While researching a post that will come up in December for Christmas I came across a Rev. J. E. Rankin, D.D. He delivered a sermon Moses & Joshua (A Discourse on the death of Abraham Lincoln) at Winthrop Church, Charlestown, Ma. while serving as the pastor. The sermon was delivered at noon on Wednesday, Apr. 19, 1865. You can find this sermon at The Martyred President website. On this website you'll find approximately 59 sermons. Sermons often reflect and encourage people in the where do we go from here phase that happens with the death of a relative or in this case the death of the leader of the United States.
For those of you writing during this time period you might find some helpful insights to what the "people" were feeling at this great time of mourning.
Showing posts with label People of Interest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People of Interest. Show all posts
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Friday, December 9, 2016
Louisiana Territory
is purchased in 1803 from France for $15 million. That purchase doubled the size of the United States if not more than doubled, especially if you include the two Canadian provinces (Alberta & Saskatchewan).
Wikipedia has a brief overview.
ON page 273 in The American Register ©1809 There are excerpts from Mr. PIke's Journal. About his travels up the Mississippi River.
In the same year, 1809 another journal was published. The Travels of Capts. Lewis & Clarke
Both of these sources give a good account of the area near the time of the purchase.
Wikipedia has a brief overview.
ON page 273 in The American Register ©1809 There are excerpts from Mr. PIke's Journal. About his travels up the Mississippi River.
In the same year, 1809 another journal was published. The Travels of Capts. Lewis & Clarke
Both of these sources give a good account of the area near the time of the purchase.
Monday, December 5, 2016
Palmetto Leaves by Harriet Beecher Stowe
We all know of Harriet Beacher Stowe from her work of Uncle Tom's Cabin but in 1873 she released another book Palmetto Leaves writing about life in North Florida. It's a great work, I haven't read all of the entries but enough to know she has a real flare for the people and the times she's writing about. I loved having this resource when I was working on my St. Augustine Series. Winning the Captain's Heart, The Innkeeper's Wife and The Shepherd's Betrothed.
Here's a link to Google Books to download or read online. Enjoy!
Here's a link to Google Books to download or read online. Enjoy!
Saturday, December 3, 2016
American Cowboy
Here's a fun look at the American Cowboy from a London publication. The excerpt below comes from "The Statist: a journal of practical finance and trade, Vol. 21 ©1888
Feb. 4, 1888
THE AMERICAN COWBOY.
The British duchesses who have been worshipping at the shrine of Buffalo Bill, to the great amusement of their Republican sisters in America, will be grieved to hear that the cowboy, of whom their pet is a glorified representative, is fast becoming a departed glory. He is passing away into the land of shades and traditions ; the place which he made so hot and so lively during his brief but eventful reign will soon know him no more. Civilisation, that fell destroyer of all that is true and beautiful and simple in nature, has overtaken him, and ordered him to move on. Like Jo, he had no convenient place left to move on to, not even a Tom All Alone's, and he is being gradually pushed over the edge of the poetic prairie into oblivion; in the ruder language of the political economists he is being " improved off the face of the earth." Even on the Mexican frontier, which used to be his happiest hunting ground, he has got notice to quit; his part is played out, and new actors are taking possession of the stage.
The cowboy was an essentially ephemeral being. He was the product of a transition state of things in the Far West, and with it he necessarily takes his departure. In the order of development he came on between the buffalo hunter and the farmer, filling up the period which was too early for the one and too late for the other. Fifteen or twenty years back, when the buffalo had been driven west of the Rio Grande, herds of some wild cattle took his place. They were for the most part a legacy from the old Spanish settlers of Texas and New Mexico. With very little care they increased and multiplied and replenished the boundless prairie. But as yet they were of little value ; there was an unlimited supply, but no demand, the nearest markets of any importance being hundreds of miles away. Moreover, the idea of eating prairie cattle had not yet occurred to Eastern beef consumers. Two events changed all that. First, the railways began to push Westward into the ranche country, and to offer practicable transport to Eastern markets. Next, Chicago started its now enormous industry of beef packing—that is, of boiling meat in tins. It created a demand for ranche cattle, and threefourths of the tinned meat shipped from Chicago is now prairie fed. Farm-fed steers are generally distributed to Eastern and Southern markets as dressed or fresh beef.
The cowboy came in with tinned meat, which made ranching a commercial success. It gave value to the mobs of cattle which ranged the prairie, feeding on free grass and with no mark of ownership but the brand on their shoulders. They became worthy of care and attention, and to that end the cowboy appeared on the scene. Adventurous spirits, attracted by the wild, free life, with a fascinating dash of danger, took to the prairie. The Mexican "greaser?," who had previously done all the trading that was needed, found themselves swamped by ex-miners, prodigal younger sons, University men who had broken loose, and desperadoes who had left a bad record behind them in the East. Many men took to it from sheer love of adventure, but more of them drifted into it as a last resource. It was a business quickly learned and requiring very little capital to start in. The outfit consisted of a picturesque sombrero, a woollen shirt, buckskin trousers, and jack-boots—a free and easy combination of the Mexican costume with the Colorado miner's.
But the cowboy's proudest distinction was not his sombrero or his lasso ; it was his revolver. On the prairie he had, of course, to go armed for the Indians, who were still on the war path. The last of them have now been cleared away, and even the once formidable Apaches in Southern Arizona have ceased to be a terror to the settler. On the capture of their chief, Huronymo, about a year ago, the tribe was broken up, and most of them removed to Florida, where they are safely secluded somewhere in the Everglades. But in the cowboy's early days the Mexican frontier right along from Western Texas to Southern California swarmed with scalpers, and any white man who might meet them unexpectedly had to be pretty handy with his firearms. Most of the cowboys were. Pistol shooting came next to poker in their calendar of human accomplishments. They practised it both drunk and sober, but especially drunk. Out on the prairie little harm came of it, except to themselves ; but when they descended on a town accidents were apt, indeed they were pretty sure, to happen.
After a round up, or when he had cattle to ship East, the cowboy always had a blow-out of his own peculiar kind. It generally began with whisky, and ended with promiscuous pistol shooting. Blood was shed, of course ; but as the Missouri man who had " busted " for half a million said of his liabilities, that was a mere detail. There is, ve know, a prejudice against pistol practice in towns as Iwing dangerous; but the cowboy had completely emancipated himself from that weak notion. His pistol was his plaything as well as his protector; it spoke for him when he had no longer a tongue of his own ; it gave vent to his humour, and when a happy thought entered his drunken head he fired it off with his revolver. Endless are the stories of his mad freaks which linger on the frontier. It was a favourite joke with him to make a man stand up against the wall, and fire a bullet on each side of his head, finishing off with a third through the crown of his hat. Sometimes the human target would submit to the operation voluntarily for the sake of the whisky with which the cowboy would be sure to fill him ad libitum during the rest of the drinking bout; more frequently the victim stood up under compulsion, trembling and shaking in his shoes all the while.
There were many sorts and conditions of cowboys, as of other men. Some were vain, and in their cups wished to show off their shooting; some were brutal fellows, who liked to see harmless, unarmed people run from them in terror; others were humorous dare-devils, who would do anything for the mere fun of it. They had a strong sense of the grotesque, and would quite unexpectedly order a man to do something he had no special aptitude for—to sing or dance, or make a stump speech, or even to pray. One night a drunken cowboy marched into the telegraph office in a Western Texas depot, and ordered the clerk to kneel down at once and say his prayers. " But I don't know my prayers," said the trembling clerk. "Oh, don't you just," replied the cowboy, pointing his six-shooter at him; " this will teach you, I guess.' Without further argument, down dropped the telegraph man on his knees, and surprised everybody around by the spiritual unction he worked up. It was an even chance whether the cowboy, when he was done, put a bullet into him or took him to the bar and stood drinks all round. The incident ended happily with drinks, but this telegraph clerk was never allowed to forget his cowboy's prayer.
The success of Buffalo Bill's Show is generally attributed in the West to the passion of cowboys for the circus. They would ride scores of miles to attend one, not so much for the purpose of seeing as of taking part in it. Their greatest delight was to join in the public procession, and to do the lion's share of the whooping and shouting. They would also ride into the ring, and show off some horsemanship of their own. The other spectators thought themselves lucky if a pistol or two did not go off in the excitement. Once a ranchman had driven down sixty car load of cattle to a Texas railway station, and his cowboys were busy loading them when they heard that a circus was coming along. They knocked off work, went out to meet the circus, and rode back with it. After the public procession they assisted at the performance, and honoured the clown's best jokes with pistol salvoes. During the night the cattle stampeded, and only fifteen car loads out of the sixty could be started. A new roundabout had to be made to recover the rest.
The cowboy had his own notion of politics. He judged a candidate a good deal by first impressions, and personal appearance went a long way with him. He had a strong antipathy to snobbishness either in dress or manners. Woe betide the stump orator who ventured before a cowboy audience with a silk hat on his head. Ten to one it would have a shot hole through the top of it before he had been three minutc3 on the platfonn. One venturesome wearer of a bell-topper was warned beforehand of this weakness of his cowboy auditors, but he said he would get on with them all right. Sure enough, he had hardly seated himself when the expected shot was fired. He quielty took off his hat, looked at the hole in it, smiled gratefully at the sportsman, and put it on again. His coolness captivated the boys, and his speech delighted them. After the meeting they insisted on conducting him in triumph to the nearest hat store, and buying the best sombrero for him there was in it. The cowboy had his good points, but like many other an exuberant genius he made the world rather hot for him. It has cooled down very much of late on the Texas frontier; a cowboy nowadays causes no more commotion in a saloon than Buffalo Bill would produce in a Belgravian drawing room were he to return next year to the scene of his late triumphs. He has had his day and ceased to be heroic in the slightest degree.
Feb. 4, 1888
THE AMERICAN COWBOY.
The British duchesses who have been worshipping at the shrine of Buffalo Bill, to the great amusement of their Republican sisters in America, will be grieved to hear that the cowboy, of whom their pet is a glorified representative, is fast becoming a departed glory. He is passing away into the land of shades and traditions ; the place which he made so hot and so lively during his brief but eventful reign will soon know him no more. Civilisation, that fell destroyer of all that is true and beautiful and simple in nature, has overtaken him, and ordered him to move on. Like Jo, he had no convenient place left to move on to, not even a Tom All Alone's, and he is being gradually pushed over the edge of the poetic prairie into oblivion; in the ruder language of the political economists he is being " improved off the face of the earth." Even on the Mexican frontier, which used to be his happiest hunting ground, he has got notice to quit; his part is played out, and new actors are taking possession of the stage.
The cowboy was an essentially ephemeral being. He was the product of a transition state of things in the Far West, and with it he necessarily takes his departure. In the order of development he came on between the buffalo hunter and the farmer, filling up the period which was too early for the one and too late for the other. Fifteen or twenty years back, when the buffalo had been driven west of the Rio Grande, herds of some wild cattle took his place. They were for the most part a legacy from the old Spanish settlers of Texas and New Mexico. With very little care they increased and multiplied and replenished the boundless prairie. But as yet they were of little value ; there was an unlimited supply, but no demand, the nearest markets of any importance being hundreds of miles away. Moreover, the idea of eating prairie cattle had not yet occurred to Eastern beef consumers. Two events changed all that. First, the railways began to push Westward into the ranche country, and to offer practicable transport to Eastern markets. Next, Chicago started its now enormous industry of beef packing—that is, of boiling meat in tins. It created a demand for ranche cattle, and threefourths of the tinned meat shipped from Chicago is now prairie fed. Farm-fed steers are generally distributed to Eastern and Southern markets as dressed or fresh beef.
The cowboy came in with tinned meat, which made ranching a commercial success. It gave value to the mobs of cattle which ranged the prairie, feeding on free grass and with no mark of ownership but the brand on their shoulders. They became worthy of care and attention, and to that end the cowboy appeared on the scene. Adventurous spirits, attracted by the wild, free life, with a fascinating dash of danger, took to the prairie. The Mexican "greaser?," who had previously done all the trading that was needed, found themselves swamped by ex-miners, prodigal younger sons, University men who had broken loose, and desperadoes who had left a bad record behind them in the East. Many men took to it from sheer love of adventure, but more of them drifted into it as a last resource. It was a business quickly learned and requiring very little capital to start in. The outfit consisted of a picturesque sombrero, a woollen shirt, buckskin trousers, and jack-boots—a free and easy combination of the Mexican costume with the Colorado miner's.
But the cowboy's proudest distinction was not his sombrero or his lasso ; it was his revolver. On the prairie he had, of course, to go armed for the Indians, who were still on the war path. The last of them have now been cleared away, and even the once formidable Apaches in Southern Arizona have ceased to be a terror to the settler. On the capture of their chief, Huronymo, about a year ago, the tribe was broken up, and most of them removed to Florida, where they are safely secluded somewhere in the Everglades. But in the cowboy's early days the Mexican frontier right along from Western Texas to Southern California swarmed with scalpers, and any white man who might meet them unexpectedly had to be pretty handy with his firearms. Most of the cowboys were. Pistol shooting came next to poker in their calendar of human accomplishments. They practised it both drunk and sober, but especially drunk. Out on the prairie little harm came of it, except to themselves ; but when they descended on a town accidents were apt, indeed they were pretty sure, to happen.
After a round up, or when he had cattle to ship East, the cowboy always had a blow-out of his own peculiar kind. It generally began with whisky, and ended with promiscuous pistol shooting. Blood was shed, of course ; but as the Missouri man who had " busted " for half a million said of his liabilities, that was a mere detail. There is, ve know, a prejudice against pistol practice in towns as Iwing dangerous; but the cowboy had completely emancipated himself from that weak notion. His pistol was his plaything as well as his protector; it spoke for him when he had no longer a tongue of his own ; it gave vent to his humour, and when a happy thought entered his drunken head he fired it off with his revolver. Endless are the stories of his mad freaks which linger on the frontier. It was a favourite joke with him to make a man stand up against the wall, and fire a bullet on each side of his head, finishing off with a third through the crown of his hat. Sometimes the human target would submit to the operation voluntarily for the sake of the whisky with which the cowboy would be sure to fill him ad libitum during the rest of the drinking bout; more frequently the victim stood up under compulsion, trembling and shaking in his shoes all the while.
There were many sorts and conditions of cowboys, as of other men. Some were vain, and in their cups wished to show off their shooting; some were brutal fellows, who liked to see harmless, unarmed people run from them in terror; others were humorous dare-devils, who would do anything for the mere fun of it. They had a strong sense of the grotesque, and would quite unexpectedly order a man to do something he had no special aptitude for—to sing or dance, or make a stump speech, or even to pray. One night a drunken cowboy marched into the telegraph office in a Western Texas depot, and ordered the clerk to kneel down at once and say his prayers. " But I don't know my prayers," said the trembling clerk. "Oh, don't you just," replied the cowboy, pointing his six-shooter at him; " this will teach you, I guess.' Without further argument, down dropped the telegraph man on his knees, and surprised everybody around by the spiritual unction he worked up. It was an even chance whether the cowboy, when he was done, put a bullet into him or took him to the bar and stood drinks all round. The incident ended happily with drinks, but this telegraph clerk was never allowed to forget his cowboy's prayer.
The success of Buffalo Bill's Show is generally attributed in the West to the passion of cowboys for the circus. They would ride scores of miles to attend one, not so much for the purpose of seeing as of taking part in it. Their greatest delight was to join in the public procession, and to do the lion's share of the whooping and shouting. They would also ride into the ring, and show off some horsemanship of their own. The other spectators thought themselves lucky if a pistol or two did not go off in the excitement. Once a ranchman had driven down sixty car load of cattle to a Texas railway station, and his cowboys were busy loading them when they heard that a circus was coming along. They knocked off work, went out to meet the circus, and rode back with it. After the public procession they assisted at the performance, and honoured the clown's best jokes with pistol salvoes. During the night the cattle stampeded, and only fifteen car loads out of the sixty could be started. A new roundabout had to be made to recover the rest.
The cowboy had his own notion of politics. He judged a candidate a good deal by first impressions, and personal appearance went a long way with him. He had a strong antipathy to snobbishness either in dress or manners. Woe betide the stump orator who ventured before a cowboy audience with a silk hat on his head. Ten to one it would have a shot hole through the top of it before he had been three minutc3 on the platfonn. One venturesome wearer of a bell-topper was warned beforehand of this weakness of his cowboy auditors, but he said he would get on with them all right. Sure enough, he had hardly seated himself when the expected shot was fired. He quielty took off his hat, looked at the hole in it, smiled gratefully at the sportsman, and put it on again. His coolness captivated the boys, and his speech delighted them. After the meeting they insisted on conducting him in triumph to the nearest hat store, and buying the best sombrero for him there was in it. The cowboy had his good points, but like many other an exuberant genius he made the world rather hot for him. It has cooled down very much of late on the Texas frontier; a cowboy nowadays causes no more commotion in a saloon than Buffalo Bill would produce in a Belgravian drawing room were he to return next year to the scene of his late triumphs. He has had his day and ceased to be heroic in the slightest degree.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
George Payne Rainsford James
He was a historical romance fiction writer in the early half of the 19th century. He's said to have written over a 100 novels and 67 of them are catalogued in the British Museum. He began writing at an opportune time after Sir Walter Scott had done a lot to make the genre popular as well as Alexandre Dumas.
If you would like to read further about James here's a link to a great online source.
You can also read some of his books at google books, just search the author's name. You'll need to go to the second page of the search before you find some of his titles.
I find it interesting to read about and read some of the works of authors who came before us. I hope you'll enjoy it too.
If you would like to read further about James here's a link to a great online source.
You can also read some of his books at google books, just search the author's name. You'll need to go to the second page of the search before you find some of his titles.
I find it interesting to read about and read some of the works of authors who came before us. I hope you'll enjoy it too.
Monday, November 28, 2016
Around the World in 80 Days
This post probably isn't going to be what you are thinking it should be. Yes, Jules Verne wrote the novel but did you know that in 1889-1890 Nellie Bly a female journalist completed the journey? You can read about Nellie at Wikipedia.
Below I've included an excerpt from
Recollections of "Nellie Bly."
The filing for probate in New York City, the other day, of a second will purporting to be made by Robert Seaman, president at the time of his death of the Iron Clad Manufacturing Company, brings once again to mind the personality of the former famous newspaper correspondent, who was known by the pen-name of "Nellie Bly."
At one time, when she out-did "Phineas Fogg's" mythical circumnavigation of the globe in eighty days, "Nellie Bly" occupied the attention of two hemispheres. In her early career as a newspaper worker she successfully surrounded herself with a mystery as to her identity, which added to the value of her writings.
At that time she was variously pictured as a gushing school girl, an embittered old maid, a grass widow, a real widow, a wife and mother, an effeminate man disguished as a woman, and as a myth altogether, kept before the public eye by an enterprising syndicate of three journalists, with Joe Howard at the head.
Not one newspaper reader in a thousand was quite sure whether "Nellie Bly" was of feminine gender. Those who believed that she was a woman held the opinion that she was of great beauty of face and form. There were a score of men in New York who were ready to make affidavit that they possessed an intimate personal acquaintance with the writer of the "Nellie Bly" articles, and that in private life this writer wore trousers and drank absinthe frappe in inordinate quantities. Indeed, it has been asserted in all seriousness that "Nellie Bly" was the father of an interesting trio of bouncing baby boys, and that his wife wrote all his articles.
* * * * * "Nellie Bly"—as of course we all know now— is in reality a woman; a young woman past the school girl age, and not yet at the quarterpost of old-maidism when she entered newspaper life. She was then, as far as appearances go, a very ordinary everyday young woman, rather slight in form, leaning to eccentricity in dress, masculine in her tastes and ideas, and a man hater from 'way back. That may sound strange, but it is true nevertheless. Beyond business relations with the male sex "Nellie Ely" had at that time no further use for them. All her love was extended to her mother, and to make that mother comfortable and happy was the one thought that actuated her in every undertaking.
In the pursuance of this ambition she has endured what would drive almost any other woman wild with shame, mortification or chagrin. The basest motives were at times attributed to her by thoughtless and brutal carpers and cynics. She was declared unwomanly, unmaidenly, bold, presumptuous, by men, and brazen and forward by her sister women. While it is true that the vast majority of persons who felt an interest in her novel and original line of work entertained only the kindest sympathy for her, the very nature of her occupation subjected her constantly to the crudest kind of unthinking animadversion.
* * * * * "Nellie Bly" is a Pittsburg girl by birth. Her first attempt to gain a livelihood with her pen was made early in 1886, on The Pittsburg Dispatch. She had written a communication to that journal on the condition of workingwomen in the city of Pittsburg, and there being something in it that caught the fancy of Mr. Madden, the managing editor, she was requested to send her name and address. With this she complied, and as a result was engaged. It was Mr. Madden who suggested the title of Steven C. Foster's lullaby, "Nellie Bly" as a signature, and at his instance the name, being euphonious and easily remembered, was adopted. The young woman's real name was kept an office secret, and for some months successfully, but The Pittsburg Leader finally discovered and published it. Numerous cognomens were afterwards published in different cities, purporting to reveal the identity of the new woman writer, whose real name is "Pink" Elizabeth Cochrane. Her father, who has been dead for a number of years, was an Associate Judge in one of the oil region towns. "Nellie Bly's" first important mission was a trip to Mexico, where she traveled for six months, learning to speak Spanish with fair fluency in that time. Her letters were published in The Dispatch and attracted attention because of their originality and quaint treatment of old subjects in a new way. "Miss Bly" was honored during this her first practical newspaper experience by a love-lorn Mexican, who became desperately enamored of her, and who thummed his guitar with such savage persistency and wrote so many notes breathing "love or death" that the object of his admiration was obliged for her own peace of mind to take a hasty departure. He was a particularly handsome fellow, this Mexican, and took a solemn vow that the young American should either become his bride or he would convert himself into a cold, clammy corpse. Whether he carried out his latter alternative or not was never learned. At all events he missed making good the first section of his oath.
***** When "Miss Bly" returned to Pittsburg, she was put in charge of the society column of The Dispatch, alternating this work with writing theatrical notices and criticisms, and in preparing articles on woman's work. With her added experience, these papers attracted attention in New York, and were frequently introduced in the Metropolitan dailies. This gave "Miss Bly" the idea that she could better herself in the bigger city, and she secured a letter of introduction to Joe Howard, Jr., from one of her newspaper friends in Pittsburg. With nothing more definite than this, she said good-bye to her mother, and started out with the full determination to win or die, and, as she has confessed herself, it came nearly being a "die."
Arrived in New York, she presented her letter, and was given several large chunks of fatherly advice and the cheerful opinion that she had made a mistake, and ought to go home. She didn't go, but sought out Foster Coates, managing editor of The Mail and Express, and one of the leading spirits in a newspaper syndicate. It was just at this time that Andrew Carnegie, the millionaire, had taken unto himself a bride, and it was estimated that if "Miss Bly" could interview Mrs. Carnegie, such service might be acceptable. Small hopes were held out that success might attend this effort, as the most experienced New York interviewers had triefl and failed. "Miss Bly" started in, and by perseverance and the exercise of a little feminine diplomacy obtained a very complete and exhaustive talk with the bride, touching upon every subject that would be of interest to women readers.
* * * * *
The news market was not glutted with millionaires' brides, and that field promised no further crop.
Like all beginners in newspaper work in the big city, "Miss Bly" speedily reached that period when it appeared that there was not a single new thing under the sun to write about. She thought and thought and thought, and tried and tried, but met rebuffs at every turn. She was boarding at a modest little boarding house 'way up in Harlem, where the fare was just about generous enough to support life because of the moderate price paid for it. Cheap as this living was, it could not be paid for without an income. The little store of money that the girl had hoarded was becoming rapidly exhausted. She was indebted to her landlady, and could not meet the obligation. To make matters worse, "Miss Bly" one day lost her purse, and with it every dollar she possessed in the world. This misfortune did not discourage her, however, and she was too proud to make her loss known. Every day she walked from six to eight miles, because she had actually no money to pay her carfare. The situation began to look desperate. Days were slipping by, and the board bill was growing. Something had to be done, so without much hope of success letters of introduction were obtained from Joe Howard to every editor in New York. After a great struggle and the exercise of a most extraordinary amount of perseverance, interviews were obtained with the editors or the editors-in-charge of The Herald, The Sun, The Times and The Tribune. Not one of them professed to believe that "Nellie Bly" would be a profitable investment. They had heard of her in a perfunctory way, but they did not believe they had any work which she was capable of doing. The old and favorite method of politely disposing of the applicant by taking her name and address was adopted, and "Miss
Bly" was informed that if her services were needed she would receive a notification by mail.
*****
Then the young woman, who refused to be disheartened, betook herself to the office of The World and secured an audience with Joseph Pulitzer.
Below I've included an excerpt from
Recollections of "Nellie Bly."
The filing for probate in New York City, the other day, of a second will purporting to be made by Robert Seaman, president at the time of his death of the Iron Clad Manufacturing Company, brings once again to mind the personality of the former famous newspaper correspondent, who was known by the pen-name of "Nellie Bly."
At one time, when she out-did "Phineas Fogg's" mythical circumnavigation of the globe in eighty days, "Nellie Bly" occupied the attention of two hemispheres. In her early career as a newspaper worker she successfully surrounded herself with a mystery as to her identity, which added to the value of her writings.
At that time she was variously pictured as a gushing school girl, an embittered old maid, a grass widow, a real widow, a wife and mother, an effeminate man disguished as a woman, and as a myth altogether, kept before the public eye by an enterprising syndicate of three journalists, with Joe Howard at the head.
Not one newspaper reader in a thousand was quite sure whether "Nellie Bly" was of feminine gender. Those who believed that she was a woman held the opinion that she was of great beauty of face and form. There were a score of men in New York who were ready to make affidavit that they possessed an intimate personal acquaintance with the writer of the "Nellie Bly" articles, and that in private life this writer wore trousers and drank absinthe frappe in inordinate quantities. Indeed, it has been asserted in all seriousness that "Nellie Bly" was the father of an interesting trio of bouncing baby boys, and that his wife wrote all his articles.
* * * * * "Nellie Bly"—as of course we all know now— is in reality a woman; a young woman past the school girl age, and not yet at the quarterpost of old-maidism when she entered newspaper life. She was then, as far as appearances go, a very ordinary everyday young woman, rather slight in form, leaning to eccentricity in dress, masculine in her tastes and ideas, and a man hater from 'way back. That may sound strange, but it is true nevertheless. Beyond business relations with the male sex "Nellie Ely" had at that time no further use for them. All her love was extended to her mother, and to make that mother comfortable and happy was the one thought that actuated her in every undertaking.
In the pursuance of this ambition she has endured what would drive almost any other woman wild with shame, mortification or chagrin. The basest motives were at times attributed to her by thoughtless and brutal carpers and cynics. She was declared unwomanly, unmaidenly, bold, presumptuous, by men, and brazen and forward by her sister women. While it is true that the vast majority of persons who felt an interest in her novel and original line of work entertained only the kindest sympathy for her, the very nature of her occupation subjected her constantly to the crudest kind of unthinking animadversion.
* * * * * "Nellie Bly" is a Pittsburg girl by birth. Her first attempt to gain a livelihood with her pen was made early in 1886, on The Pittsburg Dispatch. She had written a communication to that journal on the condition of workingwomen in the city of Pittsburg, and there being something in it that caught the fancy of Mr. Madden, the managing editor, she was requested to send her name and address. With this she complied, and as a result was engaged. It was Mr. Madden who suggested the title of Steven C. Foster's lullaby, "Nellie Bly" as a signature, and at his instance the name, being euphonious and easily remembered, was adopted. The young woman's real name was kept an office secret, and for some months successfully, but The Pittsburg Leader finally discovered and published it. Numerous cognomens were afterwards published in different cities, purporting to reveal the identity of the new woman writer, whose real name is "Pink" Elizabeth Cochrane. Her father, who has been dead for a number of years, was an Associate Judge in one of the oil region towns. "Nellie Bly's" first important mission was a trip to Mexico, where she traveled for six months, learning to speak Spanish with fair fluency in that time. Her letters were published in The Dispatch and attracted attention because of their originality and quaint treatment of old subjects in a new way. "Miss Bly" was honored during this her first practical newspaper experience by a love-lorn Mexican, who became desperately enamored of her, and who thummed his guitar with such savage persistency and wrote so many notes breathing "love or death" that the object of his admiration was obliged for her own peace of mind to take a hasty departure. He was a particularly handsome fellow, this Mexican, and took a solemn vow that the young American should either become his bride or he would convert himself into a cold, clammy corpse. Whether he carried out his latter alternative or not was never learned. At all events he missed making good the first section of his oath.
***** When "Miss Bly" returned to Pittsburg, she was put in charge of the society column of The Dispatch, alternating this work with writing theatrical notices and criticisms, and in preparing articles on woman's work. With her added experience, these papers attracted attention in New York, and were frequently introduced in the Metropolitan dailies. This gave "Miss Bly" the idea that she could better herself in the bigger city, and she secured a letter of introduction to Joe Howard, Jr., from one of her newspaper friends in Pittsburg. With nothing more definite than this, she said good-bye to her mother, and started out with the full determination to win or die, and, as she has confessed herself, it came nearly being a "die."
Arrived in New York, she presented her letter, and was given several large chunks of fatherly advice and the cheerful opinion that she had made a mistake, and ought to go home. She didn't go, but sought out Foster Coates, managing editor of The Mail and Express, and one of the leading spirits in a newspaper syndicate. It was just at this time that Andrew Carnegie, the millionaire, had taken unto himself a bride, and it was estimated that if "Miss Bly" could interview Mrs. Carnegie, such service might be acceptable. Small hopes were held out that success might attend this effort, as the most experienced New York interviewers had triefl and failed. "Miss Bly" started in, and by perseverance and the exercise of a little feminine diplomacy obtained a very complete and exhaustive talk with the bride, touching upon every subject that would be of interest to women readers.
* * * * *
The news market was not glutted with millionaires' brides, and that field promised no further crop.
Like all beginners in newspaper work in the big city, "Miss Bly" speedily reached that period when it appeared that there was not a single new thing under the sun to write about. She thought and thought and thought, and tried and tried, but met rebuffs at every turn. She was boarding at a modest little boarding house 'way up in Harlem, where the fare was just about generous enough to support life because of the moderate price paid for it. Cheap as this living was, it could not be paid for without an income. The little store of money that the girl had hoarded was becoming rapidly exhausted. She was indebted to her landlady, and could not meet the obligation. To make matters worse, "Miss Bly" one day lost her purse, and with it every dollar she possessed in the world. This misfortune did not discourage her, however, and she was too proud to make her loss known. Every day she walked from six to eight miles, because she had actually no money to pay her carfare. The situation began to look desperate. Days were slipping by, and the board bill was growing. Something had to be done, so without much hope of success letters of introduction were obtained from Joe Howard to every editor in New York. After a great struggle and the exercise of a most extraordinary amount of perseverance, interviews were obtained with the editors or the editors-in-charge of The Herald, The Sun, The Times and The Tribune. Not one of them professed to believe that "Nellie Bly" would be a profitable investment. They had heard of her in a perfunctory way, but they did not believe they had any work which she was capable of doing. The old and favorite method of politely disposing of the applicant by taking her name and address was adopted, and "Miss
Bly" was informed that if her services were needed she would receive a notification by mail.
*****
Then the young woman, who refused to be disheartened, betook herself to the office of The World and secured an audience with Joseph Pulitzer.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Coal Burns 1808
So would have read the headlines in 1808 when on Feb. 11, 1808 Jesse Fell in Wilkes-Barre, PA discovers that Anthracite coal burns. In an open air grate his 'discovery' led to the widespread use of coal as a fuel. The Industrial revolution began in part by this discovery.
On Feb. 11, 1858, fifty years after the discovery, a group of folks met at the Old Tavern in Wilkes-Barre to celebrate the anniversary of the successful burning of anthracite coal. This ceremony suggested the founding of a historical society.
Some background information reveals Jesse Fell didn't just happen on this knowledge. He'd actually been experimenting with coal for home heating for many years. He owned a nail factory and had used anthracite there but it produced brittle nails so he discontinued it's use in the factory and began experiments for home heating. This was during the 1780's. The key to his success with the coal was the open grate allowing the coal to have minimum draft and a steady flow of air.
It is said that the historical society has this original grate today.
On Feb. 11, 1858, fifty years after the discovery, a group of folks met at the Old Tavern in Wilkes-Barre to celebrate the anniversary of the successful burning of anthracite coal. This ceremony suggested the founding of a historical society.
Some background information reveals Jesse Fell didn't just happen on this knowledge. He'd actually been experimenting with coal for home heating for many years. He owned a nail factory and had used anthracite there but it produced brittle nails so he discontinued it's use in the factory and began experiments for home heating. This was during the 1780's. The key to his success with the coal was the open grate allowing the coal to have minimum draft and a steady flow of air.
It is said that the historical society has this original grate today.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
First Woman to Obtain a Patent
Mary Dixon Kies was the first woman to obtain a patent from the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office on May 5, 1809. It was for a technique weaving straw with silk and thread. This process improved the process of hat-making. Dolley Madison honored her for this work. Unfortunately, she was unsuccessful in her attempts to profit from her invention and died penniless, which is a sad tale to say because in the first year after her patent the estimated value of profit from her patent was half a million dollars in 1810 alone.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Clara Barton & The Red Cross
As many of you know that the American Red Cross was primarily founded by the efforts of Clara Barton. She worked tirelessly on humanitarian efforts during the Civil War, trying to locate the missing men. In 1869 her doctor's recommend she go to Europe to recoup and ended up working for the International Red Cross. She determined to bring the organization to the US and did starting in 1873 by 1881 she'd become the president of the organization and brought it to Washington. She formed the first American National Red Cross on Aug. 22, 1821 expanding the work to include helping others in disasters. A month later "The Great Thumb Fire" occurred in Michigan. 5000 were homeless over 2 mil in damages and 282 people lost their lives.
There are two books at google that you might be interested in reading. The first is "The Story of My Childhood" by Clara Barton ©1907
The second is The Life of Clara Barton ©1915 by Percy Epler
There are two books at google that you might be interested in reading. The first is "The Story of My Childhood" by Clara Barton ©1907
The second is The Life of Clara Barton ©1915 by Percy Epler
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Buffalo Bill Cody
Below is an excerpt from the "Last of the great scouts:the life story of Col. William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill" by Helen Cody Wetmore ©1899
The reason I decided to post this tidbit about Buffalo Bill is because of the nature of his Wild West show and how it influenced the American perception of the West. What I like about this book is that it is written by his sister and the oldest account I've found so far. However as stated in the intro she wrote these to sell at the Wild West Show. The excerpt is just a tidbit from the introduction written by Donald Danker. Here's a link to Google Books if you're interested in reading more.
Beginning Excerpt:
The American legend that is Buffalo Bill Cody was formed from three main sources; the man, the Wild West Show, and the printed word. The man was an authentic, likeable, and even modest western hero, cited by his army superiors for his bravery and resourcefulness, and willing and able to capitalize upon his prairie exploits for financial gain. The show was so good that it almost lived up to its billings; it was an exhibition of real Indians, cowboys, sharpshooters and wild derringdo that captivated Europeans and Americans, kings and democrats. Every other "Western" was and is, in a sense, an imitation of Buffalo Bill's Wild West. The printed word has been in the form of novels, autobiographies, articles, and biographies. Cody books have been numerous and exaggerated. Perhaps none have contributed more to the Buffalo Bill legend than Last of the Great Scouts, the Life Story of Col. William F. Cody "Buffalo Bill" as told by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore.
Helen Cody was the fourth of five daughters of the Isaac Cody family. Her brother, Bill, was four years older and she idolized him. Her admiration did not diminish when he became the famous Buffalo Bill. Helen's second marriage was to Hugh Wetmore, editor of the Duluth Press. The generous Cody helped the Wetmores financially. Helen wrote Last of the Great Scouts and it was first published by the Duluth Press in 1899. The book was widely sold and read and was good advertising for the Wild West Show. On the mornings of the pre-show parade a wagonload of Last of the Great Scouts would tour the city with a salesman and an Indian. The Indian would dance and the salesman sell books at a dollar a copy with a fifty cent show ticket added to the bargain. Several editions were printed, one illustrated by Remington. In 1918 Grosset and Dunlap issued a reprint boasting a foreword by the famous Zane Grey.
Although Mrs. Wetmore stated that she told "a plain unvarnished tale" and that "embarrassed by riches of fact I have had no thought of fiction," the book treats fact lightly. Its obvious exaggerations and inventions not only helped to establish the Buffalo Bill legend but they also gave ammunition to the debunkers of Cody. It was easy to prove the book to be laced with fiction and it followed that its hero was a fraud. The living hero did not care because he was in show business and knew the value of publicity.
The frontier scout and hunter had become a showman. One of his contemporaries on the Nebraska frontier at Fort McPherson, a talented girl named Ena Raymonds, recorded the change in her diary with a mixture of insight and poor prophecy. They met for the first time in the summer of 1872. He had returned to the fort from a scouting trip and invited her to a shooting match. Later, she saw him "dashing around first one place and then another" preparing for a hunt. She recorded that his baby boy, Kit Carson Cody, was a handsome child with great promise of a future. Neither she nor Cody could know that the boy would die within four years. When Bill went East on his first theatrical tour, Ena read the reviews and noted that one termed him ill at ease and "at loss of what to do with his hands." Ena commented to her diary "poor Cody! ... He is out of his sphere. I have seen him the very personification of grace and beauty; but it was not in the crowded city... but dashing over the free wild prairie and riding his horse as though he and the noble animal were bounding with one life and one motion! Well 'there is money in it' that golden fact renders every other consideration insignificant ... Such fame is not lasting."
Ena was wrong. Cody's fame was made lasting because he became more than a scout and Indian fighter; he became legend. As such he brought excitement and enjoyment to thousands, young and old. A part of the unsophisticated, simple pleasure they knew may be recaptured by an uncritical reading of Last of the Great Scouts.
Donald F. Danker
The reason I decided to post this tidbit about Buffalo Bill is because of the nature of his Wild West show and how it influenced the American perception of the West. What I like about this book is that it is written by his sister and the oldest account I've found so far. However as stated in the intro she wrote these to sell at the Wild West Show. The excerpt is just a tidbit from the introduction written by Donald Danker. Here's a link to Google Books if you're interested in reading more.
Beginning Excerpt:
The American legend that is Buffalo Bill Cody was formed from three main sources; the man, the Wild West Show, and the printed word. The man was an authentic, likeable, and even modest western hero, cited by his army superiors for his bravery and resourcefulness, and willing and able to capitalize upon his prairie exploits for financial gain. The show was so good that it almost lived up to its billings; it was an exhibition of real Indians, cowboys, sharpshooters and wild derringdo that captivated Europeans and Americans, kings and democrats. Every other "Western" was and is, in a sense, an imitation of Buffalo Bill's Wild West. The printed word has been in the form of novels, autobiographies, articles, and biographies. Cody books have been numerous and exaggerated. Perhaps none have contributed more to the Buffalo Bill legend than Last of the Great Scouts, the Life Story of Col. William F. Cody "Buffalo Bill" as told by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore.
Helen Cody was the fourth of five daughters of the Isaac Cody family. Her brother, Bill, was four years older and she idolized him. Her admiration did not diminish when he became the famous Buffalo Bill. Helen's second marriage was to Hugh Wetmore, editor of the Duluth Press. The generous Cody helped the Wetmores financially. Helen wrote Last of the Great Scouts and it was first published by the Duluth Press in 1899. The book was widely sold and read and was good advertising for the Wild West Show. On the mornings of the pre-show parade a wagonload of Last of the Great Scouts would tour the city with a salesman and an Indian. The Indian would dance and the salesman sell books at a dollar a copy with a fifty cent show ticket added to the bargain. Several editions were printed, one illustrated by Remington. In 1918 Grosset and Dunlap issued a reprint boasting a foreword by the famous Zane Grey.
Although Mrs. Wetmore stated that she told "a plain unvarnished tale" and that "embarrassed by riches of fact I have had no thought of fiction," the book treats fact lightly. Its obvious exaggerations and inventions not only helped to establish the Buffalo Bill legend but they also gave ammunition to the debunkers of Cody. It was easy to prove the book to be laced with fiction and it followed that its hero was a fraud. The living hero did not care because he was in show business and knew the value of publicity.
The frontier scout and hunter had become a showman. One of his contemporaries on the Nebraska frontier at Fort McPherson, a talented girl named Ena Raymonds, recorded the change in her diary with a mixture of insight and poor prophecy. They met for the first time in the summer of 1872. He had returned to the fort from a scouting trip and invited her to a shooting match. Later, she saw him "dashing around first one place and then another" preparing for a hunt. She recorded that his baby boy, Kit Carson Cody, was a handsome child with great promise of a future. Neither she nor Cody could know that the boy would die within four years. When Bill went East on his first theatrical tour, Ena read the reviews and noted that one termed him ill at ease and "at loss of what to do with his hands." Ena commented to her diary "poor Cody! ... He is out of his sphere. I have seen him the very personification of grace and beauty; but it was not in the crowded city... but dashing over the free wild prairie and riding his horse as though he and the noble animal were bounding with one life and one motion! Well 'there is money in it' that golden fact renders every other consideration insignificant ... Such fame is not lasting."
Ena was wrong. Cody's fame was made lasting because he became more than a scout and Indian fighter; he became legend. As such he brought excitement and enjoyment to thousands, young and old. A part of the unsophisticated, simple pleasure they knew may be recaptured by an uncritical reading of Last of the Great Scouts.
Donald F. Danker
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Louis & Clark
Hi all,
So many things can be said about Louis & Clark and what that purchased did for America but today I ran across and interesting date. After they made their trek westward they started back home on Mar. 23, 1806. It's the beginning of our century of interest but their exploration led to the western expansion of our country and many of the historical events we like to pay tribute to in our historical novels.
Also, Mar. 23 is a special date for myself, which is probably why this date caught my eye.
To read more on Louis & Clark check out this resource in Google Books. LINK
So many things can be said about Louis & Clark and what that purchased did for America but today I ran across and interesting date. After they made their trek westward they started back home on Mar. 23, 1806. It's the beginning of our century of interest but their exploration led to the western expansion of our country and many of the historical events we like to pay tribute to in our historical novels.
Also, Mar. 23 is a special date for myself, which is probably why this date caught my eye.
To read more on Louis & Clark check out this resource in Google Books. LINK
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Clara Barton
CLARA BARTON
THE ANGEL OF THE BATTLEFIELD
She lightened the burden of life to others.
George Eliot.
CLARA BARTON is a slender little woman with soft brown eyes, thin gray hair, 'a large but firm mouth, and small, delicate hands which ac- company her rapid, earnest speech with frequent gestures and add greatly to the charm and liveliness of her conversation. She is rather below the medium height, but carries something queenly in her manner. Her dress is always simple, her favorite color being green. One of her sisters is credited with once having said: '' When Clara goes to town to bu* - brown dress, a brown dress I know she will get, for Clara alwayi does as she says. But one way or another, that dress always manages to turn green before she can get home."
Says a writer who has known her well, '' I believe I have never looked upon a happier face than that of Clara Barton." Yet it is certain she has never sought her own happiness.
CLARA BARTON—"THE ANGEL OF THE SICK-ROOM.'
She was born in 1830 in North Oxford, Massachusetts, the youngest of five children. She came of good old Puritan stock, her ancestor, Marmaduke Barton, having come over to New England a few years after the settlement of Plymouth. The name Barton meant '' defender of the town."
Her father's name was Stephen Barton. He was a man of strong character and great influence in his town and had been in his youth a soldier under " Mad Anthony " Wayne in the Indian wars in the West.
As a child, Clara was full of spirits and bubbling over with girlish fun and frolic. She seems to have liked boyish sports and was a fine horse-back rider. She can not remember that she ever had a doll. She preferred cats and dogs for pets, especially if they were sick or otherwise unfortunate.
She did, however, have one kind of inanimate playmates—a set of wooden soldiers, made for her by one of her brothers. With these she and her father would often fight over again the Indian wars of his young days. None of the biographers whom I have consulted "have mentioned that the real purpose of these battles was to provide wounded soldiers for nursing. But when I state that some of the wooden men were put to bed after each engagement and rolled up in bandages and fed on peppermint and gruel, I am certain no one will be so discourteous as to ask for my authority. Surely, one should have wit enough to find out a few things without a book.
The precocious little maiden began to go to school at the age of three years, riding to the school-house on the shoulder of her brother Stephen, the teacher of the school. At nine years old she was sent away from home to school. She lived for two years in the family of her teacher, a man so kind and noble that she can not speak of him to this day with dry eyes.
When she was eleven years old a great care fell upon her and her studies were interrupted for some time. This was caused by a mo t unhappy accident to one of her brothers. He fell from the roof of a building on which he was at work and was so badly hurt that he was unable to leave his bed for two years. During all that time, Clara was his tender nurse and devoted companion. He wanted her always by his side and she would give up the care of him to no one else.
I have called this event an unhappy accident, and so it certainly seemed to be. But it is more than probable that the experience it brought to Clara Barton was one great cause of her becoming a nurse in later years and saving the lives of so many soldiers in our Civil War. Perhaps, after all, there are no unhappy accidents, or any accidents at all if we understood.
The Bartons were poor, and it was not long before the helpful youngest daughter went out into the world to help lighten the family burdens and provide means to continue her education. At fifteen she began teaching in the schools near her home and we are told that the committeemen were always glad to secure her as a teacher. After a little she studied for some time in Clinton, New York, and then resumed her teacher's tasks. When she was about twenty- three she opened a free school for girls in Bordentown, New Jersey, beginning with six pupils. She received very little encouragement at first. The prominent men of the town laughed at her plans and hopes. Several men had tried to carry on a school in the town and had been driven out by unruly pupils. What could a young girl do? Miss Barton soon proved what a girl could do. She taught her six pupils just as faithfully as she would have taught a large school. Other children began to be attracted. The school committee were convinced of her ability. They followed her advice and built a large school-house, and before the year was gone she had organized a graded school of six hundred interested pupils. Her success was complete.
Her work in Bordentown was very trying and she at length went to Washington to seek rest and visit relatives. There a friend obtained for her a position as clerk in the Patent Office. She was the first woman employed in the office, and the men resented her presence and tried to make the place so disagreeable for her that she would have to leave. The gentlemanly clerks stood up in rows along the long corridor through which she had to pass, and amused themselves by staring and whistling as she went by. But Miss Barton did not appear to see them. She walked past as calmly as if they v sre decorations on the wall. They tried other ways to push her out, but the superintendent of the office dismissed some of the men and appointed women in their places. She had scored another success in the interest of right and justice.
When Mr. Buchanan became President, Miss Barton was dismissed from her office for no reason except that she belonged to the wrong political party, but she was soon needed to straighten out some tangled records and was recalled by the same administration.
She was in Washington when the Civil War broke out. When the Sixth Massachusetts regiment arrived after being fired upon in Baltimore, bringing with them forty sick and wounded soldiers, Miss Barton met them at the station and set about seeing what could be done for them. It was Saturday night and they had no supplies. She went to the markets and bought food, hiring five strong negroes to carry the baskets of provisions to the starving men. She went herself and saw it properly distributed, attending to the comfort of the men in ways that no one else thought of.
Soon after this the soldiers began to arrive in large numbers and the hospitals were filled to overflowing. Miss Barton resigned her position in the Patent Office and gave her entire time to looking after the soldiers, especially the sick ones. She had been having a good salary and it was a great pleasure to her that she had a little money of her own to spend on articles v/hich were not otherwise provided. When people began to send clothing, fruits, jellies and medicines for the soldiers, many sent them directly to Miss Barton, feeling sure that in her care they would be wisely and honestly used. She would often have tons of such supplies on hand and had to engage warehouses for their reception.
In 1861 she was called home to the deathbed of her father. She told him how she was pained by the sufferings of the soldiers and how she wanted to go with the army to the front where the fighting was going on and the misery was greatest. His reply was, "Go, if you feel it your duty to go ! I know what soldiers are, and I know that every true soldier will respect you and your errand."
There seemed to be no place in war for a woman. But she went to the Assistant Quartermaster General and he made a place for her, issuing an order that she should be allowed to go where she pleased. She ordered a wagon to be loaded with such comforts as the sick and wounded would need, and followed General McClellan, reaching the army the day before a battle. When the battle opened she had her mules harnessed and followed the line of artillery with her wagon of supplies. She stopped in a cornfield where the wounded men were brought. Shot and shell flew thick around them. She found a few men and set them to work.to help the wounded. She seemed to have in her wagon everything that every one else had forgotten. When her bread was all gone she found that her medicines were packed in meal and she made gruel of the meal. This was sent in bucketfuls for miles along the lines. When night came on despair came with it, for there were a thousand dying men' on the field of battle and the army supplies included no lights. But Miss Barton had thought of candles and lanterns, and the work of aiding the suffering went on through the night.
She was always at the front. At Fredericksburg she slept in her tent, like the others, though it was in the dead of winter. At one time fifty soldiers were brought to her. who had been wounded several days and had had no care. They were nearly starved and their clothes were frozen stiff. She ordered fires to be built, the snow to be cleared off and the soldiers to be laid on blankets around the fire. Then she ordered the men to pull down the chimney of an old house and heat its bricks to lay around the men. She could make comfort where there was nothing to make it of, for she had a head as well as a heart.
An incident related by General Elwell of Cleveland, Ohio, I will repeat in his own words. It occurred during the retreat of General Pope after the second battle of Bull Run:
"Miss Barton was about stepping on the last car conveying the wounded from the field with the enemy's cavalry in sight, and shot and shell from their guns falling on our disordered ranks, when a soldier told her that there was left behind in the pine bushes, where he had fallen, a wounded young soldier; that he could not live, and that he was calling for his mother.
"She followed her guide to where the boy lay. It was growing dark and raining. She raised him up and quietly soothed him. When he heard her voice he said in his delirium, ' Oh ! my mother has come. Don't leave me to die in these dark woods alone—do stay with me—don't leave me.'
"At that moment an officer cried out to her: 'Come immediately, or you will fall into the hands of the rebels—they are on us.' " 'Well, take this boy.
" 'No,'said the officer, 'there is no transportation for dying men. We have hardly room for the living. Come quick.'
'' ' Then I will stay with this poor boy. We both go, or both stay.'"
Both went. The boy was taken to a hospital in Washington and his mother came before he died. It would be useless to try to speak of her gratitude to Clara Barton.
The story of the weeks she spent in the malarial swamps of Morris Island, off Charleston, under almost constant fire of shot and shell, herself the only woman, is almost too terrible to be told. When some one asked her how she came to go, she answered in a surprised tone, "Why, somebody had to go and take care of the soldiers, so I went."
Thousands of soldiers were buried in unknown graves. After the war was over, mothers and wives all over the country began to write to Clara Barton, asking her to help them find where their soldier boys were buried. Acting under the advice of President Lincoln, she went to Annapolis to look after the matter; when she arrived there she found four bushels of letters waiting for her. She soon returned to Washington, hired some clerks, and established a Bureau of Records of missing men.
In Andersonville, Georgia, where there had been a Confederate prison for Union soldiers, about thirteen thousand men were buried in unmarked graves. Dorrance Atwater, a Union prisoner who had been employed to keep the records, had copied them secretly, sometimes on old scraps of paper, sometimes on rags, and had carefully hidden his copy away. He assisted Miss Barton to identify the graves of all but about four hundred of the soldiers buried there, and she had simple headboards placed at all the graves. She used her own money for all this work, but Congress afterwards restored it to her by making an appropriation of fifteen thousand dollars.
In 1869 Miss Barton went for rest to Geneva in Switzerland. But her rest was always to be found in action. The Red Cross Society had already been formed in Geneva, and all the civilized nations in the world except ours had joined it.
The basis of the society was a treaty among the nations of the earth providing for the protection of nurses, surgeons, and all persons engaged in caring for the wounded in battle. The white flag with a red cross was made the sign which should ensure protection. This was the Swiss national flag with the colors reversed. The leaders of the society urged Miss Barton to undertake the work of interesting the United States in this treaty.
But the Franco-Prussian war was just beginning and the Red Cross asked for Miss Barton's help on the battlefields of Europe. She forgot her illness and went to the front to help the sick, the starving and the wounded everywhere, on the one side as much as the other, for it is a principle of the Red Cross Society, as it has always been of Clara Barton's, to aid the enemy's wounded as readily as one's own.
She went to Paris just as the siege was over. On one occasion a starving mob had routed the police, when Miss Barton appeared and spoke to them in her calm, reasonable way. " God! " they said, "it is an angel." And they too became calm and reasonable.
She became an intimate friend of the daughter of the old Emperor William, the Grand Duchess of Baden, an earnest worker in the cause of the Red Cross. It must have been beautiful to see these two women together, the German princess gladly giving up the luxury and leisure of her palatial home for the painful, toilful life in the hospitals, and the gentle American, with her poor, tortured, pain- racked body, forgetting her own suffering in the deeper miseries of others.
After the war Miss Barton returned to America and after a long series of disappointments succeeded in 1882 in establishing an American branch of the Red Cross with an "American amendment" which provides that the society shall act not only in time of war but also in the case of great national calamities, like floods, fires, and earthquakes. This amendment has since been adopted by several European countries.
Miss Barton was made the first President and has fulfilled the duties of the office ever since. It was not long before work was found for the new society. Fires in Michigan and Wisconsin, floods along the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and the terrible Charleston earthquake, all caused untold suffering and all moved the sympathy and the kind offices of the Society of the Red Cross.
Excerpt from Leaders of the 19th Century by Evelyn Harriet Walker ©1900 The article continues if you want to read more you can go to Google Books and download the book.
THE ANGEL OF THE BATTLEFIELD
She lightened the burden of life to others.
George Eliot.
CLARA BARTON is a slender little woman with soft brown eyes, thin gray hair, 'a large but firm mouth, and small, delicate hands which ac- company her rapid, earnest speech with frequent gestures and add greatly to the charm and liveliness of her conversation. She is rather below the medium height, but carries something queenly in her manner. Her dress is always simple, her favorite color being green. One of her sisters is credited with once having said: '' When Clara goes to town to bu* - brown dress, a brown dress I know she will get, for Clara alwayi does as she says. But one way or another, that dress always manages to turn green before she can get home."
Says a writer who has known her well, '' I believe I have never looked upon a happier face than that of Clara Barton." Yet it is certain she has never sought her own happiness.
CLARA BARTON—"THE ANGEL OF THE SICK-ROOM.'
She was born in 1830 in North Oxford, Massachusetts, the youngest of five children. She came of good old Puritan stock, her ancestor, Marmaduke Barton, having come over to New England a few years after the settlement of Plymouth. The name Barton meant '' defender of the town."
Her father's name was Stephen Barton. He was a man of strong character and great influence in his town and had been in his youth a soldier under " Mad Anthony " Wayne in the Indian wars in the West.
As a child, Clara was full of spirits and bubbling over with girlish fun and frolic. She seems to have liked boyish sports and was a fine horse-back rider. She can not remember that she ever had a doll. She preferred cats and dogs for pets, especially if they were sick or otherwise unfortunate.
She did, however, have one kind of inanimate playmates—a set of wooden soldiers, made for her by one of her brothers. With these she and her father would often fight over again the Indian wars of his young days. None of the biographers whom I have consulted "have mentioned that the real purpose of these battles was to provide wounded soldiers for nursing. But when I state that some of the wooden men were put to bed after each engagement and rolled up in bandages and fed on peppermint and gruel, I am certain no one will be so discourteous as to ask for my authority. Surely, one should have wit enough to find out a few things without a book.
The precocious little maiden began to go to school at the age of three years, riding to the school-house on the shoulder of her brother Stephen, the teacher of the school. At nine years old she was sent away from home to school. She lived for two years in the family of her teacher, a man so kind and noble that she can not speak of him to this day with dry eyes.
When she was eleven years old a great care fell upon her and her studies were interrupted for some time. This was caused by a mo t unhappy accident to one of her brothers. He fell from the roof of a building on which he was at work and was so badly hurt that he was unable to leave his bed for two years. During all that time, Clara was his tender nurse and devoted companion. He wanted her always by his side and she would give up the care of him to no one else.
I have called this event an unhappy accident, and so it certainly seemed to be. But it is more than probable that the experience it brought to Clara Barton was one great cause of her becoming a nurse in later years and saving the lives of so many soldiers in our Civil War. Perhaps, after all, there are no unhappy accidents, or any accidents at all if we understood.
The Bartons were poor, and it was not long before the helpful youngest daughter went out into the world to help lighten the family burdens and provide means to continue her education. At fifteen she began teaching in the schools near her home and we are told that the committeemen were always glad to secure her as a teacher. After a little she studied for some time in Clinton, New York, and then resumed her teacher's tasks. When she was about twenty- three she opened a free school for girls in Bordentown, New Jersey, beginning with six pupils. She received very little encouragement at first. The prominent men of the town laughed at her plans and hopes. Several men had tried to carry on a school in the town and had been driven out by unruly pupils. What could a young girl do? Miss Barton soon proved what a girl could do. She taught her six pupils just as faithfully as she would have taught a large school. Other children began to be attracted. The school committee were convinced of her ability. They followed her advice and built a large school-house, and before the year was gone she had organized a graded school of six hundred interested pupils. Her success was complete.
Her work in Bordentown was very trying and she at length went to Washington to seek rest and visit relatives. There a friend obtained for her a position as clerk in the Patent Office. She was the first woman employed in the office, and the men resented her presence and tried to make the place so disagreeable for her that she would have to leave. The gentlemanly clerks stood up in rows along the long corridor through which she had to pass, and amused themselves by staring and whistling as she went by. But Miss Barton did not appear to see them. She walked past as calmly as if they v sre decorations on the wall. They tried other ways to push her out, but the superintendent of the office dismissed some of the men and appointed women in their places. She had scored another success in the interest of right and justice.
When Mr. Buchanan became President, Miss Barton was dismissed from her office for no reason except that she belonged to the wrong political party, but she was soon needed to straighten out some tangled records and was recalled by the same administration.
She was in Washington when the Civil War broke out. When the Sixth Massachusetts regiment arrived after being fired upon in Baltimore, bringing with them forty sick and wounded soldiers, Miss Barton met them at the station and set about seeing what could be done for them. It was Saturday night and they had no supplies. She went to the markets and bought food, hiring five strong negroes to carry the baskets of provisions to the starving men. She went herself and saw it properly distributed, attending to the comfort of the men in ways that no one else thought of.
Soon after this the soldiers began to arrive in large numbers and the hospitals were filled to overflowing. Miss Barton resigned her position in the Patent Office and gave her entire time to looking after the soldiers, especially the sick ones. She had been having a good salary and it was a great pleasure to her that she had a little money of her own to spend on articles v/hich were not otherwise provided. When people began to send clothing, fruits, jellies and medicines for the soldiers, many sent them directly to Miss Barton, feeling sure that in her care they would be wisely and honestly used. She would often have tons of such supplies on hand and had to engage warehouses for their reception.
In 1861 she was called home to the deathbed of her father. She told him how she was pained by the sufferings of the soldiers and how she wanted to go with the army to the front where the fighting was going on and the misery was greatest. His reply was, "Go, if you feel it your duty to go ! I know what soldiers are, and I know that every true soldier will respect you and your errand."
There seemed to be no place in war for a woman. But she went to the Assistant Quartermaster General and he made a place for her, issuing an order that she should be allowed to go where she pleased. She ordered a wagon to be loaded with such comforts as the sick and wounded would need, and followed General McClellan, reaching the army the day before a battle. When the battle opened she had her mules harnessed and followed the line of artillery with her wagon of supplies. She stopped in a cornfield where the wounded men were brought. Shot and shell flew thick around them. She found a few men and set them to work.to help the wounded. She seemed to have in her wagon everything that every one else had forgotten. When her bread was all gone she found that her medicines were packed in meal and she made gruel of the meal. This was sent in bucketfuls for miles along the lines. When night came on despair came with it, for there were a thousand dying men' on the field of battle and the army supplies included no lights. But Miss Barton had thought of candles and lanterns, and the work of aiding the suffering went on through the night.
She was always at the front. At Fredericksburg she slept in her tent, like the others, though it was in the dead of winter. At one time fifty soldiers were brought to her. who had been wounded several days and had had no care. They were nearly starved and their clothes were frozen stiff. She ordered fires to be built, the snow to be cleared off and the soldiers to be laid on blankets around the fire. Then she ordered the men to pull down the chimney of an old house and heat its bricks to lay around the men. She could make comfort where there was nothing to make it of, for she had a head as well as a heart.
An incident related by General Elwell of Cleveland, Ohio, I will repeat in his own words. It occurred during the retreat of General Pope after the second battle of Bull Run:
"Miss Barton was about stepping on the last car conveying the wounded from the field with the enemy's cavalry in sight, and shot and shell from their guns falling on our disordered ranks, when a soldier told her that there was left behind in the pine bushes, where he had fallen, a wounded young soldier; that he could not live, and that he was calling for his mother.
"She followed her guide to where the boy lay. It was growing dark and raining. She raised him up and quietly soothed him. When he heard her voice he said in his delirium, ' Oh ! my mother has come. Don't leave me to die in these dark woods alone—do stay with me—don't leave me.'
"At that moment an officer cried out to her: 'Come immediately, or you will fall into the hands of the rebels—they are on us.' " 'Well, take this boy.
" 'No,'said the officer, 'there is no transportation for dying men. We have hardly room for the living. Come quick.'
'' ' Then I will stay with this poor boy. We both go, or both stay.'"
Both went. The boy was taken to a hospital in Washington and his mother came before he died. It would be useless to try to speak of her gratitude to Clara Barton.
The story of the weeks she spent in the malarial swamps of Morris Island, off Charleston, under almost constant fire of shot and shell, herself the only woman, is almost too terrible to be told. When some one asked her how she came to go, she answered in a surprised tone, "Why, somebody had to go and take care of the soldiers, so I went."
Thousands of soldiers were buried in unknown graves. After the war was over, mothers and wives all over the country began to write to Clara Barton, asking her to help them find where their soldier boys were buried. Acting under the advice of President Lincoln, she went to Annapolis to look after the matter; when she arrived there she found four bushels of letters waiting for her. She soon returned to Washington, hired some clerks, and established a Bureau of Records of missing men.
In Andersonville, Georgia, where there had been a Confederate prison for Union soldiers, about thirteen thousand men were buried in unmarked graves. Dorrance Atwater, a Union prisoner who had been employed to keep the records, had copied them secretly, sometimes on old scraps of paper, sometimes on rags, and had carefully hidden his copy away. He assisted Miss Barton to identify the graves of all but about four hundred of the soldiers buried there, and she had simple headboards placed at all the graves. She used her own money for all this work, but Congress afterwards restored it to her by making an appropriation of fifteen thousand dollars.
In 1869 Miss Barton went for rest to Geneva in Switzerland. But her rest was always to be found in action. The Red Cross Society had already been formed in Geneva, and all the civilized nations in the world except ours had joined it.
The basis of the society was a treaty among the nations of the earth providing for the protection of nurses, surgeons, and all persons engaged in caring for the wounded in battle. The white flag with a red cross was made the sign which should ensure protection. This was the Swiss national flag with the colors reversed. The leaders of the society urged Miss Barton to undertake the work of interesting the United States in this treaty.
But the Franco-Prussian war was just beginning and the Red Cross asked for Miss Barton's help on the battlefields of Europe. She forgot her illness and went to the front to help the sick, the starving and the wounded everywhere, on the one side as much as the other, for it is a principle of the Red Cross Society, as it has always been of Clara Barton's, to aid the enemy's wounded as readily as one's own.
She went to Paris just as the siege was over. On one occasion a starving mob had routed the police, when Miss Barton appeared and spoke to them in her calm, reasonable way. " God! " they said, "it is an angel." And they too became calm and reasonable.
She became an intimate friend of the daughter of the old Emperor William, the Grand Duchess of Baden, an earnest worker in the cause of the Red Cross. It must have been beautiful to see these two women together, the German princess gladly giving up the luxury and leisure of her palatial home for the painful, toilful life in the hospitals, and the gentle American, with her poor, tortured, pain- racked body, forgetting her own suffering in the deeper miseries of others.
After the war Miss Barton returned to America and after a long series of disappointments succeeded in 1882 in establishing an American branch of the Red Cross with an "American amendment" which provides that the society shall act not only in time of war but also in the case of great national calamities, like floods, fires, and earthquakes. This amendment has since been adopted by several European countries.
Miss Barton was made the first President and has fulfilled the duties of the office ever since. It was not long before work was found for the new society. Fires in Michigan and Wisconsin, floods along the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and the terrible Charleston earthquake, all caused untold suffering and all moved the sympathy and the kind offices of the Society of the Red Cross.
Excerpt from Leaders of the 19th Century by Evelyn Harriet Walker ©1900 The article continues if you want to read more you can go to Google Books and download the book.
Leland Stanford
Today's excerpt comes from "Leaders of the 19th Century" By Evelyn Harriet Walker © 1900
LELAND STANFORD
UNITED STATES SENATOR AND RAILROAD
MAGNATE
"We do not believe there can be superfluous education. As a man cannot have too much wealth and intelligence, so he cannot be too highly educated."
—Leland Stanford.
'"*YT HAS been of late years a mat- *J ter of complaint, not always well grounded, that the United States Senate is being filled up with the possessors or representatives of great wealth. It is true that there are many millionaires in that body. It may be true that some of them have attained their positions merely because of their wealth. But there are some who began in the humblest walks of life and who attained their fortunes by hard work and unremitting labors for the development of the resources of the country. Reaching mature years, and becoming the Leland Stanford. possessors of vast wealth and the
controllers of enormous industrial interests, they are not the representatives of moneybags merely; they are types of that American pluck and enterprise and those traits of industry that have built up the greatness of the nation. As such, he would indeed be bold who would challenge their right to sit in the highest assembly of the country as representatives of the American people.
Leland Stanford, whose best known memorial is the Pacific Railroad, was born March 9, 1824, near Albany, N. Y. He was the son of a well-to-do farmer of good old Puritan ancestry, and led the life of a farmer's boy. He grew up sturdy, industrious and intelligent. After a few winters at the village school he went, at the age of seventeen, to Cazenovia Seminary, where Senator Hawley, Charles Dudley Warner, Bishop Andrews, Philip D. Armour, and other men prominent in American business and literature, received their early education. Here he was known as a careful, industrious student, with a faculty of taking pains, which has been said to be a mark of genius. Next he went to Albany and studied law, but after three years there went to the West. He stopped for a time in Chicago and might have settled there for good, but one day he was assailed by a perfect cloud of bloodthirsty mosquitoes, for which he had a special aversion, and that trifling circumstance impelled him to pack his trunk and leave the place at once. He next stopped at Fort Washington near Milwaukee, where he practiced law for three years and managed to save some $2,000, nearly all of which he invested in a library of law books. One night his office took fire, and with its contents was entirely destroyed, leaving him almost penniless. He sold out a little timber land which he had purchased, and managed to raise nearly $1,000. With that, in 1852, he set out for the Pacific coast.
His first settlement there was at Sacramento, where he opened a general store. Those were flush times in California, and within three years he had made more than $10,000. He kept on at the same business a while longer, steadily increasing his fortune, and in ten years was worth about $100,000. In 1861 he was chosen Governor of California, and then struck out for a wider field of activity. In his earlier years he had heard an Albany engineer talking about the feasibility of constructing a railroad in Oregon. Indeed, he had even hinted at the construction of a railroad line clear across the continent. Of course such schemes were then considered chimerical, but now that young Stanford was actually on the ground and appreciated the needs and the possibilities of the Pacific coast, he recalled these hints with interest.
His idea was to build a railroad from Sacramento over the Coast Range and Sierra Nevada mountains to the mining camps on the borders of Nevada. At that time the rates of freightage on all supplies for the camps were enormously high, and it was evident that if such a railroad could be built it would be exceedingly profitable. One engineer looked over the proposed route and said he thought the road could be built. Thereupon Mr. Stanford organized a company under the California State law, and with Messrs. Hunt- ington and Crocker went on horseback over the route. When they reached the top of the mountains they stopped, dismounted, and sat down to discuss the situation. At their feet was a precipice dropping perpendicularly down a quarter of a mile. The idea of building a railroad through such a region was startling; such a thing had never been attempted in the world. One of the little company said that they would have to build a derrick by which to lift the cars up to the top of the mountain, but Mr. Stanford was confident that although the difficulties were enormous the road could be built and operated successfully.
They returned to Sacramento and arranged for the construction of the road. As projected, the line was about 150 miles long. To build it, took the labor of 3,000 white men and 10,000 Chinamen for four years. Indeed, without "Chinese cheap labor" the road probably could not have been built at all. But it was finished, competed successfully with the mule teams and oxen that had formerly carried supplies to the camps, and soon became enormously profitable. With this done, the government was encouraged to go forward with its trans-continental railroad schemes. With these Mr. Stanford was conspicuously connected, and it was largely due to his energy, enterprise and enthusiasm that the stupendous task was carried to successful completion. He has also identified himself very largely with other railroad enterprises on the Pacific coast; he is an enormous land owner, and his wheat farms and vineyards are the pride of the State.
A few years ago Mr. Stanford's only child, Leland, a promising young man of eighteen years, died with Roman fever at Florence. This was a great shock to Mr. and Mrs. Stanford, and they determined to erect an unequaled memorial to their boy. With this purpose in view, Mr. Stanford called to his aid the best educators, and with characteristic energy completed plans for the "Leland Stanford, Jr., University," with an endowment of more than $20,000,000, in lands and other property, which has increased greatly in value within the last five years. This endowment includes the Vina ranch of 55,000 acres in Tehama county, on which is the largest vineyard in the world; the Girdly wheat ranch in Butte county, comprising 21,000 acres; and the Palo Alto ranch and stock farm of 7,200 acres. The total value of these three ranches is $5,300,000. He has made at Palo Alto, California, an institution for boys and girls which for literary and scientific learning is second to none in the world. It affords to its students every opportunity for learning the useful professions, businesses and trades of American life. Young men and women are there able to learn agriculture, mining, engineering, carpentry and building, the construction of machinery, or any other vocation for which nature has fitted him and to which his or her tastes attract them. To the development of this magnificent scheme of practical philanthropy Mr. Stanford dedicated the remainder of his life.
Another enterprise with which Mr. Stanford's name is inseparably connected is the invention and development of instantaneous photography, especially as applied to the picturing of men and animals in motion. The conventional pictures of horses galloping and trotting did not satisfy him: he was convinced that their attitudes as represented were unnatural and impossible. He therefore sent for a skilled practical photographer, gave him unlimited means with which to prosecute his experiments, and himself indicated the lines on which those experiments should be conducted. The results were astonishing and highly successful; not only were perfect photographic pictures secured of horses galloping and trotting at their utmost speed, but equally satisfactory pictures were produced of birds flying, of men running, leaping and wrestling, and even of a cannon ball in full flight, just as it was discharged from the mouth' of the cannon. These achievements have been of the highest value to painters and sculptors, and have almost revolutionized the art of illustration.
Mr. Stanford had little taste for public life. He was essentially a business man and developer of industrial resources. But he was persuaded, in 1861, to accept election as Governor of California, and served in that office with ability and distinction. In 1887 he w:as chosen a Senator of the United States, and in that office made his mark, not as an orator or debater, but as a careful, painstaking and accomplished committee-man; and it is in the committees that the most important work of Congress is accomplished.
He was a notable and much-observed figure on the floor of the Senate; a tall, well-proportioned man, with gray moustache and whiskers; a full round head, thickly thatched with gray hair; a strong nose; a large and finely developed forehead, and an expressive and masterful mouth. His whole air was that of a man of resolute action, able to undertake and execute great deeds and to impress his potent individuality upon all his associates. Despite his great wealth, his life was always a simple and unostentatious one. He was one of the most plainly dressed men in public life at Washington. His clothes were of plain black material, and jewelry was conspicuous by its absence from his person.
When in California the Senator spent nearly all his leisure at his country estate. His wife, who was Miss Lathrop, of Albany, is eminent for her practical charities. Senator Stanford's wealth at his death, June 2Oth, 1893, was estimated at $50.000.000, the most of which will go to the University at Mrs. Stanford's death. His wife, who was ever in sympathy with him, was made his executor.
LELAND STANFORD
UNITED STATES SENATOR AND RAILROAD
MAGNATE
"We do not believe there can be superfluous education. As a man cannot have too much wealth and intelligence, so he cannot be too highly educated."
—Leland Stanford.
'"*YT HAS been of late years a mat- *J ter of complaint, not always well grounded, that the United States Senate is being filled up with the possessors or representatives of great wealth. It is true that there are many millionaires in that body. It may be true that some of them have attained their positions merely because of their wealth. But there are some who began in the humblest walks of life and who attained their fortunes by hard work and unremitting labors for the development of the resources of the country. Reaching mature years, and becoming the Leland Stanford. possessors of vast wealth and the
controllers of enormous industrial interests, they are not the representatives of moneybags merely; they are types of that American pluck and enterprise and those traits of industry that have built up the greatness of the nation. As such, he would indeed be bold who would challenge their right to sit in the highest assembly of the country as representatives of the American people.
Leland Stanford, whose best known memorial is the Pacific Railroad, was born March 9, 1824, near Albany, N. Y. He was the son of a well-to-do farmer of good old Puritan ancestry, and led the life of a farmer's boy. He grew up sturdy, industrious and intelligent. After a few winters at the village school he went, at the age of seventeen, to Cazenovia Seminary, where Senator Hawley, Charles Dudley Warner, Bishop Andrews, Philip D. Armour, and other men prominent in American business and literature, received their early education. Here he was known as a careful, industrious student, with a faculty of taking pains, which has been said to be a mark of genius. Next he went to Albany and studied law, but after three years there went to the West. He stopped for a time in Chicago and might have settled there for good, but one day he was assailed by a perfect cloud of bloodthirsty mosquitoes, for which he had a special aversion, and that trifling circumstance impelled him to pack his trunk and leave the place at once. He next stopped at Fort Washington near Milwaukee, where he practiced law for three years and managed to save some $2,000, nearly all of which he invested in a library of law books. One night his office took fire, and with its contents was entirely destroyed, leaving him almost penniless. He sold out a little timber land which he had purchased, and managed to raise nearly $1,000. With that, in 1852, he set out for the Pacific coast.
His first settlement there was at Sacramento, where he opened a general store. Those were flush times in California, and within three years he had made more than $10,000. He kept on at the same business a while longer, steadily increasing his fortune, and in ten years was worth about $100,000. In 1861 he was chosen Governor of California, and then struck out for a wider field of activity. In his earlier years he had heard an Albany engineer talking about the feasibility of constructing a railroad in Oregon. Indeed, he had even hinted at the construction of a railroad line clear across the continent. Of course such schemes were then considered chimerical, but now that young Stanford was actually on the ground and appreciated the needs and the possibilities of the Pacific coast, he recalled these hints with interest.
His idea was to build a railroad from Sacramento over the Coast Range and Sierra Nevada mountains to the mining camps on the borders of Nevada. At that time the rates of freightage on all supplies for the camps were enormously high, and it was evident that if such a railroad could be built it would be exceedingly profitable. One engineer looked over the proposed route and said he thought the road could be built. Thereupon Mr. Stanford organized a company under the California State law, and with Messrs. Hunt- ington and Crocker went on horseback over the route. When they reached the top of the mountains they stopped, dismounted, and sat down to discuss the situation. At their feet was a precipice dropping perpendicularly down a quarter of a mile. The idea of building a railroad through such a region was startling; such a thing had never been attempted in the world. One of the little company said that they would have to build a derrick by which to lift the cars up to the top of the mountain, but Mr. Stanford was confident that although the difficulties were enormous the road could be built and operated successfully.
They returned to Sacramento and arranged for the construction of the road. As projected, the line was about 150 miles long. To build it, took the labor of 3,000 white men and 10,000 Chinamen for four years. Indeed, without "Chinese cheap labor" the road probably could not have been built at all. But it was finished, competed successfully with the mule teams and oxen that had formerly carried supplies to the camps, and soon became enormously profitable. With this done, the government was encouraged to go forward with its trans-continental railroad schemes. With these Mr. Stanford was conspicuously connected, and it was largely due to his energy, enterprise and enthusiasm that the stupendous task was carried to successful completion. He has also identified himself very largely with other railroad enterprises on the Pacific coast; he is an enormous land owner, and his wheat farms and vineyards are the pride of the State.
A few years ago Mr. Stanford's only child, Leland, a promising young man of eighteen years, died with Roman fever at Florence. This was a great shock to Mr. and Mrs. Stanford, and they determined to erect an unequaled memorial to their boy. With this purpose in view, Mr. Stanford called to his aid the best educators, and with characteristic energy completed plans for the "Leland Stanford, Jr., University," with an endowment of more than $20,000,000, in lands and other property, which has increased greatly in value within the last five years. This endowment includes the Vina ranch of 55,000 acres in Tehama county, on which is the largest vineyard in the world; the Girdly wheat ranch in Butte county, comprising 21,000 acres; and the Palo Alto ranch and stock farm of 7,200 acres. The total value of these three ranches is $5,300,000. He has made at Palo Alto, California, an institution for boys and girls which for literary and scientific learning is second to none in the world. It affords to its students every opportunity for learning the useful professions, businesses and trades of American life. Young men and women are there able to learn agriculture, mining, engineering, carpentry and building, the construction of machinery, or any other vocation for which nature has fitted him and to which his or her tastes attract them. To the development of this magnificent scheme of practical philanthropy Mr. Stanford dedicated the remainder of his life.
Another enterprise with which Mr. Stanford's name is inseparably connected is the invention and development of instantaneous photography, especially as applied to the picturing of men and animals in motion. The conventional pictures of horses galloping and trotting did not satisfy him: he was convinced that their attitudes as represented were unnatural and impossible. He therefore sent for a skilled practical photographer, gave him unlimited means with which to prosecute his experiments, and himself indicated the lines on which those experiments should be conducted. The results were astonishing and highly successful; not only were perfect photographic pictures secured of horses galloping and trotting at their utmost speed, but equally satisfactory pictures were produced of birds flying, of men running, leaping and wrestling, and even of a cannon ball in full flight, just as it was discharged from the mouth' of the cannon. These achievements have been of the highest value to painters and sculptors, and have almost revolutionized the art of illustration.
Mr. Stanford had little taste for public life. He was essentially a business man and developer of industrial resources. But he was persuaded, in 1861, to accept election as Governor of California, and served in that office with ability and distinction. In 1887 he w:as chosen a Senator of the United States, and in that office made his mark, not as an orator or debater, but as a careful, painstaking and accomplished committee-man; and it is in the committees that the most important work of Congress is accomplished.
He was a notable and much-observed figure on the floor of the Senate; a tall, well-proportioned man, with gray moustache and whiskers; a full round head, thickly thatched with gray hair; a strong nose; a large and finely developed forehead, and an expressive and masterful mouth. His whole air was that of a man of resolute action, able to undertake and execute great deeds and to impress his potent individuality upon all his associates. Despite his great wealth, his life was always a simple and unostentatious one. He was one of the most plainly dressed men in public life at Washington. His clothes were of plain black material, and jewelry was conspicuous by its absence from his person.
When in California the Senator spent nearly all his leisure at his country estate. His wife, who was Miss Lathrop, of Albany, is eminent for her practical charities. Senator Stanford's wealth at his death, June 2Oth, 1893, was estimated at $50.000.000, the most of which will go to the University at Mrs. Stanford's death. His wife, who was ever in sympathy with him, was made his executor.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
THE CHAMPION OF HUMAN LIBERTY
"Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs
The air to-day, our love is hers!
She needs no guaranty of fame
Whose own is linked with freedom's name."
—Whitiier.
THERE are few women in American history who have been so highly praised and so severely censured as Harriet Beecher Stowe. Mrs. Stowe was born in the year 1812, at Litchfield, Conn., just at a time when her father, Rev. Lyman Beecher, was rising into fame as a pulpit orator. As a girl she was active, conscientious and helpful. When grown she spent more or less of her time in teaching school. Later on in life she married the Rev. Calvin E. Stowe and entered upon her domestic duties with the same energy with which she took up all other duties of life, busying herself with her pen at odd moments.
She was never called beautiful, yet her large, dark eyes, and almost sad expression of countenance, show that the woman was no ordinary type. After- her marriage she moved near Boston. Here she had an opportunity to study the negro character. Here she also studied the system of slavery and its influence upon master and slave. Her heart was stirred with the tales of wrong and sorrow which she heard from those who had escaped from the land of bondage. The pent-up feelings of her heart at last found an outlet. She resolved to write and tell what she knew of the crimes and horrors of the slave system, in a book. "Uncle Tom's Cabin" took the public by storm. It first appeared in detached parts through the medium of a weekly newspaper. In April, 1852, it was issued in two volumes, and in May was republished in London. By the close of 1852 more than one million copies had been sold in America and England. The book has now been translated and published in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Swedish, Flemish, Polish, Russian and other languages. These versions are to be found in the British Museum, in London. It has been dramatized in twenty different forms, and to-day, not only in America, but in every capital in Europe, its influence in stamping out the dark system of slavery, is beyond^all question. Mrs. Stowe uttered a voice for humanity and for God that will not soon die away, and in strength of description has never been surpassed.
Take for instance that part where Eliza, the slave mother, concealed in a closet, overhears a conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, and learns that her little son has been sold to a trader. "When the voices died in silence, she rose and crept stealthily away. Pale, shivering, with rigid features and compressed lips, she looked an entirely altered being from the soft and timid creature she had been hitherto. She moved cautiously along the entry, paused one moment at her mistress' door, raised her hands in mute appeal to heaven, and then turned and glided into her own room. It was a quiet, neat apartment on the same floor with her mistress. There was the pleasant sunny window, where she had often sat singing at her sewing; there a little case of books, and various little fancy articles arranged by them, the gifts of Christmas holidays; there was her simple wardrobe in the closet and in the drawers; here was, in short, her home; and, on the whole, a happy one it had been to'her. But there, on the bed, lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bed clothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over his whole face. 'Poor boy, poor fellow,' said Eliza; 'they have sold you; but your mother will save you yet.' No tear dropped over that pillow; in such straits as these the heart has no tears to give—it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence."
Somewhat in advance of her pursuers, Eliza reached a village on the bank of the Ohio. Here, to her dismay, she found the river swollen to a flood, and filled with floating ice. She had been but a short time in the village tavern when "the whole train of her pursuers swept by the window, around to the front door. A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river. She caught her child, and sprang down the steps toward it. The trader caught a full glimpse of her just as she was disappearing down the bank; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy moment, her feet to her scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment brought her to the water's edge. Right on behind they came; and, nerved with strength such as God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap, impossible to anything but madness and despair. The huge, green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and creaked as her weight came on it; but she staid there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still another cake, stumbling, leaping, slipping, springing upward again. Her shoes are gone, her stockings cut from her feet, while blood marked every step; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank."
Besides "Uncle Tom's Cabin" Mrs. Stowe wrote many other works, the most notable being "The Minister's Wooing," "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands." and "Oldtown Folks." Mrs. Stowe passed away on the first of July, 1896, surrounded by friends in her pretty home at Hartford, Conn.
Excerpt from Leaders of the 19th Century by Evelyn Harriet Walker ©1900
THE CHAMPION OF HUMAN LIBERTY
"Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs
The air to-day, our love is hers!
She needs no guaranty of fame
Whose own is linked with freedom's name."
—Whitiier.
THERE are few women in American history who have been so highly praised and so severely censured as Harriet Beecher Stowe. Mrs. Stowe was born in the year 1812, at Litchfield, Conn., just at a time when her father, Rev. Lyman Beecher, was rising into fame as a pulpit orator. As a girl she was active, conscientious and helpful. When grown she spent more or less of her time in teaching school. Later on in life she married the Rev. Calvin E. Stowe and entered upon her domestic duties with the same energy with which she took up all other duties of life, busying herself with her pen at odd moments.
She was never called beautiful, yet her large, dark eyes, and almost sad expression of countenance, show that the woman was no ordinary type. After- her marriage she moved near Boston. Here she had an opportunity to study the negro character. Here she also studied the system of slavery and its influence upon master and slave. Her heart was stirred with the tales of wrong and sorrow which she heard from those who had escaped from the land of bondage. The pent-up feelings of her heart at last found an outlet. She resolved to write and tell what she knew of the crimes and horrors of the slave system, in a book. "Uncle Tom's Cabin" took the public by storm. It first appeared in detached parts through the medium of a weekly newspaper. In April, 1852, it was issued in two volumes, and in May was republished in London. By the close of 1852 more than one million copies had been sold in America and England. The book has now been translated and published in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Swedish, Flemish, Polish, Russian and other languages. These versions are to be found in the British Museum, in London. It has been dramatized in twenty different forms, and to-day, not only in America, but in every capital in Europe, its influence in stamping out the dark system of slavery, is beyond^all question. Mrs. Stowe uttered a voice for humanity and for God that will not soon die away, and in strength of description has never been surpassed.
Take for instance that part where Eliza, the slave mother, concealed in a closet, overhears a conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, and learns that her little son has been sold to a trader. "When the voices died in silence, she rose and crept stealthily away. Pale, shivering, with rigid features and compressed lips, she looked an entirely altered being from the soft and timid creature she had been hitherto. She moved cautiously along the entry, paused one moment at her mistress' door, raised her hands in mute appeal to heaven, and then turned and glided into her own room. It was a quiet, neat apartment on the same floor with her mistress. There was the pleasant sunny window, where she had often sat singing at her sewing; there a little case of books, and various little fancy articles arranged by them, the gifts of Christmas holidays; there was her simple wardrobe in the closet and in the drawers; here was, in short, her home; and, on the whole, a happy one it had been to'her. But there, on the bed, lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bed clothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over his whole face. 'Poor boy, poor fellow,' said Eliza; 'they have sold you; but your mother will save you yet.' No tear dropped over that pillow; in such straits as these the heart has no tears to give—it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence."
Somewhat in advance of her pursuers, Eliza reached a village on the bank of the Ohio. Here, to her dismay, she found the river swollen to a flood, and filled with floating ice. She had been but a short time in the village tavern when "the whole train of her pursuers swept by the window, around to the front door. A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river. She caught her child, and sprang down the steps toward it. The trader caught a full glimpse of her just as she was disappearing down the bank; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy moment, her feet to her scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment brought her to the water's edge. Right on behind they came; and, nerved with strength such as God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap, impossible to anything but madness and despair. The huge, green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and creaked as her weight came on it; but she staid there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still another cake, stumbling, leaping, slipping, springing upward again. Her shoes are gone, her stockings cut from her feet, while blood marked every step; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank."
Besides "Uncle Tom's Cabin" Mrs. Stowe wrote many other works, the most notable being "The Minister's Wooing," "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands." and "Oldtown Folks." Mrs. Stowe passed away on the first of July, 1896, surrounded by friends in her pretty home at Hartford, Conn.
Excerpt from Leaders of the 19th Century by Evelyn Harriet Walker ©1900
Monday, September 19, 2016
Thomas Moran 19th Century Painter
Thomas Moran (1831-1926) was one of the 19th century artists. One of his noteworthy efforts came from an expedition that headed west, the Hayden Expedition (1871). The goals was for Thomas to record the wonders of the Yellowstone area. Because of Moran's efforts the U.S. Congress set this area aside to become the first national park. He made annotated drawings and watercolors.
Moran continued to produce works from his westward expedition well into the 20th century. If you get a chance take some time to search for some of his paintings online.
Moran continued to produce works from his westward expedition well into the 20th century. If you get a chance take some time to search for some of his paintings online.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
D.L. Moody
"I remember when I was a boy I used to try to walk across a field after the snow had fallen, and try to make a straight path; and as long as I kept my eye on a point at the other side of the field, I could make a straight path, but if I looked over my shoulder to see if I was walking straight, I would always walk crooked—always. And where I find people turning around to see how others walk, they always walk crooked. But if you want to walk straight through this world, keep your eye on the Captain of your salvation, who has gone within the vale. Just keep your eye on Him, and you will have peace and light.
I remember, too, I used to try to catch my shadow. I used to try to see if I could not jump over my head. I ran and jumped, but my head always kept just so far ahead of me. I never could catch my shadow, but I remember when I was a little boy, I was running with my face toward the sun, and I looked over my shoulder and I found my shadow coming after me.
And I find since I became a Christian, that if I keep my eye on the Son of Righteousness, peace and light and joy and everything follow in the train; but if I get my eye off Him, I always get into darkness and trouble. So if you want to keep in the light, keep your eye fixed on the Son of Righteousness and follow Him."
Excerpt from Dwight L. Moody:the man and his mission ©1900
D. L. Moody was one of the most well known evangelists during the 19th century. Moody converted to evangelical Christianity in 1855. He moved to Chicago in 1856. It was there that his ministry began.
I remember, too, I used to try to catch my shadow. I used to try to see if I could not jump over my head. I ran and jumped, but my head always kept just so far ahead of me. I never could catch my shadow, but I remember when I was a little boy, I was running with my face toward the sun, and I looked over my shoulder and I found my shadow coming after me.
And I find since I became a Christian, that if I keep my eye on the Son of Righteousness, peace and light and joy and everything follow in the train; but if I get my eye off Him, I always get into darkness and trouble. So if you want to keep in the light, keep your eye fixed on the Son of Righteousness and follow Him."
Excerpt from Dwight L. Moody:the man and his mission ©1900
D. L. Moody was one of the most well known evangelists during the 19th century. Moody converted to evangelical Christianity in 1855. He moved to Chicago in 1856. It was there that his ministry began.
Monday, September 12, 2016
An Intinerant Preacher
Below is an excerpt from "An Intinerant Preacher or, Sketches from the Life of Rev. Charles Haime ©1865. This was written by his son who was also an ordained minister. Charles was a Methodist Preacher living in England. He started his preaching ministry in 1800.
" Newport, June 1, 1839. "
My Dear Brother,
"In the year 1800 I began as a local preacher in the Salisbury circuit, (my first plan, by Mr. Horner, I have now); then I was called out by Mr. Longley to supply the place of a young man who left the work in the Salisbury circuit. For years I was employed by Dr. Coke as a home missionary in the north of Devon, now three good circuits, Barnstaple, Bideford, Holsworthy; then I had another mission, which took in (parts of) Somerset, Dorset, and Devon, now also three circuits, South Petherton, Brid- port, and Axminster. After this I was in the great revival — at it night and day; conversions by hundreds and thousands, and many believers made perfect in love. I had a back for any bed, a stomach for any food, a face for any weather, and strength for any work. Moderation in religion I knew not. Thus I werit on, in the name of the Lord, till a month since. Now my infirmities are many. From great strength I am brought to great weakness and giddiness in my head ; my voice also fails. And now, what do I feel ? what do I fear ? Almighty God! save me from living to be good for nothing! I pray that I may be of use in the country as a local preacher.
' If in this feeble flesh I may
Awhile show forth Thy praise,
Jesu, support the tottering clay,
And lengthen out my days.'
" Be so kind as to put me down for Newport, supernumerary not by age, accident, or disease, but by extraordinary labour in the Lord's vineyard; worn out in the work."
Extraordinary labour! to some this may sound like the boasting of the old man; but the calm review of his life will prove that it was no vain boast. Few are the ministers, now or then, that could or would do what he did. lie was a labourer in God's vineyard, and never stinted time nor toil.
In the first plan here referred to, his name appeared as " an exhorter;" in this letter he describes himself as then a local preacher. There was a reason for this, which will also show that my father's work, as a preacher, commenced with extraordinary scenes. He had gone forth to exhort in some neglected village, and, whilst delivering his message, he was arrested by order of the man who had the cure of souls in that parish. He appeared to answer for his conduct before one of the magistrates, a certain "Squire Harris." The clergyman brought forward the charge, that this-said Charles Haime had been preaching in his parish; without any thought of evasion or extenuation, he replied that he had not been preaching, but simply exhorting. The Squire very convincingly showed him that an exhorter was a preacher, and then asked- him what right he had to go about preaching. All fear was taken away; and in answering the question he commenced preaching, though not exhorting, and that with such liberty and power, that the listening parson turned very pale, and the listening magistrate felt deeply interested, and then said, " That is enough, I see you are called to preach; go about your business." As before he had willingly obeyed a similar command from a military officer, so he obeyed the command of this civil officer, therein fulfilling the behest of a higher power.
The magistrate's lecture on " exhoiters, alias preachers " was ever remembered, and to the last his plans only acknowledged " preachers and preachers on trial." As an exhorter and local preacher he continued to labour on till the year 1804. At the March quarterly meeting the Rev. Thos. Longley proposed that he should be recommended to the ensuing Conference as a fit candidate for the ministry. This was cordially agreed to by all, save the good old class-leader and himself. The former thought that he was already in a galloping consumption, and that the work of a travelling preacher would soon kill him ; the latter deemed himself unfit for so great a work, and therefore hesitated. Time, however, has proved the mistake of the former; and thousands of converted souls have also proved that, however unfit for the work the subject of this memoir may have been in himself, yet God had doubtless called him, and his sufficiency was of God. The quarterly meeting had scarcely passed when Mr. Longley's colleague retired from the work, and the following note was sent to Charles Haime by his affectionate superintendent
" Newport, June 1, 1839. "
My Dear Brother,
"In the year 1800 I began as a local preacher in the Salisbury circuit, (my first plan, by Mr. Horner, I have now); then I was called out by Mr. Longley to supply the place of a young man who left the work in the Salisbury circuit. For years I was employed by Dr. Coke as a home missionary in the north of Devon, now three good circuits, Barnstaple, Bideford, Holsworthy; then I had another mission, which took in (parts of) Somerset, Dorset, and Devon, now also three circuits, South Petherton, Brid- port, and Axminster. After this I was in the great revival — at it night and day; conversions by hundreds and thousands, and many believers made perfect in love. I had a back for any bed, a stomach for any food, a face for any weather, and strength for any work. Moderation in religion I knew not. Thus I werit on, in the name of the Lord, till a month since. Now my infirmities are many. From great strength I am brought to great weakness and giddiness in my head ; my voice also fails. And now, what do I feel ? what do I fear ? Almighty God! save me from living to be good for nothing! I pray that I may be of use in the country as a local preacher.
' If in this feeble flesh I may
Awhile show forth Thy praise,
Jesu, support the tottering clay,
And lengthen out my days.'
" Be so kind as to put me down for Newport, supernumerary not by age, accident, or disease, but by extraordinary labour in the Lord's vineyard; worn out in the work."
Extraordinary labour! to some this may sound like the boasting of the old man; but the calm review of his life will prove that it was no vain boast. Few are the ministers, now or then, that could or would do what he did. lie was a labourer in God's vineyard, and never stinted time nor toil.
In the first plan here referred to, his name appeared as " an exhorter;" in this letter he describes himself as then a local preacher. There was a reason for this, which will also show that my father's work, as a preacher, commenced with extraordinary scenes. He had gone forth to exhort in some neglected village, and, whilst delivering his message, he was arrested by order of the man who had the cure of souls in that parish. He appeared to answer for his conduct before one of the magistrates, a certain "Squire Harris." The clergyman brought forward the charge, that this-said Charles Haime had been preaching in his parish; without any thought of evasion or extenuation, he replied that he had not been preaching, but simply exhorting. The Squire very convincingly showed him that an exhorter was a preacher, and then asked- him what right he had to go about preaching. All fear was taken away; and in answering the question he commenced preaching, though not exhorting, and that with such liberty and power, that the listening parson turned very pale, and the listening magistrate felt deeply interested, and then said, " That is enough, I see you are called to preach; go about your business." As before he had willingly obeyed a similar command from a military officer, so he obeyed the command of this civil officer, therein fulfilling the behest of a higher power.
The magistrate's lecture on " exhoiters, alias preachers " was ever remembered, and to the last his plans only acknowledged " preachers and preachers on trial." As an exhorter and local preacher he continued to labour on till the year 1804. At the March quarterly meeting the Rev. Thos. Longley proposed that he should be recommended to the ensuing Conference as a fit candidate for the ministry. This was cordially agreed to by all, save the good old class-leader and himself. The former thought that he was already in a galloping consumption, and that the work of a travelling preacher would soon kill him ; the latter deemed himself unfit for so great a work, and therefore hesitated. Time, however, has proved the mistake of the former; and thousands of converted souls have also proved that, however unfit for the work the subject of this memoir may have been in himself, yet God had doubtless called him, and his sufficiency was of God. The quarterly meeting had scarcely passed when Mr. Longley's colleague retired from the work, and the following note was sent to Charles Haime by his affectionate superintendent
Monday, September 5, 2016
Bertram Born Part 2
Continuation.
Note the language and descriptions used in this article.
The question was addressed to an Herculean mountaineer who had sat without uttering a syllable hitherto. I had noticed this man at the table, consuming hills of biscuits and lakes of steaming coffee with the same rapt expression which he wore at present. The General straightened himself in his chair, threw back his shaggy head, and began to speak in trumpet tone.
"I shall expound a text from the book of Esther. You shall listen to the Haman proclamation. As a judge I shall hold court in open air and judge all comers. I shall show that everything done in the fear of the Lord prospers, while the devil's work miscarries. My banner shall be unfurled,' Peace on Earth, good will towards Men.' " Then, as though remembering that his audience was not in court, he relapsed into his former slouching posture and continued half to himself : " About once in so often I am driven from my home. The warlike spirit is upon me and I am called to preach to the great men of the earth. One season I rode through seven States. In every town my banner was unfurled, ' Peace on Earth, good will towards Men.' But when they would not hear me and scoffed, I furled my banner and charged through the crowd and through the town crying, Woe! Woe!"
" You might go over to the ' Cove' and convert the Dunkards," said a man in black coat and waistcoat of ecclesiastical cut and not very fresh white cravat. " I had some talk with them the other day. I said, " You believe in baptism three times face foremost. Well, that's a good way too. The Saviour says water, and water's a good thing. I'll duck you, or sprinkle yon, any way you like,—five times backward or seven times heels upward. But meanwhile I'll just say a word about drinking bad whiskey and going hunting when the ground's dry enough to plow."
A spruce, alert little man who had been introduced to the party with somewhat of a flourish as a criminal lawyer from Raleigh, explained to me in an undertone that the last speaker was a missionary of the Episcopal Church, very zealous, not over-fastidious about the means employed to reach and improve the " barbarians." Then, himself not above the desire to produce an impression, my informant gave me incidents from his own experience. For example, when I had asked if he did not find the climate of Raleigh rather bad in summer, he ran on, " Yes, it would be, but we go down the river every now and then to a watering place. Last summer we had quite the scheme. We telegraphed to our young lady friends staying at this watering place to expect a boatful of the boys at a certain hour. When we got near the shore and hotel, we discharged our guns and pistols by way of salute. That brought everybody out. Then one of the boys stood up to hurrah, and intentionally tipped the boat over. We were all provided with life-preservers, and floated about in the water, pretending to be in distress. One of the boys made believe he was drowning. Weeping on shore; men running into the water regardless of their white duck trousers. At this juncture, the corpse produced his flask and took a drink. Everybody felt better."
While listening to this chatter of the law-man, I also noticed that Bertram Born had withdrawn somewhat from the group of loafers, and reclining in his chair, his feet on the railing of the piazza, was tuning his guitar. Now, without preface or prelude, he half recited, half sung with accompaniment of minor chords, a story so simple, so suggestive of true human feeling, so incomplete, that it haunts me. Light from a few handfuls of blazing pine-knots a rod distant from the piazza showed the group of quiet listeners; while from the outer darkness came sounds of the river and night.
" In the wide southern plain, yonder where the rivers are broad and slow and it is warm at Christmas-time, lived a planter owning many slaves.
Mary was a slave, but her hair was straight and brown; her skin was fair as a lily. She had not a drop of nigger blood in her veins. But the old woman she called mother was an African, black as this night. Her, Mary called mother, and claimed to be no better than the blackest.
Mary was a meek and willing servant; but once she ran away to Charleston, her birthplace,—at least where the old black mother had been bought from the Govan family. At first she was sought where her beauty would have found a ready market, in a freedom more sad than slavery; but there she was not. After many months, she was traced to a garret where, more pale and quiet than ever, she was working with her needle; and she was brought back. She did not complain, but always staid quietly with her master afterwards.
When the planter's daughters were sent to Charleston for the winter, she accompanied them as their maid. Visiting, shopping, at church, she always attended them; and so white and decent was Mary, that gentlemen assisting the young ladies to alight from their carriage, would offer her the same courtesy, supposing her to be a companion. Then she would shrink back, saying quietly, 'Excuse me, Sir; I am only a servant.'
One Sunday the planter's daughters drove up to St. Mark's Church, Mary attending them as usual. One of Charleston's beaux went forward to assist the ladies, and took no pains to conceal his mortification when Mary declined his offer with a murmured ' Only a servant, Sir.' But, by God!"—(Here the guitar was laid aside and Bertram finished his story in a conversational tone.) "What any bystander might have noticed, was the striking resemblance between White Mary and this young fellow,—Tom Govan was his name. His mother had been a famous beauty in her day. Mary was apparently a few years older, but if features amount to anything in evidence, she and young Govan were sister and brother.
When old Senator Govan married the young belle, it was whispered that there had been a secret marriage between her and Colonel Simms, shortly before the colonel had been called by some business affairs to the Bermudas, where he took the fever and died. The report was denied by the lady's friends. It would have been a dangerous thing for any one to have repeated the scandal aloud then. Colonel Sitnms was well known to have been at heart an abolitionist, and Senator Govan was a leader in the southern cause.
Tom Govan escorted the planter's daughters to their seat, and white Mary took her place among the servants. Brother and sister were together before the Lord, while the parson droned his sermon with the text, ' Blessed are the Meek.' "
As it was the custom in the mountains to allow Bertram to speak the last word, now that he had ended, the little company broke up. I went to my bed-room, and after blinking awhile at the light wood fire on the broad hearth (for even in summer the nights are often cool at this altitude), and resolving to find out more of the past life of Bertram Born, I fell asleep. But in the morning when I awoke, he had gone.
Note the language and descriptions used in this article.
The question was addressed to an Herculean mountaineer who had sat without uttering a syllable hitherto. I had noticed this man at the table, consuming hills of biscuits and lakes of steaming coffee with the same rapt expression which he wore at present. The General straightened himself in his chair, threw back his shaggy head, and began to speak in trumpet tone.
"I shall expound a text from the book of Esther. You shall listen to the Haman proclamation. As a judge I shall hold court in open air and judge all comers. I shall show that everything done in the fear of the Lord prospers, while the devil's work miscarries. My banner shall be unfurled,' Peace on Earth, good will towards Men.' " Then, as though remembering that his audience was not in court, he relapsed into his former slouching posture and continued half to himself : " About once in so often I am driven from my home. The warlike spirit is upon me and I am called to preach to the great men of the earth. One season I rode through seven States. In every town my banner was unfurled, ' Peace on Earth, good will towards Men.' But when they would not hear me and scoffed, I furled my banner and charged through the crowd and through the town crying, Woe! Woe!"
" You might go over to the ' Cove' and convert the Dunkards," said a man in black coat and waistcoat of ecclesiastical cut and not very fresh white cravat. " I had some talk with them the other day. I said, " You believe in baptism three times face foremost. Well, that's a good way too. The Saviour says water, and water's a good thing. I'll duck you, or sprinkle yon, any way you like,—five times backward or seven times heels upward. But meanwhile I'll just say a word about drinking bad whiskey and going hunting when the ground's dry enough to plow."
A spruce, alert little man who had been introduced to the party with somewhat of a flourish as a criminal lawyer from Raleigh, explained to me in an undertone that the last speaker was a missionary of the Episcopal Church, very zealous, not over-fastidious about the means employed to reach and improve the " barbarians." Then, himself not above the desire to produce an impression, my informant gave me incidents from his own experience. For example, when I had asked if he did not find the climate of Raleigh rather bad in summer, he ran on, " Yes, it would be, but we go down the river every now and then to a watering place. Last summer we had quite the scheme. We telegraphed to our young lady friends staying at this watering place to expect a boatful of the boys at a certain hour. When we got near the shore and hotel, we discharged our guns and pistols by way of salute. That brought everybody out. Then one of the boys stood up to hurrah, and intentionally tipped the boat over. We were all provided with life-preservers, and floated about in the water, pretending to be in distress. One of the boys made believe he was drowning. Weeping on shore; men running into the water regardless of their white duck trousers. At this juncture, the corpse produced his flask and took a drink. Everybody felt better."
While listening to this chatter of the law-man, I also noticed that Bertram Born had withdrawn somewhat from the group of loafers, and reclining in his chair, his feet on the railing of the piazza, was tuning his guitar. Now, without preface or prelude, he half recited, half sung with accompaniment of minor chords, a story so simple, so suggestive of true human feeling, so incomplete, that it haunts me. Light from a few handfuls of blazing pine-knots a rod distant from the piazza showed the group of quiet listeners; while from the outer darkness came sounds of the river and night.
" In the wide southern plain, yonder where the rivers are broad and slow and it is warm at Christmas-time, lived a planter owning many slaves.
Mary was a slave, but her hair was straight and brown; her skin was fair as a lily. She had not a drop of nigger blood in her veins. But the old woman she called mother was an African, black as this night. Her, Mary called mother, and claimed to be no better than the blackest.
Mary was a meek and willing servant; but once she ran away to Charleston, her birthplace,—at least where the old black mother had been bought from the Govan family. At first she was sought where her beauty would have found a ready market, in a freedom more sad than slavery; but there she was not. After many months, she was traced to a garret where, more pale and quiet than ever, she was working with her needle; and she was brought back. She did not complain, but always staid quietly with her master afterwards.
When the planter's daughters were sent to Charleston for the winter, she accompanied them as their maid. Visiting, shopping, at church, she always attended them; and so white and decent was Mary, that gentlemen assisting the young ladies to alight from their carriage, would offer her the same courtesy, supposing her to be a companion. Then she would shrink back, saying quietly, 'Excuse me, Sir; I am only a servant.'
One Sunday the planter's daughters drove up to St. Mark's Church, Mary attending them as usual. One of Charleston's beaux went forward to assist the ladies, and took no pains to conceal his mortification when Mary declined his offer with a murmured ' Only a servant, Sir.' But, by God!"—(Here the guitar was laid aside and Bertram finished his story in a conversational tone.) "What any bystander might have noticed, was the striking resemblance between White Mary and this young fellow,—Tom Govan was his name. His mother had been a famous beauty in her day. Mary was apparently a few years older, but if features amount to anything in evidence, she and young Govan were sister and brother.
When old Senator Govan married the young belle, it was whispered that there had been a secret marriage between her and Colonel Simms, shortly before the colonel had been called by some business affairs to the Bermudas, where he took the fever and died. The report was denied by the lady's friends. It would have been a dangerous thing for any one to have repeated the scandal aloud then. Colonel Sitnms was well known to have been at heart an abolitionist, and Senator Govan was a leader in the southern cause.
Tom Govan escorted the planter's daughters to their seat, and white Mary took her place among the servants. Brother and sister were together before the Lord, while the parson droned his sermon with the text, ' Blessed are the Meek.' "
As it was the custom in the mountains to allow Bertram to speak the last word, now that he had ended, the little company broke up. I went to my bed-room, and after blinking awhile at the light wood fire on the broad hearth (for even in summer the nights are often cool at this altitude), and resolving to find out more of the past life of Bertram Born, I fell asleep. But in the morning when I awoke, he had gone.
Bertram Born Part One
Bertram Born was a colorful character in the Mountains of North Carolina. I haven't found anything more about him than this one article written in "The New Englander" Published in 1885
Here's the first part of the article:
Chapter I.—A North Carolina Incident.
While riding along by the French Broad river, I allowed myself a small soliloquy:—This section is un-American. These people do not hurry and worry. Americans are satisfied with America as a whole, but seldom with their own portion of the vast country. New England boys want to go West to work; western men want to come East to live and enjoy the fruits of their self-sacrifice. But the North Carolinian can hardly better his chances of success or the conditions of comfortable living by going away from home. The other day I met a young drover. He told me that he would be off for Colorado soon.
“You would like to see the world," I conjectured.
" Yes. I reckon I'll come back directly. The boys I have known who've gone West are all back here again and they do say this is the only place to live."
It is delightful to find people believing not only in their own country, but in their own township. And yet how closely allied with ignorance is this bliss. For instance: After parting company with the drover, my way lay through one of those extensive pine forests which cover the southern slopes of the Blue Ridge. An hour sufficed to confuse me thoroughly. I had not an idea which one of the glistening tracks of white sand to follow at the next crossway, when with joy I discovered a log hut, chinked with red clay, a spiral of blue smoke ascending from its chimney. Its occupant appeared in answer to my shout, slouched amicably towards me, and "lowed" he would show me the way—so politely! He used the Sir in every sentence, yet not in servility. With him it was a courteous form, like the French Monsieur. This is the "tie ornament of a slovenly mountain idiom. I should have enjoyed a longer conversation, for he showed the excellent quality of thoughtfulness, asking among other things, " Whar is New England, Sir ? I reckon it aint far from old England, Sir." Then at a turning, where a choice of ways came in sight, he stopped, pointed down the road to a small stream and said:
" See that'ar branch, thar, Sir ? Waal, when you cross that bra-anch, you turn—you turn (reflecting)—Which side your mare's mane lie, Sir ?"
" Left."
" Waal, when you get across that bra-anch yonder, you just turn to the left, Sir."
At this point in the soliloquy, my attention was attracted by the near sound of falling water. Remember that here, between Asheville and Warm Springs, the French Broad, although a considerable stream, is still three thousand feet above the sea-mirror, and hurries along at a tremendous pace, —dashes foaming and chafing against the rugged, darkly wooded mountains, in spite of which it accomplishes a hasty descent. Here a narrow side valley, through which a brook makes the best of its way to join the main current, tumbling over successive terraces of granite, seething in the deep pool at the base of each cascade and elsewhere sheeting itself prettily over the smooth dark rock. I was ready to dismount and try my poor skill at sketching so lovely a spot, when—the Troubadour appeared.
Certainly a striking figure ! A man like the other features of the scene which had laid its spell upon me. A man who had matured and grown strong under natural influences— grown rugged but not coarse through forty years (it seemed) of storm and sunshine. Something fine and commanding, whether in his thoughtful face or the ease with which he rode, as though unconscious of a separate existence in his thoroughbred, made me question instantly his being a " native." But if not a mountaineer, what could be the meaning of such a costume ( He wore a dark green velvet jacket and gray corduroy knickerbockers, both very rusty, strings supplying the place of buttons at the knees. On his head was a straw sombrero, so wide- brimmed as actually to shade his shoulders. He carried a light single barrel bird gun across the saddle and was followed by a fine Gordon setter. It would be difficult to say wherein it consisted, but there was a slight touch of dandyism withal Possibly the suggestion came from his red neckcloth. His face was so weather-worn and hardened that, smiling, he must smile in seams. In addition to his fowling-piece, this practiced horseman here a small guitar in a baize cover slung across his shoulders.
"There is a legend," said he with grave deliberateness, "that these pools are bottomless and that two young lovers took the fatal leap together into their unknown depths. If that is true, the lovers must have been visitors from New York. I never heard of a genuine North Carolinian who did not care more for life than for love."
" And yet," I doubted, " these mountaineers are said to be courageous."
This most unconventional person rejoined: " Courage is familiarity with danger. I have seen a man who dared not cross the ocean on a Cunard steamer, boldly attack a dish of raw tripe at an hotel."
He had not introduced himself, neither had his horse, nor yet his dog. All three appeared to accept my presence as naturally as if we had been members of the same household happening to meet in the hallway. In the same matter-of- course fashion, we cantered over the level stretches and walked up hill and down towards Squire Justice's " hotel," keeping together and chatting. I can no more undertake to follow the course of our conversation than to describe from memory all the varied scenes of that panorama of river, forest, and sky as each turn in the road revealed a new prospect. But I wish to convey in a few words my impression of his strange mode of existence, gathered from his unreserved communications.
Evidently a gentleman by birth and education, who had read much and traveled widely, my companion employed in conversation a superior, rather bookish, vocabulary and style. Occasional sentences were evidently studied; so much so indeed that I at first supposed him to be quoting from some book which I had not read. When describing a tornado which had devastated portions of northern Georgia the previous year, he dwelt with much appreciation upon its freaks and the curious incidents which attended its progress, observing finally, " Always some trifles of humor come to the surface of a great disaster like bubbles where the water is torn below a cataract; and the spirits which laugh in storm are not all devils—laughing in bitterness—but some are Ariels : these laugh in the very gladness of a light nature."
I. " Bravo ! who wrote that ?
He. " I will tell you—Anon."
He kept his punning promise fully; for he did presently make himself known to me as an author, while he remained and remains anonymous. In the mountains he was called Bertram Born,—evidently an assumed name.
Bertram Born avoided the larger towns, passing from one outlying farmstead to another. He would carry about little presents of tobacco, seed-corn, or powder and shot, which insured a cordial welcome wherever he appeared. He was welcomed also as historian of the mountain folk, for his personal recollections extended over a period of twenty years, while traditions of the earliest settlers and the expulsion of the Indians were stored in his retentive memory. As for his wanderings, they were commonly within the limits of North Carolina, although sometimes he would follow the course of small rivers such as the Pacolet from their source through the narrow, fertile valleys of northern South Carolina, and more frequently find himself in the picturesque Habersham county of northern Georgia. Indeed this latter must be a tempting field for such a wandering story-teller and adventurer. Instead of sharp peaks, the mountains of Habersham have fruitful craters—or let us say, dimples of fertile valley—at their very summits where Nature has laid her hand in blessing, and at her touch springs have burst forth and barren rock has been transformed into the deepest and richest black earth of all that region. There are cabins of farmers,—each household in undisputed possession of its mountain. Fruit trees there and cattle, separated by miles of forest from the nearest orchards and herds A tall, gaunt race living there, speaking vaguely and mildly. Think of the isolation of these places and then imagine how joyfully a lively acquaintance would be received. And besides, Bertram established closer relations with many of these uncritical people. Many a slouching, mild-eyed mountaineer hailed him as best friend, and (it may as well be confessed) more than one maiden giantess secretly owned his overlordship. These people are natural. Why should not a piece of bright ribbon and a few kind words win a way to maiden's heart and favor? Rules of the moral code, accepted as such by all good citizens of the nearest large town, are here crowded aside by the pressure of natural forces. So amiable, so truly amiable is this mountain folk, that it will readily accept almost any form of religious doctrine; but it will recognize only such restraints as accord with local tastes and usages. Crime of the gravest kind is called "meanness." Swearing and working on Sunday are the two offenses which excite general disapproval.
"In this land,'' said my companion, "every root produces flowers; while everything which moves either stings or kicks or chews tobacco."
Bertram had never cared to acquire a permanent home, although nothing would have been easier. One has only to choose a sheltered spot near a crystal spring, build a cabin (it will take but two weeks), and then clear away right and left with his axe far as he like, and plant shallow in loam a yard deep. A few dollars will be enough for the establishment of a marrying man. Why, with a hundred dollars one might get a giantess. But our Bertram was an incorrigible errant.
An hour before dark, we arrived at Squire Justice's hotel,— store, post office, and tavern, all in one. The situation of the house on rising ground, an eighth of a mile from the river and road, in a little park of its own, sheep grazing on the lawn, does not suggest an inn; but my companion feels at home here as everywhere and points out the merits of the location with a sense of partial ownership. When we had passed through the gate and were approaching the house, he spoke to an old negro nurse who stood beside the roadway with her charge, a little girl holding in her arms a doll almost as large as herself. Pointing to the doll: "Aunty, is that a sure enough baby, or is it an artificial baby?"
The negress grinned. " Lordy, Lordy, Mass' Born, is that vousself here again?"
A moment later our horses were standing before the wide whitewashed piazza. "See there, my friend," I said, " can you tell me what's going on in that room?" Through an open window I saw a curious kind of needle work. A light, flat frame, over which was stretched a white' sheet, was suspended from the ceiling by cords attached to its four corners. An enormous flat hammock? No; for it is being covered with a flowery pattern. A hanging garden, then? No; only quilting.
"Just come with me," replied Bertram Born, leading the way into the house and opening a side door without ceremony.
A jolly girl, that, bending over the quilt. A giantess from the Black Mountain, I should think, visiting her cousins, the Justices. She was quite handsome, with merry bright eyes and red cheeks. Her eyes became brighter and her cheeks flushed when we entered. I could not flatter myself; it was for the Troubadour. Confound the old Lothario! He has no right to a better name, for he seeks no higher honors.
However, I forget my mortification, envy, or whatever it may be called, in listening to their conversation. She is speaking the thought uppermost in her mind, with the simplicity of a child of nature. Her thought is an aspiration to see the great world. He, having deliberately turned his back upon the world, is easy and contented in the rudeness of these mountains. Hence his superiority and attractiveness to her. He is to her the nearest approach of the desired. He has been in Washington, in London, even in Paris, perhaps. Heavens! He has lived. He has seen the originals of those elegant ladies in long trains who inarch across the paper covers of the half- dozen of novels in the nearest village library. She is only a poor mountain girl, and people must buy friendship, she has read. Well, he may have the rose from her hair. But wait; here is a turn which shows the very heart of simple maiden of the Black Mountain. He asked, '' How long would it take for you to know me ?"
She repeats: " How long to love?"
Her woman's nature is right on the surface. One reads in her lively expression such thoughts as these: " Is he really in earnest?—Is he out of reach?—I am attractive.—Is he making fun of me?—Shall I see him soon again?" It is high time for me to withdraw.
After a supper of hot corn bread and light biscuits, fried ham, buttermilk, and coffee (the invariable supper of the South!), half-a-dozen men were seated on the wide piazza in arm chairs, smoking red-clay pipes with long cane stems or using tobacco in another less picturesque fashion,—more subjectively. Central in the group was the venerable figure of Squire Justice. He was telling his stock anecdotes about the healthfulness of the region: " Why, ole Miss Bridgman was confirmed by the Bishop this summer and her two gals at the same time. Well, gentlemen, she is one hundred and four years old and the two babies are sixty-five and sixty-eight years." The speaker had himself been one of twelve friends, young men together in the township. Of the twelve, six went away and they had all died ; while those who had remained at home were all hale and hearty to this day.
How many similar instances his garrulity might have offered and the good nature of his nicotinated audience would have sluggishly accepted, it is impossible to say, for at that moment came dashing up the driveway a willing horse,—a muscular, lean, corn-fed animal,—and an unwilling horseman, unpracticed, plump with a succession of hotel dinners, the tails of his long gray coat flying out wildly and his hat crushed over his eyes. At the door the horse stopped of his own accord suddenly,—so suddenly that the rider was thrown forward upon his neck. A moment later appeared a fat old darkey running along the road and leading a pack-horse with well-filled saddle bags. The African was shouting, " Wha ! Wha ! I never did see a man ride so fas as dat man !"
While settling his hat and cravat, the new comer explained volubly, " My nag wanted to run. I had no objection. Here come my things." Then addressing me, who happened to be nearest, he offered his card, " Thomas R. Bagman, Richmond," and in the corner, " Representing Messrs. Stuff, Rubbish & Shoddy."
I explained briefly that I was not a competitor, but making a horseback tour of the mountains.
"That is something I never could understand," commented the drummer. " That must be no end lonesome. Now, if I want a sight, I just go to church and take my seat in the gallery, front row, forward. It isn't for the sermon—O, no. But I just watch the effect the parson's words have upon the audience,—how different people take the same thing differently."
To my great surprise, Bertram Born answered him: " Then you will allow us to put mountains and watercourses in place of parson and to watch the effects which their speech produces upon an audience,—upon the people we meet,—with more satisfaction, young man, in that these tones are true, while your parson may be telling lies."
Like an old book! Silence ensued. Evidently Bertram was used to being allowed the last word. This silence was broken by Squire Justice, asking, " What you goin' to tell us about to-morrow, General?"
Here's the first part of the article:
Chapter I.—A North Carolina Incident.
While riding along by the French Broad river, I allowed myself a small soliloquy:—This section is un-American. These people do not hurry and worry. Americans are satisfied with America as a whole, but seldom with their own portion of the vast country. New England boys want to go West to work; western men want to come East to live and enjoy the fruits of their self-sacrifice. But the North Carolinian can hardly better his chances of success or the conditions of comfortable living by going away from home. The other day I met a young drover. He told me that he would be off for Colorado soon.
“You would like to see the world," I conjectured.
" Yes. I reckon I'll come back directly. The boys I have known who've gone West are all back here again and they do say this is the only place to live."
It is delightful to find people believing not only in their own country, but in their own township. And yet how closely allied with ignorance is this bliss. For instance: After parting company with the drover, my way lay through one of those extensive pine forests which cover the southern slopes of the Blue Ridge. An hour sufficed to confuse me thoroughly. I had not an idea which one of the glistening tracks of white sand to follow at the next crossway, when with joy I discovered a log hut, chinked with red clay, a spiral of blue smoke ascending from its chimney. Its occupant appeared in answer to my shout, slouched amicably towards me, and "lowed" he would show me the way—so politely! He used the Sir in every sentence, yet not in servility. With him it was a courteous form, like the French Monsieur. This is the "tie ornament of a slovenly mountain idiom. I should have enjoyed a longer conversation, for he showed the excellent quality of thoughtfulness, asking among other things, " Whar is New England, Sir ? I reckon it aint far from old England, Sir." Then at a turning, where a choice of ways came in sight, he stopped, pointed down the road to a small stream and said:
" See that'ar branch, thar, Sir ? Waal, when you cross that bra-anch, you turn—you turn (reflecting)—Which side your mare's mane lie, Sir ?"
" Left."
" Waal, when you get across that bra-anch yonder, you just turn to the left, Sir."
At this point in the soliloquy, my attention was attracted by the near sound of falling water. Remember that here, between Asheville and Warm Springs, the French Broad, although a considerable stream, is still three thousand feet above the sea-mirror, and hurries along at a tremendous pace, —dashes foaming and chafing against the rugged, darkly wooded mountains, in spite of which it accomplishes a hasty descent. Here a narrow side valley, through which a brook makes the best of its way to join the main current, tumbling over successive terraces of granite, seething in the deep pool at the base of each cascade and elsewhere sheeting itself prettily over the smooth dark rock. I was ready to dismount and try my poor skill at sketching so lovely a spot, when—the Troubadour appeared.
Certainly a striking figure ! A man like the other features of the scene which had laid its spell upon me. A man who had matured and grown strong under natural influences— grown rugged but not coarse through forty years (it seemed) of storm and sunshine. Something fine and commanding, whether in his thoughtful face or the ease with which he rode, as though unconscious of a separate existence in his thoroughbred, made me question instantly his being a " native." But if not a mountaineer, what could be the meaning of such a costume ( He wore a dark green velvet jacket and gray corduroy knickerbockers, both very rusty, strings supplying the place of buttons at the knees. On his head was a straw sombrero, so wide- brimmed as actually to shade his shoulders. He carried a light single barrel bird gun across the saddle and was followed by a fine Gordon setter. It would be difficult to say wherein it consisted, but there was a slight touch of dandyism withal Possibly the suggestion came from his red neckcloth. His face was so weather-worn and hardened that, smiling, he must smile in seams. In addition to his fowling-piece, this practiced horseman here a small guitar in a baize cover slung across his shoulders.
"There is a legend," said he with grave deliberateness, "that these pools are bottomless and that two young lovers took the fatal leap together into their unknown depths. If that is true, the lovers must have been visitors from New York. I never heard of a genuine North Carolinian who did not care more for life than for love."
" And yet," I doubted, " these mountaineers are said to be courageous."
This most unconventional person rejoined: " Courage is familiarity with danger. I have seen a man who dared not cross the ocean on a Cunard steamer, boldly attack a dish of raw tripe at an hotel."
He had not introduced himself, neither had his horse, nor yet his dog. All three appeared to accept my presence as naturally as if we had been members of the same household happening to meet in the hallway. In the same matter-of- course fashion, we cantered over the level stretches and walked up hill and down towards Squire Justice's " hotel," keeping together and chatting. I can no more undertake to follow the course of our conversation than to describe from memory all the varied scenes of that panorama of river, forest, and sky as each turn in the road revealed a new prospect. But I wish to convey in a few words my impression of his strange mode of existence, gathered from his unreserved communications.
Evidently a gentleman by birth and education, who had read much and traveled widely, my companion employed in conversation a superior, rather bookish, vocabulary and style. Occasional sentences were evidently studied; so much so indeed that I at first supposed him to be quoting from some book which I had not read. When describing a tornado which had devastated portions of northern Georgia the previous year, he dwelt with much appreciation upon its freaks and the curious incidents which attended its progress, observing finally, " Always some trifles of humor come to the surface of a great disaster like bubbles where the water is torn below a cataract; and the spirits which laugh in storm are not all devils—laughing in bitterness—but some are Ariels : these laugh in the very gladness of a light nature."
I. " Bravo ! who wrote that ?
He. " I will tell you—Anon."
He kept his punning promise fully; for he did presently make himself known to me as an author, while he remained and remains anonymous. In the mountains he was called Bertram Born,—evidently an assumed name.
Bertram Born avoided the larger towns, passing from one outlying farmstead to another. He would carry about little presents of tobacco, seed-corn, or powder and shot, which insured a cordial welcome wherever he appeared. He was welcomed also as historian of the mountain folk, for his personal recollections extended over a period of twenty years, while traditions of the earliest settlers and the expulsion of the Indians were stored in his retentive memory. As for his wanderings, they were commonly within the limits of North Carolina, although sometimes he would follow the course of small rivers such as the Pacolet from their source through the narrow, fertile valleys of northern South Carolina, and more frequently find himself in the picturesque Habersham county of northern Georgia. Indeed this latter must be a tempting field for such a wandering story-teller and adventurer. Instead of sharp peaks, the mountains of Habersham have fruitful craters—or let us say, dimples of fertile valley—at their very summits where Nature has laid her hand in blessing, and at her touch springs have burst forth and barren rock has been transformed into the deepest and richest black earth of all that region. There are cabins of farmers,—each household in undisputed possession of its mountain. Fruit trees there and cattle, separated by miles of forest from the nearest orchards and herds A tall, gaunt race living there, speaking vaguely and mildly. Think of the isolation of these places and then imagine how joyfully a lively acquaintance would be received. And besides, Bertram established closer relations with many of these uncritical people. Many a slouching, mild-eyed mountaineer hailed him as best friend, and (it may as well be confessed) more than one maiden giantess secretly owned his overlordship. These people are natural. Why should not a piece of bright ribbon and a few kind words win a way to maiden's heart and favor? Rules of the moral code, accepted as such by all good citizens of the nearest large town, are here crowded aside by the pressure of natural forces. So amiable, so truly amiable is this mountain folk, that it will readily accept almost any form of religious doctrine; but it will recognize only such restraints as accord with local tastes and usages. Crime of the gravest kind is called "meanness." Swearing and working on Sunday are the two offenses which excite general disapproval.
"In this land,'' said my companion, "every root produces flowers; while everything which moves either stings or kicks or chews tobacco."
Bertram had never cared to acquire a permanent home, although nothing would have been easier. One has only to choose a sheltered spot near a crystal spring, build a cabin (it will take but two weeks), and then clear away right and left with his axe far as he like, and plant shallow in loam a yard deep. A few dollars will be enough for the establishment of a marrying man. Why, with a hundred dollars one might get a giantess. But our Bertram was an incorrigible errant.
An hour before dark, we arrived at Squire Justice's hotel,— store, post office, and tavern, all in one. The situation of the house on rising ground, an eighth of a mile from the river and road, in a little park of its own, sheep grazing on the lawn, does not suggest an inn; but my companion feels at home here as everywhere and points out the merits of the location with a sense of partial ownership. When we had passed through the gate and were approaching the house, he spoke to an old negro nurse who stood beside the roadway with her charge, a little girl holding in her arms a doll almost as large as herself. Pointing to the doll: "Aunty, is that a sure enough baby, or is it an artificial baby?"
The negress grinned. " Lordy, Lordy, Mass' Born, is that vousself here again?"
A moment later our horses were standing before the wide whitewashed piazza. "See there, my friend," I said, " can you tell me what's going on in that room?" Through an open window I saw a curious kind of needle work. A light, flat frame, over which was stretched a white' sheet, was suspended from the ceiling by cords attached to its four corners. An enormous flat hammock? No; for it is being covered with a flowery pattern. A hanging garden, then? No; only quilting.
"Just come with me," replied Bertram Born, leading the way into the house and opening a side door without ceremony.
A jolly girl, that, bending over the quilt. A giantess from the Black Mountain, I should think, visiting her cousins, the Justices. She was quite handsome, with merry bright eyes and red cheeks. Her eyes became brighter and her cheeks flushed when we entered. I could not flatter myself; it was for the Troubadour. Confound the old Lothario! He has no right to a better name, for he seeks no higher honors.
However, I forget my mortification, envy, or whatever it may be called, in listening to their conversation. She is speaking the thought uppermost in her mind, with the simplicity of a child of nature. Her thought is an aspiration to see the great world. He, having deliberately turned his back upon the world, is easy and contented in the rudeness of these mountains. Hence his superiority and attractiveness to her. He is to her the nearest approach of the desired. He has been in Washington, in London, even in Paris, perhaps. Heavens! He has lived. He has seen the originals of those elegant ladies in long trains who inarch across the paper covers of the half- dozen of novels in the nearest village library. She is only a poor mountain girl, and people must buy friendship, she has read. Well, he may have the rose from her hair. But wait; here is a turn which shows the very heart of simple maiden of the Black Mountain. He asked, '' How long would it take for you to know me ?"
She repeats: " How long to love?"
Her woman's nature is right on the surface. One reads in her lively expression such thoughts as these: " Is he really in earnest?—Is he out of reach?—I am attractive.—Is he making fun of me?—Shall I see him soon again?" It is high time for me to withdraw.
After a supper of hot corn bread and light biscuits, fried ham, buttermilk, and coffee (the invariable supper of the South!), half-a-dozen men were seated on the wide piazza in arm chairs, smoking red-clay pipes with long cane stems or using tobacco in another less picturesque fashion,—more subjectively. Central in the group was the venerable figure of Squire Justice. He was telling his stock anecdotes about the healthfulness of the region: " Why, ole Miss Bridgman was confirmed by the Bishop this summer and her two gals at the same time. Well, gentlemen, she is one hundred and four years old and the two babies are sixty-five and sixty-eight years." The speaker had himself been one of twelve friends, young men together in the township. Of the twelve, six went away and they had all died ; while those who had remained at home were all hale and hearty to this day.
How many similar instances his garrulity might have offered and the good nature of his nicotinated audience would have sluggishly accepted, it is impossible to say, for at that moment came dashing up the driveway a willing horse,—a muscular, lean, corn-fed animal,—and an unwilling horseman, unpracticed, plump with a succession of hotel dinners, the tails of his long gray coat flying out wildly and his hat crushed over his eyes. At the door the horse stopped of his own accord suddenly,—so suddenly that the rider was thrown forward upon his neck. A moment later appeared a fat old darkey running along the road and leading a pack-horse with well-filled saddle bags. The African was shouting, " Wha ! Wha ! I never did see a man ride so fas as dat man !"
While settling his hat and cravat, the new comer explained volubly, " My nag wanted to run. I had no objection. Here come my things." Then addressing me, who happened to be nearest, he offered his card, " Thomas R. Bagman, Richmond," and in the corner, " Representing Messrs. Stuff, Rubbish & Shoddy."
I explained briefly that I was not a competitor, but making a horseback tour of the mountains.
"That is something I never could understand," commented the drummer. " That must be no end lonesome. Now, if I want a sight, I just go to church and take my seat in the gallery, front row, forward. It isn't for the sermon—O, no. But I just watch the effect the parson's words have upon the audience,—how different people take the same thing differently."
To my great surprise, Bertram Born answered him: " Then you will allow us to put mountains and watercourses in place of parson and to watch the effects which their speech produces upon an audience,—upon the people we meet,—with more satisfaction, young man, in that these tones are true, while your parson may be telling lies."
Like an old book! Silence ensued. Evidently Bertram was used to being allowed the last word. This silence was broken by Squire Justice, asking, " What you goin' to tell us about to-morrow, General?"
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Zebulon Montgomery Pike
This is from a book on the Louisiana Purchase ©1894. These events happened in 1806. This is a long excerpt but it contains some interesting material. It shares a little about indians, exploration, weather, how Pike handled his men, etc. Enjoy!
Pike kept a daily record, noting the country, weather and all incidents he considered valuable or interesting. As a literary work, Pike's diary may not rank very high; but as the narration of a sincere and patriotic soldier it will ever hold a place in the esteem of those who admire the straightforward story of a simple and brave man.
As the record of Colorado's discoverer, the journal of the man who built the first house and raised the first American flag upon the domain of our present state, I commend the perusal of his book to every citizen that loves his state.
Aside from his duty as explorer, Pike was instructed to visit the Pawnee and other Indian tribes and to make treaties of peace and alliance with them. This was not always easy to accomplish.
Not long before a splendid troop of Spanish cavalry, coming from Santa Fe, had passed through this same region upon a similar errand. In anticipation of boundary disputes arising between Spain and the United States, the Spaniards made an effort to form friendly alliances with the Indians. This troop was a magnificent body of men, five hundred strong. Every soldier was mounted on a milk white steed, while the commander and his two aides rode jet black stallions. This cavalcade of Spaniards had been lavish in presents to the chiefs. They left medals and flags of the Spanish king. The Indians had been much impressed with the superb uniforms, with the glitter and the boast of the Spanish officers. They were, indeed, in strange contrast with the sorry equipments and number of the American soldiers. It required much diplomacy to induce them to surrender the Spanish emblem and receive the Stars and Stripes. Often the small troop was in imminent danger, but the wonderful coolness, courage and decision of their leader saved them. With the Indians Pike was exacting, but just. As he wrote, "His experience had taught him that if you have justice on your side and do not enforce it, the Indians will universally despise you."
The Pawnees he found very reluctant to accept his tenders of peace and protection. They had been fascinated and flattered with the attention and magnificence of the Spaniards, and they sought no alliance with any power less splendid. Like most primitive people, the Indians judged the king by his em- bassador; the sender of a message by the display of the messenger that brought it. They looked with contempt upon this American captain, who wore the dress of a hunter; who carried packs and pioneered the trail. Like the Jews of old, they were disappointed in appearances and scoffed at Pike as being the representative of a mighty power, whose embassador he claimed to be. Proud of their many hundred warriors, these Pawnees refused to treat or smoke. They gathered their warriors in battle array and threatened to sweep the little band of whites from the earth. But when they saw no fear or signs of retreat, but instead the most cool and determined preparations to meet their assaults, they changed their mind, and, under a flag of truce, offered the calumet. In writing of this event, Pike writes as though he was a little disappointed that the Pawnees did not carry out their intention to fight, "as he had arranged his small troop so as to kill at least one hundred of the Indians before they could have been exterminated."
Day by day they press up the Arkansas. At first, on either hand great rolling prairies, and then the ocean-like plains. He is amazed at the vast herds of buffalo, deer, elk and other game. A single hunter could supply a small army with food; but as a mat- ter of humanity he forbids the killing of more game than required. Were it not that some of our living citizens have seen on the same plains herds of buffalo that were limited only by the horizon's line, and had felt the earth shake beneath their myriad tread, we might question the estimate Pike gives of the game he saw.
As -Pike enters the buffalo country, he comments freely upon the barrenness and desolation. He forgets that game could not be so plentiful if the land were so desolate. So impressed was he with the worthlessness of the plains, that when, reviewing his travels across them, he said: "The plains may in time become equally celebrated with the deserts of Africa. From these immense prairies may arise one great advantage to the United States by the restricting of our population to some certain limits, and thereby insuring a continuation of the Union. Our citizens through necessity will be constrained to limit their extent on the west to the Mississippi and Missouri, leaving the prairies—incapable of cultivation —to the uncivilized aborigines."
Pike, Quincy, Webster and other of our famed ancestors were great explorers and statesmen, but as prophets they were failures. After many days the mountains burst upon the vision of the explorers. To the left a pair of twin peaks cut the horizon; to the right, a mighty single mountain stood like a sentinel upon the boundary of plain and mountain. From the first sight of the grand peak it became the pole star—the compass of the explorer. During all his wanderings over plain and mountain he was seldom out of sight of the great mountain which he called his friend and guide, and a grateful people have made it his monument—one that will carry the name of Pike down the stream of time. Seldom have peaks been so royally named; seldom have heroes been worthy so lofty a commemoration.
When Pike reached the mouth of the Fountaine, and where Pueblo now stands, he established camp; built a rude temporary stockade, and over it raised the first American flag that had ever been kissed by the radiant sun and floated upon the crystal air of the Rocky Mountains. Considering it his duty as an explorer to ascend a peak that was such a prominent feature of the landscape, Pike, with several soldiers, took an early start one morning from his Pueblo camp, so that he might reach and climb the peak and return to camp in reasonable time. To their infinite surprise, the second day had well near passed before they came to the south end of Cheyenne Mountain. In this incident you will find the germ of that ancient story that is told to and about every tenderfoot that has visited this region since the days of Pike. It was near the first of December, and a winter of deep snow and intense cold. They had no blankets and little food, but they determined to attempt the ascent. After the best part of two days' struggling through the snow, they found themselves upon the top of the great ridge which, west of Cheyenne, leads up to the peak. They were in snow to their waists, and the mercury below zero. Still the peak, in its soaring grandeur, seemed as distant as ever. This led Pike to say that it seemed impossible that human foot could ever press its summit. To him it was as though the Almighty had marked "no thoroughfare" upon it rugged heights and eternal snows. As his men were without food, and dressed only in army overalls, shoes without stockings, no blankets or overcoats, he decided it folly to go farther, and ordered a return. Two days later they were in camp at Pueblo.
This was the first attempt to scale Pike's Peak, and that was as near as Pike ever came to its summit. Sixteen years later, Dr. James and others of Long's exploring party ascended the Peak in midsummer. It is a different task climbing Colorado mountains in August than in December.
In honor of this first ascent Long gave the name of James to the peak, and that is the name it bears in early government maps and reports. Pike gave it no specific name, and just when the name of James was dropped and it was christened Pike is one of the historical mysteries. I question whether it was ever legally baptized Pike. Trappers, traders and early voyagers across the plains resented the apparent slight to Pike and persisted in speaking of the mountain as Pike's Peak, in defiance of government reports and the envy of rival explorers. The name of Pike's Peak begins to appear in the literature of the prairies and mountains about the middle of the century, but it was not irrevocably christened until the Pike's Peak gold excitement, when the name was fixed to remain as long as men love to listen to stories of valor; as long as history is written.
From Pueblo Pike passed up to the soda springs at Canon. The walls of the Grand Canon prevented his following the course of the Arkansas. From here he drifted over the divide into South Park and upon the waters of the Platte. He recognized the streams as tributary to the Platte. He came into the Arkansas valley again near Buena Vista. He wandered west over routes we cannot identify until he must have found the Tomichi, a tributary of the Gunnison, and the only tune Pike touched Pacific waters. He recognized that this stream running west could not be the Eed he sought, and turned east and south. After a month of incredible exposure, hardship and suffering, he came back to his camp at Canon. His horses had been killed or disabled; his men were worn and frozen, weak and faint from exposure and starvation; his supplies exhausted ; guns injured and broken. During this terrible month of wandering in the wintry mountains the Christmas holidays and Pike's twenty-eighth birthday were passed. Christmas they spent in the heart of the mountains. They were almost starving and in a strange and wintry land. Yet this heroic man writes in his journal on that Christmas day " that food and diet were beneath the serious consideration of men who explore new countries." So often were their rations scant that "his men thought themselves fortunate with having plenty of buffalo meat without salt or any other thing whatever.'' As he was in camp celebrating this holiday he writes of the condition of his men: '' Not one person was properly clothed for winter; many without blankets, having been obliged to cut them up for socks and other articles; laying down at night upon the snow or wet ground, one side burning, the other pierced with the wind, the men making a miserable substitute for shoes and other covering out of raw buffalo hide."
At Canon camp they remained five days to recruit the strength of their men, and to make other necessary preparations for an assault against the mountains to the west, which was the barrier that they supposed hid the river they sought. When leaving Canon, the party was on foot, the horses living being in no condition to travel. The luggage was divided, giving seventy pounds to each man.
From Canon they started up Grape creek. After two or three days they entered Wet Mountain valley. Snow fell, covering the country to a depth of two to three feet. Most of the game had been driven out of the mountains, and the party was soon in a desperate condition, frost and hunger making sad havoc. On January 17 nine of the men had their feet frozen, among them the hunters. They had been two days without food, so a camp was made, and Pike and Dr. Robinson—his friend and companion— went out to hunt. The first day they killed nothing. Night came on and they thought it useless to go to camp and add to the general gloom, so took shelter under some rocks, where they remained all night, hungry and without cover or rest, as the cold was too intense to permit sleep. Next day they got eight shots at a buffalo, but failed to kill. Here, for the first time in his career, Pike weakened in courage. They had been four days without food, and the helpless men depending upon them. All these four days without sleep and tramping the deep snow, they were weak and faint, and it looked as though fate had decreed that the expedition should end in tragedy. They sought a small grove, determined to remain absent and die by themselves rather than return to camp and witness the misery of their companions. Just as they had made this resolution of despair, they discovered at a distance several buffalo. Hope at once took command, and with great exertion they crept through the snow and succeeded in killing a buffalo. At midnight they returned to camp with the food that saved the lives of the men and the exploration from tragic failure.
On January 21 two men—Thomas Dougherty and John Sparks—were so badly frozen that they could not travel. A cruel alternative was forced upon the leader. For all to remain with the poor cripples was almost equivalent to deciding that all must perish. The two were left. They gathered wood and left what meat remained with the poor men. After bidding them show their fortitude and bear up until help could be sent back, the party pushed on. A day or so later another man— Menaugh—became helpless, and he was left alone— not even the consolation of a comrade.
In all the danger and risk of exploration, be it in mountain land or polar ice, I know of nothing more terrible and desperate than the condition of these poor men left to fight the awful perils of a severe winter in the unknown mountain land. They were helpless; they could not hunt or fight; they could not retreat or go on. Their agony and suspense cannot be measured by words. I know of no parallel, unless it be in the solitary leper camps in the wintry solitudes of the Siberian forests.
On January 24 the condition of the party again became desperate—no food, and heavy snow through which they beat their slow and painful march. On this day Pike heard the first complaint that had ever fallen from the lips of his men. To illustrate the man as a soldier and a disciplinarian, I will ^ive this incident. Floundering through the snow, famished from want of food, private Brown scolded and said '' that it was more than human nature could bear to march three days without food through snows three feet deep and carry burdens only fit for horses."
Pike passed over the sedition at the moment, but that evening, after the company had broken their long fast and eaten their fill of game the doctor had been so fortunate as to kill, Pike called Brown and addressed him as follows:
" Brown, you this day presumed to make use of language that was seditious and mutinous. I then passed it over, pitying your condition and attributing your conduct to your distress. Had I reserved provisions for ourselves, whilst you were starving; had we been marching along light and at our ease, whilst you were weighed down with your burden, then you would have some pretext for your observations. But when we were equally hungry, weary, emaciated and charged with burdens which,! believe, my natural strength is less able to bear than any man's in the party, when we are always foremost in breaking the road, reconnoitering and enduring the fatigues of the chase, it was the height of ingratitude for you to indicate discontent. Your ready compliance and firm perseverance I had reason to expect, as the leader of men who are my companions in misery and danger. But your duty as a soldier called on your obedience to your officer and a prohibition of such language, which, for this time, I will pardon; but assure you, should it ever be repeated, by instant death I will revenge your ingratitude and punish your disobedience."
Two days later Pike stood upon the summit of Medano or Music Pass and looked out upon the San Luis valley. After his experience it is no marvel that it seemed to him to be " a terrestrial paradise shut in from the sight of man." They hastened down the pass, skirted the range of sand hills, crossed the valley, arriving at the Bio Grande near where Alamosa stands, passed down the river a few miles to the mouth of the Conejos, up which stream they went a short distance to the warm springs, near where Judge Mclntire now has his ranch and home. Here Pike determined to establish a camp and build a fort. As soon as his camp was located he sent a corporal and men to bring in the frozen men that had been cached in the mountains.
In due time they returned, bringing in Menaugh, the man left alone on January 27. Dougherty and Sparks were still unable to travel and could not be brought. As the corporal was leaving them they gave him a handful of bones (taken from their frozen feet) to be delivered to Pike as silent messages of appeal that he would not forget or abandon them.
Pike explored the surrounding valley and kept his men busy building the stockade.
On February 16 two Spanish scouts appeared. They went direct to Santa Fe to report the presence of American soldiers on Spanish territory.
Ten days later one hundred Spanish or Mexican soldiers present their compliments to the American captain. They bore an invitation to visit Governor Allencaster at Santa Fe. Pike was reluctant, but they were persistent in their offer of hospitality, offering money, horses, supplies, everything, but insisting upon Pike visiting the governor, giving as an excuse for insisting the clumsy fable that they had learned of the intention of the Utah Indians to surprise and capture Pike, and that they could not permit a representative of the United States to submit himself to so great danger.
In discussing the matter, the Spanish captain informed Pike that he was upon the Rio Grande and not upon the Red. Pike then pulled down his flag and realized that he was a prisoner, no matter how they might cushion the fact with offers of friendly hospitality. Pike said he would visit the governor, but that he must wait until he could bring in his invalid men. This was adjusted by leaving fifty of the Spanish soldiers to wait, while the balance of the troop escorted Pike to Santa Fe.
He is entertained by Governor Allencaster and maintains himself with becoming dignity. In fact, he never forgets that he represents the United States, and always insists that the Spanish officials recognize in him the power of his government. When presented at the little court at Santa Fe, Pike was much chagrined at the appearance of himself and men. As he described their clothes, Pike was dressed in a pair of blue trousers, moccasins, coat made out of a blanket, and a red cap made of scarlet cloth and lined with fox skins; the men in raw buffalo moccasins and leggings, breech cloths, leather coats and not a hat in the party. A native, looking upon their motley raiment, asked if the people in the United States did not wear hats and regular clothes. Under such conditions it would take a keen eye to see the hero.
After entertaining the American the governor said Pike must go into the interior until he could receive instructions from higher authorities. The leader and men were allowed their arms and, though carefully guarded, they were treated with consideration. Pike seemed rather pleased at the new orders, as it gave him an opportunity to see the Spanish territory. In case he was ill-treated, he had determined to drive off the guards, and then go into the Apache country and defy the Spaniards.
They passed through Albuquerque and El Paso and across the Rio Grande into Old Mexico to Chihuahua, south along the great table land, until May 21, when, under new instructions, they turned east and north, crossed the country to Monterey, Laredo and to San Antonio, the capital of the Spanish province of Texas. Here Pike was entertained in the most friendly manner by two courtly Spanish governors. An escort was provided, which accompanied him across Texas and delivered him to the American frontier on the Red river.
Here ended the memorable expedition of Pike to the Rocky Mountains.
Pike kept a daily record, noting the country, weather and all incidents he considered valuable or interesting. As a literary work, Pike's diary may not rank very high; but as the narration of a sincere and patriotic soldier it will ever hold a place in the esteem of those who admire the straightforward story of a simple and brave man.
As the record of Colorado's discoverer, the journal of the man who built the first house and raised the first American flag upon the domain of our present state, I commend the perusal of his book to every citizen that loves his state.
Aside from his duty as explorer, Pike was instructed to visit the Pawnee and other Indian tribes and to make treaties of peace and alliance with them. This was not always easy to accomplish.
Not long before a splendid troop of Spanish cavalry, coming from Santa Fe, had passed through this same region upon a similar errand. In anticipation of boundary disputes arising between Spain and the United States, the Spaniards made an effort to form friendly alliances with the Indians. This troop was a magnificent body of men, five hundred strong. Every soldier was mounted on a milk white steed, while the commander and his two aides rode jet black stallions. This cavalcade of Spaniards had been lavish in presents to the chiefs. They left medals and flags of the Spanish king. The Indians had been much impressed with the superb uniforms, with the glitter and the boast of the Spanish officers. They were, indeed, in strange contrast with the sorry equipments and number of the American soldiers. It required much diplomacy to induce them to surrender the Spanish emblem and receive the Stars and Stripes. Often the small troop was in imminent danger, but the wonderful coolness, courage and decision of their leader saved them. With the Indians Pike was exacting, but just. As he wrote, "His experience had taught him that if you have justice on your side and do not enforce it, the Indians will universally despise you."
The Pawnees he found very reluctant to accept his tenders of peace and protection. They had been fascinated and flattered with the attention and magnificence of the Spaniards, and they sought no alliance with any power less splendid. Like most primitive people, the Indians judged the king by his em- bassador; the sender of a message by the display of the messenger that brought it. They looked with contempt upon this American captain, who wore the dress of a hunter; who carried packs and pioneered the trail. Like the Jews of old, they were disappointed in appearances and scoffed at Pike as being the representative of a mighty power, whose embassador he claimed to be. Proud of their many hundred warriors, these Pawnees refused to treat or smoke. They gathered their warriors in battle array and threatened to sweep the little band of whites from the earth. But when they saw no fear or signs of retreat, but instead the most cool and determined preparations to meet their assaults, they changed their mind, and, under a flag of truce, offered the calumet. In writing of this event, Pike writes as though he was a little disappointed that the Pawnees did not carry out their intention to fight, "as he had arranged his small troop so as to kill at least one hundred of the Indians before they could have been exterminated."
Day by day they press up the Arkansas. At first, on either hand great rolling prairies, and then the ocean-like plains. He is amazed at the vast herds of buffalo, deer, elk and other game. A single hunter could supply a small army with food; but as a mat- ter of humanity he forbids the killing of more game than required. Were it not that some of our living citizens have seen on the same plains herds of buffalo that were limited only by the horizon's line, and had felt the earth shake beneath their myriad tread, we might question the estimate Pike gives of the game he saw.
As -Pike enters the buffalo country, he comments freely upon the barrenness and desolation. He forgets that game could not be so plentiful if the land were so desolate. So impressed was he with the worthlessness of the plains, that when, reviewing his travels across them, he said: "The plains may in time become equally celebrated with the deserts of Africa. From these immense prairies may arise one great advantage to the United States by the restricting of our population to some certain limits, and thereby insuring a continuation of the Union. Our citizens through necessity will be constrained to limit their extent on the west to the Mississippi and Missouri, leaving the prairies—incapable of cultivation —to the uncivilized aborigines."
Pike, Quincy, Webster and other of our famed ancestors were great explorers and statesmen, but as prophets they were failures. After many days the mountains burst upon the vision of the explorers. To the left a pair of twin peaks cut the horizon; to the right, a mighty single mountain stood like a sentinel upon the boundary of plain and mountain. From the first sight of the grand peak it became the pole star—the compass of the explorer. During all his wanderings over plain and mountain he was seldom out of sight of the great mountain which he called his friend and guide, and a grateful people have made it his monument—one that will carry the name of Pike down the stream of time. Seldom have peaks been so royally named; seldom have heroes been worthy so lofty a commemoration.
When Pike reached the mouth of the Fountaine, and where Pueblo now stands, he established camp; built a rude temporary stockade, and over it raised the first American flag that had ever been kissed by the radiant sun and floated upon the crystal air of the Rocky Mountains. Considering it his duty as an explorer to ascend a peak that was such a prominent feature of the landscape, Pike, with several soldiers, took an early start one morning from his Pueblo camp, so that he might reach and climb the peak and return to camp in reasonable time. To their infinite surprise, the second day had well near passed before they came to the south end of Cheyenne Mountain. In this incident you will find the germ of that ancient story that is told to and about every tenderfoot that has visited this region since the days of Pike. It was near the first of December, and a winter of deep snow and intense cold. They had no blankets and little food, but they determined to attempt the ascent. After the best part of two days' struggling through the snow, they found themselves upon the top of the great ridge which, west of Cheyenne, leads up to the peak. They were in snow to their waists, and the mercury below zero. Still the peak, in its soaring grandeur, seemed as distant as ever. This led Pike to say that it seemed impossible that human foot could ever press its summit. To him it was as though the Almighty had marked "no thoroughfare" upon it rugged heights and eternal snows. As his men were without food, and dressed only in army overalls, shoes without stockings, no blankets or overcoats, he decided it folly to go farther, and ordered a return. Two days later they were in camp at Pueblo.
This was the first attempt to scale Pike's Peak, and that was as near as Pike ever came to its summit. Sixteen years later, Dr. James and others of Long's exploring party ascended the Peak in midsummer. It is a different task climbing Colorado mountains in August than in December.
In honor of this first ascent Long gave the name of James to the peak, and that is the name it bears in early government maps and reports. Pike gave it no specific name, and just when the name of James was dropped and it was christened Pike is one of the historical mysteries. I question whether it was ever legally baptized Pike. Trappers, traders and early voyagers across the plains resented the apparent slight to Pike and persisted in speaking of the mountain as Pike's Peak, in defiance of government reports and the envy of rival explorers. The name of Pike's Peak begins to appear in the literature of the prairies and mountains about the middle of the century, but it was not irrevocably christened until the Pike's Peak gold excitement, when the name was fixed to remain as long as men love to listen to stories of valor; as long as history is written.
From Pueblo Pike passed up to the soda springs at Canon. The walls of the Grand Canon prevented his following the course of the Arkansas. From here he drifted over the divide into South Park and upon the waters of the Platte. He recognized the streams as tributary to the Platte. He came into the Arkansas valley again near Buena Vista. He wandered west over routes we cannot identify until he must have found the Tomichi, a tributary of the Gunnison, and the only tune Pike touched Pacific waters. He recognized that this stream running west could not be the Eed he sought, and turned east and south. After a month of incredible exposure, hardship and suffering, he came back to his camp at Canon. His horses had been killed or disabled; his men were worn and frozen, weak and faint from exposure and starvation; his supplies exhausted ; guns injured and broken. During this terrible month of wandering in the wintry mountains the Christmas holidays and Pike's twenty-eighth birthday were passed. Christmas they spent in the heart of the mountains. They were almost starving and in a strange and wintry land. Yet this heroic man writes in his journal on that Christmas day " that food and diet were beneath the serious consideration of men who explore new countries." So often were their rations scant that "his men thought themselves fortunate with having plenty of buffalo meat without salt or any other thing whatever.'' As he was in camp celebrating this holiday he writes of the condition of his men: '' Not one person was properly clothed for winter; many without blankets, having been obliged to cut them up for socks and other articles; laying down at night upon the snow or wet ground, one side burning, the other pierced with the wind, the men making a miserable substitute for shoes and other covering out of raw buffalo hide."
At Canon camp they remained five days to recruit the strength of their men, and to make other necessary preparations for an assault against the mountains to the west, which was the barrier that they supposed hid the river they sought. When leaving Canon, the party was on foot, the horses living being in no condition to travel. The luggage was divided, giving seventy pounds to each man.
From Canon they started up Grape creek. After two or three days they entered Wet Mountain valley. Snow fell, covering the country to a depth of two to three feet. Most of the game had been driven out of the mountains, and the party was soon in a desperate condition, frost and hunger making sad havoc. On January 17 nine of the men had their feet frozen, among them the hunters. They had been two days without food, so a camp was made, and Pike and Dr. Robinson—his friend and companion— went out to hunt. The first day they killed nothing. Night came on and they thought it useless to go to camp and add to the general gloom, so took shelter under some rocks, where they remained all night, hungry and without cover or rest, as the cold was too intense to permit sleep. Next day they got eight shots at a buffalo, but failed to kill. Here, for the first time in his career, Pike weakened in courage. They had been four days without food, and the helpless men depending upon them. All these four days without sleep and tramping the deep snow, they were weak and faint, and it looked as though fate had decreed that the expedition should end in tragedy. They sought a small grove, determined to remain absent and die by themselves rather than return to camp and witness the misery of their companions. Just as they had made this resolution of despair, they discovered at a distance several buffalo. Hope at once took command, and with great exertion they crept through the snow and succeeded in killing a buffalo. At midnight they returned to camp with the food that saved the lives of the men and the exploration from tragic failure.
On January 21 two men—Thomas Dougherty and John Sparks—were so badly frozen that they could not travel. A cruel alternative was forced upon the leader. For all to remain with the poor cripples was almost equivalent to deciding that all must perish. The two were left. They gathered wood and left what meat remained with the poor men. After bidding them show their fortitude and bear up until help could be sent back, the party pushed on. A day or so later another man— Menaugh—became helpless, and he was left alone— not even the consolation of a comrade.
In all the danger and risk of exploration, be it in mountain land or polar ice, I know of nothing more terrible and desperate than the condition of these poor men left to fight the awful perils of a severe winter in the unknown mountain land. They were helpless; they could not hunt or fight; they could not retreat or go on. Their agony and suspense cannot be measured by words. I know of no parallel, unless it be in the solitary leper camps in the wintry solitudes of the Siberian forests.
On January 24 the condition of the party again became desperate—no food, and heavy snow through which they beat their slow and painful march. On this day Pike heard the first complaint that had ever fallen from the lips of his men. To illustrate the man as a soldier and a disciplinarian, I will ^ive this incident. Floundering through the snow, famished from want of food, private Brown scolded and said '' that it was more than human nature could bear to march three days without food through snows three feet deep and carry burdens only fit for horses."
Pike passed over the sedition at the moment, but that evening, after the company had broken their long fast and eaten their fill of game the doctor had been so fortunate as to kill, Pike called Brown and addressed him as follows:
" Brown, you this day presumed to make use of language that was seditious and mutinous. I then passed it over, pitying your condition and attributing your conduct to your distress. Had I reserved provisions for ourselves, whilst you were starving; had we been marching along light and at our ease, whilst you were weighed down with your burden, then you would have some pretext for your observations. But when we were equally hungry, weary, emaciated and charged with burdens which,! believe, my natural strength is less able to bear than any man's in the party, when we are always foremost in breaking the road, reconnoitering and enduring the fatigues of the chase, it was the height of ingratitude for you to indicate discontent. Your ready compliance and firm perseverance I had reason to expect, as the leader of men who are my companions in misery and danger. But your duty as a soldier called on your obedience to your officer and a prohibition of such language, which, for this time, I will pardon; but assure you, should it ever be repeated, by instant death I will revenge your ingratitude and punish your disobedience."
Two days later Pike stood upon the summit of Medano or Music Pass and looked out upon the San Luis valley. After his experience it is no marvel that it seemed to him to be " a terrestrial paradise shut in from the sight of man." They hastened down the pass, skirted the range of sand hills, crossed the valley, arriving at the Bio Grande near where Alamosa stands, passed down the river a few miles to the mouth of the Conejos, up which stream they went a short distance to the warm springs, near where Judge Mclntire now has his ranch and home. Here Pike determined to establish a camp and build a fort. As soon as his camp was located he sent a corporal and men to bring in the frozen men that had been cached in the mountains.
In due time they returned, bringing in Menaugh, the man left alone on January 27. Dougherty and Sparks were still unable to travel and could not be brought. As the corporal was leaving them they gave him a handful of bones (taken from their frozen feet) to be delivered to Pike as silent messages of appeal that he would not forget or abandon them.
Pike explored the surrounding valley and kept his men busy building the stockade.
On February 16 two Spanish scouts appeared. They went direct to Santa Fe to report the presence of American soldiers on Spanish territory.
Ten days later one hundred Spanish or Mexican soldiers present their compliments to the American captain. They bore an invitation to visit Governor Allencaster at Santa Fe. Pike was reluctant, but they were persistent in their offer of hospitality, offering money, horses, supplies, everything, but insisting upon Pike visiting the governor, giving as an excuse for insisting the clumsy fable that they had learned of the intention of the Utah Indians to surprise and capture Pike, and that they could not permit a representative of the United States to submit himself to so great danger.
In discussing the matter, the Spanish captain informed Pike that he was upon the Rio Grande and not upon the Red. Pike then pulled down his flag and realized that he was a prisoner, no matter how they might cushion the fact with offers of friendly hospitality. Pike said he would visit the governor, but that he must wait until he could bring in his invalid men. This was adjusted by leaving fifty of the Spanish soldiers to wait, while the balance of the troop escorted Pike to Santa Fe.
He is entertained by Governor Allencaster and maintains himself with becoming dignity. In fact, he never forgets that he represents the United States, and always insists that the Spanish officials recognize in him the power of his government. When presented at the little court at Santa Fe, Pike was much chagrined at the appearance of himself and men. As he described their clothes, Pike was dressed in a pair of blue trousers, moccasins, coat made out of a blanket, and a red cap made of scarlet cloth and lined with fox skins; the men in raw buffalo moccasins and leggings, breech cloths, leather coats and not a hat in the party. A native, looking upon their motley raiment, asked if the people in the United States did not wear hats and regular clothes. Under such conditions it would take a keen eye to see the hero.
After entertaining the American the governor said Pike must go into the interior until he could receive instructions from higher authorities. The leader and men were allowed their arms and, though carefully guarded, they were treated with consideration. Pike seemed rather pleased at the new orders, as it gave him an opportunity to see the Spanish territory. In case he was ill-treated, he had determined to drive off the guards, and then go into the Apache country and defy the Spaniards.
They passed through Albuquerque and El Paso and across the Rio Grande into Old Mexico to Chihuahua, south along the great table land, until May 21, when, under new instructions, they turned east and north, crossed the country to Monterey, Laredo and to San Antonio, the capital of the Spanish province of Texas. Here Pike was entertained in the most friendly manner by two courtly Spanish governors. An escort was provided, which accompanied him across Texas and delivered him to the American frontier on the Red river.
Here ended the memorable expedition of Pike to the Rocky Mountains.
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