Chapter XXV: Sketches of Character

Many noble characters were lost to the world in this great calamity.

Very few disasters ever reached so far, or brought bereavement to so many communities. The breadth of the land was swept by it. There never was so widespread mourning for any death which brought loss to only private circles. It was more like the mourning which follows the death of some public officer--some great and good man--when a nation is called upon to weep.

It was, indeed, almost a national calamity. The very mention of the names of the dead, and the places to which they belonged, shows how many communities were afflicted, and the very funerals which were held, indicate how many circles were bereaved.

They were not all private mourners, nor were they merely different circles of friends sharing in a common sorrow. Churches mourned their beloved pastor or the most useful members; villages and even counties were made to feel the loss of the skilful physician; the whole land--yes, the world--has been impressed by the silence which came so suddenly upon the tongue of the sweet singer of Israel; and the various circles of society, from the highest to the lowest, were affected by the death which invaded so many classes.

Out of this number of worthy characters who went down in that awful plunge where so many mourn, it is difficult to select, for it is easy to say many things in praise of all. Indeed, a volume might be written which should contain nothing but the memoirs of the lost. The following sketches are given out of regard to those who have so kindly encouraged the author in the task which he has undertaken, as well as from an admiration of the characters which have been so faithfully portrayed by those who knew the persons well.

The name of E. P. Rogers has been mentioned. Of him, Rev. Dr. Collyer has spoken, and the following selection from a sermon preached in Chicago is given, as descriptive of his character.

Speaking of all of those who perished in the train, he says:

“They are lost to this world before their time. Hundreds of homes
will have a shadow on them many years. Children are fatherless and
motherless. Men and women are weeping. The whole world about us is
poorer and sadder, and there is no compensation which can reach the
case. Here was our fellow-townsman, Mr. Rogers, in the prime of
his life, steady and true as the day, a man whose bond you would
not want if you had his word, or even his word if you knew he had
made up his mind. There were a mother and sister in his old Eastern
home, to whom his presence in the world was as the shadow of a
great rock in a weary land; people here trusting their property to
him as the soul of prudence and honor, and resting without a fear
on his sturdy strength. Gone in the midst of his days, with the
kiss of his mother and sisters fresh on his mouth. Gone with the
world in his heart, the sweet, unwholesome world in which he was so
glad to live. Gone with these things all to be done that only an
honest and trusty man can do. Gone from every place that knew him,
and was glad for him. Gone--and not a trace of him friendship or
kinship or love could recognize. Gone into heaven, and wanted on
the earth. It is no great comfort, I fear, to those who were very
near him to think of him in the eternal rest. They want him here,
and ought to have him here, and would have him but for that which
human integrity and clear manhood might have prevented. It is such
sad things as this that put the most terrible emphasis on this
question. God asks, ‘Why will ye die?’ and starts the wonder when
we shall summon the better spirit to do whatever can be done to put
an end to these great disasters.”

The following biographical outlines are given by Rev. L. Hand of Polk City, Iowa:

“George Francis Hubbard was born in Ipswich, Mass., May 12th, 1841,
and so had passed his 35th anniversary. His parents removed to
Claremont, N. H., before he was a year old, in which place he spent
his childhood and youth. He studied at Meriden Academy, Dartmouth
College, and Harvard Medical School. His first professional work
was in St. John’s College Hospital in Annapolis, Md., during the
war. He came to Polk City eleven years ago last September, and
a year later was married to Eliza E. Tone, who survives him with
three daughters. His life work has been here; here he has won his
fortune, his good name and a warm place in the affections of our
citizens. During these eleven years he has applied himself with
great diligence to his professional work. Few men have been able to
endure so much labor and fatigue. You all know of his long rides,
sometimes lost on the prairie in the stormy night, long seeking
some known object to guide his way, sometimes swimming his horse
across the high river.

“During this time he has studied to keep abreast with the progress
made by his profession, reading medical journals, attending the
meetings of the profession and most of the time directing the
reading of a student in his office. Few physicians carry to their
patients more of sympathy and personal interest, making his visits
more like those of a wise friend than that of a professional man.
A man who was very intimate with him for years, told me that few
persons knew how severely he studied his cases. There is a limit
to the sympathy any one man can give, but no one could come nearer
to carrying every patient upon his heart as though it were that of
a personal friend. His bearing was that of modest self-distrust
which forbore claiming to fully understand his work or making large
promises of cure. He carried to the sick bed a cheery kindliness,
mingled with that dignity and self-reliance which quickly commanded
confidence.

“As a citizen he had that public spirit which made him prompt to
sustain our educational and religious institutions, or any interest
that promotes the public weal. As a member of our Common Council
he stood alone in opposing the change in an ordinance which opened
the door for the licensing of saloons in our village. He has long
been a member of the orders who have charge of this burial service
to-day.

“He became a member of this church, some eight years ago. For it he
has faithfully worked and generously given. Many is the long ride I
have shared with him when all these matters were fully discussed,
and it appeared how closely he cherished and valued these interests
of religion. He was by temperament, conservative and cautious, not
the most hopeful, but his hold was steady and firm to any work to
which he applied himself. It will be asked in many circles, how can
we get along without him, but nowhere with more feeling and fear
than in this little church circle.”