His scholarly interest in history and science kept showing thruout all his writings. Bladensburg is noted as the field of the disastrous militia defeat in 1814; there is no glossing over the uncomfortable facts. Bladensburg is also the duelling-ground where Commodore Barron killed Decatur in 1820. A scientific observer, he comments upon the excellence of the spring water. At Yorktown the regiment was encamped on historic ground, where Washington’s tents had stood, and Cornwallis surrendered, in 1781. But he somehow fails to note there the oldest custom-house in America. One is reminded of high-school days to hear him commenting upon McClellan’s bridges over the Chickahominy—that they were exact reproductions of Cæsar’s famous span across the Rhine. Cudworth comments appreciatively upon the notable past of the Fairfax family, so influential in moulding the career of George Washington; of the Chancellors; and even records facts about Prince Frederick, father of George III, after whom Fredericksburg was named. Fossils and other geological remains unearthed by regimental well-diggers on the Peninsula interest him.
But his chief interest was in men and their welfare. The degradation which he saw occasioned by slavery brought sorrow to his heart. The untidy appearance of Williamsburg and other Virginia towns—a consequence of slavery—impressed him, as it does the visitor today. None rejoiced more than he over the issuance of the emancipation proclamation on Jan. 1, 1863, and he felt that such a clear pronouncement for justice and righteousness was more potent than many victories. At Williamsburg he commented on the generous hospitality of the southerners; he was also amused by quaint epitaphs in the old Bruton parish cemetery. At the close of the Peninsular campaign he manifested his social interest by commenting that the army was then existing in accordance with ideal industrial conditions—eight hours daily for work, eight for rest, and eight for recreation. When a whiskey ration was instituted in 1862, he deplored the resultant moral evils.
Such a chaplain would do everything possible for the welfare of the men. During the first leisure season in the regiment’s existence, that in 1861 at Budd’s Ferry, he organized a chess club which conducted exciting tournaments; a literary institute or debating society named after Mayor Frank B. Fay of Chelsea; and a large temperance society bearing the name of their total-abstinence Colonel, Cowdin, which enrolled nearly two hundred soldiers on its pledge, and had fully one-third of the regiment “on the water wagon.” The chaplain’s tent was indeed the social center of the camp. Most important of all was his religious organization. The Y. M. C. A. had not then been introduced; so the chaplain devised an association, which he termed “The Church of the First Regiment.” Their admirable covenant, by which they existed, “You now solemnly covenant, in the presence of God and these your fellow-soldiers, that you will endeavor, by the help of grace, to walk in all the ordinances of the gospel blameless, adorning your Christian profession by a holy life and a godly conversation,” has received much unsolicited praise; and has afforded an inspiring model for other military chaplains.
Chaplain Cudworth was idolized by the men. They affectionately called him “Holy Jo”; and he accepted the title as a mark of affection, stipulating however that they must never pervert it into “unholy Jo.” Fifer Bardeen of the 1st Company tells how, in a New York barber-shop, he thrilled the crowd by a narrative of his own supposed heroism in battle, all suggested by a boyhood scar on his head. After he had told enough “whoppers” to set himself up as a hero, he glanced into the mirror and was thunderstruck to see “Holy Jo” occupying the next chair but one. The chaplain knew Bardeen well, and also knew just how true the yarn was not. But under the circumstances he showed his real self by utterly failing to recognize or embarrass the youthful hero. No wonder that Bardeen later wrote concerning the chaplain, “He was a good man, a patriot and a Christian, ready to pray with you at the proper time but never obtruding his piety, and always ready to help you in any way. There was no other officer in the regiment who approached him for genuine manhood of the highest type.”
Chaplain Cudworth’s passing was in keeping with the rest of his life. His death was that of a Christian soldier. It happened on Thanksgiving day, 1883, while the Chaplain was participating in a union observance of the day held in a neighbor church, the “Maverick Congregational” of East Boston. As he was standing beside the pulpit in the very act of offering public prayer, suddenly he was heard to exclaim in pain, “I cannot go on.” Before others could reach him, he fell to the floor, dead.
CHAPTER VI
1866-1878
It was inevitable that a reaction should follow the prolonged military exertion of the Civil War. The north had strained its resources almost to the breaking point, and people were tired of the very thought of a soldier. Volunteer regiments, upon their muster-out, disbanded outright; while militia organizations languished, and ofttimes died. “General apathy” was again in command of the situation.