INVOCATION
CHAPLAIN H. H. CLARK, U. S. NAVY.
OUR FATHER IN HEAVEN: We thank Thee for the names in the history of our navy that emphasize the requirements of the naval profession and deepen in its representatives the sense of patriotic privilege and duty. We thank Thee that Thou didst call the one whose name and work give significance to this occasion to the eminence he reached in professional attainments and distinguished service. We thank Thee that Thou didst place him where the trust of the nation was confidingly and unhesitatingly reposed in him, and where he recompensed that great trust with a largeness of vision, a sleeplessness of vision, and a scope of operations that added an impressive page to our national history. And as the memorial to him so lovingly placed in this sacred building shall brighten in the light of successive Sabbath suns, may those who gather here regard it not alone as a fine memento of art to a conspicuous and worthy career, but also as a noble tribute to the profession which in the teaching and training of this institution has its notable beginning. And help us all, our Heavenly Father, in our several places to strive earnestly for that consecration to opportunities and tasks, which, though it may fail of historic mention, shall receive from Thee the final "Well done!" AMEN.
SPEECH OF PRESENTATION
REAR-ADMIRAL F. E. CHADWICK, U. S. NAVY
CAPTAIN BADGER, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: We are met today to do what is, to many here, and particularly to his comrades, a heartfelt and solemn duty to the memory of a great commander, a noble man, a beloved friend. For Sampson was all these to those who knew him.
Of his greatness as an officer, I need not specially speak to the navy, which ranks him with the very greatest at any time, of our service or of any service, but I cannot omit bearing special witness to that rare nobility of soul which was his in higher degree than I have ever known in any other person, and which (and I say this with the fullest meaning possible) made him the finest character, whether of man or of woman, it has been my experience to meet.
He was ever above any exhibition of anger, ever kindly of thought and speech, of absolute equability of temper and action, of a calm courage which knew no fear, of loftiest sense of duty. I never knew him to utter an unkindly word or say an unkindly thing. Back of a naturally great reserve of manners was a most warm and tender heart. While this reserve at times had a character of coldness, it was not through unkindness, but through his truth. For he was truth itself, transparent and unyielding truth. I well remember calling with him at the New York Navy Yard shortly after his return from the West Indies in 1898, and his meeting an influential personage whom he had never met before, and to whom his manner took on one of his rare exhibitions of coolness. After returning to his flagship, I ventured to reproach him somewhat as to this. He looked at me for some moments without reply, in a pathetic way, and, after a bit, said, as if reproaching himself, "I cannot help it." I felt rebuked. I felt myself in the presence of that unbending truth of soul which could never assume to feel that which it did not feel.
The nearer one got to Sampson, the more one felt his true greatness. The words of one of his staff, "Isn't he splendid? Was there ever anyone like him," have always remained in my memory. They were said on the quarter-deck of the New York, at the fall of evening in the earlier days off Santiago. I can remember the setting of the scene, the searchlight from the battle-ship which he had but just begun to use on the harbor entrance, and which, by the testimony of Admiral Cervera himself, was such a determining cause in the American victory. The special reason for the remark has passed from mind; the feeling of its truth, however, has ever remained. The man who can evoke such feeling from those in closest companionship with him is no ordinary man. To such companions he was ever the hero.
The reticence in speech and manner which I have mentioned, was not a detriment to a knowledge of him. His character showed itself so clearly in look and bearing that no one ever doubted that here was indeed a man. As one who was with him as chaplain, in the Iowa, well says: "Until the day of my death my memory and imagination will picture him as a king among men." And he was indeed such; one born great, and never falling short of his greatness. And he was such to the enlisted men who served with him, as well as to the officers who were in closer and more familiar contact. There was, with them, the same enthusiastic feeling of admiration and devotion. And as may be well understood by what I have already said, it was not by any art, or pose, or effort. It was the natural and spontaneous feeling aroused by one who had the attributes which cause us to admire, to esteem, to love.
Such was the man who in life was our beloved friend and chief, and whose memory we delight to honor.
Along with officers who, though long since resigned from the navy, are still in heart part of it, every grade in the service has joined to contribute the beautiful memorial we are about to unveil. Officers and men from every ship and on every station have contributed. It is in every sense a demonstration of service feeling for him who, in every stage of his career, did honor to our great profession, and who was ever foremost, whether as a midshipman here when the Naval Academy was still scarcely more than an experiment; as a watch officer whose beautifully clear and far-reaching voice was an inspiration to the man at the weather earing ; as an instructor here again at the Academy, and as its Superintendent, who impressed himself as such indelibly on the memory of some here to-day; as the head of our ordnance and one of the creators of our present navy, and, finally, as the great captain of a fleet, a hundred and twenty-four in all, the largest ever under our flag in one command, which destroyed Spain's only hope in 1898, and ended her dominion in the Americas. His career is a glorious memory to those of us who look back; an inspiration to those who are looking forward.
I have the honor, Mr. Superintendent, on behalf of the Committee, to place in your keeping, and in that of your successors, this witness of the affection and admiration of the navy for Sampson.
The window was then unveiled by Admiral Sampson's two sons, Midshipmen R. E. Sampson and H. B. Sampson, the audience standing and the band playing "The Star Spangled Banner."
SPEECH OF ACCEPTANCE
CAPTAIN C J. BADGER U. S. NAVY
Superintendent of the U. S. Naval Academy
ADMIRAL CHADWICK, THE COMMITTEE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Speaking as the representative on this occasion of the U. S. Naval Academy, the Alma Mater of the distinguished officer in whose honor we are assembled here to-day, I accept the beautiful and appropriate window which is long to aid in keeping green the memory of Rear-Admiral William Thomas Sampson, United States Navy.
In eloquent words, Admiral Chadwick has just summed up the qualities which made Admiral Sampson a great naval officer. They were courage, devotion to duty, loyalty and truth.
This window, then, bearing the name of Sampson, erected here in loving remembrance by all types and classes of navy men, will certainly keep alive in the hearts and minds of the future officers and commanders of our fleets, from here sent forth, those high conceptions of honor and duty which alone can make a great nation or a glorious navy.
Upon us at the Academy is conferred, to-day, the distinction of guarding this splendid memorial to Rear-Admiral Sampson. For those now here and for those to come after us, I can, with equal certainty, declare that the preservation of that window and all that it commemorates and stands for will ever be regarded as one of our most sacred duties.
The choir of midshipmen then sang "The Son of God Goes Forth to War."
ADDRESS
REAR-ADMIRAL A. T. MAHAN, U. S. NAVY
We have just united in an act, the symbolic value of which it is well that we should heed and vividly appreciate; for the inward meaning of that which we have done far transcends in importance the outward deed, though that is significant and appeals to our strongest sympathies. It is well that Admiral Sampson should be remembered, for he is worthy of commemoration; it is well that by a fitting memorial men now should provide that his memory be maintained to generations which shall have known neither him nor us: but beyond all other forms of tribute it is well that his personality, in its fullness, conspicuous in visible token such as we here place, should stand to us and to our successors for what it was and is: an example to be followed, a stimulus to exertion, an assurance of success, following upon sustained and worthy effort. I repeat, deliberately, "an assurance of success"; for despite the bitter mortification that deprived him of immediate participation in the battle, the conditions of which he had compelled and in all essentials planned, there is and will be, in instructed military opinion, no dispute of his claims to complete personal achievement of that which was committed to him to do. Means and end alike were of his contriving and of his execution; in him the country found the fit instrument, needed for the direction of that which was the decisive factor in the operations of war, in that field to which he was sent; and, if the baubles of triumph were denied him, if even the nation failed for the moment to recognize his full deserts, he had, and he knew he had, the absolute and affectionate confidence of those who most closely knew the facts; of his comrades in the service—especially those under his own command; and of the government, which day by day had been following his career and his measures with increasing approbation. I speak with knowledge; for with that government I was at the moment in close and daily official connection.
Of this appreciation and confidence, the window we have to-day unveiled is to be the mute exponent; the testimonial which we hand down to the years to come. It shall tell them of the esteem we felt for him whom we were proud to name friend and comrade, some of us also to call commander and leader; that we reckon him high among the illustrious examples of that which our common profession, the navy, has been to, and has done for, these United States of America. We talk at times of the old navy and the new. The expression is convenient and necessary; but it should not obscure the more vital truth that the life of the service, which is its spirit of patriotism, devotion, and professional pride, has been, and is, continuous throughout. Therein, the old of yesterday and the new of to-day are one. There may be, from time to time, rare fluctuations of vigor, as the individual man suffers fluctuations of health; but this spirit knows not death. To it there has been neither new nor old. Paul Jones and Nicholas Biddle in the War of Independence; Hull, Decatur, Perry, Macdonough in that of 1812; Farragut, Porter, Dupont, Foote, and a host of others in the War of Secession; Dewey and Sampson in that with Spain: the one tone and the one efficiency prevail through all. They are brethren in a common household.
Not only to the memory of the dead, then, do we place this memorial. It is a testimony also to an ever living spirit, of which Sampson in his day was a conspicuous illustration. And herein do we most honor him, when we speak less of what he did than of what he was: worthy to be named with those the roll of whom we have called. Our homage is to personality. The unveiling of this window is the symbolical act in which we hold up a man, a character, for reverence. It is the appeal to posterity, that they who are to come after us will absorb and carry on the same tradition, seeing in him a pattern for imitation. Than this there is no nobler praise; and this we give Sampson.
It is fitting, indeed, that for such reasons memorials of the illustrious dead should abound in these grounds and buildings, in which their successors, in future generations, are to pass several of the most impressionable years of life. Duly utilized by imagination, realizing the continuity of a professional ideal concrete in personal conduct, such monuments speak. They teach the profoundest and most enduring lessons. In silent eloquence a tombstone may breathe inspiration. The memory of fifty years ago brings before me—I see it now—one such, standing solitary in an unfrequented dell within the grounds of the Military Academy. It read: "Dade and his Command. The whole detachment, save three, fell without an attempt to escape." Such an epitaph does not need interpretation. Its appeal is direct and simple, requiring no analysis. It is otherwise where the lesson is not that of a single heroic act, but of a lifetime of patient duty, culminating, as did that of Sampson, in a brief opportunity, nobly used because of the readiness which springs from long and patient preparation. The eye is caught easily by conspicuous achievement; but attention passes slightingly over the dull routine of duty done and capacity developed. Yet these underlie achievement, and alone make it possible. This is the pregnant lesson of Sampson's life; as it was also of Farragut's, to whom greater opportunities were given, but to whom achievement and celebrity came only after he was sixty.
While the Naval Academy is the appropriate place for memorials of all distinguished naval officers, because there they ad dress the most interested audience, and most beneficially affect the welfare of the nation by arousing the emulation of its future sea warriors, there is a peculiar fitness in such commemoration of Admiral Sampson, whom we to-day honor. Not in death only, or in illustrious example, is he thus associated with the fortunes of this institution. To it in great measure he also gave his energies in his life. From him, in his exertions while living, in the work he did, and in the effect produced by his example, there proceeded influences upon the service which defy measurement. Even at the early age of twenty-two, when a lieutenant, the combination of physical advantages and personal character made such an impression upon the midshipmen of the practice ship, that one of them, writing after near half a century, says he was in their appreciation "a kind of demi-god." Of him a dozen years later, another, who has achieved distinction in civil life, writes: "The perfect self-poise, the clarity of expression and judgment, the certainty of action, his entire approachableness and unfailing courtesy, all coupled with an unobtrusive perfection of discipline, made upon my mind an indelible impression which his whole subsequent career only deepened." Multiply such influence by the numbers subjected to it and we shall understand something of what the navy owes to Sampson.
In this age of science, when we weigh the planets and the solar system, there is danger that we forget the silent, subtle, and therefore more powerful forces, imponderable, which are wrapped up in that mysterious aggregate known to us as personality and character. No natural force is more persistent, more unremitting, or more potent in working. It draws men as steadily as gravitation does the heavenly bodies; and, while thus constant, it is perhaps as little reckoned. Now and again some one's attention is attracted by a special incident, manifesting the influence exerted by character, as that of Sir Isaac Newton was in the familiar story of the falling fruit; but for the most part men seem to themselves and to others to follow their natural bent, unconscious of the decisive deflection imposed upon them by a character stronger than their own, which keeps them true to the orbit they should follow.
Of the weight attaching to Sampson in this respect, there is abundant evidence; and this is the more noteworthy, a stronger testimony to the effect of character, because he was not superficially sympathetic. One who knew him longest and most intimately in various kinds of service and association, wrote to me, "He never praised." Those who have studied military biography know what a force praise, commendation, appreciation, by a commander, exerts upon the .energies of his subordinates. My informant attributed this defect, for in a degree it was such, to the facility with which Sampson accomplished his work of every character. "The daily grind," to quote the expression used to me, was to himself so easy, that he seemed not to realize that another might be helped in his own task by words of recognition. It required something distinctly much beyond the ordinary to elicit admiration on his part, such as his fellow instructors saw him show for exceptionally brilliant minds which came under his direction when head of a department at this Academy.
This seeming absence of susceptibility was temperamental, and reproduced itself in other aspects of character. His self-control was notable, his patience inexhaustible; and it was greatly tested, for he suffered much. After intimate acquaintance of forty years one writes, "He was gentle, charitable, self-contained, never contentious, and infinitely, divinely patient." The close akinship of these several virtues is easy to see. He was unusually insensible to danger. On one occasion the ship he was commanding took fire in the lower hold. There was the usual noise and confusion accompanying such an incident, and doubtless some excitement; but the captain did not appear. When it had been extinguished, the first lieutenant went to the cabin to report, and found Sampson reading. In some surprise at seeing no token of particular interest, and fearing the impression that a mere fire drill had been ordered without the commander's knowledge, the officer remarked, "That was the real thing, Sir." "Yes," was the reply, "I know it was; but I was sure you would put it out." Those familiar with naval biography may recall a very similar story of Admiral Lord Howe, between whom and Sampson there was in this respect a strong constitutional resemblance, as there was also in a patience beyond all proof.
Another exhibition of the same characteristic was the ability to sleep under service conditions provocative of anxiety; this Howe notoriously possessed, and it was in Sampson equally conspicuous. A close observer, his flag-captain during the hostilities with Spain, wrote, "His calm, equable temperament carried him through the nights without any of the sleeplessness usually associated with the mental strain of great responsibilities." He had a wholesome respect for torpedoes, concerning which he once used to the present speaker the expression, "the torpedo boat is the child of darkness," and he had had a personal experience in the sinking under him of the monitor "Patapsco," by a torpedo, during the War of Secession, the impression' from which would, with most men, have lasted a lifetime, as the shock of an earthquake is said to do; but, to borrow Howe's words, "having taken every precaution that he could before dark, and conscious that everything had been done which it was in his power to do, his mind was at ease and he slept perfectly well." Commonplace and common sense though this may sound, it is unhappily the exception, not the rule; and in Sampson's case the more noteworthy, because off Santiago his health was already breaking.
These close and intimate, yet mutually independent, observers, whom I have quoted, agree that this placidity of temperament extended to an indifference to danger in general, amounting to insensibility to the emotion of fear. It is pertinent to remark that the intellectual appreciation of danger, the recognition of the fact, is one thing, but the effect produced is another. In many brave men the danger is ever present to their apprehension, at least until attention is engrossed by action; in a few indifference to it approaches unconsciousness. In his recollections of General Grant, General Horace Porter says he had in his long war service known only two men who never involuntarily moved their head at the near passing of a shell; one was an unnamed trumpeter, the other, Grant. Now and again a rare man is privileged not to feel fear; among such Sampson was, though it is inconceivable that he could say so. "His courage," wrote his fleet-captain, "was of the highest and finest type. If he had any sense of fear for what might happen to himself, it never appeared even in the remotest suggestion. Several commanding officers spoke to me, asking that care be taken not to allow 'Sammy,' as he was affectionately termed, to expose himself too much, his life being regarded as too valuable to undergo any unnecessary risk. Effort was thus sometimes made to have him go into the conning-tower. He was got there once or twice by a little short of main force, but he would not stay; in a few moments he was on the bridge again." The circumstance recalls a fine saying of one of the naval heroes—forgotten, I fear—of the War of Secession, Lieut.-Commander William Gwin. Unable to see clearly how effective the fire of the ship was, he left the conning-tower with the words, "A captain's place is on his quarter-deck"; and there he fell, mortally wounded.
His flag-captain very properly characterizes Sampson's courage as being "of that highest type which sinks all thought of person in the sense of duty." It was that, doubtless; but it was also something more. It possessed an additional quality which I carefully refrain from calling higher, but which we are justified in regarding as even more useful. To sink fear in duty is great; not to feel fear is a power. This was Sampson's happy gift from nature. "He had an apparent inability to appreciate danger," writes a distinguished officer, for a long period his first lieutenant; and he cites an illustration. "He used to sail back and forth from the shore in Chefoo, often in very boisterous weather, in a long, narrow, single-banked gig—a boat wholly unsuited to sailing; and when the weather was bad I invariably had a boat manned and in readiness to go after him." In this there evidently was no obligation of duty; it was simply indifference to danger, or possibly delight in it—a trait not unfamiliar in biography, and to a military man most valuable, when duly balanced by professional equipment and judgment, as in Sampson's case it was.
I have been dwelling on a series of traits, closely allied, which together illustrate what I think was the dominant characteristic in Sampson's make-up: a temperamental calmness, very rarely disturbed, and having also the defect of the quality in a seeming slowness to share the emotions around him, or to yield to feelings which, under the same circumstances, most men would experience. I speak of this as a defect, which, I may add, was to some extent reflected in his features. These, while unusually handsome in the prime of life, lost from that lack of animation, of changeful expression, which does so much for persons of more ready sensibilities. But I mention the defect in order that it may enhance, as it should, the abundant testimony to the warm sympathies of the real man, which, concealed under this mask of indifference, lay behind the seeming immobility of word and look. It is a profound illustration of the power which character possesses to force its way .to the surface, to transpire despite the man's effort to conceal, or lack of effort to reveal, that none who knew Sampson long failed to recognize in him not only solidity and ability, but an appeal to affection, in natural dispositions which he made no effort himself to disclose. Never was man more free from self-exposition, more devoid of self-seeking. Not only did he never play to the gallery—a most commendable neglect for which he greatly suffered—but he never attempted so to modulate conduct as to attract approbation or attachment. He did not make advances. He was content always to be simply himself, to act according to his noble nature and lofty standards; but it happened to him according to the true proverb: "A city that is set upon an hill cannot be hid." Character will out.
Thus Sampson won without effort an attachment, as well as admiration, which, because of less rapid growth, was the more profound, and the more lasting. The roots struck deeper because the feeling began in esteem, and only gradually ripened into enthusiasm and affection, as experience and observation proved the depth and truth of the kindliness which lay below the surface. The personal intimacies which he did not seek, nevertheless found their counterpart in intimacies of appreciation, as men saw his unselfishness and consideration. These qualities showed themselves towards seniors in an incident not generally known, when the honor of chief command against the Spanish West Indies was laid upon him in 1898. When he had read the telegram, he said to his first lieutenant, without elation, and even with sadness, "This is not right, there are admirals and commodores who should have this command." Towards juniors, the same traits, coupled with the confidence in others which springs readily from unconscious self-reliance, led him to manifest in their judgment, discretion and zeal, a trust than which nothing more endears a commander-in-chief. "The feeling in the fleet," says one, "was that that which the admiral wished and intended should at all costs be done."
In professional classification, as distinguished from personal temperament, Admiral Sampson from the first belonged by natural bent, and subsequently by force of circumstances, to the modern type of scientific, progressive officer, .who advances from knowledge to knowledge by steady process of acquisition. He had little in common with that older and very excellent class which is the product of continuous association with the atmosphere and environment of the ocean and the ship of war. This difference of types is no new thing; it has always existed. Yet I think it is accurate to say that, while a blending of the two characters is always desirable, there has been a period in which the training of the sea itself was the school fittest to bring out whatever aptitude a man possessed; but that in our day this training must be imposed upon, and afterwards accompanied by, a constant mental application, closely akin to that of the student. It is unsafe to generalize from an instance so singular in point of natural ability as Sampson was; but, with that reservation, his career may be cited as an ample justification of the scheme of professional development which the United States for fifty years back has embodied in die Naval Academy.
Whether the circumstances of his life, interrupted by calls to sea, permitted Sampson to attain the full accomplishment of the man of science, strictly so called, I am not fitted to judge; but his natural inclinations and his sympathies all lay in that direction. He found his inspiration in men like Lord Kelvin rather than in the naval warriors of olden time; and the scientific appliances of ships of war appealed to him more than the incidents of the deck, or even of command. With such predispositions he naturally, and, with his great mental abilities, inevitably, found his way into the scientific department of the Naval Academy, with the early development of which, after the War of Secession, he was 'for many years identified. So, in natural course and due sequence, he came in time to be Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance, which above most of the line bureaus requires scientific acquirement. Here the large knowledge of the laws of physics, acquired and digested during his long previous service, enabled him to grasp the scientific side of artillery and ordnance with ready facility; and his work in the bureau was eminently distinguished as regarded scientific progress.
In connection with this assignment should be recalled an incident most characteristic of the man, both in disregard of personal considerations, and freedom from—lack of sympathy with—certain susceptibilities natural to the profession, but often misdirected. Before assuming the duty he applied for "duty under the present administration of the Bureau of Ordnance"—I am quoting his own words; the administration being then in the hands of an officer much his junior, who indeed had been at one time first lieutenant under his command.
This incident shows not merely a certain superiority to ordinary professional jealousies, instances of which we all have seen, sometimes just, sometimes petty, fostered by our system of promotion by seniority alone. His action manifested the concentration of purpose, the singleness of mind, which leads on to success. Sampson knew that he yielded professional claims in this case, just as he knew he was safer in the conning-tower, and that there was danger in his boat sailing; but, with an object in view, his indifference to secondary considerations approached insensibility. He expected to be Chief of the Bureau; all question of personal dignity, as involved in official rank, simply disappeared before the engrossing object of fitting himself for the task. He could have understood, as a mental proposition, that other men might feel differently; but as a motive for practical action I think such susceptibilities would have passed his comprehension.
This incident, illustrative alike of personal and of professional character, may fairly be cited as evidence of that great element of success which Napoleon called exclusiveness of purpose. "This," he wrote to his naval Secretary, "is the art of great successes and of great operations. The absence of it is a fault." Exclusiveness of purpose was a very large element in Sampson's make-up. It was this which, despite his strong leanings towards science, dedided him to reject the offer of being permanent head of a department of the Naval Academy, to the founding of which on a solid basis, and to its subsequent development, he so largely contributed. The navy stood first to him; it was his career; and while affection for it admitted other pursuits, so far as they contributed to the progress of the navy, and to perfecting himself as an officer in it, it admitted them only as subordinate occupations, not as rivals.
This exclusiveness of purpose, logical in conception and remorseless in execution, inevitably took shape with him in concentration of energy upon the work immediately before him at any particular moment. To this was due that the man, naturally a lover of science, and a student, was so emphatically successful, so admired, as captain of a ship and as a commander-in-chief during hostilities. The scientific man and the student disappeared, as active factors in thought or conduct, however much the acquisitions due to them may have promoted the efficiency of the general officer.
To a certain extent concentration must be purchased by a sacrifice of breadth; diffuseness would be a more accurate word. Human beings are limited, and he who would be deep must consent to circumscribe his activities. To do so means sacrifice, sacrifice of immediate enjoyment, and ultimately of a certain charm which clings around a person who has many interests, touches life at many points, and so can be sympathetic to many people and many pursuits. Such persons have their place in the garden of life, the pleasure of which they enhance; but they are not the oaks of the forest. This sacrifice Sampson made, perhaps unconscious that it was one; for exclusiveness and concentration of purpose were to him intuitive. While preparing for the Ordnance Bureau he lived for three months with the then chief, who writes, "We talked of little else than ordnance, its history and present conditions, as far as we were acquainted with it. He read little but scientific works and periodicals. I do not recall ever seeing him read a novel, and he cared little for historical subjects or general reading. This side of his temperament and taste was often a source of regret to me, as it left us without resource in conversation after discussion of the shop."
Many will recall that Darwin expressed his sense of similar limitations, which are not so much the defect of a quality as the price that must be paid for mastery at once deep and comprehensive in a particular line of thought or action. That lack of general interests, or, as we say, of wide sympathies, makes a man less generally attractive, less immediately likable, but not less lovable. Width and superficiality of culture may give charm, but depth and love have much akin. Sampson inspired in those who knew him closest an enthusiasm little distinguishable from love, and the more notable because of that external impassiveness of which I have spoken. But with this there went a serenity of temper and of bearing, a justice of outlook, a courtesy of manner, and an impression of sustained and latent force which inspired confidence; and the confidence was not betrayed. It grew with contact and ended in affection, a triumph of character which stood every test, a house founded on a rock.
Young gentlemen, still students at the Naval Academy, who sit now where once sat Dewey and Sampson and Cushing, all graduates of the school; and you, also, who, still in the prime of manhood, have passed hence into the more active service of your country, learn from Sampson, and from men of the past like him, to value character above every professional gain. With the simple directness of the Word of God, keep your heart, in which arise your dearest ambitions, above all keeping; for out of the heart are the issues of life. The testimony of the ages is conclusive that this proverb is true of the one great issue of life, of its crowning success; which is, the witness of one's own conscience, personal and professional, to duty done. To Nelson, in the hour of death, the glory of Trafalgar and of all his past victories was less than the witness of his conscience that he had so kept his heart. He spoke not then of the fame which had been dear to him, but he repeated continually, "I have done my duty." In the flush of active life, he had quoted concerning himself, " If to covet glory be a sin, then am I the most offending soul alive"; but the hour of mortal weakness, when truth asserts its sway, and things are seen in true proportion, and the secret of the heart is unlocked, disclosed to mankind that, dear as glory had been to the hero, duty had been dearer still. This keeping of his heart had been his great success.
Of this no man need fail, nor of the sure reward it brings; for the keeping of the heart is character, and character cannot but transpire. The most sedulous craft cannot impose finally upon intimate acquaintance; nor can sustained integrity of purpose escape recognition. The well-kept heart, of which the wise man spoke, is the spirit of that which Nelson called Duty, and Jesus Christ, the Single Eye. It gives a light which can pierce the darkness of conflicting impulses, a voice which speaks with no uncertain sound. Our dead Farragut and Sampson saw, and heard, and followed. The navy recognizes them, and the nation yet will.
BENEDICTION
CHAPLAIN H. H. CLARK, U. S. Navy
May the love of God, the grace of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, the communion and fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be and remain with you all, evermore. AMEN.