July 28, 1863.]
Of the friend for whose remains I undertook this journey [to
Gettysburg] 1 would say a few words ; for, although never a mem
ber of this school, his character was one that you may all well take
as a model, especially the boys.
Pure, upright, honest, brave, never as a boy do I remember
hearing from his lips any profane or indecent word ; and as a man
all that which was in the least tainted with impurity was most ab
horrent to him. A lie, or anything inconsistent with the strictest
honesty and uprightness of word or deed, was his utter detestation.
Brave as any soldier in the army, and meeting his death at last
because he would not fall back when his comrades did, he yet
feared sin ; nor did he ever, even in his youth, regard it as any
mark of courage to do what he knew was wrong or would displease
his parents or his God.
He eminently obeyed the precept : " Be kindly affectioned one
to another with brotherly love, in honor preferring one another."
His little acts of kindness at home, to neighbors, and to all with
whom he was connected, were of constant occurrence ; himself he
did not consider when another was to be helped. When at home
last winter with a wounded leg, he walked several miles to obtain
flowers for a poor, sick woman, who had not the remotest claim
upon him but her -distress and poverty. His modesty and retiring
disposition were as conspicuous as his kindness. He refused a
commission in the army, saying that he knew he could be a good
soldier, and that was better than to be a poor officer; although
friends well knew that whatever position he might take he would
fill it well. But for him the toils of life are over ; for him we can
well quote the hymn :
" Go to the grave ; at noon from labor cease ;
Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest task is done ;
Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,
Soldier, go home ; with thee the fight is won."
[From a private letter of Maj. E. T. Rowell, of Lowell, Mass.,
Feb. 1, 1893.]
"I enlisted Richards at Concord ; and from the day I first met
him till his death, I had the greatest respect for him. I never was
in his presence but I was impressed with his superior qualities as a
man and patriot."

15
Rear Admiral Craven, U. S. N.
Portsmouth will ever hold in reverential regard the name of
Richards, as that of one who proved himself, in the best sense of
the word — a hero.
It is to be regretted that efforts, made in various directions to
obtain a likeness of him to accompany this memorial publication,
have been unsuccessful. Surely no man's portrait is more worthy
of being displayed in some conspicuously public place at Ports-
mouth, as an incentive to youth, and as a reminder of the gratitude
with which his pure and fervent patriotism is remembered in his
native town.
Fortunately the opportunity has favored, however, for reproduc
ing from an excellent photograph, the features of an eminent offi
cer, whose associations with Portsmouth were unusually close and
tender. The late Rear- Admiral Thomas Ttngey Craven, United
States Navy, (1808-1887), looked upon this region as his home.*
In this town he was a school-boy; later, in 1821, the names of
Thomas Tingey Craven and of his younger brother, Alfred Win-
gate Craven, appear on the catalogue of Phillips Exeter Academy,
as students from Portsmouth.
The admiral's services to his country during the war for the
Union are too well known to need recital here. Upon his retire-
ment from active duty, he sought a home in this locality, at Eittery
Point, on the banks of the Pascataqua, and for a while he lived at
Portsmouth. It has been thought, therefore, that a portrait of Admiral Cra
ven would lend additional interest to these pages, now that the
address is presented in a more enduring form.
* His brother, Tunis Augustus Macdonough Craven, the commander of the
Tecumseh, in Mobile Bay, was born here January 11, 1813.

16
POSTSCRIPT.
While these sheets were passing through the press, word came
from a niece of Mr. Richards, living at Newark, New Jersey, that
a small, and poorly executed picture of her uncle had most unex
pectedly been brought to light. An enlarged copy has been taken
at literally the last moment, — with what result the reader may see
in the " half-tone " that faces the Appendix.
The work of reproducing the picture has been accomplished with
a wonderful degree of skill ; and yet we are reluctant to admit that,
notwithstanding the many serious defects but too readily apparent
in the copy, we must accept it as the only impression that can be
had. Those persons now living, who can remember Henry Richards
need not be told that the strength of feature, the exuberant joy
of perfect health, and an indescribable attractiveness of the eye, —
all these and more, alas, are here lacking. It used to be said of
Henry Richards in his younger days that his countenance reminded
you of the portraits of Lord Byron. A manly resemblance, how
ever, it must have been. The face that we now look upon will bear
much idealization before it speaks to us of the high-born qualities
that made their home in the original.