This eBook was produced by David Widger
Charles T. Torrey, an able young Congregational clergyman, died May 9, 1846, in the state's prison of Maryland, for the offence of aiding slaves to escape from bondage. His funeral in Boston, attended by thousands, was a most impressive occasion. The following is an extract from an article written for the Essex Transcript:—
Some seven years ago, we saw Charles T. Torrey for the first time. Hiswife was leaning on his arm,—young, loving, and beautiful; the heartthat saw them blessed them. Since that time, we have known him as a mostenergetic and zealous advocate of the anti-slavery cause. He had finetalents, improved by learning and observation, a clear, intensely activeintellect, and a heart full of sympathy and genial humanity. It was withstrange and bitter feelings that we bent over his coffin and looked uponhis still face. The pity which we had felt for him in his longsufferings gave place to indignation against his murderers. Hatefulbeyond the power of expression seemed the tyranny which had murdered himwith the slow torture of the dungeon. May God forgive us, if for themoment we felt like grasping His dread prerogative of vengeance. As wepassed out of the hall, a friend grasped our hand hard, his eye flashingthrough its tears, with a stern reflection of our own emotions, while hewhispered through his pressed lips: "It is enough to turn every anti-slavery heart into steel." Our blood boiled; we longed to see the wickedapologists of slavery—the blasphemous defenders of it in Church andState—led up to the coffin of our murdered brother, and there made tofeel that their hands had aided in riveting the chain upon those stilllimbs, and in shutting out from those cold lips the free breath ofheaven.
A long procession followed his remains to their resting-place at MountAuburn. A monument to his memory will be raised in that cemetery, in themidst of the green beauty of the scenery which he loved in life, and sideby side with the honored dead of Massachusetts. Thither let the friendsof humanity go to gather fresh strength from the memory of the martyr.There let the slaveholder stand, and as he reads the record of theenduring marble commune with his own heart, and feel that sorrow whichworketh repentance.
The young, the beautiful, the brave!—he is safe now from the malice ofhis enemies. Nothing can harm him more. His work for the poor andhelpless was well and nobly done. In the wild woods of Canada, aroundmany a happy fireside and holy family altar, his name is on the lips ofGod's poor. He put his soul in their souls' stead; he gave his life forthose who had no claim on his love save that of human brotherhood. Howpoor, how pitiful and paltry, seem our labors! How small and mean ourtrials and sacrifices! May the spirit of the dead be with us, and infuseinto our hearts something of his own deep sympathy, his hat