GOD’S CHORE BOY

SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY

W. FREEMAN GALPIN

PROFESSOR OF HISTORY

SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY

SYRACUSE, NEW YORK

[An Unpublished Manuscript Donated to May Memorial Unitarian Universalist Society]

Used with authorization by his Daughter, Harriet Galpin Hughes

Prepared for the Internet, May 15, 2008, by Roger Hiemstra, Chair, History Committee, May Memorial Unitarian Universalist Society, Syracuse, New York.

Note: All rights are reserved by the May Memorial Unitarian Universalist Society. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form – except for a brief quotation (not to exceed 1,000 words) in a review or professional work – without permission from Roger Hiemstra, some member of the History Committee, or some church officer. If citing material used from this manuscript, use normal citatating protocols, including information directing readers to this web site.

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter I As It Was In the Beginning

Chapter II The Brooklyn Pastorate

Chapter III The Road to Thermopylae

Chapter IV A Christian Soldier

Chapter V Pioneering for Peace

Chapter VI South Scituate

Chapter VII Political Action

Chapter VIII The Schoolmaster

Chapter IX Early Days at Syracuse

Chapter X Fugitives from Justice

Chapter XI The Impending Conflict

Chapter XII An Interlude

Chapter XIII The Crossroads

Chapter XIV The Civil War and Reconstruction

Chapter XV The Educator

Chapter XVI Wine and Women

Chapter XVII The Liberal Christian

Chapter XVIII The Family Album

Chapter XIX The Happy Warrior

Bibliographical Notes

Note: Below you can read the Preface through Chapter VIII in digital format, including active links to supporting material. However, Chapters IX through Biographical Notes are separate but searchable PDF file links. After reading each chapter, return to this page (http://www-distance.syr.edu/galpin-may.html) and click on subsequent links as shown below. These chapters were typed on a manual typewriter, and then photocopied, so the font, size, and varied brightness may impact on your ability to read all words clearly.

_______________________________

Roger Hiemstra, Archivist, May Memorial

May 15, 2008

PREFACE

Some years ago while engaged in a study of organized peace efforts in the United States, my attention was directed toward Samuel Joseph May, one time Unitarian pastor in Syracuse, New York. The very modest though highly effective role he played in this movement elicited my interest and admiration. Later investigations in the Gerrit Smith papers and in the field of Central New York history led me to believe that a new appraisal of his life might be undertaken. Accordingly, I set myself to the task, the result of which is the present volume.

May's life centered about his family and church. Here he rendered his greatest services; here he built for himself an unseen monument of love and devotion. His broad equalitarian nature, however, led him into many humanitarian efforts, notably those incident to the antislavery and peace crusades. Recently, a school of historical writers has stressed the economic forces underlying these movements and has marshaled an imposing array of facts to endorse its conclusion. Others, probing as deeply into the past, have emphasized the religious and moral factors. Surely no one will question the statement that Garrison, Alcott, Phillips, or Weld had anything to gain in an economic sense by advocating abolition and peace. In the case of May, there was no possible profit motive. Financially, he lost much for his efforts and the fact that today he is almost a forgotten man indicates how little he cared for either worldly commendation on condemnation. These hardy pioneers, moreover, assumed the leadership in these undertakings, and without them it is difficult to believe that abolition would have become so vital an issue.

Although an ardent reformer in the fullest sense of the word, May was preeminently a man. Unlike his friend Gerrit Smith, May kept his feet on the ground and while he held his head high it was never lost in the clouds. Nor did his skilled pen and brilliant tongue ever lash forth bitter invectives as was true of Garrison and Phillips. He had opponents who frequently belittled his words and deeds. Abusive terms were hurled at him; an impassioned crowd mobbed him more than once; and in Syracuse he was burned in effigy. And yet when all was said and done, no thinking man could be his enemy. Protestant or Catholic, Jew or Gentile, black or white – all recognized his unflinching loyalty to truth. He was a Christian soldier ready to give battle for the Lord but a soldier who sought to gain his ends by spiritual and educational weapons.

I am under great obligations to the many librarians who most graciously assisted me in this undertaking. Dr. Odell Shepard made it possible for me to examine the Alcott papers, Reverend J. R. Wilson of Norwell placed at my disposal the church records of South Scituate, and Reverend W. W. W. Argow, one time Unitarian pastor at Syracuse, extended many favors in respect to May’s pastorate in that city. The late Mrs. Dora Hazard of Syracuse kindly allowed me the use of her father’s, Charles B. Sedgwick, papers. A timely grant-in-aid by the American Council of Learned Societies was of great help. I am also deeply grateful to Dr. Ralph V. Harlow for permission to use his life of Gerrit Smith while still in manuscript. And to Reverend Frederick May Eliot and his most obliging staff of the American Unitarian Association, I wish to express my thanks for their many thoughtful kindnesses. Dr. Charles Dewitt very graciously allowed me the use of his penetrating study of peace efforts in Onondaga County. Finally, I owe much to Miss Katherine May Wilkinson of New York City whose loan of her grandfather’s diary and letters was most helpful.

It will be noted that throughout this volume there appears no footnotes or formal bibliography. I have omitted these devices, so familiar to the student, so as not to distract the attention of the average reader. The bibliographical notes at the end of the volume should serve as a sufficient guide to the more important sources used for this study.

W. F. Galpin, Syracuse, NY

March, 1947

CHAPTER I

AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING

A carpenter once lived in Boston. Close friends called him Sam May; others, more formal, said, Samuel May. Almost everyone knew that he and his good wife, Abigail Williams of Roxbury, were simple and humble descendents of Puritan stock which had migrated from England to Massachusetts some one hundred years before. Then, Boston was little more than a hamlet facing a rock bound New England coast. Conditions, however, had changed by 1750 and Boston had become one of the largest and most enterprising cities in His Majesty's Colonies. Royal officers, revenue collectors, and arrogant "red-coats” rubbed shoulders with bargain driving merchants and traders. Each day, excepting Sunday when a. Sabbatical sanctity silenced the sound of the money changers, State Street was transformed into an exchange. Here merchants from Cornhill, "another comfortable street for trade," joined their fellows from State Street to discuss and transact financial undertakings. Not far distant was the harbor crowded with ships that sailed the high seas -- some to be guided by the skilful hands of Yankee navigators into the Pacific, while others crossed the broad Atlantic in search or silks and satins to appease the vanity of "My Lady.” Then there were the smaller craft that brought wheat and flour from Alexandria, Virginia, or casks of rich molasses from the Sugar Colonies. Molasses for baked beans! Molasses to be brewed into potent rum! Orthodox and law abiding Bostonians might not touch a drop – God forbid. But what of the ungodly and the heathen Indians? Well, that was different, and so a thriving rum industry brought prosperity to God's elect, and dotted Boston with many a stately and ornate church.

Boston was growing every day. Many public buildings were being erected, while new dwelling places for an expanding population sprang up in large numbers. In New or West Boston, neat and elegant houses of brick were constructed, with handsome entrances and door cases, and an impressive flight of steps. Old Boston, however, was a wooden affair of indifferent styles and shapes. Many of the homes were weather-boarded with shingled roofs, the tops of which were enclosed by an awkward railing. Within this area, reached by a narrow stairway that was little more than a ladder, the housewives of Boston were wont to dry their wash.

In one of these homes, a plain, square, two story house, located on what is now the corner of Washington and Davis streets, lived Samuel May and his wife. Here they reared a fairly good sized family, one of whom was honored by the name of Joseph. Mother and father were hard working parents who did the best they could on what little they had. Frills and luxuries were not to be found in this simple household. Bread, meat, good warm homespun clothing, and a snug bed were about all that could be offered in a material way. Beyond these basic essentials, the parents could not go, but when it came to things of the mind and spirit, there was nothing they would not do. Joseph must receive a good education, cost what it might in privation to others; their turn would come later. And so Joseph was placed under the guiding hand of Master Lovell of the Latin School. Religious instruction was provided by Reverend Mather Byles, pastor of the Hollis Street Society. His piety and learning were beyond reproach, though Samuel was often troubled about the former's political views. Byles we a stout defender of George III and his ultra Tory sermons finally disturbed Samuel. The latter could not stomach these and in due time he severed his connections with the Hollis Street Society. The Old South Church now became his home and Joseph's spiritual training was transferred to a more "patriotic" instructor.

Joseph was sixteen when American independence was proclaimed, old enough to be sent out into the world to make a living. During the next tour years, therefore, he served as an apprentice to Mr. Stephen Salisbury of Worcester, after which he returned to Boston. Here he entered into a business partnership with a distant cousin, Thomas Patterson, of Baltimore; the Boston office being located at No.3 Long Wharf. The enterprise was most successful; prosperity rained upon the young man. Logically, the next step was matrimony, and on December 28, 1784, he took as his bride, Dorothy Sewell, daughter of Deacon Samuel Sewell of the Old South Church. For several years the couple resided on Milk Street, only a few blocks from the husband's place of business. Good fortune continued to court Joseph until 1798 when, due to a series of unfortunate investments by Mr. Patterson, the partnership crashed and May was left almost penniless. For a year or two, the family was in straightened conditions, but May's new position as Secretary of the Boston Marine Insurance Company restored his fortunes. It was during this depression that Joseph moved his family to No.1 Federal Court, where he continued to live until 1835

Joseph – or as he was also called, Colonel May, because of his interest and membership in the local military – was a man of unusual ability and talent. He was also active in humanitarian efforts and aided in the establishment of the Massachusetts General Hospital and the Asylum for the Indians. Like his father, he became a devoted communicant of the Old South Church, and when this edifice was seized by the British troops during the Revolution, he, together with others of the congregation worshipped at King's Chapel. When the war was over, most of these people returned to their old meeting house, though Joseph and his family remained at the Chapel. A few years later, Joseph was one of a select committee that voted to alter the Liturgy. King's Chapel, by this action, separated itself from the Trinitarianism of the Episcopal Church. And, in 1787, he was one of a small number who, on their own authority, ordained Dr. James Freeman to be their minister. In addition to these services, Joseph May was Junior Warden of the Chapel from 1793 to 1795, and again from 1798 to 1826.

Shortly before the crash of the firm of Patterson and May, Mrs. Joseph May presented her husband with a boy. But for the untimely death of two earlier sons – Samuel and Joseph – this child would have been named James Freeman. As it was, this worthy divine christened the boy, Samuel Joseph, in honor of his dead brothers and those of his ancestry who had borne these names. Preceding his birth, there had been Catherine, the future Mrs. C. W. Winship of Roxbury; a son Charles, who lived until 1856; a daughter Louisa, who married Samuel Greele of Boston, and another son named Edward. Later, Elizabeth Sewell May was born, who married Benjamin Ellis of Portland, and Abigail, who became the wife of Bronson Alcott, the idealist and dreamer of Concord.

Little need be said of Samuel Joseph May’s infancy. Actually, there are few references to this period of his life. Those who are interested will find many happenings recollected by May in his autobiography. To what extent these are reliable is not known. One of these, however, seems to have the earmarks of truth and thus deserves mention. It relates to the mutual love that developed between him and his brother Edward. Fair-haired and blue-eyed Edward, who was but two years older than Samuel Joseph, became the idol of his brother’s heart. Together they romped over floor and yard the best or playmates. They ate together and slept in the same bed. One day they pretended to be chimney sweeps. With great glee, Edward grabbed a broken chair, leaned it against a fence, climbed the latter and soon was on top of a low barn. Here, with much gusto, he went through the antics and motions of cleaning a chimney, much to the delight of Samuel Joseph who stood watching from the ground. On retracing his steps, Edward's foot slipped and his body was thrown upon the splintered post of the old chair. The injury was fatal and in a few hours he bled to death.

Samuel Joseph's anguish was immense, nor could he be quieted until his strange request to be allowed to sleep beside his dead brother was granted. Night followed and, in the stillness thereof, a sobbing child showered kisses upon his dead brother, tugged at the closed eyelids and begged him to speak. Nature finally halted the scene and the little fellow cried himself to sleep. The ordeal of the funeral that followed opened the floodgates again, though the comforting words of his parents, who assured him that Edward had gone to a heavenly world, brought solace and a good night's rest. During this sleep, Samuel Joseph dreamed that the ceiling of his room opened, through which Edward and a group of angels appeared. Edward related the glories of heaven, and then, with a kiss and a cheerful message to parents, brothers, and sisters, returned to heaven with his celestial company. Similar visitations followed and Samuel Joseph's grief was lessened by the knowledge that Edward was in good and loving hands. New playmates, moreover, entered his life. "But I have never forgotten my Edward," so he wrote late in life, and "I believe,” in speaking of the event, "it had the greatest single influence in awakening and fixing in my soul the full faith I have in the continuance of life after death.”

When Samuel Joseph was seven years old, he was sent to live with his mother's brother, Chief Justice Sewell of Marblehead. Here he attended the local Academy where, on one occasion, he was soundly boxed for having broken a petty rule of an austere teacher. Small wonder that he preferred to scamper down to the docks and witness the arrival of some fishing smack, or to listen to the wild tales hardy sailors told. Later, he returned to Boston, where he experienced schooling in the "Ma'am Schools" conducted by Mrs. Cazeneau and Mrs. Wallcut. From these he went to a school presided over by a Mr. Cummings, located in the rear of the Federal Street Church. At this juncture his health declined and he was hastened to Stoughton, where Reverend Edward Richmond maintained a school which stressed physical development. Within a year, he was back home on Federal Court, and became a pupil of Mr. Elisha Clap, then reputed to be one of the best teachers in all Boston. Day after day, Samuel Joseph went to this school, which was but a single room within the First Church on Chauncey Place. Under the guiding hand of Mr. Clap, Samuel Joseph finished what might be called his high school training, and in September, 1813, entered Harvard College without conditions.

May's boyhood, however, was not entirely devoted to intellectual activity. His father saw to it that his spiritual development was cared for by much church going and with extensive readings from the Bible, morning and night. Federal Court, moreover, was but a step from Federal Street on which lived the great divine, Dr. William E. Channing. Even while but six or seven, May frequently visited Dr. Channing who always was willing to talk with the little fellow and entertain him with graphic pictures of biblical scenes. But May was too active a youngster to limit his life to school, church, and Dr. Channing’s office. Boston Common was but a few blocks away and here he often went to play with those of his age. One can picture him, minus shoes and stockings, wading in Frog Pond, or climbing Beacon Hill to look down upon the inlet, from which British soldiers went in search of munitions, located at Concord in 1775. Possibly, he stopped in his play to annoy and pester the cows which were pastured on the Common. And then, tired and hungry, he would vault the wooden fence that enclosed the Common, scamper over streets pitched with pebbles, and arrive breathless at home. In the evening, he must have often stood in front of his father's home and watched the lamplighter as he went about his work, or have pressed his nose against the window panes to see some passing lobster man, whose painted barrow, red within and blue without, was a familiar sight at that time. Possibly, he might in the morning follow an oysterman, whose shrill voice told many a good housewife that he had "Oise" for sale. As May grew older he most certainly must have wandered down to the docks, particularly during the War of 1812. Boston Harbor was usually crowded with ships and who knew but there might be some Federal Frigate then in port? Surely he could not have missed the arrival of the Constitution, under Captain Hull in 1812, and he must have stood on some street watching the parade which the City Fathers had arranged for this naval hero. At other times, he must have seen the "Sea-Fencibles," Boston's crack Home Guard, march back and forth over then Common.

But boyhood ended in the fall of 1813. Samuel Joseph was now a young man, ready to enter Harvard College. Possibly his father hitched up the buggy and drove his son to Cambridge; possibly the two went by stage. In either case they must have driven over the New Bridge which connected Boston and Cambridge. Built entirely of wood at the cost of over a hundred thousand dollars, this bridge had evoked considerable praise and commendation. Henry Wansey, a clothier of Warminster, England, saw it in 1794 and described it as "a most prodigious work . . . worthy of the Roman Empire.”

Although the War of 1812 was in progress, May found that he was a member of the largest entering class in the history of Harvard College. Not all of these students by any means graduated. Some of them, one may be certain, were unable to pass the required course of study offered by the hard and exacting faculty of day. Nor was much latitude allowed for individual electives.

Harvard knew, or thought it knew, precisely what was needed for a well rounded education. Its curriculum was limited to but one course of study that was admirably arranged in a four year sequence. It was a Paradise for the Classicists. During the first year, May received instruction in Horace and Livy – all the five books if you please – as well as an intensive study of Dalzel's Collectanea Graeca Majora, Well’s Excerpta Latina, and Adam’s Roman Antiquities. Grotius’ DeVeritate Religiounis Christianae, Walke’s Rhetorica, and Lowth’s English Grammar were also read as well as various works in algebra and geometry. In addition, May was required to take part in the weekly exercises in Reading and Declamation.

Some of these subjects were continued during the Sophomore year to which were added, for good measure, Cicero’s Orations, Blair’s Lectures on Rhetoric, Tyler’s History, Ancient and Modern, Lock’s Essays, and a formal course in Logic. Declamation and Composition were finished by the Junior Year, during which time May waded through the Iliad, Juvenal, Tacitus, and Perseus. Willard’s Hebrew Grammar and Whitney’s Hebrew Bible were studied as well as Palfrey’s Moral Philosophy, Enfield’s Natural Philosophy, and Stewart’s Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind. Analytic Geometry and Topography completed the offerings of the third year. Since May was not twenty-one, he was not allowed to elect French that year – a boon that Harvard grudgingly permitted upon request and approval of one's parents. During his Senior Year, May continued his studies in philosophy and was allowed to penetrate the deep mysteries of spherical geometry. Gorham's Chemistry was analyzed, and for a peek into Political Science he was exposed to the Federalist. A course in Political Economy was also taken.

A splendid Classical training for entrance into the ministry or polite society! Graduates of Harvard, whether they went into the banking or commercial houses of Boston, or embarked upon a legal or literary career, knew their Latin and Greek. Practically no instruction was offered in the fields or engineering, forestry, medicine and, law, while formal courses in journalism, education, and business administration were not thought of. Highly satisfactory indeed for the devotees of the Ancient World, but surely decidedly weak in the Social Sciences, and May's life was to center more about the latter than the former. However, May could not peer into the future, nor for that matter did he see any reason for taking a more liberal course, which indeed he could have had a hard time finding anywhere in America. In spite of apparent defects, May profited greatly from his studies. Constant information was gathered in large quantities. More lasting results, however, were gained from the close contacts which existed between student and teacher. These personal relations, after all, were worth far more than knowledge of Cicero or Horace. First and foremost among the faculty was Dr. John T. Kirkland, President of the College, whose generous and warm-hearted nature made him beloved by all. Then there was John Farrar, Professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy, whose natural eloquence in lecturing made his classes especially interesting and stimulating. Levi Frisbie, Professor of Latin, also left his mark -- Frisbie who had the odd trick of covering his face in class with a handkerchief, possibly to protect his weak and sickly eyes. Finally, there was dear old Andrews Norton, the College librarian, whose home was open to May at all times.

In spite of these assets, May's freshman year could hardly be called a success. He disliked most of his subjects and thought the faculty erred in presenting so much useless material. Once again, youth questioned the wisdom of old age. As a result, he did little more than pass and had to be content with a low rating. Surely, his teachers had little reason to be proud of him. On the other hand, he elicited their highest commendation on achieving the honor of being one of four to win the annual Bowdoin Prize. No freshman had ever gained this distinction before and when his name was announced as one of the winners, his friends crowded about him with many heartfelt words of praise. During his sophomore year, his work improved. He liked his subjects better and his earlier opinion as to the value of the prescribed courses changed. He came to see and appreciate the merit in what Harvard had offered him during his first year, and he deeply regretted the opportunities he had neglected. Possibly, the close companionship which grew between him and his roommate, Cousin Samuel E. Sewell, had much to do with this change in attitude, as Sewell's influence seems ever to have been in the right direction. Early in his third year, May formed the determination to enter the Christian ministry, and from that time he pursued his studies with an earnestness that won considerable recognition from friends and faculty. It was during this year that he gave a Dialogue in English at the Spring Exhibition, and engaged in a Colloquial Discussion, “On the Influence of the Multiplication of Books upon the Interests of Literature and Science." Finally, at Commencement in July, 1817, he was associated with Samuel. A. Eliot of Boston in a, Colloquial on the “Moral Influence of the Christian Sabbath."

May's college career was typical for that age. It appears that he roomed in the College Dormitory and dined at the Commons. The meals furnished by the College were wholesome and generous, but this did not prevent May from paying for "extras" in the form of additional butter, bread, or sweets. Nor was he above playing pranks as college boys have from time immemorial. The Administration strictly frowned upon such activities and on occasions meted out punishments in the form of fines, suspension, or expulsion. Students at Harvard were to act like gentlemen; rowdies were not wanted. May never perpetrated an unpardonable offense though his name does appear in the records of the College as having paid fines. As a freshman, he was charged the enormous sum of thirty-four cents. Each year witnessed a slight increase, that in 1817 amounting to one dollar and sixty-one cents. Unfortunately, our sources do not list the cause for these assessments. Possibly, it might have been snowballing, or breaking a window, or he might have engaged in a "rough-house" that resulted in the breaking of crockery or furniture.

Far more profitable exercise was taken in the form of walks throughout the country -- organized athletics being not thought of. Lexington was but a few miles away and, while Concord was further, many students then and today have walked over the route taken by the British soldiers in their march to and retreat from Concord. During vacations, May frequently was invited to visit the homes of his classmates. One of these, Thomas R. Sullivan, seems to have found him a most genial companion and repeatedly asked him to spend a day or two at his father's home in Woburn. Here they sailed on the Middlesex Canal and Woburn Pond. On one of these occasions, Mr. John L. Sullivan, father of May's friend, had as his houseguest no less a man than the "great Daniel Webster." May was thrilled on being introduced to so great a lawyer and statesman, and together with the other members of the party, which included several ladies, chatted with Mr. Webster during the course of the sail. On stopping at a beautiful point on the Pond, one of the ladies expressed a strong desire for some lilies that fringed the shore but which could not be reached except by a small boat or raft. Gallant as always, Webster challenged the courage of the college boys by exclaiming, "Oh that I were as young as I was a few years ago! I would ransack the shores of the Pond, until I found some boat or boards by which to reach and gather these lilies” Young Sullivan and all his friends, excepting May, bounded off' to discover some means of reaching the lilies. May's continued presence on the boat became most conspicuous and embarrassing, and the repeated glances at him by the fair members of the party reddened his cheeks in shame. Whereupon May jumped into the water and, amid the applause of the company, waded out and collected a number of lilies. What a spectacle he presented! There he stood soaked with water from his waist down, bestowing lilies upon each of the women. “Lovely tempters" he called them. Webster never forgot the incident and always graciously recognized May whenever they met until the two parted over the slavery question in 1839.

Sullivan was only one of many close friends May had at Cambridge. Closest to his heart was Cousin Samuel E. Sewell; then came George B. Emerson. May thought so highly of Emerson that in later life he honored his friend by naming one of his boys after him. Others whom May enjoyed were Robert Schuyler, Benjamin Fessenden, John D. Wells, Samuel A. Eliot, Joseph Coolidge, Charles H. Warren, and Joseph H. Jones. Some of these, like Eliot and Fessenden, had determined to enter the ministry and matriculated at the Harvard Divinity School about the same time as did May. Before registering at this School, May spent several months at Hingham where he divided his time between studying for the ministry, under the direction of Reverend Henry Colman, and in assisting the latter in conducting a small classical school. The venture was happy enough insofar as personal contacts with Colman were concerned. Colman was most gracious and introduced the young student to many prominent persons, including the venerable John Adams. May also seems to have found time to visit Dr. Henry Ware's classes at Cambridge. But May disliked this division of labor. He was unable to apply himself to his studies because of his teaching load, and the latter suffered because of the former. Accordingly, in May, 1818, he left Hingham and returned to Cambridge to pursue his main objective.

While at the Divinity School, he lived for a time at the residence of Mr. Holmes, pastor of the Congregational Church at Cambridge and father of the future Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes. To May's great delight, he found that Fessenden had also taken rooms at the same house, and the two had many happy hours together. As a close neighbor, these young men had their former teacher, Professor Andrews Norton. The Divinity School was then hardly organized. Dr. Henry Ware and Professors Frisbie and Norton gave general advice and instruction, but in the main the students were allowed to visit any of the regular classes of Harvard College and such lectures which the faculty gave from time to time. On occasion, Dr. Ware assigned special topics for study and discussion, such for example as one reported by May on the "Value of Prophesy as a Proof of Divine Revelation.” Dr. Channing of Boston also appears to have lectured and outlined a course of reading for the students. Although formal training was certainly meager, if not inadequate, May profited greatly from his studies and from the inspiration which his instructors afforded.

Most diligently did he scan the pages of the scriptures, digging deeply into the history and doctrine of this divine work. The writings of the early Church Fathers became common to him, and his mind was filled with the inherent strength and virility of the Christian faith. Like many a student, then as today, doubts arose -- doubts as to the miracles performed of old, like that of Joshua and the sun. Most of these he easily resolved for himself. However, one arose that caused him infinite worry -- one that went deep into the entire structure of accepted theology, namely the divine inspiration of the Bible. There was too much of human nature, so he thought, within this historic tome to indicate a divine nature and origin. Moreover, the more he sought to penetrate this problem, the other imponderable question appeared, of the divinity of Christ himself. As an undergraduate at Harvard College, he had heard of the heated discussions relative to Trinitarianism and the Virgin Birth of Christ that bad been engendered by Dr. Morse of Charleston in an issue of the Boston Panoplist. But he had given it no serious consideration. Dr. Colman may have referred to it during the winter of 1817-1818, though the absence of any mention of these discussions in May's writings would seem to indicate that his religious views were quite orthodox at the time. Orthodox to the extent that he accepted what he had heard from Drs. Channing and Freeman. It was, therefore, largely as a result of his own study and thought that he came to question what generally bad been accepted as eternal truths. To cast the latter overboard would require much independence in thinking. Possibly, so he reasoned, he was too young to grasp the inherent significance of orthodox faith. Older and more experienced minds than his must have grappled with the same problem and the fact that most of them remained loyal to well established opinions cautioned him against hasty action. And so he retraced his steps. The Bible was reexamined and each of his doubts were submitted to painstaking inquiry and objective criticism. But in the end he was no better off. His additional studying inevitably brought him closer to the position held by those of the Unitarian faith which sharply questioned formal doctrine and creed. His heart sank within him as his mind forced him along this path. The entire world of faith, in which he had been nurtured, seemed to be tumbling down; he was painfully distressed.

In fear and with great perturbation, he hastened to Dr. Ware, in whose study he unbosomed himself. Ware listened patiently and, when May had finished, complimented the latter upon having reached a point in his thinking where he no longer was willing to lean upon the opinions of others. This, Ware stated, was a signal achievement, and constituted indisputable evidence that May's education had not been in vain. Continue to grow, he added, and of necessity you will arrive at a correct and proper appreciation of essential truths. "But Sir," May replied, "what are the essential truths?" "All truth, came the answer, "is essential . . . If you sincerely desire and long for truth, the Father of your spirit will not permit you to remain satisfied in error. And if what you believe, at any time, leads you to reverence God and keep His commandments, to love your fellow beings and delight to do them good, it cannot be a dangerous error."

This was sound advice, and as May pondered over what Ware had said, his mind and heart became quieted. He was comforted and strengthened. From that day to the end of his life, May never forgot what his teacher had told him. More significantly, he translated that advice into action. Never did he hesitate to seek after truth, however much it might endanger his own cherished opinions or those of others. His spirit had been emancipated by this conversation with Dr. Ware, and he returned to his studies convinced that truth would keep his spirit free. It led him, quite naturally, to seek out the comradeship of others who felt and believed as he did, and soon his steps took him to that small band of devout men in Boston who were raising high the standards of American Unitarianism.

In the meantime, May's years at the Divinity School sped rapidly by, and before he knew it, 1820 came and with it the end of his ministerial training. Like the days spent at Harvard College, those at the Divinity School had been happy ones. He always cherished the friends he had made and his loyalty to Alma Mater brought him back to Cambridge on many occasions. As long as he remained in New England, he was frequently seen wandering about the yard at Commencement time. Living in Syracuse, of course, made these visits less often, but when he could, he returned to the scene of his college days. In 1847, the graduating class of the Divinity School honored him by inviting him to be their class speaker, an invitation which he gladly accepted and most fittingly fulfilled. Later, in 1861, he was present at the 41^st reunion of his class. Cousin Samuel E. Sewell -- May's old roommate -- was on hand to greet him as were C. R. Miles, Dan Hatch, Silas Allen, and several others. What a glorious time these old "grads" must have had! The campus must have fairly echoed with their greetings and with the stories they told of bygone days. But the festivities had only begun. First, there was the matter of attending the graduating exercises of the Class of 1861. Here the alumni sat in silent judgment over the declamations and addresses. May was delighted at the skill and ability of the speakers, particularly Wendell P. Garrison, whose address was “on the whole the best." But what must have pleased May most was the presence, on the platform, of his old friend and companion, William Lloyd Garrison, whom Harvard honored that day. At the dinner that followed, more talks were given. "Old President Quincy - 90 years old," made an admirable address as did the dean of all orators, Edward Everett.

Six years later, May returned to Cambridge again, this time to attend his 50th anniversary. Twenty members of this class were present and the reunions, held at the Library and Revere House in Boston, were crowded with events May never forgot. The graduation exercises were better than ever, and the address by Ralph Waldo Emerson was "admirable." At the dinner, May sat next to President Hill, but before the affair was over, he had left the speaker's table and had seated himself at another reserved for the members of his class. The following day, after a night spent at Emerson's home, May attended a meeting of Phi Beta Kappa, of which he was then made a member "by a larger majority than anyone had been." The following year, 1869, May attended Commencement Exercises at both the College and Divinity School, and was honored by being elected President of the Alumni of the latter institution.

Probably, this was May's last visit to Cambridge, as bodily infirmities kept him at home during the remainder of his life. But his loyalty to Harvard did not lessen. Age only reaffirmed those convictions formed in 1817. Harvard was a noble institution! It had rendered valuable services to him, and he never ceased to praise and thank his Alma Mater for the privilege of having been a recipient of its many gifts and favors.

CHAPTER II

THE BROOKLYN PASTORATE

During the early summer of 1820, and while May was still at the Divinity College, Cambridge was visited by a severe epidemic of dysentery. Many of the students were quite ill. One of these was George B. Emerson who foolishly had left his bed to take part in the Commencement Exercises. May became thoroughly alarmed over his friend’s condition and hastened him to Boston, where May’s mother and sister nursed him back to health. When Emerson had recovered sufficiently to travel, May accompanied him to his home, in Kennebunk, Maine, where he remained for several weeks. On his return to Boston, he found an invitation awaiting him to go to Nahant, a favorite summer resort of wealthy Bostonians. These gentlemen wanted him to serve as a schoolmaster for their sons. The opportunity was too good to miss, and so May went to Nahant. On Sundays, he conducted religious services for the Colony. May enjoyed his work, particularly the experience he received in preaching, upon which the Unitarians put great stress. Frequently, his sermons were those of well known divines. This delighted his congregation and afforded him an opportunity to develop skill and ease in speech. Once in a while he drafted discourses of his own and tried them out upon his listeners with evident success. Not all of his waking hours, however, were devoted to preaching and teaching. There were long walks to be taken and time to be spent upon the beach. May thoroughly enjoyed physical recreation, knowing full well that a sound body was as essential as an alert mind. And when in the fall he returned home, he felt and acted like a new man.

By this time May had decided to enter the ministry of the Unitarian church. Unitarianism was then in its infancy. It was a lusty infant, however, and, much to the disgust and fear of congregationalism, was manifesting signs of rapid development. Several of Boston’s most prominent churches had gone over to the new faith, while in others Unitarian clergy occupied the pulpits. In the case of the latter, considerable dispute arose between the Unitarians, who often were in a minority, and the Orthodox over property rights. A court decision finally settled the matter, it being decided that when a majority of the church congregation had seceded, because of religions differences and hostility to a pastor of the Unitarian faith, the minority which remained were the church and were legally possessed of all its property rights. Fortified by court actions, Unitarianism obtained an economic base which was of untold value.

Foremost among the Bostonian leaders of Unitarianism were Dr. James Freeman of King’s Chapel and Dr. William Ellery Channing, both of whom had been God-parents to May and whose influence must have steered him into Unitarianism. Freeman and Channing, as well as others, firmly believed that Unitarianism needed a structural organization if its mission was to succeed. Mere preaching was not enough. Some guiding body must be set up which should articulate the work of the clergy, provide for certification of young pastors, and outline a missionary program of expansion and growth. As a result, there was organized, May, 30, 1820, in the vestry of the Federal street church, the Berry Street Conference, which for the next five years acted as the governing board of the Unitarian church. In 1825, the Berry Street Conference gave way to the American Unitarianism Association which ever since has directed the fortunes of that faith.

It was, therefore, to the Berry Street Conference, that many applied for admission into the ministry. The Conference welcomed him most cordially, and assigned him the task of preparing a sermon based on the text, “Through Him we both have access by one spirit onto the Father.” Two weeks past, during which time May worked diligently upon his sermon. When all was ready, he called at Dr. Channing’s residence and before a group of examiners delivered his sermon. He was applauded for his efforts and was certified, in December, 1820, as an “approbated” minister. Shortly thereafter, he went to Springfield, weary occupied the pulpit of Reverend W. B. O. Peabody. From Springfield, May went to Cambridge where he soon received an invitation to preach at Brooklyn, Connecticut.

Brooklyn was, and still is, a small but picturesque New England Village, located in the northeastern part of Connecticut. Here, for a while, had lived Israel Putnam who, having served King George against the French and the Indians, fought against him in the war for American Independence. The general, were he alive in 1820, would hardly have recognized his home. What had been an attractive house had been converted into a print shop. Office of this building and standing today, on a triangular village green, was the Meeting House. Erected according to approved New England standards, this edifice constituted Brooklyn’s chief architectural gem until an untimely tropical hurricane, in 1938, toppled over its gorgeous spire and have leveled its surrounding maples—trees that May planted—two the ground. Not far away was a modest inn, where the Worcester stage stopped on its way to Hartford. Finally, there was a courthouse and a jail in which, at a later date, May’s very dear friend, Miss Prudence Crandall, was to be lodged for having a “nigger school” at Canterbury.

May had heard of Brooklyn through his Unitarian connections. His knowledge, however, was scanty and was chiefly limited to the trials and tribulations that had shaken the religious life of the community since 1817. At that time, the Rev. Luther Willson was pastor of the Brooklyn church. Willson had been reared in the orthodox faith of New England, but had not closed his ears to the religious renaissance precipitated in Boston by the founders of American Unitarianism. The more he examined the latter, the more he appreciated its broad humanitarian program. And, as he began to expound its merits to his flock, he came to realize how deeply congregationalism had entrenched itself in Brooklyn. Most of his parishioners were highly shocked by his sermons, and not a few hesitated to call him an heretic. Willson stood his ground and continued to stress Unitarianism. His opponents returned blow for blow and at a heated church meeting sharply reminded him that he had been hired two preach Trinitarianism and not radical Unitarians views. Willson was not surprised, though the blow stunned him for the moment. What was he to do? Resigned and leave the field open to the enemy? Courage prompted him to say “no,” but judgment convinced him that he would have to retire unless help was forthcoming from Boston. Boston heard his cry and speedily sent a committee to Brooklyn to survey the situation.

On this committee was the Rev. Henry Colman of Hingham, under whose direction May had studied for the ministry. And it was from Colman that May first heard of Brooklyn, of the committee’s inability to aid Willson, and of his ultimate retirement from that parish. Later, May heard that the seeds planted by Willson were bearing fruit, that the Unitarian element in Brooklyn had increased in numbers, and that they had been administered to by several young Unitarian pastors, notably Rev. Mr. Whitney. The Trinitarians, unable to check the “mechanizations” of “heretics,” finally seceded and erected a small but neat church of their own. This religious schism was at its height when May received his call to Brooklyn. One could hardly view the situation as very promising or inviting. And when viewed from the angle of the State, it was quite dismal, for Connecticut was the stronghold of the Orthodox who were certain to aid the Brooklyn Trinitarians in their fight against Unitarian heresy.

And yet May accepted the offer. He was a young man, much in need of parochial experience