It was at First Parish Church, that Chamberlain first set eyes on the pretty, dark-haired Frances Caroline Adams--known to friends and family as Fannie. She was the adopted daughter of First Parish Church's pastor, the Rev. George Adams; Fannie had been born and raised in Boston, but was sent at a very young age to live with her father's nephew and his wife. Chamberlain fell head-over-heels in love with Fannie, a very well-educated young woman herself, skilled in both music and art. She was also very strong-willed and rather fond of "fancy things", like elaborate clothes and furs. It was not an easy courtship: it seemed at times that Dr. Adams didn't think that Chamberlain was "good enough" for his daughter, although that would change with time. There also seems some indication that Fannie did not have the same strong feelings towards Chamberlain as he did towards her. It also seems she was even considering a platonic marriage, after the couple finally became engaged in the fall of 1852. They agreed to marry after Chamberlain's graduation from Bowdoin, and after he completed three years of study at Bangor Theological Seminary. Plus, Fannie herself would be gone; she spent the three years of their engagement in Milledgeville, Georgia, teaching voice at a girls' school, giving private piano lessons and playing the organ at a Presbyterian church. Fannie returned from Georgia in August 1855, in time to see her fiancé graduate from Bangor Theological Seminary, and take his Masters' Degree from Bowdoin (he'd received his Bachelor's Degree in 1852). He was also invited to give the Masters' Oration at Bowdoin's commencement in 1855. The speech, entitled "Law and Liberty" was a resounding success--a decidedly marked contrast to his first public speech at his 1852 graduation! At that particular ceremony, the combination of excitement, the presence of distinguished guests (including Fannie), and no text to read from caused his stammer to threaten to return:

Thankfully, his "Law and Liberty" ovation produced much better results! In the wake of the success of the speech, Chamberlain was offered part of the work in the Department of Revealed and Natural Religion at Bowdoin (Professor Stowe was leaving to take another post at Yale). When the next term opened at Bowdoin, he was an instructor in Logic and Natural Theology and, as tutor, was in charge of Freshman Greek. A modest beginning to his career, and respectable enough. Chamberlain and Fannie were finally married on December 7, 1855, at First Parish Church by Dr. Adams, despite Dr. Adams' deep reservations about the marriage (although he now regarded his new son-in-law with affection). The newlyweds were ecstatically happy. In October 1856, Fannie gave birth to their first child: a daughter they named Grace Dupee. In November 1857 she gave birth three months early to a son, who only lived a few hours; it was a very sad Thanksgiving in the Adams house that year. But in October 1858 another son was born; after some anxious moments, the boy grew healthily and was named Harold Wyllys. Two other daughters would be born--Emily Stelle in the spring of 1860, and Gertrude Loraine, born in the fall of 1865, but both would die before their first birthdays.

As the Civil War approached, it looked as if Chamberlain's life was almost perfect: he had a beautiful wife, two children he adored, and was considered an "up-and-coming" professor at Bowdoin College. By this time he was teaching Rhetoric at the college, along with German and Spanish--and he was also working hard on some new ideas for teaching his Rhetoric students the uses and appreciation of their native language, while developing their powers of expression by encouragement and stimulation of their undergraduate minds. He'd also bought a house, after years of living in rented rooms: a modest, but roomy, Federal-style 1 1/2 story 'Cape', with a beautiful garden.

During this time, Chamberlain also suffered a terrible personal loss: his brother Horace, an up-and-coming young lawyer, died of tuberculosis on December 7, 1861--Joshua and Fannie's sixth wedding anniversary. He had a very hard time dealing with Horace's death. He expressed his thoughts about death in a letter to his sister Sae in early 1862: "So it is not after all for him, as it is for the thought of the thing, for myself, and for us all, that I feel sad. That he should be cut down at the very opening of his career, and when he had so much reason to anticipate a prosperous course. Seems almost against the order of nature. For him I have no doubt, the change is not a sad one. I do not think for a moment that it is not infinitely better for him, and that having once passed the great boundary he had no wish to be here again." By this time, however, critical national issues overshadowed personal concerns and sorrows. The issue of slavery, and its westward expansion, caused emotional debate and violence for decades. The 1860 election of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States signaled to many Southerners the death knell to their way of life. One by one, eleven Southern states eventually seceded and declared themselves a new country: the Confederate States of America. First and foremost in Chamberlain's political beliefs was that the United States was a Union of one people; the people living in the United States constituted the people of the United States, and all formed the Indivisible Union. When secession came, he said: "...it was no peaceful separation; it was war upon the Union; and that meant the destruction of the United States--body, life and being". On April 12, 1861, the guns of the state of South Carolina opened fire on the United States' Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor, and the country was doomed to civil war. Thousands of men flocked to President Lincoln's call for troops to preserve the Union and their country. At Bowdoin College, some upperclassmen enlisted immediately. Other students organized drill companies, such as the Bowdoin Guard and the Bowdoin Zouaves. Bowdoin's alumni flocked to the colors as well; in the end, nearly 300 Bowdoin men would serve the Union cause. As time went on, it was clear this war would not be a short one--and an "irresistible impulse" began to stir in Chamberlain himself, to get involved in the conflict. On July 14, 1862, he wrote a letter to Maine's governor, Israel Washburn, which read, in part: "To His Excellency Governor Washburn: In pursuance of the offer of reinforcements for the war, I ask if Your Excellency desires and will accept my service". Washburn knew both Chamberlain's grandfather and father--the former, a colonel of militia in the War of 1812; the latter, a lieutenant colonel of militia in Maine's bloodless Aroostook War. The governor relied on Maine's leading men to raise new companies of infantry to fill the state's quota for new regiments. Chamberlain was confident he could raise the number of men needed for an entire regiment: "...I have always been interested in military matters, and what I do not know in that line, I know how to learn. But, I fear, this war, so costly of blood and treasure, will not cease until the men of the North are willing to leave good positions, and sacrifice the deepest personal interests, to rescue our Country from desolation, and defend the national existence against treachery at home and jealousy abroad. This war must be ended, with a swift and strong hand; and every man ought to come forward, and ask to be placed at his proper post." For Chamberlain, his desire to be "placed at his proper post" would be faced with personal, and professional, obstacles to overcome. His father, who had wanted him to go to West Point and become a career soldier, would declare the conflict "not our war". Fannie was opposed to his going--she liked being a college professor's wife, and she didn't like the idea that her husband would be risking not only his life, but the entire support of her and their children. And as far as Bowdoin College--well, they didn't want him to go, either! The College got wind of his plan to use a two-year leave of absence to study in Europe--which was a benefit he'd received as the newly-appointed Professor of Modern Languages--in order to go to war. An uproar ensued, and Chamberlain also found himself in the middle of a religious power struggle for control of Bowdoin. It was feared that, if Chamberlain did not return, his position would be filled by a man not of strict orthodox Congregationalist persuasion--something his friends on the faculty wished to avoid above all other considerations. These friends failed to convince him, so they sent a representative to Governor Washburn, telling him that Chamberlain was, in their words: "No fighter, only a mild-mannered common student"(!) One state official, Attorney General Josiah Drummond, warned the Governor that: "...his old classmates &c. here say that you have been deceived: that C. is nothing at all...." In spite of such pressures, however, Governor Washburn assigned Chamberlain as Lieutenant Colonel of Maine's Twentieth Infantry Regiment--the Governor originally wanted him as a Colonel, but Chamberlain declined, knowing that he needed to learn the business of war from a lesser position of authority. So it was done: On August 8, 1862, Chamberlain mustered in as second-in-command to Colonel Adelbert Ames, a Regular Army officer, and a Mainer from Rockland.

Chamberlain reported to Camp Mason in Portland on August 18, 1862. Here is where the 20th Maine came together--a very unsoldierly-appearing lot, made up of men from all over the state, and from all sorts of occupations. They came from places like Aroostook and Piscataquis counties; they were farmers, clerks, lumbermen, storekeepers, fishermen, builders and sailors. Somehow this independent bunch had to be turned into soldiers, and very quickly. And Adelbert Ames was the man to do it! A graduate of West Point, who had been wounded at the First Battle of Bull Run (Manassas), he had his work cut out for him. As he looked in disgust at this untrained, undisciplined and very unmilitary bunch, Ames was heard to say: "This is a HELL of a regiment!" The 20th Maine left Camp Mason on September 2, 1862; after catching a steamer in Boston, they arrived at Alexandria, VA, after a voyage of four days. After camping overnight in Washington, they were marched to join their assigned brigade--the Third Brigade, First Division, of the Army of the Potomac's Fifth Corps--in Virginia. After witnessing yet another ludicrous marching performance, Ames lost his temper and bellowed: "If you can't do any better than you have tonight, you better all desert and go home!" Fortunately, the 20th Maine didn't do that! They were drilled, and drilled--and drilled some more. Ames himself took Chamberlain under his personal wing, trying to cram as much of the regulation drill manual into Chamberlain's head as he could stand! He found Chamberlain to be an excellent and willing student. The men, however, were a different story at first--some thought they would have killed Ames the first chance they got in battle! But in time, the men would see the ultimate benefit of Ames' pushing and prodding. And, that opportunity would come none too quickly...

The 20th Maine had mustered into Federal Service in August 1862, as part of the Third Brigade, First Division, of the Army of the Potomac's Fifth Corps. It saw no action at Antietam, the Fifth Corps being held in reserve--it did not suffer the fate of other green regiments in the First, Second, Sixth, Ninth and Twelfth Corps. The 20th did, however, participate in a brief skirmish on September 30, at the Shepherdstown Ford on the Potomac River: "That day Chamberlain was riding a black horse, lent to him by Major Charles Gilmore (of the 20th Maine), in order to spare his own 'splendid white horse', which he had named 'Prince', from exposure to fire. As Chamberlain was calmly steadying his men of his own regiment and others through a deep place in the river, the Major's steed was wounded in the head near the bridle, and became the first of several horses to be shot under the intrepid Lt. Colonel."

The first time the 20th Maine saw major battle action, it was at Fredericksburg, Virginia, in December 1862. The Army of the Potomac was now under the command of Major General Ambrose Burnside (the previous commander, the very-popular Major General George B. McClellan, had been relieved of command by President Lincoln in October 1862, after McClellan failed to pursue General Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia after Antietam). Burnside had reorganized the AOP into three "Grand Divisions": the 20th Maine would be part of the "Center Grand Division", under command of General Joe Hooker. The battle was a disaster from the start; pontoon bridges needed to cross the Rappahannock River were late in coming, giving Lee's men time to concentrate and form up behind a convenient stone wall, behind the city at the foot of a hill called "Marye's Heights". The Confederates waited for the Union troops to get within range, and mowed them down like grass.

"On we pushed, up slopes slippery with blood, miry with repeated, unavailing tread. We reached that final crest, before that all-commanding, countermanding stone wall." The 20th Maine was part of the last charge of the day, fighting with their comrades in the Center Grand Division. They lost four killed, 32 wounded--light casualties, considering it was their first major action, and the fact they had to spend the night in front of the wall, in freezing temperatures! Chamberlain lay among the dead, trying to keep from freezing to death himself. He placed one dead soldier on either side of him and one in front, and tried to gain some protection from their "closeness". As he lay there, the sounds of the night seared themselves into his memory: "All night the winds roared....one sound whose gloomy insistence impressed upon my mood was the flapping of a loosened window-blind in a forsaken brick house to our right...it had a weird rhythm as it swung between the hoarse answering sash and wall...it struck a chord far deepening the theme of the eternal song of 'the old clock on the stairs': NEVER-FOREVER-FOREVER-NEVER!" There was another, more personal, incident that touched Chamberlain deeply: "Wakened by the sharp fire that spoke the dawn, as I lifted my head from its restful though strange pillow, there fell out from the breast pocket a much-worn little New Testament written in it the owner's name and home. I could do no less than take this to my keeping, resolved that it should be sent to that home in the sweet valley of the Susquehanna as a token that he who bore it had kept t he faith and fought the fight. I may add that sparing mercy allowed the wish to be fulfilled, and this evidence gave the stricken mother's name a place in the list of the nation's remembered benefactors". The 20th Maine did manage to retreat back to Fredericksburg, but not before burying their dead. As they performed this sad task, nature put on a bizarre light show: the aurora borealis lit up the night sky--a weird thing to be happening so far south! The 20th was also among the last Union troops to get across the pontoon bridges and back to their camps in Falmouth, Virginia. Back on the opposite shore, an exhausted Chamberlain and his men sat down by the road, in the rain. Suddenly, General Hooker appeared, and came over to Chamberlain, who was sitting with his back against a tree: "....(Hooker) gave kindly greeting. "You've had a hard chance, Colonel; I am glad to see you out of it! I was not cheerful, but tried to be bright. "It was chance, General; not much intelligent design there!" "God knows I did not put you in!" came the rather crisp reply. "That was the trouble, General. You should have put us in. We were handled in piecemeal, on toasting-forks". It was plain talk. And he did not reprove me." Thankfully, Chamberlain did not get into trouble for being so outspoken to General Hooker! It was a good thing that forthrightness was a prized trait in a Civil War officer! The 20th Maine, and the rest of the Army of the Potomac, spent the rest of the winter of 1862-63 in their winter camps at Falmouth--but not before getting involved in General Burnside's infamous "Mud March", when virtually the whole army got stuck in the gooey Virginia mud. It wasn't long after this that General Burnside resigned as AOP commander, and was replaced by General "Fighting Joe" Hooker.

The 20th Maine did not participate in the Battle of Chancellorsville, due to their receiving bad smallpox vaccine! Over 80 men were infected, and several died. As a result, they were quarantined away from the rest of the AOP. Colonel Ames managed to get a place on General George Meade's staff, leaving Chamberlain in charge of the regimental "pest house", as he called it! He wanted to get into the action himself, however, and rode over to the headquarters of Fifth Corps commander General Daniel Butterfield, to see if the 20th Maine would be allowed to fight. When Butterfield firmly refused, fearing a mass epidemic, Chamberlain had a most un-Christian inspiration! He said: "If we could do anything, we could give the Rebels the smallpox!" Needless to say, General Butterfield was not impressed with this concept of "germ warfare", so he put the 20th Maine in charge of guarding the telegraph line from the Falmouth camps to General Hooker's headquarters. Chamberlain, however, did manage to get into the fight somewhat: he was with General Charles Griffin's First Division of the Fifth Corps at the Rappahannock River, which got into a fight with Jeb Stuart's men. Chamberlain also assisted in the AOP's retreat back across the river; his steadying words and presence impressing itself on General Griffin. So much so that, when Colonel Ames was promoted to Brigade command with the Eleventh Corps, both Griffin and Ames recommended Chamberlain to promotion to full Colonel, and command of the 20th Maine. That happened on June 23, 1863.

Just after Joshua Chamberlain took command of the 20th, an incident happened that would test his leadership skills to the utmost: One hundred and twenty men of the old 2nd Maine regiment were literally dumped into his lap! These men thought they were being mustered out with their comrades, whose two-year enlistments had recently expired. Unfortunately, these 120 men had mistakenly signed up for three-year enlistment's! They mutinied and refused to do military duty, and were awaiting court-martial: "They had been soon brought over to me under the guard of the 118th Pennsylvania, with fixed bayonets; with orders to me to take them into my regiment and 'make them do duty, or shoot them down the moment they refused'...The responsibility, I had thought, gave me some discretionary power. So I had placed their names on our rolls, distributed them by groups, to equalize companies and particularly to break up the 'esprit de corps' of banded mutineers. Then I had called them together and pointed out to them the situation; that they could not be entertained as civilian guests by me; that they were by authority of the United States on my rolls as soldiers; and I should treat them as soldiers should be treated; that they should lose no rights by obeying orders; and I would see what could be done for their claim." Because of Chamberlain's actions, all but six of these men ended up fighting with the 20th Maine - and none too soon. The 20th had need of more men, and they and the rest of the AOP were soon to be pursuing Lee's army north again. They were on the road to Gettysburg.

From Chancellorsville, the 20th Maine, and the rest of the AOP, began their pursuit of Lee's army in late May 1863. During that long march in the blazing sun, Chamberlain came down with sunstroke, and was briefly left behind to recover. Without him, the 20th fought at Middleburg, VA, under the temporary command of the 44th New York's Lt. Colonel Freeman Conner. Chamberlain was aided in his recovery by his younger brother John, who had joined the Christian Commission, and managed to find both the regiment, and his brothers Joshua and Tom; Tom at this time was serving as an adjutant to his brother, the Colonel. Chamberlain was also suffering a recurrence of malaria, along with the sunstroke. After a long and arduous march--which included an all-night forced march on July 1-2--the Fifth Corps arrived near Gettysburg in the early hours of July 2. During this night march, some bizarre things seemed to be happening: "At a turn of the road a staff officer, with an air of authority, told each colonel as he came riding up, that McClellan was in command again, and riding ahead of us on the road. Then wild cheers rolled from the crowding column into the brooding sky, and the earth shook under the quickened tread. Now from a dark angle of the roadside came a whisper, whether from earthly or unearthly voice one cannot feel quite sure, that the august form of Washington had been seen that afternoon at sunset riding over the Gettysburg hills. Let no one smile at me! I half believed it myself--so did the powers of the other world draw nigh!" The Fifth Corps was moved around several times (including a brief stop at the edge of the infamous "Wheatfield"). A messenger from General G.K. Warren, the AOP's chief engineer arrived, looking for troops to be sent to a place called Little Round Top; General Warren was atop the hill, overlooking the field, and watching Confederate Lt. General James Longstreet's men smash into troops of General Dan Sickles' Third Corps, and head for Little Round Top. (Sickles didn't like where his men were posted, so he moved them forward, closer to the Emmitsburg Road. Unfortunately, he left Little Round Top exposed and undefended, save for a unit of the Signal Corps. Warren saw the immediate danger, and sent messengers looking for men to get up there and defend the hill.) The messenger ran into the 20th Maine's brigade commander, Colonel Strong Vincent, who took it upon himself to take his brigade (without waiting for orders from Division command) and get up to Little Round Top. They got there with only minutes to spare.

On the way up the slope, the three Chamberlain brothers--Joshua, John and Tom--were riding abreast of each other, when a solid shot from a Confederate battery came flying into their midst. That disturbed Colonel Chamberlain. He said to his brothers: "Boys, I don't like this. Another such shot might make it hard for mother. Tom, go to the rear of the regiment and see that it is well closed up! John, pass up ahead and look out a place for our wounded." From right to left, Vincent placed the men: 16th Michigan, 44th New York, 83rd Pennsylvania--and the 20th Maine. The 20th Maine was the last in line--the left flank of the entire Army of the Potomac! Colonel Vincent wanted to make sure Chamberlain understood his responsibility, and that of his men: "Reaching the southern face of Little Round Top, I found Vincent there, with intense poise and look. He said with a voice of awe, as if translating the tables of the eternal law, "I place you here! This is the left of the Union line. You understand. You are to hold this ground at all costs!'" Chamberlain definitely understood. He went about preparing his men for what they would face. Years later, one of his officers, Captain Howard Prince, would recall watching Chamberlain in the moments before battle: "Up and down the line, with a last word of encouragement or caution, walks the quiet man, whose calm exterior concealed the fire of the warrior and heart of steel, whose careful dispositions and ready resource, whose unswerving courage and audacious nerve in the last desperate crisis, are to crown himself and his faithful soldiers with...fadeless laurels." The Rebel shells stopped falling. That meant one thing: the infantry was coming fast. Sure enough, it did, with the high-pitched scream of the Rebel yell. They came storming up through the trees--men of the 15th and 47th Alabama, and the 4th and 5th Texas, of General John Bell Hood's brigade. Soon the 20th Maine was heavily engaged: "The edge of the conflict swayed to and fro, with wild whirlpools and eddies. At times I saw around me more of the enemy than of my own men; gaps opening, swallowing, closing again with sharp convulsive energy...all around, strange mingled roar..." One of Chamberlain's officers, a Lt. Nichols, ran up to him and told him that something strange was going on in his front, behind the Rebels engaging his men. The Confederates were trying to get around the 20th's left flank. If they succeeded, the Rebels could get in the brigade's rear, and destroy them piece by piece. "That front had to be held, and that rear covered...I called the captains and told them my tactics: to keep the front fire at the hottest....and at the same time, as they found opportunity, to take side-steps to the left, coming gradually into one rank, file-closers and all. Then I took the colors with their guard and placed them at our extreme left, where a great boulder gave token and support; thence bending back at a right angle the whole body gained ground leftward and made twice our original front...This was a difficult movement to execute under such fire, requiring coolness as well as heat. Of rare quality were my officers and men." Chamberlain's daring maneuver--"refusing the line"--kept the left flank from being overrun, but it thinned out his men, giving the regiment no reserves. At one point in the battle, Chamberlain's life was in mortal danger, although he didn't know it at the time. A Rebel sharpshooter had him dead in his sights, but for some reason, could not bring himself to pull the trigger. The unnamed man sent Chamberlain the following letter some years after the war: "Dear Sir: I want to tell you of a little passage in the battle of Round Top, Gettysburg, concerning you and me, which I am now glad of. Twice in that fight I had your life in my hands. I got a safe place between two rocks, and drew bead fair and square on you. You were standing in the open behind the center of your line, full exposed. I knew your rank by your uniform and your actions, and I thought it a mighty good thing to put you out of the way. I rested my gun on the rock and took steady aim. I started to pull the trigger, but some queer notion stopped me. Then I got ashamed of my weakness and went through the same motions again. I had you, perfectly certain. But this same queer something shut right down on me. I couldn't pull the trigger, and gave it up--that is, your life. I am glad of it now, and hope you are. Yours truly, a member of the 15th Alabama." I've always wondered what Chamberlain's immediate reaction to that letter must have been! He mused: "I thought he was that, and answered him accordingly, asking him to come up north and see whether I was worth what he missed. But my answer never found him, nor could I afterwards." By this time, about two hours or so had passed, and the situation for the 20th Maine was becoming desperate. Even though Chamberlain had "refused the line", his left flank was taking a real beating, and time was running out, as well as ammunition. As his men fired their last rounds, they all looked at Chamberlain as if to say: "What now?" Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say. Let Chamberlain describe what happened next: "...Brave, warm-hearted Lt. Melcher of the color company...came up and asked if he might take his company and go forward and pick up one or two of his men left wounded on the field...I answered, 'Yes, sir, in a moment! I am about to order a charge!' Desperate as the chances were, there was nothing for it, but to take the offensive. I stepped to the colors. The men turned towards me. One word was enough-"BAYONET!"--it caught like fire, and swept along the ranks. The men took it up with a shout....it was vain to order 'FORWARD'". The remaining 200 or so men of the regiment ran down the hill (as much as the rocky terrain would let them), screaming hoarsely, bayonets at the ready. The shocked Confederates didn't know what to do; here were these bayonet-wielding Yankees bearing down on them--when suddenly they were hit from the flank by musket fire! The 20th's Company B, led by Captain Walter Morrill, had been sent out on the extreme left, as protection. They found a stone wall to hide behind, and were joined by some U.S. Sharpshooters, who had been driven off Big Round Top by the Confederates. This was all too much for the exhausted Rebs; many threw down their weapons and surrendered, and others ran, in the words of Colonel William Oates of the 15th Alabama: "...like a herd of wild cattle". Chamberlain himself had another close call, almost at point-blank range. A Confederate officer with a sword in one hand and big navy revolver in the other, fired at Chamberlain's face. But the gun misfired, and Chamberlain brought the point of his sword to the officer's throat and took him prisoner. He took the officer's revolver, and gave the sword and the officer into the hands of a nearby sergeant. The 20th Maine, once it got started charging, was hard to stop. They got as far as the front of the 44th New York, declaring they were "on the road to Richmond"! It took Chamberlain and his officers a while to bring the men back. They took, all told, around 400 Rebel prisoners. In spite of their heroic charge, the day was not over for the 20th Maine. The new Third Brigade commander, Colonel James Rice of the 44th New York (Rice took over the Brigade's command after Strong Vincent was mortally wounded earlier in the fight; Vincent had gone to shore up the 16th Michigan's crumbling flank, when he was wounded in the groin. He would die five days later of that wound.), ordered the 20th Maine to take nearby Big Round Top, after a brigade of Pennsylvania Reserves had refused to do so. Chamberlain then asked for volunteers, and the whole exhausted regiment got up and followed him up the hill. After a very nerve-racking ascent (they could take fire, but not return it, much to their annoyance--plus they didn't know how many Rebs were about!), the 20th Maine set up a watch and slept on their arms. Eventually, they were supported by both the 44th New York and 83rd Pennsylvania--plus some of those Pennsylvania Reserves. They also managed to take a few more Reb prisoners, mainly Texans from Hood's Brigade.

After an anxious night, the 20th Maine was relieved on Big Round Top, and placed in reserve near the Fifth Corps' headquarters. They lay there during the bombardment that preceded "Pickett's Charge" on July 3rd, but were too far away to be engaged in the fight on Cemetery Ridge. They were also sent on a patrol near the Round Tops a couple of days later, and saw some pretty ghastly scenes--one of which was the remains of the John Sherfy barn, which had caught fire during the battle. Inside were wounded men from both sides, and, being unable to escape, they burned to death. Before leaving Gettysburg, the 20th Maine bid farewell to their dead. They buried them in shallow graves, near where they fought and died: "There they lay, side by side, with touch of elbow still; brave, manly resolution, heroic self-giving, divine reconciliation...we buried them there, in a grave, alas, too wide, on the sunny side of a great rock, eternal witnesses of their worth--the rock and the sun. Rude head-boards, made of ammunition boxes, rudely carved under tear-dimmed eyes, marked and named each grave, and told each home."

Not long after Gettysburg, in August 1863, Chamberlain was given permanent command of the Fifth Corps' Third Brigade, by General Griffin. He did not hold command for long, though--the accumulating stress and strain finally broke his health, and he went to Washington at the end of July, and eventually back to Maine for fifteen days' sick leave. He returned to the field in August, back to command of the Third Brigade--still as a Colonel, although Generals Griffin, Ames, and Oliver O. Howard--and even Vice President Hannibal Hamlin--actively campaigned for Chamberlain's promotion to Brigadier General. But nothing came of all these recommendations--supposedly because of an active dislike of the Fifth Corps by some of the "powers-that-be" in Washington, going back to the days of Generals Fitz John Porter and George McClellan. In November 1863, while camping out in a snowstorm, Chamberlain came down with a recurrence of "malarial fever"; he spent two months recovering from this, and returned home to Maine for December and January. In February 1864, Chamberlain was assigned to court-martial duty in Washington DC, and in Trenton, New Jersey. It wasn't long before such duty began to wear on him, and he began actively campaigning for a return to field duty.

Chamberlain himself did not fight at "The Bloody Angle" (also known as "The Mule Shoe"); he just missed the fighting here and in the nearby Wilderness--although the 20th Maine fought in the latter fight, and took a beating. Chamberlain did get into the fight at nearby Pole Cat Creek, however. "...the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, the North Anna, Cold Harbor...unspoken, unspeakable history. Call back that roseate May morning, all the springs of life athrill, that youthful army pressing the bridges of the Rapidan, flower of Northern homes, thousands upon thousands; tested in valor, disciplined by experience, hearts swelling with manly courage, confident trust, and supreme devotion--to be plunged straightway into hell-like horrors..." "The hammering business had been hard on the hammer."

In early June 1864, Chamberlain was given command of the Fifth Corps' newly-reorganized First Brigade, consisting of five veteran Pennsylvania regiments from the now-gone First Corps: the 121st, 142nd, 143rd, 149th, and 150th--and a brand-new regiment, the 187th Pennsylvania. This brigade became known as the "Keystone Brigade". At first, there was some suspicion regarding this new brigade commander, but Chamberlain won the men over after meeting all the officers of the brigade. About mid-June, Chamberlain found he could not shake a nagging feeling that he would be wounded in the abdomen. It was a new feeling for him, but he dealt with it by taking his blanket roll from behind his saddle and strapping it in front of him--such little protection as it was. Sadly, that "feeling" would come true on June 18, 1864. His "Keystone Brigade" found itself in an exposed position--out in front of the whole Army of the Potomac!--facing a bluff on high ground called "Rives' Salient". Ordered to attack this position alone, Chamberlain thought there must be some mistake. To attack as ordered would be suicide, indeed. He wrote a note to his superiors, hoping they would understand his particular situation: "...Circumstances lead me to believe the General cannot be perfectly aware of my situation, which has greatly changed within the last hour...I am advanced a mile beyond our own lines, and in an isolated position...I have here a veteran brigade of six regiments, and my responsibility for these men warrants me in wishing assurances that no mistake in communicating orders compels me to sacrifice them. From what I can see of the enemy's lines, it is my opinion that if an assault is to be made, it should be by nothing less than the entire Army." After a somewhat difficult exchange with Brigadier General Lysander Cutler (who had been ordered to support Chamberlain's exposed left flank), Chamberlain went back to his men. The attack began shortly thereafter. Chamberlain led his men on foot, made a half-turn towards his line, motioning with his saber for his men to turn left (because of the din of battle, no one could hear shouted commands). At that moment, a ricocheting minie ball struck Chamberlain below his right hip and went through his body, expanding and tearing while traveling diagonally to his left hip, before stopping near the surface. The initial pain he felt was in his back, and his first thought was: "What will my mother say, her boy shot in the back?" But as he saw the blood gushing from both sides, he felt better--oddly enough. Fearing his men would falter if they saw him go down, he rammed his saber point into the ground and leaned against it, holding himself upright. Once his men were past, the loss of blood became too much, and Chamberlain fell on one knee, then the other, and finally collapsed to the ground. Two of his staff officers managed to pull him off the field, but he lay in the dirt for over an hour, feeling his blood seep into the ground, and hearing the cries of his men as they went to the slaughter. "I am not of Virginia blood; she is of mine." Chamberlain was finally removed from the field on a stretcher, borne by four men from Captain John Bigelow's Ninth Massachusetts Artillery. When these men came to his side, Chamberlain told them to leave him be, believing himself to be mortally wounded. One of the artillerymen replied: "You are not in command, Sir. Captain Bigelow's order to us was to bring you back, and that is what we must do." The 20th Maine, for its part, did not participate in the attack this day. But Captain Tom Chamberlain learned of his brother's wounding, and set off to find him, accompanied by the 20th's surgeon, Dr. Abner O. Shaw, and the 44th New York's surgeon, Dr. Morris Townsend. Tom and the surgeons searched for Chamberlain for hours, finally locating him at the Division field hospital, three miles behind the lines. They were told Chamberlain would not survive--the minie ball had done tremendous damage; it severed blood vessels, nicked the urethra and bladder and crushed bone before it stopped. That night, both General G.K. Warren (Fifth Corps commander) and General Griffin visited Chamberlain and told him their recommendation for promotion to Brigadier General would be forwarded immediately. That pleased Chamberlain greatly; the promotion would gratify his family and friends. All night Doctors Shaw and Townsend labored, trying to save Chamberlain's life. At one point, they stopped, believing they were only prolonging his agony. But Chamberlain, with a great will to live, urged them to go on. The bullet was removed, and the doctors managed to patch him back together again, concluding that there was a chance for recovery. The next day, in spite of horrible pain and believing he was on his deathbed, Chamberlain wrote this letter to Fannie: "My darling wife I am lying mortally wounded the doctors think, but my mind & heart are at peace Jesus Christ is my al-sufficient savior. I go to him. God bless & keep & comfort you, precious one. You have been a precious wife to me. To know & love you makes life & death beautiful. Cherish the darlings & give my love to all the dear ones. Do not grieve too much for me. We shall all soon meet Live for the children Give my dearest love to Father, Mother & Sallie & John Oh how happy to feel yourself forgiven God bless you evermore precious precious one Ever yours, Lawrence." Chamberlain was eventually transferred to City Point, VA, via stretcher, then placed on a hospital ship by Dr.Townsend, and taken to the Naval Hospital at Annapolis, MD. The news of his wounding and critical condition finally reached Maine, and it threw his family and friends into a state of frenzy. His mother, his sister Sae, and Fannie's new stepmother Helen Root Adams, alternately cried and prayed for Chamberlain's recovery. His brother John hurried to Annapolis, when news of his brother's condition came. By the time John arrived, however, the crisis period had passed, and Chamberlain began to heal quickly. If anything good can be said to have come out of this situation, it did--in the form of the long-delayed promotion to Brigadier General, by no one other than Lt. General U.S. Grant himself. Grant later told Chamberlain that he'd never made a promotion on the field of battle before. Grant wrote: "Col. J.L. Chamberlain, of the 20th Maine, was wounded on the 18th. He was gallantly leading his brigade at the time, as he had been in the habit of doing in all the engagements in which he had previously been engaged. He had several times been recommended for a Brigadier-Generalcy for gallant and meritorious conduct. On this occasion, I promoted him on the spot..." In September 1864, Chamberlain was sent home to Brunswick, to recover. But he was anxious to return to the field, to "finish the business". Remarkably, he did return to Petersburg on November 18--although still unable to ride a horse, or walk unassisted a hundred yards. On his arrival, he discovered that his old First Brigade command broken up and scattered. Instead of five Pennsylvania regiments, he now commanded two new regiments: the 185th New York and the 198th Pennsylvania. His brigade had gone from the largest in the Fifth Corps, to the smallest. Chamberlain and his brigade participated in the "Weldon Railroad Raid", which was intended to further cut supplies to Lee's army around Petersburg. But the strain of this short campaign made Chamberlain realize he'd come back to the field too soon, and he underwent further surgery on his wounds in Philadelphia, in January 1865--and he headed once more back to Maine to recover. During his recovery period, Chamberlain was offered a tempting position as Collector of Customs for the District of Bath. He thought about it carefully, but decided to return to the army, if possible. Naturally, his family opposed his return--his mother, in a New Year's letter, begged him to take care of himself. But in a letter to his parents the day before he returned to the army, Chamberlain attempted to explain his motives for going back: "I owe the Country three years service. It is a time when every man should stand by his guns. And I am not scared or hurt enough yet to be willing to face the rear, when other men are marching to the front. It is true my incomplete recovery from my wounds would make a more quiet life desirable, & when I think of my young and dependent family the whole strength of that motive to make the most of my life comes over me. But there is no promise of life in peace, & no decree of death in war. And I am so confident of the sincerity of my motives that I can trust my own life & the welfare of my family in the hands of Providence."

I shall let Chamberlain himself tell the story of the fight at the Quaker Road, March 29, 1865: "...In the full crescendo of this, now, close to the sawdust pile, my horse, wild to the front....was exceeding the possible pace of the men following and I gave him a vigorous check on the curb. Resenting this, he touched his fore feet to earth only to rebound head-high to the level of my face. Just at that instant a heavy blow struck me on the left breast pocket just below the heart. I fell forward on my horse's neck and lost all consciousness. The bullet at close range had been aimed at my breast, but the horse had lifted his head just in time to catch it, so that, in passing through the big muscle of his neck (and also may I say, through a leather case of field orders and a brass-mounted hand-mirror in my breast pocket), demolished the pistol in the belt of my aide Lt. Vogel, and knocked him out of the saddle. This, of course, I only knew afterwards. The shock had stopped my horse, and I must have been for some little time unconscious." Chamberlain was covered with blood--both his own and his horse, Charlemagne's. He must have looked frightful to General Griffin, who came up and offered a supporting arm. "'My dear General, you are gone', the kindly voice of General Griffin, who had ridden up beside me. At that moment also a very different strain struck my ear on the other hand--a wild Rebel yell. As I lifted my head a glance showed me the right of our line broken and flying before the enemy...This explains my answer to Griffin, "Yes, General, I am--" that is, 'gone in another sense'". The bullet had ripped through Chamberlain's sleeve to the elbow, and injured his bridle arm, and traveled around his ribs before going out the back seam of his coat. Had it not struck the field orders book and the hand mirror in his pocket, and had not Charlemagne reared up when he did, it would surely have killed Chamberlain. "...The horse was bleeding profusely and my falling on his neck brought a blood-relationship of which I was not ashamed. Everybody around thought I was 'gone' indeed, and that is why a telegram went to the New York morning papers, reporting me as killed...I must have been a queer spectacle as I rose in the saddle tattered and battered, bare headed and blood-smeared..." Chamberlain did Mark Twain one better: he got to read his obituary TWICE! First, after his wounding at Petersburg in June 1864, and now at the Quaker Road, in March 1865! Chamberlain saw what needed to be done--he and Charlemagne dashed into the fight, rallying his men and turning the tide of the battle. And then a strange thing happened... "Aware of some confusion near the sawdust pile I thought it fitting to return to my place at the center. I was astonished at the greeting of cheers which marked my course. Strangest of all was that when I emerged to the sight of the enemy; they also took up the cheering. I hardly knew what world I was in." Chamberlain's dash had by now exhausted poor Charlemagne, so Chamberlain was forced to dismount. Moving closer to the front, he was suddenly confronted by Confederate soldiers, who wished to take him prisoner. He realized he had to think fast: "The old coat was dingy, almost to gray; I was bare-headed, and rather a doubtful character anyway. I thought it warrantable to assume an extremely friendly relation...I replied, "Surrender? What's the matter with you? What do you take me for? Don't you see those Yanks right onto us? Come along with me, and let us break 'em!"...They did follow me like brave fellows--most of them too far; for they were a long time getting back." The battle for the Quaker Road was over--but at a great cost. In the course of the battle, Chamberlain lost one of his subordinates, a young man from Philadelphia named Major Charles Maceuen. In fact, he had been shot down literally before Chamberlain's eyes. After the battle was done, Chamberlain walked around the field, until he found the young officer's body: "At length I kneeled above the sweet body of Maceuen, where God's thought had folded its wing; and nearby, where wrecks were thickly strewn, I came upon brave old [General Horatio] Sickel lying calm and cheerful, with a shattered limb, and weakened by loss of blood...I sat down by him to give him such cheer as I could. He seemed to think I needed the comforting...'General', he whispers, 'you have the soul of the lion and the heart of the woman'. 'Take the benediction to yourself', was the reply; 'you could not have thought that, if you had not been it'". For myself, I wonder what was going through Chamberlain's mind, as he surveyed the grisly scene before him: "But we had with us, to keep and care for, more than five hundred bruised bodies of men--men made in the image of God, marred by the hand of man, and must we say in the name of God? And where is the reckoning for such things? And who is answerable? One might almost shrink from the sound of his own voice, which had launched into the palpitating air words of order--do we call it?--fraught with such ruin. Was it God's command we heard, or His forgiveness we must forever implore?"

It rained the night of March 29, 1865--so much so it turned the unpaved roads to thick goo, making it impossible for either army to move. The fight resumed March 31, and grew in intensity. At one point, the Fifth Corps' Second and Third Divisions were hit hard by a surprise Confederate attack: "...General Griffin and General Warren came down at full speed, both out of breath, with their efforts to rally the panic-stricken men...Griffin breaks forth first, after his high-proof fashion: 'General Chamberlain, the Fifth Corps is eternally damned'. I essayed some pleasantry: 'Not till you are in Heaven'. Griffin does not smile nor hear, but keeps right on: 'I tell Warren you will wipe out this disgrace, and that's what we're here for'. Then Warren breaks out, with stirring phrase...'General Chamberlain, will you save the honor of the Fifth Corps? That's all there is about it'...I mention[General Joseph] Bartlett, who had our largest and best brigade, which had been little engaged. 'We have come to you; you know what that means', was the only answer. 'I'll try it, General; only don't let anyone stop me except the enemy.'" In the ensuing action, Chamberlain's small brigade not only took the lost ground back, but also a little extra. But the battle proved to be the beginning of the undoing of Fifth Corps commander General Warren. Due to many conflicting communications (and some bruised egos), matters were coming to a head, and the next day would bring personal disaster to a brave officer.

This battle, which marked the real "beginning of the end" of the Confederacy, also marked the beginning of an ongoing controversy: General Philip Sheridan's removal (with General Grant's apparent approval) of General Gouvernour K. Warren, as commander of the Fifth Corps. (Warren would be replaced by First Division commander General Griffin, and subsequently Chamberlain, as First Brigade commander, would step up and take Griffin's place as First Division commander.) Sheridan did not want the Fifth Corps as his cavalry's infantry support; he really wanted the Sixth Corps. But the latter was too far away to be recalled, so "Little Phil" had to settle for the Fifth Corps. "...Somewhere near the angle of the 'return', I met Sheridan. He had probably seen me putting my men in, and hence I escaped censure for appearing. Indeed his criticism seemed to be that there was not more of me, rather than less. 'By G--, that's what I want to see!', was his greeting, 'general officers at the front. Where are your general officers?' I replied that I had seen General Warren's flag in the big field north of us, and that seeing [General Romeyn] Ayres in a tight place I had come to help him, and by General Griffin's order. 'Then', cried he...'you take command of all the infantry round here, and break this dam-' I didn't want to hear any more. That made good grammar as it stood." The fighting intensified in front of Chamberlain's First Division, near the 198th Pennsylvania, commanded by Major Edwin Glenn. Chamberlain saw him and Colonel Gustavus Sniper, of the 185th New York, on the flank of Rebel guns at the Five Forks works. What happened next would haunt Chamberlain for the rest of his life: "I rode up to the gallant Glenn...and said, 'Major Glenn, if you break that line, you shall have a Colonel's commission!' It was a hasty utterance, and the promise unmilitary, perhaps...Glenn sprung among his men, calling out, 'Boys, will you follow me?', wheeled his horse, and dashed forward, without turning to see who followed...The sight so wrought upon me that I snatched time to ride over and congratulate Glenn and his regiment. As I passed into deeper shadow of the woods, I met two men, bearing his body, the dripping blood marking their path...I could only bend down over him from the saddle and murmur unavailing words. 'General, I have carried out your wishes!'--this was his only utterance. It was as if another bullet had cut me through. I almost fell across my saddle-bow. God in Heaven, no more my wish than Thine, that this fair body...should be smitten to the sod...?" The thought that he had ordered Major Glenn to such a needless death cut through Chamberlain like a knife: "What dark misgivings searched me as I took the import of these words? What sharp sense of responsibility for those who have committed to them the issues of life and death? Why should I not have let his onset take its general course and men their natural chances? Why choose out him for his death, and so take on myself the awful decision into what home irreparable loss and measureless desolation should cast their unlifted burden? The crowding thought choked utterance. I could only bend my face low to his and answer: 'Colonel, I will remember my promise; I will remember you!'...War!-nothing but the final, infinite good, for man and God, can accept and justify human work like that!" After the battle, Chamberlain kept his promise: he sent, by special messenger, his recommendation for Glenn's brevet promotion. Glenn died three days later, a Brevet Colonel of U.S.Volunteers. With the Union victory at Five Forks, the way was open for the capture of both Richmond and Petersburg. General Grant ordered an all-out attack on the Confederate lines at Petersburg, which broke through, and forced the evacuation of Richmond by the Army of Northern Virginia. Thus began the great last pursuit of the Army of Northern Virginia--or what was left of it. Chamberlain and the rest of the Fifth Corps joined the AOP in that pursuit, but fought no major battle, missing the action at Sailor's Creek. There was one amusing incident, involving Chamberlain and his faithful, battle-scarred horse Charlemagne, that happened on April 8th: "This morning I received a wholesome lesson of the results of inattention. In crossing Buffalo River, my horse had a pardonable desire to take a drink. I let him advance half his length into the water, knee-deep or more--which I thought enough, but with the unaccountable instinct of a drinking horse (or other fellow) to get further in, to 'take another', my horse kept creeping forward, and I was stupid enough to let him--until suddenly stepping over a steep bank of the channel his whole body was forced to follow, as also his master,--or who should have been. Decidedly all was not over--mostly the reverse; two emergent heads absurdly trying to look dignified marking the vital center...The horse, not being a Saurian, could neither walk nor swim in that mire...I got out first--having only two feet to hold me fast...two ore three of my self-renouncing....men went to the rescue of the crest-fallen, but still-admired, Charlemagne. What they had to do for us both afterwards, official dignity prevents explaining."

After an all-night march, the weary men of the Fifth Corps--along with the Second and Sixth Corps--finally cornered what was left of the Army of Northern Virginia, near the village of Appomattox Court House. Sheridan's cavalry had been fighting a pitched battle with the Confederates, and needed assistance from any available infantry. Chamberlain was concerned he would be receiving a flank attack himself, when suddenly he sees a sight he never expected to see: "Suddenly rose to sight another form, close in our own front--a soldierly young figure, a Confederate staff officer undoubtedly. Now I see the white flag, earnestly borne, and its possible purport sweeps before my inner vision like a wraith of morning mist. He comes steadily on...my mood so whimsically sensitive that I could even smile at the material of the flag--wondering where in either army was found a towel, and one so white. But it bore a mighty message--that simple emblem of homely service, wafted hitherward above the dark and crimsoned streams that never can wash themselves away." Unknown to either Chamberlain or his men, a truce had been called. "The messenger draws near...delivers his message: 'Sir, I am from General Gordon. General Lee desires a cessation of hostilities until he can hear from General Grant as to the proposed surrender." Chamberlain is stunned by the word: "Surrender!" He thinks of how many times it was so close, yet snatched away--how often dreamed of, but never realized. He comes to his senses long enough to reply: "'Surrender?' It takes a moment to gather one's speech. 'Sir', I answer, 'that matter exceeds my authority. I will send to my superior. General Lee is right. He can do no more'...I bid him wait a while, and the message goes up to my Corps commander, General Griffin, leaving me mazed at the boding change." Yes, the flag of truce had come in, but just then a loud cannon-shot from the direction of Appomattox crashes into the Union line, killing Lt. Hiram Clark of the 185th New York--a young officer in Chamberlain's brigade, whom he admired very much. Clark became the last man killed in the Army of the Potomac. As news of the surrender spreads, however, the Union troops go absolutely nuts--loud cheers erupt, men jump up and down, caps and knapsacks fly upward. Finally, after four long years, the war is over.

Although the surrender itself was signed April 9, 1865, General Grant had decided that a surrender ceremony should be held, in order to make certain to the former Rebels that, indeed, the war was over. They were to hand over their weapons and their battle colors, but keep their sidearms and their horses. A surprise, and a great honor, was in store for Chamberlain: "Late that night [April 9], I was summoned to headquarters, where General Griffin informed me that I was to command the parade on the occasion of the formal surrender of the arms and colors of Lee's army...Griffin added in a significant tone that Grant wished the ceremony to be as simple as possible, and that nothing should be done to humiliate the manhood of the Southern soldiers." So it happened that this VOLUNTEER OFFICER, was chosen by General Grant himself, out of all the officers (volunteer AND Regular army) in the Army of the Potomac, to receive the "arms and colors" of the Army of Northern Virginia. In later years, when asked why he thought he'd been chosen for this honor, Chamberlain would say that he figured General Griffin had something to do with it. Upon hearing this news, Chamberlain asked the new Fifth Corps commander one thing: he wanted to be given the First Division's Third Brigade--which included the 20th Maine--because he had shared so many battles with them, and wanted them beside him, in this historic hour. Griffin agreed, and transferred Chamberlain to the Third Brigade. The ceremony took place three days later, on April 12, 1865--four years to the day since the first shots were fired on Fort Sumter, South Carolina. "It was now the morning of the 12th of April. I had been ordered to have my lines formed for the ceremony at sunrise. It was a chill gray morning, depressing to the senses. But our hearts made warmth. We formed along the principal street...to face the last line of battle, and receive the last remnant of the arms and colors of that great army which ours had been created to confront for all that death can do for life. We were remnants also: Massachusetts, Maine, Michigan, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York; veterans, and replaced veterans; cut to pieces, cut down, consolidated, divisions into brigades, regiments into one, gathered by state origin." Chamberlain now went back to the Third Brigade: "As for me, I was once more with my old command...I had taken leave of my little First Brigade, so endeared to me, and the end of the fighting had released the Second from all orders from me. But these deserved to share with me now as they had so faithfully done in the sterner passages of the campaign. I got permission from General Griffin to have them also in the parade.." The stage was now set. What would happen in the next few minutes would cause some controversy in the North for Chamberlain, but would endear him to the South: "The momentous meaning of this occasion impressed me deeply. I resolved to mark it by some token of recognition...which could be no other than a salute of arms....The act could be defended, if needful, by the suggestion that such a salute was not to the cause for which the Confederacy stood, but to its going down before the flag of the Union. My main reason, however, was one for which I sought no authority, nor asked forgiveness." The Confederates broke camp for the last time, and made their way up the Richmond-Lynchburg Stage Road, to where Chamberlain and his men waited. Leading the way was General Lee's representative: General John B. Gordon--a volunteer officer like Chamberlain, who had also risen through the ranks, and who was also much-wounded in battle: "Before us, in proud humiliation, stood the embodiment of manhood: men whom neither toils and sufferings, nor the fact of death, nor disaster, nor hopelessness could bend from their resolve; standing before us now, thin, worn, famished, but erect, and with eyes looking level into ours, waking memories that bound us together as no other bond--was not such manhood to be welcomed back into a Union so tested and assured?" Chamberlain continues: "Instructions had been given, and when the head of each division column comes opposite our group, our bugle sounds the signal and instantly our whole line from right to left, regiment by regiment, in succession, gives the soldier's salutation, from the 'order arms' to the old 'carry'--the marching salute. Gordon at the head of the column, riding with heavy spirit and downcast face, catches the sound of shifting arms, looks up, and taking the meaning, wheels superbly, making with himself and his horse one uplifted figure, with profound salutation as he drops the point of his sword to the boot toe; then facing his own command, gives word for his successive brigades to pass us with the same position of the manual--honor answering honor". The ceremony continues all day long, as Chamberlain and his men watch the remnants of this once-great army file in, and stack their muskets, and lay their battle-flags down. He sees remnants of storied regiments, brigades, divisions and corps--such as Cobb's Georgia Legion, Bushrod Johnson's Division, Gordon's Georgians, Ransom's North Carolinians, A.P. Hill's old corps--and Longstreet's First Corps! Men whom he faced in battle from Antietam to Five Forks. Emotions ran high on both sides, as men laid down their worn, but much-cherished, battle flags. Chamberlain ended up playing a part in one such instance: "A small group, evidently the remainder of a regiment used as some headquarters guard, came in last and late, after their comrades had marched away. As they gave up their flag, stained by the blood and smoke of battle, its color-bearer burst into tears and said to the Union soldiers, 'Boys, this is not the first time you have seen that flag; I have borne it in the front of the battle in many a victorious field, and I had rather die than surrender it now'...'Brave fellow', Chamberlain replied, 'I admire your noble spirit, and only regret that I have not the authority to bid you keep your flag and carry it home as a precious heirloom'. Chamberlain's kind words were repeated to others, and the story became widely known throughout the South." The solemnity and sadness of the occasion was leavened by a rather comic scene, involving a discussion between Chamberlain and Confederate Brigadier General Henry Wise, a former governor of Virginia-and the man responsibile for hanging abolitionist John Brown in 1859. Chamberlain heard a commotion down the line, and went to investigate--and found Wise arguing with some of his men. Chamberlain sought to help the situation, and remarked to Wise that the good conduct of the troops on both sides boded well for the nation's future. Wise became belligerent: "You are mistaken, Sir, we won't be forgiven. We hate you, and that is the whole of it!" As Wise looked at Chamberlain, he noticed the rips and holes in Chamberlain's coat and sleeve--"souvenirs" of his encounter with Wise's men at the Quaker Road--and asked him where he got them. When Chamberlain told him, Wise retorted that he was "fighting three army corps" and "thought it prudent to retire". When Chamberlain told him that he was up against three regiments, Wise angrily replied that he knew what he saw, and proceeded to lecture Chamberlain on the "legal way" to make out paroles! By this time, it had become a bizarre comedy, and staff members on both sides could not control their laughter. In later years, Chamberlain recalled the incident, using a biblical pun--but not mentioning Wise by name: "'The wise man foreseeth the evil and hideth himself, but the foolish pass on and are punished,' says the old proverb. If there are no exceptions to this rule, then this gentleman was not rightly named." Finally, it was done, the long day over. Many things happened in the days and weeks between Appomattox and the army's return to Washington. While camped outside the town of Farmville,VA, on Easter Sunday, 1865, Chamberlain and the rest of the Fifth Corps received the shocking news of the assassination of President Lincoln on April 14. Fearing the worst, he closed off the camps, hoping his men would not wreak vengeance upon the local population. A "funeral in the field" was held on April 19th--the same day as the state funeral in the capital--and was the scene of a potentially explosive incident: "I summoned the senior chaplain of the division, Father Egan, and told him we looked to him for the memorial address, cautioning him to prepare beforehand, not so much what to say, as what not to say. For I knew his Irish warmth and power of speech, and that he might, if not restrained, stir the hearts of the men too much for our control". After some solemn music by the First Division's German band, Father Egan rose to deliver the oration: "The spirit of rebellion against the country's life and honor, he said, incited its followers to murder the innocent and just...He then portrayed the character of Lincoln, his integrity, his rugged truth, his innocence of wrong, his loyalty and lofty fidelity to the people. Then having raised this figure to its highest ideal lights and most endearing attractiveness, he pictured him stricken down by dastard hand in the very midst of acts of mercy and words of great-hearted sympathy and love. Gathering up the emotions of his audience with searching, imploring glance, he reminded the soldiers of Lincoln's love for them, and theirs for him; that brotherhood of suffering that made them one in soul with him." As Father Egan went on, some of the men began to pale, and instinctively started to reach for their stacked muskets. Chamberlain, seated near the padre on the platform, knew he had to act quickly: "...I myself was under the spell. Well that the commander was there, to check the flaming orator. Men could not hear it. You could not, were I able to reproduce the scene. Then the speaker stopped. He stood transfixed. I seized his arm. 'Father Egan, you must not stop. Turn this excitement to some good.' "I will', he whispers. Then lifting his arm full height, he brought it down with a tremendous sweep, as if to gather in the whole quivering circle before him, and went on; 'Better so. Better to die glorious, than to live infamous. Better to be buried beneath a nation's tears, than to walk the earth guilty of a nation's blood. Better, thousandfold, forever better, Lincoln dead, than Davis living.'". Chamberlain had defused a dangerous situation, and the funeral ended without further incident. In the days following the funeral, Chamberlain became something of a "military governor" in the region between Petersburg and Dinwiddie County. During the nearly two weeks he served in this capacity, food was distributed to civilians who would give the "oath of allegiance" to the Union, and to those in need. He also had to restore some semblance of order in the countryside. During this time, a very humorous incident occurred, brought about by the appearance of an unnamed "Belle of Dinwiddie", who was brought in to take the oath of allegiance by Chamberlain's youngest brother Tom, who was serving as Provost Marshal. Evidently Tom had a crush on the young woman--and big brother Joshua was also somewhat dazzled by her beauty! "...It was a comical sight when in their presentation of the case, they exchanged glances. Her air was that of an injured party, and he the aggressor. At every soft impeachment his color rose to the Jacqueminot". After some verbal sparring back and forth between Joshua and the "belle" (whom he described as "the indomitable Portia", for her skill in debating!), she agrees to take the oath. Chamberlain remarks: "Our Provost Marshal, who kept our oaths for us, told her of the requirement, asking her to kiss the book in token. To both of these suggestions she opposed a very firm determination. Indeed, considering the aspect of these two respective objects, I would not have blamed her if she preferred to reverse the directions, swear to the book and kiss the officer." Alas, the "relationship" did not last for Tom, and no more mention is made of the lady in question. The Fifth Corps, and the rest of the AOP, made its way through Petersburg and Richmond, bypassing the old battlefield at Fredericksburg. While camped near Hanover Court House, a bizarre incident occurred: "At about midnight, when the tired camp was still, the sentinel in front of my bivouac spoke nervously, saying there was something strange going on about my horse not far away from us. He had been hastily tethered there amidst a little growth of scrubby pines, so near, and the place so quiet, there seemed to be no need of a guard...I rose and went out myself; and before I reached him my foot crushed through the breast-bones of a body half buried by the fallen pine-cones and needles so long undisturbed, now gone back mostly ashes to ashes. I found that the horse, pawing the earth within the scope of his picket-rope, had rolled out two skulls and scattered the bones of bodies he had unearthed, and was gazing at the white skulls as if lost in doubt; now and then snorting to call others to solve the mystery, or swaying at his tether as if to get away himself." Charlemagne had discovered the bodies of some long-dead soldiers from a previous battle. These bones were gathered up into old cracker-boxes and taken back with the army to Washington.

The Grand Review, May 23, 1865 The Army of the Potomac finally arrived in the Washington area on May 12, 1865. The Fifth Corps was assigned a permanent camp on Arlington Heights, near the former mansion of Robert E. Lee. The next several days were spent preparing for a final great review of the armies, plus dealing with the many details and paperwork needed to muster out and transport hundreds of thousands of men. Chamberlain received a most welcome visitor during this time: his father-in-law, the Rev. George Adams, who gave him much-longed-for news of Fannie and the children back in Maine. On the evening of May 22, a large farewell party was held in the Fifth Corps' First Division camp, to honor General Griffin. Four huge hospital tents had been put together, to accommodate Division officers and their invited guests. For the occasion, Chamberlain had designed, and Tiffany's in New York had created, a pin in enameled gold of a red Maltese cross against a white background--a miniature replica of the Division's flag. The cross was outlined in diamonds, with a center diamond costing about $1000. Chamberlain was chosen by his fellow officers to make the presentation speech, and he pinned the badge to his commander's uniform. Griffin was quite overcome by the honor paid, and simply bowed his thanks to the assemblage. Not much sleep was had by anyone that night. The Fifth Corps was awakened at 2:00am on May 23, 1865, to get across Long Bridge from Arlington Heights, to be in Washington at 4:00 am. They had to wait several hours for the review to begin for them (they were proceeded by the Ninth Corps, with a division of the Nineteenth; the cavalry; and some smaller, specialized units. The Second Corps would then follow the Fifth Corps, bringing up the rear). Finally, at 9:00 am, the signal gun sounded to begin this, the Last Review of the Army of the Potomac. "In my command we were well aware of quite an anxiety among officers and men of the army generally to look their very best, and more, too, on this occasion; for new uniforms, sashes, epaulettes, saddle housings and other gay trappings almost disguised some of our hardiest veterans...I hesitate to admit that in the revulsion from this on the part of the officers and men of my division, there might be a scornful pride more sinful than that of vanity...We could not pretend to be better,--proud of our humility...The men brought themselves up to regulation field inspection...their dress and accoutrements clean and bright; but all of every-day identity..for officers no useless trappings, rider or horse; plain, open saddle, with folded gray army blanket beneath; light, open bridle with simple curb and snaffle-rein; service uniform,--shoulder-strap, belts, scabbards, boots and spurs of the plainest,--no sashes, no epaulettes..."

"Now a girlish form, robed white as her spirit, presses close; modest, yet resolute, eyes fixed on her purpose. She reaches up towards me a wreath of rare flowers, close-braided, fit for viking's arm-ring, or victor's crown. How could I take it? Sword at the "carry" and left hand tasked, trying to curb my excited horse...He had been thrice shot down under me; he had seen the great surrender. But this unaccustomed vision--he had never seen a woman coming so near before,--moved him strangely. Was this the soft death-angel--did he think?--calling us again, as in other days? For as often as she lifted the garland to the level of my hand, he sprang clear from earth: heavenwards, doubtless--but was not heaven nearer just then? I managed to bring down his fore-feet close beside her, and dropped my sword-point almost to her feet, with a bow so low I could have touched her cheek. Was it the garland's breath or hers that floated to my lips? My horse trembled. I might have solved the mystery, could I have trusted him. But he would not trust me....All this passed like a flash in act; but it was not quite so brief in effect. From that time my horse was shy of girls--sharp eyes out for soft eyes--I dare say, for his master's peace and safety!" When Chamberlain came opposite the reviewing stand--where the new President, Andrew Johnson, his cabinet, ambassadors and other dignitaries were situated--he was invited to dismount and watch the review--which he did. As he watched, he saw in his mind's eye not only the living, but the dead. Here came the First Division, Fifth Corps, beginning with the Third Brigade: "For me, while this division was passing, no other thing could lure my eyes away...These were my men; and those who followed were familiar and dear. They belonged to me, and I to them by bonds birth cannot create nor death sever. More were passing here than the personages on the stand could see. But to me so seeing, what a review--how great, how far, how near! It was as the morning of the resurrection." "These are of the men I stood with at Antietam, and Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville and Gettysburg. Of that regiment--the 20th Maine--a third were left on the slopes of Round Top, and a third again in the Wilderness, at Spotsylvania, the North Anna, Cold Harbor and the Chickahominy; to-day mingling its ranks the remnants of the noble 2nd and 1st Sharpshooters. Beside it still, the 118th Pennsylvania...More Pennsylvania veterans yet; the storied 83rd and 91st, and brilliant 155th Zouave, and the shadow of the stalwart 91st, gone, and 21st Cavalry passed on. With these the 1st and 16th Michigan...the keen-eyed 1st and 2nd Sharpshooters and proud relics of the 4th, left from the Wheat-field of Gettysburg...the trusted, sorely-tried 32nd Massachusetts, with unfaltering spirit and ranks made good from the best substance of the 18th..." "Now Gregory's New York Brigade,--the 187th, 188th, and 189th, young in order of number, but veteran in experience and honor; worthy of the list held yet in living memory, the 12th, 13th, 14th, 17th, 25th, and 44th, one by one gone before. "One more brigade yet, of this division; of the tested last that shall be first; the splendid 185th New York, and fearless, clear-brained Sniper still at their head; the stalwart fourteen-company regiment, the 198th Pennsylvania, its gallant field-officers gone,--brave veteran Sickel falling with shattered arm, and brilliant young adjutant Maceuen shot dead--both within touch of my hand in the sharp rally on the Quaker Road; and Major Glenn since commanding, cut down at the height of valor....leading a charge I ordered in a moment of supreme need..Each of these brigades had been severally in my command; and now they were mine all together, as I was theirs. So has passed this First Division,--and with it, part of my soul." Chamberlain also watched the passage of the Second Division of the Fifth Corps. Of that division's three brigades, only two regiments were left: the 140th and 146th New York, led by General Romeyn Ayres: "Where are the regulars, who since 1862 had been ever at our side?--the ten iron-hearted regiments that made that terrible charge down the north spur of Little Round Top...and brought back not one-half of its deathless offering...Their places had been taken by two brigades from the old First Corps..the thrice-honored Maryland Brigade, 1st, 4th, 7th and 8th...and the gallant little Delaware Brigade..." Then lastly, the Third Division. Chamberlain sees the 5th, 140th and 146th New York regiments, along with the 15th Artillery; along with commanders such as Henry Morrow (of the famous "Iron Brigade") and Richard Coulter of the 11th Pennsylvania. But he also notices that some are missing: "But where are my splendid six regiments of them which made that resolute, forlorn-hope charge from the crest they had carried fitly named "Fort Hell", down past the spewing dragons of "Fort Damnation" into the miry, fiery pit before Rives' Salient of the dark June 18th. Two regiments of them, the 121st Pennsylvania...and 142nd Pennsylvania...alone I see in this passing pageant,--worn, thin hostages of the mortal. " Chamberlain is so moved by seeing these men--those who fought with him that June 1864 day when he was so badly wounded--that he does something unorthodox: "...I violate the courtesies of the august occasion. I give them salutation before the face of the reviewing officer--the President himself--asking no permission,--no forgiveness." And so it went. At the end of this momentous day, he could not seem to accept that this part of his life was over: "Have they all passed,--the Fifth Corps? Or will it ever pass? Am I left alone, or still with you all?" "The pageant has passed. The day is over. But we linger, loath to think we should see them no more together,--these men, these horses, these colors afield." The Army of the Potomac was officially disbanded as of June 28, 1865, but Chamberlain remained in camp, chosen as a brigade commander in the new Provisional Corps--it was rumored these "Provisionals" would be sent to Mexico with Phil Sheridan to help the French get their army out of that country. But as things turned out, they were not needed, and Chamberlain returned home to Brunswick in late July 1865--just in time for Bowdoin's commencement. He learned that General Grant was to be visiting Portland at the same time, so he invited his former commander to attend the commencement--causing quite a bit of excitement! Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain was officially mustered out in August 1865, but applied for reinstatement, due to needed surgery for his Petersburg wound. His reinstatement was accepted, and he was finally mustered out January 15, 1866.

In the immediate aftermath of the Civil War, Chamberlain returned to Bowdoin College as a professor, and also spent time speaking around Maine about his war experiences. But, like many a returning veteran, he became restless and somewhat depressed, and it became clear to him that a college professorship was becoming too narrow and confining a role. Then, it occurred to Republican party leaders in Maine that a man of Chamberlain's reputation--an educated, well-known and wounded war hero--would be attractive to the electorate as a candidate for governor. In those days, Maine elected its governors for only one-year terms. After much thought, Chamberlain allowed his name to be placed in nomination at the June 1866 state convention, and accepted when he was chosen by the delegates as their candidate.

In September 1866, Chamberlain was elected Governor of Maine by the largest majority in the state's history, up to that time. He would eventually be elected to four consecutive one-year terms--1866, 1867, 1868 and 1869. During his terms as Maine's Governor, Chamberlain undertook projects that were not just talked about, but instead were carried through. He organized a state War Claims Commission, putting former Governor Samuel Cony in charge. As a result, not only were debts owed to Maine for subsidizing troops during the Civil War paid off, but so were those dating back to the War of 1812. Chamberlain also publicized the horrible conditions at the Hospital for the Insane, which became more crowded since the start of the Civil War. He pushed for the hospital's enlargement, saying in 1870: "Cells and corridors and stone walks are dreary confines for minds broken under the weight of real or fancied wrongs...A brief treatment of a sane man in these crowded corridors would very soon give him a title to stay there." As a matter of course, Chamberlain was also an advocate for veterans of the Civil War, as well as for their widows and orphans. He told Maine taxpayers: "Whatever means you provide for the care of these orphans, it is a duty too sacred to be slighted. The almshouse, the hovel, and the street are sad homes for the sons of martyrs...The widow should not be obliged to account to the government for her husband, but the government to the widow." In education, Chamberlain won public support for the College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts in Orono, which later became the University of Maine. He also addressed the problem of young Mainers leaving the state for better employment elsewhere. Referring to that, he said: "We have been too long content with the doubtful compliment that 'Maine is a good state to go from'. She must be made a good state to come to, and stay in." With that in mind, he looked for ways to bring industry to Maine. Seeing that Maine's natural resources, particularly its waterways, was a great selling point in attracting industry, he ordered an in-depth survey of the state's major rivers; this hydrographic survey was completed while Chamberlain was still in office, and eventually attracted developers to southern Maine. He also succeeded in encouraging Scandinavian immigration to Maine. In that regard, he said: "Maine is surely as good a state to migrate to as Minnesota".

Not all of his proposals and stands on state and national issues were this popular, however. During his terms as Governor, Chamberlain made many enemies within his own Republican party; instead of "toeing the line", Chamberlain instead followed his conscience and sense of justice, fully recognizing that his unpopular stands could ruin his political career. For instance, he opposed the impeachment of President Andrew Johnson in 1868. Mass meetings were held throughout Maine, urging and threatening Senator William Pitt Fessenden, who also opposed impeachment--and who had the support of Governor Chamberlain. In May of 1868, Fessenden and six other Republican senators voted with the Democrats, finding Johnson "not guilty" by one vote. The proceedings, known as "The Great American Farce", disgusted Chamberlain. On the state level, Chamberlain faced opposition on two major fronts: the state Liquor Laws, and capital punishment. As to the former issue, Maine had at that time a Prohibition Law, making the sale, purchase and manufacture of intoxicating liquor illegal. This Prohibition Law was supported by another law, called the Constabulary Law, which gave law enforcement officers the right to enter and search private homes on suspicion of possession of liquor. The Republican party supported this law--but Chamberlain sided with the Democrats, believing this was not only an infringement on the constitutional rights of individuals, but afforded these officers a great opportunity to misuse their authority. He believed it was not the state's job to dictate virtues and that: "...legislation upon what a man shall eat and drink, is certainly a pretty strong assertion of 'State Rights' over those of the individual." Because of this stand, Chamberlain received much criticism from his own party, as well as church groups and temperance advocates. The pressure to support this law intensified when he politely refused to be chairman of a temperance convention in Augusta. At the time, litigation on the Constabulary Law was pending, and Chamberlain believed it would be a conflict of interest if he attended--and particularly if he acted as chairman. It turned out to be the right stand to take--during his administration, both the Constabulary Law and the part of the Liquor Law requiring jail sentences for a first offense were repealed by the state Legislature. The other major issue Chamberlain faced opposition on was capital punishment. On a personal level, Chamberlain favored it, feeling that without the threat of the death penalty, criminals were more likely to commit murder. Criminals found guilty of murder in the first degree in Maine were sentenced to be hanged--in accordance with that law, a year after the sentence was pronounced. It was the Governor's responsibility to sign the death warrant and set an execution date. When Chamberlain became Governor, he discovered that his predecessors (except for Governor Samuel Cony) had neglected to follow through with this duty, because the law put no time limit on when death warrants were issued. With this in mind, Chamberlain approached the Legislature several times, asking to have capital punishment abolished altogether, or to put a time limit on when executions should take place. As he put it: "If we cannot make our practice conform to our law, then make our law agree with our practice." When this appeal did not work, Chamberlain refused to follow his predecessors' example, and signed the death warrant on a rapist-murderer named Clifton Harris. Two things began to complicate matters: supposedly Harris had turned state's evidence, to implicate an accomplice. Because he did this, State Attorney General William Frye wanted the death sentence commuted to life imprisonment--but Frye had not protested Harris' death sentence until Chamberlain had signed the death warrant. But, Chamberlain pointed out, if Frye had promised Harris a lighter sentence in exchange for information, wouldn't that have given Harris an incentive to lie, and possibly implicate an innocent man, in order to save his own life? (As it turned out, Harris' supposed "evidence" wasn't enough for Frye to charge the accomplice.) Secondly, Harris was a black man, a former slave; his sympathizers cited this background as the reason for his violent behavior, and asked for mercy. Chamberlain didn't see it that way: "However the experience of suffering may have affected my personal sympathies, the consideration of the public safety convinces me that this is not the time to soften penalties. Too much crime is abroad, and emboldened by the mildness and uncertainty of punishment...Mercy is indeed a heavenly grace, but it should not be shown to crime. It is the crime and not the man, at which the law strikes. It is not to prevent that man alone from repeating his offense, but to prevent others from so doing." Chamberlain did not budge from his position. The sentence of execution was carried out. On top of all the controversies--and occasional death threats!--he faced as Governor, Chamberlain's marriage began to suffer at this time as well. His decision to enter politics after the war did not sit well with his wife Fannie. She enjoyed being a Bowdoin professor's wife, and resented his absences in the state capital at Augusta. (In all fairness to Fannie, there was no "Governor's Mansion" in Augusta at the time, and being Governor was not a "full-time" job.) She began to think her husband no longer cared about her, and in 1868 began talking to some "back-door" gossips about the possibility of divorce! In a letter to Fannie, Chamberlain begged her to consider the implications of such an action--not just for him, but especially for Fannie. The lot of a divorcee at that time, in Maine, would not have been a happy one. The scandal would have been very damaging to them both. Fortunately, the crisis passed, and no legal action was taken. In fact, after the stress of his political career, Chamberlain began to look more favorably on return to academic life--which naturally would please Fannie.

In early 1871, Chamberlain was unanimously elected as Bowdoin's president. He took the position, on condition that he would be given the freedom and flexibility to make changes at the college. He knew that Bowdoin not only had to reform parts of its curriculum, but its attitude toward education as well. He had three areas of reform in mind: a loosening of discipline, with a view to treating students as adults; curriculum revision with a greater emphasis on science and modern languages as well as the inception of a graduate program leading to the Master of Arts degree; and the introduction of military drill. Changes in the first area were probably not too difficult to take. Formal morning prayers before breakfast were eliminated; prayers were held after breakfast at 8:30, with all classes for the day to follow at half-hour intervals. Evening prayers, with the exception of Sunday, were abolished altogether, as were Saturday classes and the long winter vacation. Commencement was to occur in June. Library hours were extended, and scholarship alone was now to determine the award of college honors--before that, irregularities in conduct or in attendance at college exercises had figured in the awards. Curriculum revision, however, was a tougher nut to crack. Chamberlain's idea to add a science department, for example, was felt by some of the older professors as a threat to Bowdoin's traditional course of study, which was to prepare students for the Congregationalist ministry. Besides the addition of a science department, Chamberlain also wanted to establish an engineering course, and he also placed an emphasis on the modern languages of French and German (instead of Greek and Latin), for those students taking the science course. To make matters "worse" (in some of the more conservative faculty's eyes), Chamberlain believed WOMEN should have rights to higher education: "Women too should have part in this high calling. Because in this sphere of things her 'rights', her capacities, her offices, her destiny, are equal to those of man." Chamberlain further rattled Bowdoin's academic cages in his first address as President in July 1872. Among other things, he deplored the spirit of the monastery, with its "...tendency away from life; the natural affection rebuked; the social instincts chilled; the body despised and so dishonored; woman banished and hence degraded, so that to admit her to a place in higher education is thought to degrade a college. The inmates separate, secluded, grown abnormal and provincial, came out into the world strangers to it...Now that is not what the college wants to make of men." This was Chamberlain's challenge to Bowdoin: adapt to the outside world, or die from within. And Chamberlain was bound and determined to drag Bowdoin kicking and screaming, if necessary, into the 19th century! In the area of the military drill, the Federal government at the time was concerned that, if the country ever entered another war, it would not be caught unprepared to fight, as it was in 1861. Therefore, it encouraged colleges and universities to develop military units, and Chamberlain wanted one at Bowdoin. He made the recommendation to the Boards in January 1872, and it was approved, and he selected Major Joseph Sanger to organize this unit. At first the students took their military duties seriously--four infantry companies were organized, numbering nearly 200 student privates, non-commissioned officers, and officers; as well as an artillery unit. But, as time went on, the novelty of drilling began to wear off. For one thing, the students resented the study time lost to the drill, not to mention the fact they had to purchase their own uniforms! In November 1873, the students decided to bypass Chamberlain and approach the Boards directly, presenting a petition to abolish the drill altogether. Negotiations between the students and the college failed, and in May 1874, the students were given an ultimatum: resume drilling, or go home. The students went home. Letters from the college followed, telling parents that their sons had to return to school within ten days to comply with the laws of the college--including military drill--or be expelled. Thankfully, all but three returned by the expected time (and even those three ultimately came back to the fold). This "Drill Revolt" ultimately doomed Chamberlain's military program. In June 1873, the Boards voted to make it optional; in 1883, it was abolished altogether. Chamberlain was also being attacked by those who criticized the science program--not only by those who opposed his de-emphasis on religion, but also by those who felt he'd not gone far enough. Unfortunately, the program encountered many financial difficulties; in those days, colleges were still pretty much dependent on students' tuition to meet expenses. With limited building expansion, inadequate facilities, and low salaries (and competition from both the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the Maine State Agricultural College at Orono), Chamberlain finally admitted failure in 1878. "We may console ourselves with having made an earnest effort to meet what was a demand of the times, with having done good work and earned a good fame...." In 1880 and 1881, the Boards discontinued both the scientific and engineering programs respectively. At the time, some of Chamberlain's academic ideas were considered too radical. But in the end, some of them would be permanently established: in 1892, a new science department was introduced; and in 1971, Bowdoin would finally open its doors to women. During his years as Bowdoin's president, Chamberlain also kept up a strenuous outside schedule. Frequent addresses at town festivals, meetings of the Grand Army of the Republic and the Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States; an appearance as Maine's representative at the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia; serving as United States Commissioner at the 1878 Paris Exposition (where he wrote a 165-page report for the U.S. government appraising European education, with an emphasis on systems being utilized in France--and for which he would receive a bronze medal from the French government), among other things. But ill health, caused by the Petersburg wound, would continue to dog him, and in September 1883, he resigned as Bowdoin's president, although the Boards asked him to lecture for the time being, in political economy and in constitutional and international law. In 1885, in ill health again, he resigned even this position, although he would continue to serve on the Boards until his death. But it was quite a remarkable record of service: from 1855 to 1885, Chamberlain would teach every subject at Bowdoin, except mathematics and physical science.

When Chamberlain purchased this house in the spring of 1859, it had only one story. The poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow had brought his bride to live here in 1829. In 1867, Chamberlain had the house moved--literally!--from its original location on Potter Street, to this more desirable location on Maine Street, across from both Bowdoin College and First Parish Church. During his Bowdoin presidency, in 1871, he decided he needed a larger home, for things like entertaining guests. But instead of moving to another house altogether, Chamberlain had the present house literally raised up off the ground, and had a new first floor built underneath. He personally designed the Grand Entrance Hall, with a spiral staircase going up to the second floor. He jokingly told a reporter: "When I returned to Brunswick after the war, I found I was a great man--so I added another story to my house." In this house, Chamberlain and his wife Fannie raised their children: daughter Grace (nicknamed "Daisy"), and son Wyllys. Chamberlain was especially close to Grace, his eldest child; he considered her something of a kindred spirit. As an adolescent, she called her father "Dearest Papa" and "Darling Boy". She would also show her thoughtfulness to him in little ways--such as straightening and putting her father's papers away, after he left them spread around from his desk to the floor and the mantelpiece. When she was a child of six, Chamberlain wrote her this letter after the battle of Chancellorsville: "My dear little Daisy, I began a letter to you before the battle, but in the hurry of our moving it was lost. It was night, too, so that we could not see much. I am sorry I lost the letter, for it was almost done. There has been a big battle, and we had a great many men killed or wounded. We shall try it again soon, and see if we cannot make those Rebels behave better, and stop their wicked works in trying to spoil our Country, and making us all so unhappy. I have looked for the letter a great deal, but I shall enjoy writing another to you. You see I cannot write very well in this way; I believe you could write better if you should try...Do you and Wyllys have a pleasant time now-a-days? I think dear Aunty [Fannie's aunt, Deborah Folsom, was staying with her at the time] must make you very happy. She has such kind ways. I should like to see you all. What a charming little home you have, especially if dear Mamma is with you. Does Master Wyllys call her Fanny yet? You must have a garden to work in. It is very hot here, so that we can hardly bear to have our clothes on. But we do not have any May-flowers here. All the ground is so trampled by the army that even the grass will not grow much. How I should enjoy a May-walk with you and Wyllys, and what beautiful flowers we would bring home to surprise Mamma and Aunty! I often think of all our paths and sunny banks where we are always sure to find the wild flowers. Do the beautiful birds sing about the trees, and look for places to build nests near the house, as they used to do? I am suddenly ordered to the front to take command of our pickets. Mamma will tell you what they are, so goodbye once more. Papa." While he was president of Bowdoin, Grace grew into a young woman to whom Chamberlain would write: "I love you because you are a splendid soul, and belong to eternity." In 1881, Grace married Boston lawyer Horace Gwynn Allen (the son of an old friend of her mother's, as it turned out!) at First Parish Church. Her father led her to the very altar where he and Fannie had been married in 1856. She and Horace had three daughters: Eleanor, born in 1893; Beatrice, born in 1893; and Rosamond, born in 1898. Chamberlain adored the three little girls, and visited them often in their Boston home. Chamberlain's only surviving son, Harold Wyllys (but called Wyllys by the family), was of a different sort. Physically, he resembled his mother, and she was also his greatest influence. He graduated from Bowdoin in 1881, and completed his Master's Degree there in 1884, and then studied law at Boston University Law School. He was not the scholar his father was, and never seemed to become completely independent of his parents. He practiced law in both Florida and New York; he also lived in Florida briefly, where he helped Chamberlain oversee some of his business interests. He also pursued his interest in the military while in Florida, serving for several years as lieutenant of the "Finley Guards". During that service, he became involved in an incident where he and his men protected an accused man from being lynched by an armed mob! He downplayed his role in the incident, writing to his family: "...the occasion does not rank with Waterloo or Gettysburg, but we accomplished our purpose." But what Wyllys really enjoyed doing was being an inventor, especially doing electrical experiments involving magnets and motors. He gave up his law career, and focused mostly on this vocation, usually living with family members while conducting his experiments. He never married. Chamberlain loved his son, but was constantly worried about Wyllys' ability to stand on his own financially--especially in the event of Chamberlain's death. In a letter to Wyllys, Chamberlain wrote: "Your attention has been absorbed in the inventions in which your brain is so fertile, so that you have not got into the other stratum, or sphere, of making money of it. That is a 'worldly way' of looking at things, but it has to [be] regarded." No doubt life in his famous father's shadow must have been very hard for Wyllys. All during his life, Chamberlain remained close to his parents, writing letters and visiting them in Brewer as often as he could. During the war, in a letter to his sister Sae, he wrote: "I could not bear to lose Father or Mother any more than if I was a boy of 10." Every year, on his birthday, Chamberlain wrote a letter to his mother, to thank her for all that she meant to him. This is what he wrote her in 1887: "My dear Mother, This is my birthday and I must write you my letter, as I always do to bless and thank you for my life; for all your suffering for me & tender care, and faithful guidance & good instructions. I trust that I have made the life of some good to the world, and a joy to you. Perhaps I have not made all that was possible of my life, but I trust that God has still use for me, and has spared me through so many perils and so many years, for a blessing somewhere yet to be given and received. I pray that you may be kept in health and peace & that God's peace may rest in your soul. I thank Him & I thank you, for the happy little meeting we had a few days ago. I trust I can be of some comfort and use to you still in these sweet evenings of the years. Your prayers for me are always in my heart. God has answered them for my good, and will do so still. It is a day full of gratitude to you & to God for my spirit, & I am happy and ready for anything to which I may be called. May God bless & keep you. Your loving son, Lawrence." In the summer of 1880, Chamberlain's father, Joshua, Jr., --the man who had taught him so many valuable lessons--died at the age of 79. In November of 1888--just over a year after receiving the above letter--Chamberlain lost his mother. In fact, the latter part of the 19th century saw Chamberlain also lose his two surviving brothers. First to go was his brother John, who had spent time with Chamberlain during the Gettysburg campaign, as a member of the Christian Commission. John returned to Maine in 1863 and attended Bangor Theological Seminary, graduating in 1864. He was offered a commission as chaplain of the 11th Maine Infantry Regiment, but declined, and instead moved to New York City to work as an Internal Revenue commissioner, and to get started in business. In April 1865 he began to hemorrhage from his lungs, which was probably indirectly caused by his catching a cold after returning to Washington in 1863. He recovered sufficiently enough to marry Delia Jarvis of Castine and Bangor in 1866. But his illness worsened, and John died at Castine in August 1867, at the age of 29. Chamberlain's youngest brother, Tom, had an even more difficult life after the war. It seemed he picked up some very bad habits during his wartime service--namely, drinking too much. He couldn't seem to settle down after the war. He settled briefly in New York, working for his brother John, and worked in business for himself for a short time after John's death. He went back to Maine and worked as a merchant in Bangor for a time; then from 1879 to 1886 he worked in a pension office, possibly in Washington. In 1870 he married John's widow, Delia, but lived apart from her while working at the pension office. Sometimes he was so neglectful of his support of Delia that she had to ask her mother-in-law for money for board and other expenses. His sister Sae wrote worried letters to her brother Joshua. Tom suffered from chronic lung and heart problems before he was fifty, and in the summer of 1896, his health failed completely. His wife Delia and sister Sae devotedly nursed him during his final illness, and Tom died in August 1896, at the age of 56. Chamberlain's love for his wife, Fannie, remained strong all through the years, even during their most difficult times, and frequent separations due to his speaking engagements. In a letter written to Fannie just before they were married, Chamberlain wrote: "I know in whom all my highest hopes & dearest joys are centered. I know in whom my whole heart can rest--so sweetly and so surely." Sadly, Fannie suffered from eye problems most of her life, and by the turn of the century, had gone completely blind. She, who used to enjoy travel (and who had done a lot of it, especially during the Civil War years, visiting friends in Boston and New York), became more and more reclusive, despite the entreaties of her husband and her son-in-law to leave her Brunswick home. In August of 1905, Fannie fell and broke her hip; a short time after that, Chamberlain wrote her a letter for her 80th birthday, to thank her for her love and their long life together. In it, he wrote: "Your husband and children 'rise up and call you blessed'--as the old scriptures represent the crowning grace of a good woman". On October 18, 1905, Fannie died in their Brunswick home, and was buried three days later in the family plot at Pine Grove Cemetery. Her husband mourned her loss; on her gravestone he had inscribed the words: "UNVEILED, OCTOBER 18, 1905"--a reference to her blindness. The following spring, he wrote an eloquent tribute to her, in a war paper about the Last Review of the Army of the Potomac. It was written in such a way that any casual listener or reader would think that it was not part of the description of the AOP and its spectators in 1865. It went like this: "You in my soul I see, faithful watcher by my cot-side long days and nights together through the delirium of mortal anguish,--steadfast, calm, and sweet as eternal love. We pass now quickly from each other's sight; but I know full well that where beyond these passing scenes you shall be, there will be heaven!"

Business and Public Speaking Career After Chamberlain resigned as Bowdoin's president in 1883, he turned his attention to the business world. He worked out of Florida, New York and Maine, and his business ventures ranged from developing land in Florida, establishing the Ocala and Silver Springs Railroad, and holding stock in, and serving as president of, several companies, including New Jersey Construction, Mutual Town and Bond in New York, and Kinetic Power. His idealism and sense of duty to others were two factors that motivated him in business. Unfortunately, those traits also made him a poor businessman! He made many investments, ranging from orange groves to railroads, but he reaped little financial reward from them. In 1902, his son Wyllys wrote to his mother from Florida: "Two of Father's companies are coming to the front, three of them in fact, and I hope he will see that he gets something for himself out of them..." After about a decade of trying to make a go of it in the business world, Chamberlain gave it up, saying he wanted to put his strength into "good clean work." The world of business wasn't the only thing occupying Chamberlain during the late 1888's and into the 1890's. For instance, he served as president of the Institute for Artists and Artisans. He described its purpose this way: "It is conceived and conducted in the spirit of Vital Art, tending toward a National emancipation from servile imitation and dead literalism, as well as from industrial and commercial dependence on foreign peoples for a supply of a fresh and growing demand in this country for high artistic work, in the common arts." The Institute was based in New York City, but Chamberlain also established a summer home for it in Maine, in what would become his summer home. It was located at Simpson's Point, on Middle Bay between Mere Point and Harpswell, about four miles south of Brunswick, on the site of an old shipyard. He named his home "Domhegan", after the one of the Indian chiefs who sold the site to the white man. Here he loved to ride his horse "Charlemagne" and sail Middle Bay on his little yacht "Pinafore." Chamberlain was always looking for ways to serve his fellow man, and the organizations he chose to be involved in reflected that sense of service. They included: military organizations such as the Society of the Army of the Potomac (president), the Grand Army of the Republic (department commander), the Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States, the Maine Commandery (department commander)--the last organization he founded in 1869, and the one in which he was most interested. Chamberlain was also involved in many non-military organizations, besides the Institute for Artists and Artisans. He was always looking for ways to serve his fellow human beings, and the following list reflects that sense of service. They included the American Huguenot Society (vice president), the Alpha Delta Phi fraternity (president), the Chamberlain Association of America (president), the Egyptian Exploration Society, the Philosophical Society of Great Britain, the New England Rhetorical and Genealogical Society, the Egyptian Research, the American Political Science Association, the American Historical Association, the Maine Historical Society, the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, the Webster Historical Society at Boston, the American Geological Society, the American Geographical Society, the American Bible Society (senior vice president), the American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions (life member), American National Institute in Paris (a director), the Humane Education Society (vice president), the Maine Institute for the Blind (a director), and the National Red Cross. He wasn't merely content to pay fees and read periodicals--he attended meetings and took an active interest in the organizations. Such activity, however, took a toll on his health; in December 1890, he was taken seriously ill, and confined to his room in New York City. During this time of illness, the 30th anniversary of the battle of Gettysburg approached, and many of Chamberlain's friends tried to obtain for him some concrete recognition for his outstanding service at Little Round Top. Old comrades such as General Thomas Hubbard and General Alexander Webb wrote letters on his behalf, as did Maine's then-Governor, Henry B. Cleaves. Finally, on August 17, 1893, Chamberlain received what, to many, was a belated "thank you" from the government: the Medal of Honor. The inscription on the back read, in part: "...for distinguished gallantry at the battle of Gettysburg, July 2, 1863.."

During his life, Chamberlain also represented his state, and his country, at two important exhibitions. He was invited by Maine Governor Selden Conner (himself a distinguished Civil War veteran) to give the primary address at "Maine Day", during the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, on November 4, 1876. He entitled his address "Maine: Her Place in History". It was a long and idealistic speech, but it was also like his gubernatorial addresses: filled with sharp realism as well. In it, he spoke of his native state as: "...conservative; self-reliant; calm; slow, even, to wrath or novelty. She will lead in a noble cause when convinced; but she is not fanatical, narrow, or self-seeking..." Concerned about the state's young people, who were leaving in droves for opportunities elsewhere, Chamberlain wanted his state to emphasize skilled labor, rather than manual: "Hard labor is a prison sentence; skilled labor is the enfranchisement of man". On an idealistic note, he envisaged a time, when: "...in the revolutions and evolutions of history the shore of this Gulf of Maine will be the seat of industrial, social, and political empire, even beyond the early dreams; for it will be an empire where no despot either of politics or traffic, shall make merchandize of souls, but where MAN, in making himself master, makes all men free!" The address was very well received; many people thought it was the most significant of all those delivered! Chamberlain was invited to give the same speech before the Maine State Legislature in February, 1877, and it was later published as a state document. On the international scene, Chamberlain attended the 1878 Paris Exposition, as United States Commissioner of Education, appointed by President Rutherford B. Hayes. He took Fannie and his now-grown children with him, and they stayed in Europe for nearly five months, beginning in June 1878. In a way, it was the fulfillment of that European trip he'd given up, to go to war in 1862. They first visited Britain, and then took a house in Paris, so they could travel around the Continent. (He also had to raise a lot of money to finance such a long trip!) There were exciting moments to remember, such as the grand ball held in the Palace of Versailles' Hall of Mirrors; here Chamberlain danced with his daughter Grace. A far cry from his youth in Maine, when just looking into a ballroom was considered sinful! But Chamberlain also had serious duties to perform. He got permission from the French authorities to do research on the French occupation of Maine in colonial days, by going through France's public libraries and archives. He also prepared for the U.S. government a report on educational systems, as shown in the educational exhibits at the Exposition, with a particular emphasis on France. His inspection ranged from nurseries to scientific museums. In his report, Chamberlain saw that the Europeans were more progressive in their educational systems than the U.S., especially in making education compulsory and "neutral" in religion. He saw that in Europe, education was primarily in the hands of men, whereas in America it was just the opposite: women had taken over. He wrote: "..there is a just mean somewhere...But it will probably remain true that the reserved force and the power to command and to deal with masses, which is characteristic of manhood, will be deemed an essential factor in the proper discipline of youthful character, and the successful administration of schools on any considerable scale.: He saw the U.S. as ahead in the education of girls, and also thought that schools and colleges in the U.S. were "far behind" in the study of political ad social science: "Nor can there be any branch of the 'humanities' more important or more urgently demanded by the times than the knowledge of the facts, the forces, and the laws by which civilization advances, and man emerges from the brute." He also liked the way Europeans gave attention to adult education, saying: "More of this sort could be done in our higher schools of learning. The college should not only be a place where a student can get an education; it should be a light set on a hill, to shine into the dark places before it." For his efforts, Chamberlain received a bronze medal from the French government, and the compliments of John D. Philbrick, director of the Educational Exhibit of the United States.

Last Years When the Spanish-American War broke out in 1895, Chamberlain offered his services to his country once again. He contacted Maine Governor Llewellyn Powers, as well as the Secretary of War and to Senator William Frye. In the letter to Frye, Chamberlain offered to organize a division of New England troops to be distributed among several training camps, and also expressed a hope that he could go to Cuba himself. He wrote: "I cannot but think that my day is not yet over for the service of my Country. You gentlemen in Congress and in the offices of the Government are in your right place; I desire to be in mine." He was seventy years old when he wrote this letter. The Secretary of War politely acknowledged Chamberlain's offer, but turned to younger men instead. Senator Frye and his colleague, Senator Hale, thought of him as one of the peace commissioners, but nothing came of that--as well as the suggestion from someone else that Chamberlain be considered as head of the new Philippine government. In 1899, Chamberlain's desire to be of service came to the attention of friends in Maine, who wrote to President William McKinley, asking him to secure a position for Chamberlain to serve the Federal Government in the state of Maine--centering primarily on the post of Collector of Customs for Portland. Many letters and petitions were sent to the President, to Senators Frye and Hale, and to the First Congressional District's representative, Amos L. Allen. Even with all these letters, and expressions of support from other prominent Mainers, Chamberlain did not get the post. (Chamberlain seemed to show a reluctance to speak and work for his own advancement--not because he was shy about doing so, but because he had a great distaste for self-adulation--and he also realized that there's no such thing as an "indispensable man".) In spite of that setback, however, Chamberlain's friends managed to secure for him the post of Surveyor of the Port of Portland. It was a less prestigious position than that of Collector of Customs, but it was much less strenuous, given the state of Chamberlain's health at the time. Chamberlain finally agreed to take this post (although he was disappointed at not getting the Collector's post), and was officially appointed by President McKinley on March 20, 1900. Chamberlain received many congratulations on getting this position--but inside he was quite distressed. In December 1899, Chamberlain wrote of this distress to an old friend, General John T. Richards: "The surveyorship is a good little office, no doubt...It is said to be an easy place--no responsibilities, no duties, no power, no prominence, no part in the governmental representation, and requiring no ability...To me it suggests a free bed in a hospital. It has a good salary for such a place, I confess, and that is something of a silencer." Then he really said what was on his mind, and heart: "What I aspired to...was the Collectorship. This is a representative office. It is concerned not only with the collection of the customs; but it represents the party in power;...it represents the President among the people as the Senators and Members of Congress represent the people in the halls of legislation and government...Hence it has been held not unworthy of the ambition of first-class men. It has been thought promotion even for Governors. I am free to say I thought myself equal to these things." As he thought of the Surveyorship, Chamberlain scoffed: "{the Surveyorship} has nothing of this character or history about it. It is essentially an obscure office, tending to keep one out of notice, as well as out of responsibility. I am conscious of vital activities which welcome heavier tasks, and demand more scope." In the end, he applied himself vigorously to the task at hand, determined to make more of the job than it originally offered, and soon made good friends of everybody at the Customs House--especially the Collector. He was also grateful that the job was not strenuous, especially when he suffered a violent inflammation of the Petersburg wound in 1900. He thought a warmer climate would be better for his recovery, so he applied to the Secretary of the Treasury for a leave of absence, from November 10 to January 10, 1901, to go to the Mediterranean. He visited Italy, but encountered bad weather there, so friends encouraged him to go to Egypt. He agreed, and took up lodgings in Cairo. Fannie did not accompany Chamberlain on this trip; by this time, she had lost her sight completely, and she was left in the care of Grace and her family. Chamberlain did not forget his wife; he wrote to her just before he left: "You remember we are 'engaged' again, not to sink down under any evils in our absence, but to keep whole and well for other days to come." Chamberlain himself got seriously ill while in Egypt, which delayed his trip home; he returned in the spring of 1901. Besides his work as Surveyor, Chamberlain also fulfilled many speaking engagements at this time. He spoke at many historic anniversaries in the East, as well as at meetings of the GAR and the Loyal Legion. His most significant address during this time was given on the hundredth anniversary of Abraham Lincoln's birth in February 1909, at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia. He chose as his theme "Abraham Lincoln Seen from the Field": "But always he wished to see the army together...This had a being, a place, a power beyond the aggregate of its individual units. A review was therefore held, in completeness and most careful order. Slowly he rode along front and rear of the opened ranks, that he might see all sides of things as they were...We could see the deep sadness in his face, and feel the burden on his heart...and we took him into our hearts with answering sympathy, and gave him our pity in return." At the conclusion of the speech, the veterans sat in momentary silence, then leapt to their feet in thunderous applause.

Besides the speeches, Chamberlain also did a lot of writing about his war experiences. In early 1913, the editor of "Cosmopolitan" magazine asked him to contribute an article, which became "My Story of Fredericksburg". He was also contacted by "Hearst's Magazine" for another article, which became "Through Blood & Fire at Gettysburg". (Unfortunately, the first article caused a serious rift to develop between Chamberlain and his old comrade, Ellis Spear. It seems the editors of "Cosmopolitan"--a Hearst-edited publication--did some "colorful editing" of the article, which infuriated Spear. He thought it was Chamberlain's work--but when Chamberlain himself found out about it, he TOO was infuriated! But Spear didn't know this, and began to publicly condemn his former commanding officer.) He also presented papers on the subjects of the White Oak Road battle and the battle at Five Forks, which became the basis for his only published book, "The Passing of the Armies"--which was not published until after his death. In May of 1913, Chamberlain made his last known visit to Gettysburg, as Maine's representative on the planning committee for the 50th anniversary reunion in July of that year. He went once more to that southern slope of the hill, where his Twentieth Maine had won their undying fame: "I went--it is not long ago--to stand again upon that crest whose one day's crown of fire has passed into the blazoned coronet of fame; to look again upon the rocks whereon were laid as on the altar the lives of {Strong} Vincent and {Colonel Patrick} O'Rorke {the commander of the 140th New York, who helped save the right flank of Vincent's Brigade--and who died as a result.]". As he sat there, he thought he could see in his mind's eye his old comrades returning once more: "I sat there alone on the storied crest, till the sun went down as it did before the misty hills, and the darkness crept up the slopes, till from all earthly sight I was buried as with those before. But oh, what radiant companionship was around, what steadfast ranks of power, what bearing of heroic souls. Oh, the glory that beamed through those nights and days. Nobody will ever know it here!--I am sorry most of all for that." Sadly, Chamberlain's health wouldn't permit him to go to that great reunion--his doctor, the faithful Dr. Abner Shaw (the same man who saved Chamberlain's life at Petersburg in 1864) would not permit him to go. The heat would probably have killed him. But he saw the Maine contingent off at the train station in Portland--no doubt wishing with all his heart that he could be with them. In August 1913 Chamberlain visited his daughter's family at their summer home, sailing and spending time with the family. He was even considering writing a book about Gettysburg, but he soon fell ill again, and Grace came from Boston in December to be with him. Dr. Shaw was also with him. Later that month, he felt well enough to sit up in a chair and dictate letters to his surviving sister, Sae. This illness really sapped his remaining strength; and by January 1914, he was completely bedridden. On January 20, 1914, he said in a letter to Sae: "I am passing through deep waters...The Doctor thinks I am going to land once more on this shore...I am trying to get a little closer to God and to know him better." Two weeks later, he would write: "Am gaining strength, but slow work. The bed and bed-side chair are still my habitual place. Have to keep a trained nurse for awhile yet." He was almost recovered from this illness, when he caught cold and suffered a relapse. This time there was no hope of recovery, and, with Grace and Wyllys at his bedside, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain died, quietly, at his home in Portland, on January 24, 1914. Grace especially was crushed by her loss; her husband Horace came down from Boston to comfort her. Three days later, on February 27, 1914, a military funeral was held at Portland's City Hall, under the charge of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion. Hundreds of people lined the streets as Chamberlain's coffin was taken from his Ocean Avenue home to City Hall. Two thousand people gathered inside City Hall; they included such dignitaries as Maine's governor, representatives of the governor of Massachusetts, officers of Bowdoin College, as well as members of the Loyal Legion and the Grand Army of the Republic. His casket was attended by an honor guard. After two music selections--Beethoven's funeral march "On the Death of a Hero", and Chamberlain's favorite, "The Death of Asa" from Grieg's "Peer Gynt"--the eulogy was delivered by Rev. Jesse M. Hill. He told the crowd, in part: "There was a texture to his mind, a color to his soul, a certain quality to his personality that would have made him conspicuous and lovable without the titles and robes of the earth...He was the incarnation of the best and manliest qualities of the American character." Following a prayer, and the playing of "Taps" from the upper gallery, the casket was taken from the hall by the honor guard, to the strains of Chopin's "Funeral March". The funeral procession then made its way through Portland, to the train station, where a special train waited to take Chamberlain home to Brunswick.