The two colored regiments enlisted, equipped, and sent forth by
Massachusetts have returned home and been mustered out. Officers and
privates are now dispersed. The last music has died away. Of these
two famous regiments, which made such a mark on the times, nothing
now remains but the memory. This cannot die; for it belongs to the
history of a race. But all who went have not returned. The youthful
hero, so gentle and true, who was selected by the Governor to command
the Fifty-Fourth Regiment, fell at the head of his men on the very
parapets of the Rebel enemy, and was buried in the sand with his humble
companions in arms,--thus in death, as in life, sharing their fortunes.
Family, parents, wife, were left to mourn. As was said of “Bonnie
George Campbell,” in the beautiful Scotch ballad,--
“Hame cam’ his gude horse,
But never cam’ he.”
Few who were in Boston at the time can forget that pleasant day in
May, when this colored regiment, with Colonel Shaw riding proudly at
its head, passed by the State-House, where it had been equipped and
inspired. Cheers and the waving of handkerchiefs greeted it. There
were tears also. It was a joyous and a sad sight to see this new
legion, acquired to the national service, promptly marching to its
distant and perilous duty, under a commander who, turning away from
the blandishments of life, consecrates himself to his country. Nor was
another consecration forgotten. It was to the redemption of a race.
Massachusetts had sent forth many brave regiments; but here was the
first regiment of colored soldiers marshalled at the North. It was an
experiment, destined to be an epoch. By the success of this regiment a
whole race was elevated. As he went forth, it became less an incident
of war than an act of magnanimity and moral grandeur. Sidney, who
refused the cup of cold water, was one of our young hero’s predecessors.
Not long after came tidings of the bloody assault on Fort Wagner,
when, by an advance without parallel over an open beach, exposed to a
storm of shot and shell, these new-made soldiers of a despised color,
sleepless, dinnerless, supperless, vindicated their title as bravest of
the brave. They had done what no other troops had done during the war.
This was their Bunker Hill, and Shaw was their martyred Warren. Though
defeated, they were yet victorious. The regiment was driven back; but
the cause was advanced. The country learned to know colored troops,
and they learned to know themselves. From that day of conflict nobody
doubted their capacity or courage as soldiers. There was sorrow in
Massachusetts as we were told how many had fallen, and that the beloved
officer so recently admired in our streets was sleeping in an unknown
grave; but even this sorrow did not blind an intelligent people to the
magnitude of the event. Grief was chastened by honest pride. Swelling
hearts were soothed by the thought that much had been done for humanity.
A desire arose at once for a monument to commemorate alike the hero
and the event. But the Rebellion was then raging. It was no time for
monuments. At last, with the overthrow of the Rebel arms, the time
seems to have arrived. The youthful commander still sleeps with his
comrades in death. There let him sleep. Westminster Abbey has no
resting-place more honorable. But his patriotic sacrifice and the great
event deserve commemoration, as well for gratitude as for example. Some
propose a monument on the spot where he fell. This may be made; but
it can be only a mound or pile of stones, to be seen by ships as they
enter the harbor of Charleston. This is not enough. It will not tell
the whole story.
The monument should be in Massachusetts, where the hero was born, and
where the regiment was also born. Each belonged to Massachusetts,--the
martyr by double title: first, as he drew his breath here, and,
secondly, as he commanded this regiment of Massachusetts. Let the
monument be here. Of course, no common stone or shaft will be
sufficient. It must be of bronze. It must be an equestrian statue. And
there is a place for it. Let it stand on one of the stone terraces
of the steps ascending from Beacon Street to the State-House. It was
in the State-House that the regiment was equipped and inspired. It
was from the State-House that the devoted commander rode to death.
Let future generations, as long as bronze shall endure, look upon
him there riding always, and be taught by his example to succor the
oppressed and to surrender life for duty. Especially let legislators of
Massachusetts, by daily sight of the symbolic statue, be gratefully led
to constant support of the cause for which he died. Here is a theme for
Art, and its elements are youth, beauty, self-sacrifice, death, and a
great cause.
On the Continent of Europe, by general usage, only members of a
royal family are allowed the honor of an equestrian statue. In the
unequalled monument by Rauch, at Berlin, the royal Fritz is mounted,
but his generals are about him standing. Near by is Blücher, who was
prince and marshal, also standing. In England there are equestrian
statues of kings, and of the Duke of Wellington. But this is no reason
why a grateful people should not decree an equestrian statue to a
youthful hero, whose duty was on horseback, and who was last seen in
our streets on horseback. As an American citizen he belonged to our
sovereignty, and we fitly celebrate him with the highest honors. Few
belonging to any royal family have so good a title. In the Republics
of Italy, during the early ages, when royalty did not exist, there
were equestrian statues. The first of these in merit, and one of the
first in time, was the renowned statue in bronze of the _condottiere_
Bartolommeo Coleoni, who, after a lapse of centuries, is still admired
as he rides bravely in a public square of Venice, while the artist has
secured the immortality of his own name by engraving it upon the girth
of the saddle. It is sometimes said, on doubtful authority, that this
early chieftain was the first to mount cannon on wheels, so that they
could be used in the field. But our chieftain did more than mount
cannon, and the triumphant experiment with which his name is linked
surpasses far anything in the life of an Italian trooper. His act was
above any triumph of battle. It was a victory of ideas, and belongs to
the sacred history of Humanity.
Let the monument be made. Boston has a sculptor without a superior
among living artists, whose soul and genius would be in the work.
Already a colored person, well known among us, with a heart full of
gratitude, has subscribed five hundred dollars. Other colored persons
are contributing in smaller sums, according to their means. They
properly lead now in tribute to him who died in leading them. But
others of ampler means must see that this generous effort does not
fail. I should not suggest this, if I thought that I should take away
from other things deserving aid. The present charity is so peculiar,
that it appeals equally to all who are moved by patriotism, by
gratitude, by sympathy, or by Art.
This article was followed by a public meeting in the Council
Chamber of the State-House, at the invitation of Governor
Andrew, to consider the proposition of an equestrian statue in
honor of Colonel Shaw. The following committee was appointed
to collect subscriptions and superintend the erection of the
statue: John A. Andrew, Charles Sumner, Joshua B. Smith,
Charles R. Codman, Samuel G. Howe, Robert B. Storer, Frederick
W. Lincoln, Jr., James L. Little, William W. Clapp, Jr.,
Charles Beck, Rev. Leonard A. Grimes, Peleg W. Chandler,
William G. Weld, Edward Atkinson, Charles W. Slack, Robert E.
Apthorp, Henry Lee, Jr., Edward W. Kinsley, George B. Loring,
LeBaron Russell, Henry I. Bowditch.
At a meeting of this committee, Charles Sumner, Samuel G. Howe,
Charles Beck, George B. Loring, LeBaron Russell, Henry I.
Bowditch, and Charles R. Codman were appointed a sub-committee
to select an artist, to contract with him, to secure a proper
place for the statue, and to superintend its erection.