Chapter II: Part 2

It is impossible that under the personal influence of these teachers, and of their instruction, young Kellogg, with his frank and susceptible nature, should not have been stimulated to intellectual effort, and to moral earnestness, and that he should not have retained in subsequent life some impress from their vigorous and scholarly and noble characters. How much he owed them in the direction and the development of his powers we may not say. It is never possible to measure, or to estimate exactly, the total influence of a teacher’s life and work upon his pupils. It acts often in ways that do not disclose themselves to our perception; it touches the young men at points and moments of which we do not know the responsive or the repelling significance; it often produces effects which are the very opposite of what we should predict; it falls into the ground and dies, as it were, and years afterward springs up and bears fruit in a form so changed that we do not recognize the seed in the resulting harvest; it is often hidden in the hearts of the young men, and works by way of impulse or restraint so subtly that they themselves are not conscious of it; and so we can never tell to what extent a young man’s character has been formed or modified by the influence of his teachers. But there is certainly some indication of Mr. Kellogg’s own estimate of what he owed to college instruction and stimulus in the ardent and unwavering affection which he always exhibited for his Alma Mater, and which was abundantly reciprocated in the reverent honor accorded to him by the college, and by all its students and alumni. At the one-hundredth anniversary of the college, in 1894, there were more than a thousand graduates assembled at the banquet in a mammoth tent on the campus. Mr. Kellogg had, with some difficulty, been persuaded to be present. He was, of course, called upon for a speech; and when he rose to respond, every graduate, young and old, in the great company was instantly on his feet, cheering and shouting a glad salute. It was a touching and memorable ovation, and the flush of troubled happiness that flitted across his bronzed and wrinkled face was something long to be remembered, as was also his glowing tribute of affection for the college, which was his answer to the welcome of his brethren.

In Mr. Kellogg’s student days the chief literary interest and activity of the undergraduates, and no small part of their more formal social life, centred about two societies, the Peucinean and the Athenæan. Between these two societies there was intense rivalry in securing accessions from among the more desirable members of newly entering classes, in public exhibitions and anniversary exercises, and in the distribution of college and class honors. Each society possessed a considerable library of carefully selected books, and each held regular weekly meetings for literary exercises consisting of essays, poems, declamations, and debates. Kellogg was an active and esteemed member of the Peucinean society, and contributed not a little to the interest of its meetings in the several features of their literary programmes. Mr. Henry H. Boody, of the class of 1842, and subsequently professor of rhetoric and oratory in the college from 1845 to 1854, recalls the fact that at the meetings of the Peucinean society, “we used to consider a poem by Kellogg as a very rare treat,” and then adds that perhaps “our liking for the man influenced our judgment as to the merit of his productions in that line.” However that may be, it is evident that his gifts of tongue and pen were freely exercised during his undergraduate days, and that the charm of them was felt and acknowledged by his college associates.

In Mr. Kellogg’s Junior year a literary magazine, the second venture of the kind at Bowdoin, was projected by some of the students, and made its first appearance, under the name of the _Bowdoin Portfolio_, in April, 1839. Its advent was heralded, in a manner somewhat figurative and characteristic of the time, by an editorial note, of which the following are some of the first sentences:--

“A short time since, as we were sitting quietly in our room discussing the common topics of the day, we were suddenly surprised and pleased by the entrance of a comely youth, of an ideal nature, that is, made up of the immaterial mind, but who had embodied himself in a visible form. He was arrayed in a neat, simple garb, evidently preferring pure simplicity to ostentatious splendor, and wishing to attract notice, not so much by a showy dress and gorgeous outward appearance, as by the spiritual within, made clear and comprehensible by the outward representation. On his front he bore the name of ’Bowdoin Portfolio,’ and in communing with him we found a most entertaining and agreeable companion. He was just making his debut into the literary world, and it was with modesty and timidity that he declared to us his intentions of speedily making his bow, and paying court to the public.”

There is no indication that Mr. Kellogg was connected with the editorial board of the _Portfolio_, but there are contributions from him in three of the seven numbers that were published, and all his contributions are of verse. This fact recalls the testimony that has been quoted as to the pleasure with which his poems were received at the meetings of the Peucinean society. Altogether it seems as if, during his college days, his tastes led him to the cultivation of poetry, and as if the impression he made upon his college mates was rather by his verse than by his prose.

One of the poems in the _Portfolio_ is a clever translation of a Latin epitaph upon a moth miller which “came bustling through the window directly into the editorial taper, and fell lifeless upon the sheet of paper.” A part of the epitaph in Kellogg’s verse is as follows:--

“Whose greatest crime was to intrude
Upon a Poet’s solitude;
Whose saddest fortune was to fly
In a Poet’s lamp, and cheated die.
Ah! punishment to rashness due,
How certain! and how direful too!
The silly Moth thus seeking light
Is overwhelmed in shades of night;
So Youth pursuing Pleasure’s ray
O’ertakes grim Death upon the way!”

The Latin of the epitaph is of that obvious kind which an American college boy is likely to write, and there is really more distinction in Kellogg’s translation than in the original.

The other poems contributed by Kellogg to the _Portfolio_ are entitled, “The Phantoms of the Mind,” and “The Demon of the Sea.” They are both vigorous in sentiment and correct in form, and the opening lines of the latter remind us of the author’s early, and, indeed, lifelong passion for the sea:--

“Ah, tell me not of your shady dells
Where the lilies gleam, and the fountain wells,
Where the reaper rests when his task is o’er,
And the lake-wave sobs on the verdant shore,
And the rustic maid, with a heart all free,
Hies to the well-known trysting-tree;
For I’m the God of the rolling sea,
And the charms of earth are nought to me.
O’er the thundering chime of the breaking surge,
On the lightning’s wing my pathway urge,
On thrones of foam right joyous ride,
’Mid the sullen dash of the angry tide.”

It is not altogether fancy that recognizes in such lines as these hints of the impetuous and stirring rhetoric of Mr. Kellogg’s later prose, especially on occasions when his deepest feelings were moved, and he spoke of love and duty, of character and destiny, of life and immortality, out of the fulness of his conviction, and with the ardor and eloquence of his sensitive and poetic nature.

So passed his college days, in the keen enjoyment of generous comradeship, in the instinctive indulgence of his fondness for fun and frolic, in the cheerful acceptance of the burden of defraying his own expenses, in manly fidelity to the appointed studies of the course, and in the voluntary and congenial exercise of the literary gifts with which he was endowed, and through which he has made so many of us his debtors. And through it all he preserved the unaffected simplicity and purity of heart, the reverence for truth, and the consideration and charity for his fellows, which were the winning characteristics of his whole life.

* * * * *

Mr. Kellogg’s theological training in immediate preparation for the ministry was received at Andover Theological Seminary from 1840 to 1843. The intellectual and social conditions which prevail at the professional school are quite unlike those of the college. It does not have the same atmosphere of venerated tradition and compelling custom, nor is it the scene of a life so varied and buoyant. The students are older, more sedate, and more intent upon the special studies of the place. They have passed through the period of boyish effervescence and frolic, of ardent and generous comradeship, of steadfast friendships and changing schemes of life, of relative unconcern for what lies beyond the horizon of the college world--and the period is not to be repeated. They are committed to common pursuits and ambitions, and are sobered by the duties and responsibilities of life to which they are sensibly drawing near.

In his college life Mr. Kellogg found the material for a series of sparkling stories, evidently as congenial to himself as they have been interesting to his readers; but of life in the seminary he has given us no picture. This is not to the discredit of the honored school of theology to which he went, nor does it imply that he did not enter into its studies and its life with heartiness and joy, but it is a natural result of the distinction which has been suggested between the college and the professional school. The picturesque nook or landscape attracts the pencil or the brush of the artist, but his choice does not discredit the thousand scenes of field and pasture and hill and woodland which he passes by as unsuited to his artistic purpose.

It is enough to mention the names of Moses Stuart, Bela Edwards, Leonard Woods, Ralph Emerson, and Edwards Park, to show that Mr. Kellogg was as fortunate in his teachers at the seminary as he had been at the college. They were men of profound learning, of stimulating influence, of consecrated character, and of great and deserved reputation. They could not fail to quicken and enrich both his intellectual and his spiritual nature, and to send him forth fully instructed, as well as profoundly eager, to preach with persuasiveness and power, as he did preach for nearly half a century.

It was while he was a student in the seminary that Mr. Kellogg wrote the famous declamation, “Spartacus to the Gladiators,” as well as some others, almost equally famous, of the same general character. It was written for one of the prescribed rhetorical exercises of the course, at which the writer or speaker was publicly criticised by members of the student body, and also by the professor in charge. Mr. Kellogg, always timid at the prospect of open and formal criticism of his writing or speech, greatly dreaded the ordeal, and resolved to write something which should so interest his hearers by its unusual subject-matter as to divert their minds from the thought of criticism. His scheme was completely successful. The students listened with breathless attention, and were dumb when the speech was concluded. To the inquiry of Professor Park if there were any criticisms to be offered, not a voice was raised; and the professor himself remarked that though there were some things, perhaps, that might be said in criticism, yet it was so admirable a specimen of masterful rhetoric that he should say nothing. It has been considered so much of a masterpiece in its kind, that at Andover they still point out No. 20 Bartlett Hall as the room in which it was written.

There is an unmistakable dramatic quality in the conception and speech of “Spartacus,” as there were hints of such a dramatic quality in some of Mr. Kellogg’s sermons in later years, and it is interesting to note that, in his Senior year at Andover, he wrote a “dialogue,” or brief play, called “The Honest Deserter,” which was performed by the Philomathean Society of Phillips Academy. The occasion of its presentation was considered of so much interest and importance that an elm tree was planted in the Phillips yard in commemoration of the event.

When in his Senior year as a theological student Mr. Kellogg went to Harpswell to preach for some weeks, his personality and his preaching, his love of the sea and his kindly human qualities, so won the hearts of the Harpswell people that they besought him to return to Harpswell after his graduation, and become their pastor. To their urgent request he yielded, being himself much attracted by the people and their home by the sea. It was in 1844 that he was publicly installed over the church, and the official tie of pastor to the Harpswell church was severed only by his death.

EARLY HARPSWELL DAYS

WILMOT BROOKINGS MITCHELL

Harpswell, Maine, is a seaboard, almost a sea-girt, town. It is made up of a long, narrow neck of land and forty islands, some containing hundreds of acres, others almost entirely covered by the tide. Indenting the shore of this peninsula and the larger islands are sheltered inlets of deep water well suited to the building and harboring of ships. Hither came, during the first half of the eighteenth century, from Boston, Scituate, York, and other settlements, men and women of Puritan stock and Puritan ways of thinking; and here grew up large families, hardy and God-fearing, some farmers, but most of them fishermen, sailors, and ship-builders.

Elijah Kellogg could not long attend Bowdoin College, only a few miles distant, without being attracted to these sea-going people of Harpswell; for Kellogg was born with webbed feet. When hardly out of the cradle, family tradition has it, he went to sail in Back Cove, Portland, with a sugar-box for a boat and his shirt for a sail. As a youngster he would often steal to the Fore Street wharves to watch the ships, and he was never so happy as when listening to the yarns which the sailors spun. He says of himself, “At ten years of age I began to climb the rigging, and at fifteen went to sea.” His years in the “fo’c’sle,” with all their perilous and disagreeable tasks, only intensified his love for the water. As a Freshman he took supreme delight in sailing with a good comrade, on a Saturday afternoon, in his little cat-rigged boat, the _Cadet_, among the islands of Casco Bay.

One of these half-holiday expeditions affected, as it happened, his whole after-life. The _Cadet_, belated by wind and tide, ran ashore on Birch Island, and “Captain” Kellogg and crew, supperless and weary, sought shelter at the house of Captain John Skolfield. Mr. Kellogg never forgot how cosily the light from the house that evening shone through the hop vines growing over and around the windows. The hospitable islander gave the wayfarers a warm welcome and a plentiful supper; for which hospitality, before the evening ended, Kellogg, full of stories of college and the sea, made his host feel well repaid. Thus began his acquaintance with the Birch Islanders,--the Skolfields, Curtises, and Merrimans,--an acquaintance which was to ripen into a life-long friendship. The men on this island, hardy, powerful, and fearless, at once became heroes in the admiring eyes of this venture-loving student. After this he spent many happy hours building boats, gunning and fishing with Captain John, or spinning yarns and reading aloud with “Uncle Joe” Curtis,--a man who read every book he could get hold of and who remembered everything he read.

From Birch Island to Harpswell Neck, where Eaton’s store and the church were located, is but a short row; there Kellogg often went to buy something for his boat, or to worship on the Sabbath. Before long he had many friends and admirers upon the mainland; for these people had but to see the sharp-eyed, brown, wiry “colleger,” and hear his stories, or listen to his earnest and eloquent exhortations in the prayer-meeting, in order to love him. It was with them, as well as with him, love at first sight; and by the time he was a Sophomore they had plighted troth. Learning that he was to study for the ministry, they must have him for their preacher; and he, half jokingly perhaps, told them if he lived to get through the seminary and they built a new church, he would come to preach for them.

After graduation at Bowdoin, Kellogg began the study of theology at Andover. When his course at the seminary was near its close, Professor Thomas C. Upham, who had been so stanch a friend of the Harpswell church that Mr. Kellogg once said it owed its very existence to him, came to Andover with a message from the Harpswell people that the timber for the new church was on the spot, and they still wanted him for a preacher. The bearer of the message evidently saw in the young preacher the salvation of the Harpswell church; for he reënforced this reminder of the promise Kellogg had made in his student days by the emphatic prophecy that God would curse him as long as he lived if he did not go. Influenced somewhat by these prophetic words, but probably much more by his love for the place and the people and the opportunity he saw of doing good, he turned away from a call to a much larger church and went to Harpswell, where, as he said many years later, he found that “obedience is sweet and not servitude.”

Although Mr. Kellogg, in response to this informal invitation, began at once to supply the pulpit in the old church, a formal call to settle as pastor was not extended to him until the next year. The reason for this becomes apparent upon an examination of the church records.

The original Harpswell church and parish were at this time passing through a transition period. Formed in 1751, the parish was at first identical with the town. The preacher’s salary and other church expenses were assessed by the town officers as taxes. But later, other churches having been built and other denominations having sprung up, many citizens objected to being taxed for the support of the minister, and some absolutely refused to pay such taxes. A troublesome question concerning the control and ownership of the first church building also arose between the town and the parish. Accordingly the supporters of the Congregational church organized a new society and erected a new church building.

This church was dedicated September 28, 1843. For this dedication the following poem was written by Mr. Kellogg:--

“Here, ’mid the strife of wind and waves
Upon a wild and stormy sod,
Beside our fathers’ homes and graves,
We consecrate a house to God.
“Here, on many a pebbly shore,
Old Ocean flings his feathery foam,
And close beside the breaker’s roar
The seaman builds his island home.
“’Mid giant cliffs that proudly breast
And backward fling the winter’s spray,
’Mid isles in greenest verdure dressed,
’Tis meet that rugged men should pray.
“Its spire shall be the last to meet
The parting seaman’s lingering eye,
The first his homeward step to greet,
And point him to a home on high.
“Here shall the force of sacred truth
Defeat the Tempter’s wildest rage,
Subdue the fiery heart of youth
And cheer the drooping strength of age.
“And when the watch of life is o’er
May we, where runs no stubborn tide,
No billows break, nor tempests roar,
In Heaven’s high port at anchor ride.”

The records show that on April 25, 1844, with Professor Upham as moderator, it was “moved and voted that the church of the Centre Congregational Society in Harpswell do hereby invite and call Mr. Elijah Kellogg to settle with them as their pastor in the Gospel ministry and [do agree] to pay [him] by subscription $300 a year for four years from the first day of June, 1844.” This call to what proved to be a long and fruitful pastorate Mr. Kellogg, on May 4, 1844, accepted in these simple and earnest words: “Brethren and Beloved: I have considered your call to settle with you as a minister of the New Testament. It appears to me to be the will of God pointed out by his providence that I comply with your invitation, which I accordingly do, praying that it may be a connection full of blessed fruits both to pastor and people.”

The new pastor was ordained on June 18, 1844. He entered with enthusiasm into his work. Among these rugged farmers, fishermen, and sailors, he sought in all ways to expound and exemplify the teachings of Him who many years before taught the fishermen of Galilee. On the Sabbath he preached sermons so interesting and eloquent that people came in boat loads from the islands to hear his words; and he entered familiarly and sympathetically into the home life of his parishioners. “His little boat might be seen in all weathers flitting to and fro between mainland and islands as he made the circuit of his watery parish in visits of friendship or of consolation, to officiate at a marriage or a funeral. He was heartily welcome in every home, for he knew their domestic life, and seemed to be a part of it; and he talked of the sea and of Him who made it in a way that brought him close to the hearts of his people, and made religion seem a natural and practical and important part of daily life. He rebuked wrong-doing, recognized and applauded every good act or effort, composed differences between neighbors, helped in manual toil, comforted the afflicted, gave to the poor,--and all in such a simple, unconventional, and genuine fashion, that his people felt that he was one of them, only better than the rest.[1]”

[1] From an address by Professor Henry L. Chapman, delivered at the Maine State Congregational Conference, September, 1901.

The pastor of the early forties was often formal, arbitrary, and autocratic, seeking to drive rather than to lead his flock. Between pastor and people there was too often a great gulf fixed. But this humorous, unpretentious, sincere man did not hold himself as of finer clay than his people. He liked to plant and reap with his parishioners. To pull rockweed and pitch hay and chop wood, to swing the flail and hold the plough, were not beneath his dignity.

One Sunday during these first years of his pastorate, just after reading the usual notices, he said: “Widow Jones’s grass, I see, needs mowing. I shall be in her field to-morrow morning at half-past four with scythe, rake, and pitch-fork. I shall be glad to see all of you there who wish to come and help me.” The next morning found a good crew of men and boys in the field ready for work. Among them was a man six feet two in his stocking-feet and weighing some 250 pounds. Captain Griggs we will call him. As they were working up the field near each other, the captain said, “Parson, I am going to cut your corners this morning.” The little wiry parson, who had served a good apprenticeship upon his uncle’s farm in Gorham, whet his scythe and kept his counsel. The big captain didn’t cut any of his corners that day. Indeed, the story goes that before noon the man who thought that he could mow around the parson, dropped under a tree, exhausted by the terrific pace that Kellogg set.

Before he had completed the first year of his ministry, Mr. Kellogg was elected a member of the school committee, on which he served several years. That he sought to do his duty on the school board faithfully is attested by the resolution--heroic it will seem to some--which he recorded on December 8, 1844. “Having never till this time been fully convinced of the importance of mathematics in strengthening the mind and preparing it to investigate truth, and never having been able to conquer my dislike for them till led to them by the study of philosophy and an impression of the interdependence of all philosophy and all science, I now begin at the bottom and determine to push my researches as far as possible and to set down whatever may be worthy of note. I this day commenced Emerson’s Arithmetic in order to be prepared to do my duty thoroughly as one of the superintending committee.” As committeeman, he did more than make a perfunctory visit twice a term. He kept his eyes open for the alert, promising, studious lad. Such a boy he encouraged, advised concerning his studies, and often urged to go to Master Swallow’s school in Brunswick and fit for college. These boys he picked carefully, for he didn’t believe in “wasting nails by driving them into rotten wood.”

From the first of his ministry to the very end, Mr. Kellogg showed an instinctive knowledge of boys, and originality in dealing with them. Any just estimate of his work and character must rate high his tact in handling and influencing boys. Wherever he preached, boys were quick to see that he was their friend, a man after their own heart. They soon found that this unconventional, simple, eloquent little man, who had a way of throwing his arm over a boy’s shoulder and walking home from the evening meeting with him, was more than an ordinary preacher. They found that he could understand them. They could tell him their jokes and their serious plans, and he could see through their eyes and hear through their ears. They found that he, more perhaps than any other man they had ever known, was all the time at heart a boy himself; that he was interested in them not simply as a professional duty, but because he couldn’t help it. He loved boys, was happy in their companionship, and delighted to talk of his own boyhood and college days,--of the time when the frogs by croaking “K’logg, K’logg,” called him away from school, or when he in recitation informed his dignified professor that Polycarp was one of the _many_ daughters of Mr. Carp. He would swim and sail and farm and fish with the boys in his parish, and then, at an unexpected moment, but in a manner not repellent, he would kneel down in their boat or in the field by the side of a cock of hay or a shock of corn and pray with them.

Many men to-day who were born and bred in Harpswell like to tell of the way he won and kept their friendship. Here, for example, was a boy whom he was taking to Portland in his boat; the youngster felt very proud, for his grandmother had intrusted to him her eggs to take to market. But alas! in disembarking he dropped the basket, and the eggs were smashed. The boy’s extremity, however, was the preacher’s opportunity. By paying for those eggs from his own pocketbook, he saved the young marketman no end of humiliation, and bound him to his soul with a hoop of steel.

If one may judge by his journal and correspondence, no work that Mr. Kellogg did during his long life afforded him greater satisfaction or yielded larger returns in affection and gratitude and right living than his work with boys. When, for instance, he had been on Harpswell Neck less than a year, he heard that a schooner had put into Potts’s Point, some ten miles below his home, with a boy on board who had broken his leg. He knew that this boy on a small schooner in a strange place would need sadly the comforts of home. He hastened to him, brought him to his boarding-place, put him in his own bed, and nursed him as he would have nursed a son. When the boy was able to go to sea again, having no money, he could repay his benefactor for all the trouble and expense he had been, only with words of kindness and gratitude. Years afterwards, however, when Mr. Kellogg was preaching in Boston, a well-dressed man and woman came into the sailors’ church, and appeared much interested in the sermon. At the close of the service they came forward and spoke to the preacher. The boy had now become a man--the mate of a large ship. The bread which the young minister had cast upon the waters now returned to him after twenty years, in the words of affection and encouragement with which this man and his wife expressed their gratitude, also in the $50 which, as they bade him good-by, they left in his hand.

For some years Bowdoin College, recognizing Mr. Kellogg’s power in getting at the heart of boys, had the custom of sending to him some of the students whom it rusticated; and his strong, manly character brought more than one boy to his better self. That his treatment of these boys was not exactly that of Squeers, this instance will show. One young fellow whom the college sent him was especially rebellious at first. Through cheap story papers he had come cheek by jowl with old Sleuth and his boon companions, and he sought to emulate them by carrying a revolver and a dirk knife. Mr. Kellogg told him that as he would not find any Indians or many wild beasts down there, he had better surrender his weapons. This the young man did after much reluctance. During the first day, Mr. Kellogg left him to himself, as he was inclined to sulk. In the evening he began to talk to the boy indifferently at first, afterwards kindly. All the time--lover-like--he kept edging up nearer to him on the big sofa, and finally in his genuine, whole-souled way, put his hand affectionately on the lad’s shoulder. To such treatment the young fellow was not accustomed. It was so different from his over-stern father’s that it threw him entirely off his guard. He could not withstand the man’s kindly interest and genuine manner. His rebellious spirit was broken. The boy dreaded his father’s rebuke, and the next day, unknown to him, Mr. Kellogg wrote to his mother, telling all about her son and urging that the father write to him kindly and not sternly. A few days after this the young fellow was surprised and delighted to receive from home a letter of forgiveness and encouragement.

On July 4, there was to be a celebration in Portland. The boy wished but did not expect to go. “Well,” said Mr. Kellogg one day after they had been speaking of the matter, “I am afraid you can’t go. I have no authority to let you. But, then, I really want to attend that celebration myself, and I can’t be expected to leave you at home alone.” When the day of celebration came, the student and the preacher could have been seen tramping the streets of Portland, both, no doubt, having a right royal good time.

A few years ago, the heart of the aged minister was uplifted by the assurance that he had dealt aright with this high-spirited lad. A successful business man, the vice-president of a large western railroad, came many miles to look again into his kindly face and to tell him that those weeks of companionship full of honest counsel marked the turning-point in his life.

For the first five years of his life in Harpswell, Mr. Kellogg boarded at the home of one of his parishioners, Mr. Joseph Eaton. Here his mother spent the summers with him, his father having died in 1843. In 1849 he bought a farm of thirty-five acres at North Harpswell, and at once began to build a house that he might provide a suitable home for his lame and aged mother. The location of this house is an attractive one. It is on the western side of Harpswell Neck, a half-mile or so from the main-travelled road. From it the land slopes gently an eighth of a mile, perhaps, to the shore of Middle Bay. From the windows of the house which he here built, one peeping through the oaks and spruces on a summer’s day may see to the west, across the sparkling water of the channel, the green sloping bank of Simpson’s Point, or to the south Birch and Scrag islands and several of the other 363 which dot the waters of Casco Bay. The house itself is a wooden, two-story, L-shaped farm-house facing the west, bespeaking nothing of luxury, but large enough to be airy in the summer, and in the winter a good place, as Captain Rhines would say, in which to ride out the storm.

Much of the material of which the house is made Mr. Kellogg brought here from different parts of his parish; some strong timbers from Ragged Island, three miles out at sea, fine sand for his mortar from Sand Island, and the door-stone from Birch. Nearly all of the larger timbers in his house this preacher cut and hauled himself. And when they were on the spot, seventy-five of his friends and neighbors, giving him a good surprise, as did those of Lion Ben in the Elm Island stories, came and hewed the timbers and framed his house. Little wonder is it that this house, with its attractive surroundings and its pleasant associations, was ever to him the most beautiful place on earth.

He lived here with his mother and housekeeper until 1852, when his mother died. This bereavement took a strong influence out of his life; for the tactful, firm-willed mother had played a large part in moulding the character of her impetuous, venturesome son. In 1854 he married Miss Hannah Pearson Pomeroy, daughter of Rev. Thaddeus Pomeroy of Syracuse, New York, previously pastor of the Congregational church of Gorham, Maine. Three children were born to them: a son who died in infancy; Frank Gilman, at present in business in Boston; and Mary Catherine, the wife of Mr. Harry Batchelder of Melrose Highlands, Massachusetts.

The circumstances of Mr. Kellogg’s marriage are characteristic. While he always maintained a due respect for women, he was preeminently a man’s man or perhaps better a boy’s man. It is not surprising, then, to be told that his wife was “recommended to him.” A friend of his at Gorham, rallying him a bit on his bachelorhood, asked why in the world he did not marry. “Oh,” said he, “I can find no one to have me.” Whereupon his friend replied, “There is your old schoolmate, Hannah Pomeroy of Syracuse, a minister’s daughter, well educated, a good school-teacher, and smart as a whip; just the woman for a minister’s wife.” What had been the preacher’s previous plans concerning matrimony is not known, but before long he took a trip to Syracuse, and when he returned, the bargain was practically made. Though apparently so businesslike a transaction, this proved to be for more than forty years a happy union. His friend spoke truly. Had Mr. Kellogg searched many years, he could not have found a better helpmate than Hannah Pomeroy. Attractive, sincere, energetic, practical, she was a prudent, encouraging wife and a wise, loving mother.

The folk-lore of Harpswell contains many stories of this minister’s daring on sea and land and of his original ways in dealing with both saints and sinners; so original, indeed, that one rough old admirer on Ragged Island, whom Mr. Kellogg had influenced for good in a way that no other minister had ever thought of doing, said that when Parson Kellogg died, he was going to carve upon his tombstone three letters--”D. F. M.” The last two were to stand for “Funny Minister.”

This daring parson had upon his farm a bull that rendered himself extremely obnoxious to visitors who found it convenient to reach his house by crossing the pasture. The bull, therefore, must be disciplined. The preacher first harnessed Mr. Taurus to the front wheels of a heavy cart, preparatory to putting him over the road and showing him who was master. But before the guiding ropes had been adequately arranged, the bull on a mad rush took to the woods, leaving in his trail fragments of cart-wheels and harness. The little minister, however, was not thus to be outdone. The next day, at flood-tide, with tempting fodder he allured the bull to the end of the wharf and in an unguarded moment shoved him into the bay. An excellent swimmer, he then quickly jumped astride the bull’s back. By grasping his horns and intermittently thrusting his head under water, with a prowess which a “broncho-buster” might well envy, he conquered his steed. Thus, as all stories rightly end, they lived happily together ever afterwards.

Of this pastor’s unconventional methods in accepting and dispensing gifts of charity, the following are illustrative. One afternoon, just before tea, he happened into the house of a master ship-builder in his parish, a man of property and influence. The old gentleman was on the best of terms with the young preacher, and after passing the time of day, began to banter him on the condition of his boots, which were muddy and somewhat the worse for wear. “Parson, what makes you wear such disreputable-looking foot-gear?” he said. “Throw those boots away and let me get you a new pair.” The parson waited till later before he fired the return shot. After all were comfortably seated at the tea-table and he had said grace, he asked to be excused for a moment and went to the sitting room. There a good fire was blazing upon the hearth, and near by were the master-builder’s best shoes. Quickly came off the parson’s old boots, and into the fire they went; and as quickly went on to stay the master-builder’s best calfskins.

One winter day while on Orr’s Island, he got an inkling that a family there was in distress. By skilful inquiry he learned that the father had been drinking badly, and the mother and children needed food and fuel. Something must be done at once to relieve them. Going to the house of a well-to-do parishioner, he requested the use of his horse and sled for an hour or two. When they were ready, he quickly drove up to the man’s woodpile and loaded the sled generously, while the owner stood by in wonderment. The only explanation given was: “That family down there need fuel badly. You’ve got a plenty, and I’m going to haul them down a good load.” And that was explanation enough, for Parson Kellogg offered it.

Although so familiar and informal in his social and pastoral relations, as a preacher he never hesitated to point out to his people their duty in language that was unmistakable. Soon after the new church was built, for example, he told them that increased privilege means ever increased responsibility. “God has given you,” he said, “a commodious and elegant place of worship. Why? That you might sit down and admire it and be proud of it? Do that, and He will wither you to the root. Do it, and He will send leanness into your souls. My dear friends, we had better, like our Puritan forefathers on the coast of Holland, kneel down among the rocks and seaweed in the cold winter to pray to God with the humble spirit with which they prayed than to worship Him here in peace and comfort, surrounded with tasteful decorations, without that humility. You have heard of congratulation and praise as much as you ought to hear. I wish you to look at your increased responsibility. As God has made you first in point of privilege, be not by abusing those privileges the last to attain salvation.”

In his pulpit, with plain-spoken words such as these, and with quaint phrases, and apt illustrations drawn from the farm, the forest, and the sea, this preacher quickened the conscience, and broadened the sympathies, and strengthened the faith of the farmers, fishermen, and sailors, who heard him gladly. As a preacher, “he seemed,” says one who knew him well, “a prophet in the authority with which he spoke, an evangelist in the tenderness with which he appealed to the conscience and set forth the promises of the Gospel, a poet often in the simple beauty and grace with which he portrayed the conditions of human life, and discoursed of the deep things of God.”

THE SEAMAN’S FRIEND

GEORGE KIMBALL

At its annual meeting, May 17, 1854, the Boston Seaman’s Friend Society accepted the resignation of Rev. George W. Bourne, pastor of the Mariners’ Church and chaplain of the Sailors’ Home. The board of managers then began the search for “a suitable man” for the vacant position, and their choice fell upon Rev. Elijah Kellogg of Harpswell, Maine.

Mr. Kellogg began his duties in September of that year, with his accustomed earnestness, and under his ministry the attendance at the church increased, and a new impulse was given to the society’s work.

He first appeared before the society at its twenty-seventh anniversary, held in Tremont Temple, May 30, 1855. A large audience was assembled. President Alpheus Hardy introduced him in complimentary terms, and he made an eloquent address. His “suitability” as the seaman’s friend and pastor is shown in these extracts: “The greater portion of my life has been spent among seamen, either at sea or on shore. The first personal effort, to any extent, I made for the salvation of souls was while teaching among a community of sailors. The first sermon I preached was to sailors. The first couple I united in marriage were a sailor and his bride. The first child I baptized was a sailor’s child. The first burial service I performed was over the body of a seaman. The society with which I have been connected during the last eleven years is with scarcely an exception composed of sailors and their families. There is not a house in the parish in which the roar of the surf may not be heard, and in many of them the Atlantic flings its spray upon the door-stone.... The men who interest seamen and do them good have not any recipe for it; neither can they impart it to others. It is all instinctive. They love the webbed feet, and the webbed feet love them.”

Mr. Kellogg was at this time forty-one years old. His pleasing personal appearance and his hearty, rugged, forceful utterance made a favorable impression upon his hearers.

The task he had undertaken was by no means an easy one. It involved hard and constant work, often of a kind little, if at all, like that of the average clergyman. On the Sabbath there were in the Mariners’ Church three services for public worship, and the Sunday-school. In addition to this work upon the Sabbath, Mr. Kellogg conducted a social religious meeting in the reading room of the Sailors’ Home upon one evening of each week, and in the winter lectured occasionally in the church upon topics of vital interest. He visited sailors upon shipboard and in hospital, offered the comforts of religion to the sick and dying, and often communicated to loved ones the parting message they would never otherwise have received. For this work the salary was necessarily small, and the material equipment not of the best; but Mr. Kellogg did not hesitate. He threw himself into the work with zeal and enthusiasm.

From the establishment of the Seaman’s Friend Society in 1827 to July 12, 1852, religious services were held at the Sailors’ Home, but upon the latter date the building was burned. The church at the corner of Summer and Sea streets, which had formerly been owned and used by the Christian Baptists, was soon after purchased, and on December 30, 1852, was dedicated to the work for sailors. A church building, in these days, like the modest bethel in Summer Street would be regarded as quaint in appearance and ill-adapted to its uses. It was inferior, in many ways, even to other churches of its day, but it was easily accessible to those to whom it especially ministered (wharves to the south were then much more fully utilized by shipping than they now are), and was in the centre of a favorite residential district; for Fort Hill and surrounding streets were at that time mainly occupied by pretentious dwellings.

The Sailors’ Home, when rebuilt, was a large brick structure upon the eastern slope of Fort Hill, at 99 Purchase Street. Here, with Mr. John O. Chaney as its superintendent, many of the brave carriers of the commerce of the world were comfortably housed and cared for. The Home had a large reading room and library, and besides providing good board and home comforts, it did much from time to time for the relief of shipwrecked and destitute sailors. Often hundreds of sailors were here. The very year Mr. Kellogg began his work it sheltered 2458, and during his chaplaincy of nearly eleven years 25,358 were beneath its roof.

In urging the need and importance of such an institution as a haven of rest, a “port in a storm,” Mr. Kellogg once said: “Suppose twenty-five seamen from Calcutta, with beard and hair of 130 days’ growth, hammocks, canvas bags, sheath knives, chests lashed up with tarred rigging, redolent of bilge water, with a monkey or two, and three or four parrots, should drive up to the Revere House in a North End wagon, and say, ’We want to stop here; our money is as good as anybody’s,’ would they stop there? Would their money be as good as anybody’s? I trow not. Let them, repulsed from the Revere, go to the Marlboro,--a temperance, pious house, prayers night and morning,--and tell the proprietor if he does not take them in they must go to a place that leads to a drunkard’s grave and the drunkard’s hell, would they be taken in there, think you? This shows the need of a Sailors’ Home, does it not?”

When Mr. Kellogg had been at work awhile, Captain Andrew Bartlett of Plymouth, a retired ship-master, was employed by the society as a missionary helper. Always faithful and zealous, as “a lieutenant to Mr. Kellogg,”--so he styled himself,--Captain Bartlett proved of valuable assistance. With his aid libraries were placed upon shipboard to be managed by Christian sailors, and the minor details of the work went forward successfully.

Another fruitful source of increased life and enthusiasm in the work came early in Mr. Kellogg’s pastorate. It was a body of young men drawn by the personal magnetism of the popular preacher, inspired by his earnestness and devotion, and moved by their own desire to be of service in the good cause. He issued no special call, made no urgent appeal, for these helpers. One by one they came, impelled by the promptings of the Holy Spirit. They rallied like a forlorn hope in a desperate encounter, each feeling that his services were needed. They were ready for any service their Divine Guide and their beloved leader might require of them, should it carry them even to “moving accidents by flood and field.” They had heard the “still, small voice,” and had responded, “Here am I; send me.”

Captain Bartlett early reported: “The young men of the church are Mr. Kellogg’s body-guard. They are a sort of flying artillery. They visit the receiving-ship, the Marine Hospital, and other places. They hold meetings, and talk with sailors.”

Mr. Kellogg in an annual address before the society said: “An army of young men are putting their strength to the wheel of a difficult and hitherto well-nigh discouraging work. It was feared by many, when these efforts began, that they were the outgrowth of romance and the love of novelty, and would be of transient duration; but they have assumed the same enduring character as the other departments of labor. At the hospital, on board the receiving-ship, at the Mariners’ Church on Sabbath evenings, they have entered heart and hand into this work, and, from their very youth, adapted to the impulsive nature of seamen, they have been in the hands of God a most efficient instrumentality for good.”

This army of young men grew very rapidly during the revival of 1858, and by the beginning of the Civil War was of creditable size. At the Sunday evening prayer-meetings it made itself especially felt. On these occasions the church was always crowded. Ministers of the Gospel, merchants, young people, and captains of ships sat side by side with men whom every wind had blown upon, from the equator to the pole, all uniting in fervent prayer to the same great Father, all striving to bring each other to a knowledge of the truth. Not an evangelical denomination in the city was unrepresented, and it is impossible to form even an approximate estimate of the amount of good accomplished, for these meetings were exceptional both in number of attendants and in interest shown.

But war came, and it found the Mariners’ Church patriotic to the very core. Mr. Kellogg had to report that sixty-eight of his“body-guard” had enlisted to fight for the preservation of the Union, sixteen of them teachers in the Sunday-school. In 1864, in his address before the society, he said: “At the beginning of the war there were connected with the Mariners’ Church a body of young men, landsmen, who were deeply interested in the conversion of sailors and enjoyed their confidence and affection. They, with a single exception, entered the army. Poor and without patronage, they enlisted as privates. Five of them have been promoted.”

Those connected with the Mariners’ Church when the war opened will never forget the stirring scenes in the church meetings or the eloquent words of patriotism and faith with which the pastor bade his “boys” Godspeed as they went forth into the great struggle. One Sunday evening in April, 1861, he spoke feelingly of the impending crisis. He was so prophetic, outlining so accurately what afterward proved to be the extent and course of the secession movement, that many of his hearers have since thought him to have been almost inspired. When he had finished, he requested three of his “boys” who had enlisted, one of whom had that very day been admitted to the church, to step to the desk. Then, amid a scene such as is rarely witnessed in a sacred edifice, he talked to them personally, while the large audience showed great sympathy and the liveliest interest. When the enthusiasm had reached its highest pitch, he drew from under his desk three revolvers and passed them to the young men, bidding them go forth in the name of God, in a cause which he declared to be as holy as any that ever a people contended for. In 1865, referring feelingly to the services of these young men in the field, he said: “They departed with the prayers and good wishes of the congregation. One of them, but nineteen years old, fell at Gettysburg; another,[2] having been twice severely wounded, has returned with honor, and the third, having received three wounds, and led his company at the storming of Fort Fisher, still remains a captain in the service.”

[2] Readers will be interested to know that Mr. Kimball, the author of this chapter, is here referred to.--W. B. M.

The work was often attended by interesting and sometimes humorous incidents. During a meeting in the reading room of the Home one evening an intoxicated sailor created a disturbance at the door. He wanted to enter, and had to be held back by force. The meeting closed, and the “flying artillery,” under the leadership of Mr. Kellogg, was about starting for the nine o’clock prayer-meeting at the rooms of the Young Men’s Christian Association in Tremont Temple. The inebriate took it into his head to go too. He was reasoned with, but without effect. “You fellows have got a good thing,” said he, “and I want some of it.” The leader and his “body-guard” started, and sure enough, the disciple of Bacchus followed. Mr. Kellogg protested, but in vain, and finally ordered “the flying artillery” to take the double-quick. The man then showed that he, too, could sprint a bit even if he did happen to be “loaded.” He managed to keep the party in sight, and although he met many obstacles and collided with a horse-car in crossing Washington Street, he succeeded in landing a fairly good second. He was not allowed to enter the prayer-meeting, however, as he was still inclined to be noisy, but was “held” in an adjoining room. The young men got him back to the Home after the meeting, and he again declared it his purpose to have religion anyhow, in spite of opposition. Next morning he appeared, demanded a pen, and with the air of a usurper of a throne about to banish all who had in any way opposed him, placed his name upon the temperance pledge. That evening in the prayer-meeting he requested prayers. He gave his heart to Christ, became a devoted worker, and a year afterward, returning from a voyage, was found to be still in the faith.