The most striking manifestation of the sentiment hostile to the pastor was shown by some of the trustees, yet in a way not approved of by the congregation. There was possibly some ground for the apprehension felt by the trustees, as one of them told me, that Southern sympathizers might get control of the property of the "copperhead church." Therefore, a flagstaff was erected on the roof and the stars and stripes were unfurled, and for some months waved in the breeze from morning till sunset. I was passing down Chestnut street that very morning, just as the flag was run up and a few gentlemen standing on the tin roof gave three cheers. It was a surprise and not wholly a pleasant one to me. This procedure hurt Mr. Chambers's feelings, but he said little about it. Not a few others, including the biographer, thought that peculiar kind of patriotism was, in its manifestation, entirely unwarranted. At the next election, the trustees most prominent in the flag pole business were quietly dropped. The excitement about the "copperhead church" died away, and the pole was taken down and disposed of, the flag ever remaining in honor.
On the other hand Mr. Chambers did some things which his friends deemed highly unwise. On one occasion, it is said, he paraded publicly with the Keystone Club, a prominent political organization, which had been influential in the nomination of James Buchanan. None of the young men of his church who enlisted in the Union army received any encouragement from their pastor, who was never known in his public prayers to pray for the success of the national cause in arms, though always petitioning the throne of grace in behalf of the Union of the States. One after another and sometimes groups of young patriots together would put on the national uniform, shoulder their muskets and march off to battle, quite frequently never to return again. On one occasion, being called on for public prayer in the large Wednesday night meeting, though but eighteen years of age (Mr. Chambers always encouraged his young men to pray publicly) I petitioned the Father of us all, as was my daily custom privately, and as some of the others of us did occasionally in public, for the success of the Union arms in the field, and the defeat of the slave-holder's rebellion, and that "their covenant with death might be annulled and their agreement with hell not stand". I meant of course slavery and slavery only, but perhaps particular offence was taken by the pastor, because William Lloyd Garrison had in these words characterized the Constitution of the United States. Mr. Chambers was visibly displeased and afterwards referred to the prayer in terms of rebuke.
It was in the first year of the war, on Sunday, May 5, that either a company or a regiment, or portion of one—my diary says "part of the Scott Legion and the National Guard" came to our church to worship before going to the front. I do not know just how or why the invitation was sent or accepted. Probably it was to draw out the exact sentiment of John Chambers. In any event the patriots ready to die for their country received no direct encouragement (except to maintain the constitution and laws of the country), but rather, as we all thought, discouragement, when the pastor told them he could not encourage them to go forth to shed their brother's blood.
When Robert Lee, with his Confederate veterans, invaded Pennsylvania, and was statesman as well as general enough to give battle on northern soil at Gettysburg, Philadelphia was in a white heat of excitement. Captain Griffiths, one of the handsomest men in the congregation, whose pew was directly in front of ours, received his death wound in this battle.
In June, 1863, I was in Baltimore visiting at my uncle's and trying to recuperate after an attack of chills and fever, resulting from spending a summer on the other side of the Delaware. (I am now thoroughly persuaded, by the way, of the efficiency of mosquito's as carriers of malarial poison). I had recovered, but on hearing that Lee's army had marched towards Pennsylvania, my native state, I immediately resolved to go home and enlist in the army. Riding into the city and through the barricades guarded by Union soldiers, I took the train for Philadelphia, reaching my house on late Saturday night. Early Monday morning I enlisted in Company H of the Merchants' Regiment, 44th Pennsylvania Militia. Within a day or two I received uniform and arms and was on my way to Camp Curtin at Harrisburg, ready to march to the fords of the Potomac. Before leaving I called to see my former minister, John Chambers, to tell him what I was about to do, hoping to receive his blessing. As yet Vicksburg seemed impregnable, and apparently Lee was to march victoriously through Pennsylvania. Mr. Chambers argued against the possibility of putting down the rebellion, and descanted upon the impregnability of the terrific fortifications at Vicksburg, which were able, as he thought, to bid defiance to any force that could be brought against them.
Our interview was ended by the entrance of his friend the Rev. Dr. William Swan Plumer, a handsome man of magnificent bearing, whose white beard swept his breast and whom I had more than once heard preach. He was a voluminous and popular writer, who had held pastorates in Richmond, Baltimore, and Allegheney City, Pa. From the close of the war until 1880 he was professor in the theological seminary at Columbia, S. C. Before I had been a day in Camp Curtin at Harrisburg, Lee was driven back from Gettysburg, and our war-governor himself in the camp announced to us the fall of Vicksburg. Years afterward in Ithaca, I wrote ex-governor Curtin a sympathizing letter on the death of his daughter, Mrs. William H. Sage, of our little city. He replied in a long letter full of appreciation and memories of 1861-'65.
No memorial tablet was ever put up in the Chambers's church to the memory of the young men from the congregation who gave their lives to their country.
It is perhaps on the whole better to dwell lightly upon the record of John Chambers during the war, partly because it is a blessed thing to know how to forget. Even the battlefields "nature has long since healed and reconciled to herself in the sweet oblivion of flowers". We have now a united country, the ulcer of slavery is a thing of long ago, and some things are seen more clearly. Possibly brethren of John Chambers who publicly refused to shake hands with him have since been sorry. It is also quite certain that in the days of heat and bitterness, Mr. Chambers was held responsible for some things which members of his family, or relatives, said or did, and not himself. Afterwards, when charged with holding certain sentiments, or appealed to to vindicate his reputation, he refused, as he said "to hide himself behind a woman". He was too much of a man to say "women did it".
Mrs. Martha Chambers, his second wife, had died in March, 1860. During the war or most of it, he was a widower. Within this period, his daughter-in-law, a Virginia lady, the wife of Duncan Chambers, presided over his household. Our pastor's nephew, Duncan Chambers Milner (now pastor at Joliet, Ill.) a soldier in the Union army, was wounded, and spent some time during his convalescence in his uncle's home, afterwards entering upon the work of the United States Christian Commission. He bears witness how his uncle, with rock-like convictions, strove, in spite of the obloquy of enemies and the coldness of friends, to be patriot, pastor, and Christian, bearing all things, hoping all things, enduring all things, in a trying time, when political slander was busy, going on with his work as usual.
In all the separations and differences between the great pastor and some members of his flock, there was no personal bitterness or angry word. It was only on questions of national policy that they differed. Their brotherly regard remained the same, and God was glorified. This certainly was true. John Chambers, the hero quailed not before threats of being hanged at the lamp post. He went about his duties as usual. Like most men whose lives are threatened, our pastor died quietly in his bed.