Muncie, Indiana, February 1865  

Martin Luther Temple

TEMPLE, M. L. - Captain McGrorty and M. L. Temple, of this city, drowned, at Lacrosse--their bodies not recovered.  Our citizens were shocked yesterday by the tidings which reached Messrs. Cooley, Carver & Co., in a telegram from Mr. W. R. Carver, announcing that Capt. W. B. McGrorty and Mr. M. L. Temple, of this city, had been drowned at Lacrosse.  The brief announcement of the private dispatch was soon followed by the following news report:  "Lacrosse, Feb. 17--Mr. M. L. Temple and Capt. W. B. McCrorty, of St. Paul, were drowned near this city last evening under the following circumstances: They, in company with Mr. W. R. Carver and other gentlemen from St. Paul, arrived in this city last evening, and wishing to secure berths in the sleeping-car, Messrs. Temple and McGrorty started for the depot for that purpose ahead of the omnibus.  They took a short cut across the ice, and it is supposed in the darkness mistook a streak of water for a broken track.  Their steps were traced to this place, where the current is very strong.  The bodies have not been recovered."  The parties mentioned in the above dispatch, left this city by Wednesday morning stage, only to meet, as the sequel proved, a sudden death.  Mr. McGrorty being entirely unknown to this community, we omit that portion of the article relative to him and his business, character, etc.--Ed. Union.  Mr. M. L. Temple, though a recent comer to the city, had already made a large number of friends, who feel his loss keenly.--He came here last November and opened a music store in Union block, as agent for the Chicago firm of Root & Cady.  He was a young man about twenty-three years old, and has a father residing in Indiana (his mother being dead).  About a year since he married a young lady in Ohio, and when he came to St. Paul, left his wife at Troy, in that State.  Two months ago he fixed the day for his departure to bring his bride to his western home, and fondly hoped that this evening would find him with his young companion.  For weeks past, his visit to the east had been uppermost in his mind, and the subject of daily remark to his friends.  Fond hopes were never more ruthlessly destroyed.  He was an honorable, generous and genial young man, and his intimate friends prized him as they would a brother.

                                                                        {Communicated}

Editor Union: May I add the following items of intelligence as to the manner of Mr. Temple's death.  From a letter received from his sister we learn that Mr. Temple started for home a week earlier than he intended, that he might have the company of Mr. Carver.--Their original intention was to go all the way from St. Paul to Lacrosse on the river, but in consequence of a severe snow storm they concluded to change their plan.  They hired a private conveyance and started on Wednesday morning, Feb. 15, and rode all the way to Rochester in the storm.  There they took the cars to Winona, and from Winona to Lacrosse they rode on the river, and reached the hotel at Lacrosse at five o'clock, Thursday p.m.  Some time after supper Mr. Temple and Capt. McGrorty started for the depot.  The river makes a short bend at that point, and seeing the light of the depot ahead, they thought to shorten the distance by walking across the bend on the ice.  Walking arm in arm as their footsteps on the snow indicated, and probably earnestly engaged in conversation, they stepped from the firm ice into the water, which was running from five to six miles an hour.  They struggled in the current, and would cling to the ice--which constantly broke with them--to a distance of nearly twenty rods.  Persons attracted to the river by their cries for help, saw them--their bodies sometimes half way out of the water--saw that they exhibited great presence of mind, neither clinging to the other, and their motions showing them to be expert swimmers.--But in the hurry and storm, and in consequence of the terrible swiftness of the current, nothing could be done to save them.  Thus--in the twinkling of an eye--has our dear young friend and brother, Martin Luther Temple, been snatched from us.  Our community has seldom experienced a severer shock.  May the grace of God comfort and sustain his young wife and all his relatives and friends under this great bereavement.  As soon as his body can be recovered, or whenever the efforts to recover it shall be found hopeless, appropriate funeral services will be held in the church of which he was a member and a fitting obituary prepared for the papers.                  W. M. C.

                                                                          {Communicated}

                                                                                M. L. T.                                                       

                                                            Sorrow, from out her thousand shapes,

                                                               Selected one, the worst by far,

                                                            And came, to lay the cross on hearts,

                                                               And happy human hopes to mar;

                                                               She did her work; no evil star

                                                            Seemed frowning on the fatal day

                                                               That blots lov'e golden calendar,

                                                            And joy is taken quite away,

                                                      Nor ever may arise, since death is death for aye.

                                                             We grieve.  For him our hearts are closed,

                                                               Nor earth shall  evermore beguile,

                                                            The pan is felt too deep for time

                                                               To ever wholly reconcile.

                                                               The stern, dark Mississippi's smiile,

                                                            Is mockery o'er so dear a death;

                                                               Its waters moaning on, meanwhile,

                                                            With tone of him who lies beneath,

                                                      Have now a dreader dread at whish we hold our breath.

                                                             Ill-bringing truths are all too true,

                                                               Would this had only been a dream,

                                                            These throes had then been kindly spared;

                                                               Love had for text a happier theme;

                                                               This darkness had not been supreme,

                                                            Nor all his weight of tears o'er-run.

                                                               How softly does his memory seem

                                                            To kindle in each not his own,

                                                      Remembered in high meed, his cenotaph alone.

                                                             His was no common heart, our loss

                                                               Is therefore larger than we know;

                                                            His hand, with clinging welcome warm,

                                                               Was kind--he never knew a foe.

                                                               But lent to all his friendship's glow,

                                                            We will not meet him any more,

                                                               It scarcely seems it can be so,

                                                            The wave that so be upon the shore

                                                      A sadder mourning holds than ever heard before.

                                                             And there is mourning more than ours,

                                                               And an immortal loneliness

                                                            Which widowed learn refuse to quell,

                                                               And sorrow's self can not express,

                                                               Heaven only lendeth its redress,

                                                             Its competence ___________

                                                               And fate shall spread her gloomy trees

                                                             And mantle many another day,

                                                      But O, what blow could further send our hopes and joys away.                    A. W. B.

                                                                      Muncie, Indiana, February 1865  

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