1 03 1 72
THE AMERICAN STORY IN SPOONS
With
An Historical Sketch of the Spoon
Through the Ages
By
ALBERT STUTZENBERGER
A BOOKMASTER BOOK
Published at
TIIE SPBINGDAr-E SPRINGS
Copyright, 1953, by
Albert Stutxeriberger
Order direct from
the author
ALBERT STUTZENBERCEH
R. #1, Box 517,
K, KY.
Printed by CJibhs-Imnaii Co., Ix>uisviHt% K>
Oourtesy of Gr^neral Motors
IPX.A.TK 1
THE CORONATION OR ANOINTING SPOON
To
WILLIAM MARSHALL BULLITT
friend of long standing, a true American,
who has fought long and valiantly to
preserve inviolate his beloved Oxmoor *
whore I was horn.
FOREWORD
It seems like a monstrous bit of conceit to say that this book is entirely
different from any other, yet the statement, while a global contract, is not
such an asinine exaggeration as it sounds on the surface. Nor is it a
rebellious outcry against the specious reasoning which claims there is
nothing newly different under the sun, It simply means that this is the
first book devoted exclusively to a lowly domestic utensil, the spoon, which
has been used by man, from the cradle to the grave, three times daily,
for every sort of soup or sop, from the very rude beginnings of human
destiny in cave-hideouts down through the ages to the present glittering
modes of civilization. Now there have been books containing meager
paragraphs or at most a chapter on the subject of the spoon, sandwiched
between other more widely discussed topics, in volumes dealing ponder-
ously with every conceivable object wrought out of silver, but nothing
has ever been written with a direct floodlight emphasis on the spoon at
the apogee of its glory, that is, in that era when American makers of silver
were employing all their ingenuity to create lovely pieces of art, as
souvenirs, which would bring before our people visual representations of
the precious heritage that was theirs by birthright or adoption.
This book attempts to be more than just another diy-as-dust manual,
True, while it has been pioneered primarily for that avid-eyed person,
the collector, scouting around in old shops his idea of seventh heaven-
for another item to stockpile, it is intended equally as well for the general
reader, that very commendable citizen who holds an abiding curiosity in
and a strong affection for the historical characters, events, and places
that have gone toward making our country, about all other nations, the
"land of the free and the home of the brave." In this restricted sense
the author does feel justified in saying categorically that his book, being
thus an experimental entry into an untrodden field, is on a new and
entirely different tack,
The essential viewpoint espoused by the author is, that every American
souvenir spoon is a "talking spoon," and has a story behind it, one
worth telling and one worth knowing. As it stands, this volume is by no
means the complete record of our past, since that necessarily cannot be
contained in a single piece of writing, but enough of the facets' are showing
in the narration to indicate the richness' and multiplicity of the ores from
which our nation is compounded, Delving deep into the mines of his-
torical research has been a graciously-rewarding process. Some of the
factual ores unearthed may be little more than dross, while others brought
to light have contained much matter of sterling substance.
The essay-stories explaining the various souvenir spoons are not ar-
ranged according to any chronological sequence, because to do so would
mislead the reader into expecting something like the general run of textbook
histories, and he would be disappointed in finding some one or other
subject missing. The arrangement simply follows a pattern deemed most
expedient for exhibiting the individual spoons to their best advantage,
and then allowing the "spoonographies" or sketches to fit in like pieces
of a jig-saw puzzle. The development of our country has proceeded
along similar lines. Moreover, such topics as Grand Canyon (No. 1),
Kentucky Thoroughbred (No. 12), Tampa Strawberries (No. 72), and
Rocky Ford Melons (No. 75) would dovetail into no historical sequence.
Those spoons accompanying the introductory sketch, however, are placed
as approximately correct as possible in chronological order.
Experts will doubtless find errors here and there in the presentation
of the facts involved; the author will humbly plead guilty to the charge
as readily as the famous Doctor Johnson when a lady once accosted him
about some erroneous definitions in his dictionary: he admitted everything,
attributing all mistakes to "ignorance, madam, sheer ignorance."
Let not the prospector be dismayed if he discovers that certain spoons
are not represented here: granted time and sufficient encouragement for
the effort, the hopes for a continuance of this endeavor will materialize,
In regard to the general type of spoon used by many small towns, the
collector is apt to find some in his possession representing one place in
the bowl, whereas the one used in this volume pictures a scene in another
locality. It is well to remember that many of such spoons were selected
from catalogs, and there occurred considerable duplication, the same
spoon serving for many places. One spoon of this type is purposely in-
cluded for illustration, namely, the one displaying Union Station (No. 49),
Hot Springs Hostelry (No. 50), and Ramona's Wedding Place (No. 51),
to show how widely a spoon can travel. This seems to have been a very
popular spoon, having turned up for at least a half-dozen other communities.
Then again, criticism might justifiably be leveled at the reading matter
in the form of this question: "Why was much more space allotted to the
discussion of the subject found on one spoon than to that on another?"
In answering that, the author can only ask for a little indulgence. The
Actors' Fund Fair spoon is a typical example of this liberty. His defense
for making a prolonged study of these once-famous but now almost-for-
gotten actors and actresses rests with this nai've confession: his research
on the American theatre in the heyday of its greatest glory proved to be
too utterly fascinating, too vitally refreshing, and too sadly neglected by
others to be passed over lightly by him. The old American sense of "fair
play" cried out for justice, that is, for letting a little more light beam in
on these once-dear faces of people who brought pleasure in bygone days
to thousands of seekers after good entertainment.
Since there were previously no names whatsoever for any of these
spoons, such as are indicated for regular sets of tableware silver, a nomen-
clature was adopted to accord with the most salient feature of the spoon.
As a rule, this was usually taken from the handle, though common sense
sometimes dictated that it be taken from the bowl. Notable people pic-
tured anywhere on the spoon were given preference to other features.
$ * * *
The names of those persons who have assisted, by and large, in the
preparation of this work are multiple. A host of authorities was consulted
for the discussion of the various essays. A list of their books appears in
the bibliography after the reading matter. Footnotes were generally
avoided, but wherever credit was thought due in connection with quoted
material, mention of the author was made within the written page, thus
furnishing to the exacting reader, if he is zealous enough, a sufficient key
to the arcana of sources listed in the bibliography.
Above all, the author wishes to make grateful acknowledgment to those
"dear hearts and gentle people'' with whom he came into contact, either
personally or by correspondence, for the invaluable assistance they so
unstintingly gave to help make THE AMERICAN STORY IN SPOONS
a living reality. Their names are as follows:
Mr. A. V. Ansel of the Jewelers' Circular Keystone Co., New York City; Miss
Catharine S. Thayer, Robbins Company, Attleboro, Mass.; Miss Ann Holbrook, The
Gorham Company, Providence, R. L; Mr. E. P. Hogan, Assistant Advertising Manager,
International Silver Co., Meriden, Conn.; Mr. Ralph C. Potter, Advertising Depart-
ment, Alvin Corporation, Providence, R. L; Miss Emily McGrath, Acting Secretary,
Sterling Silversmiths Guild of America, New York City; Mr. H. H. Harrison, The
Williams Bros. Silver Co., Glastonbury, Conn.; Mrs. W. H. Marquess, III, Advertising
Manager, Samuel Kirk & Son, Inc., Baltimore, Md.; Mr. A. F. S wanton, The Watson
Company, Attleboro, Mass.; Mr. A. A. Gordon, Paye & Baker Mfg. Co., North Attle-
boro, Mass.; Mr. William T. Hurley, Jr., Advertising Manager, Reed & Barton, Taunton,
Mass.; Mr. Harry E. Stahl, Dept. of Public Relations, General Motors Corporation,
Detroit; Mr. Jerome Kempler, Kudner Agency, Inc., New York City; Mr. Frank B.
Marshall, Jr., Advertising Manager, Samuel Kirk & Son, Inc., Baltimore, Md.; Mr.
W. J. F., Tiffany & Co., New York City; Shreve & Co., San Francisco, CaL; Miss
Gwendolen A. Haste, Advertising Dept., General Foods Corporation, New York City;
Mr. C. Sauer, Lange Jewelry Co., Cincinnati, Ohio; Mr. Robert Campbell, Secretary
of the Actors' Fund of America, New York City; Mr. E. B. Bedford, Publicity Manager,
Oneida Ltd., Oneida, N. Y.; Mr. Herbert H. Hewitt, Chief of Reference Dept., Chicago
Public Library; Miss Helen Louis, Flesh Public Library, Piqua, Ohio; Miss Ethel L,
Hutchins, Reference Dept., Public Library of Cincinnati; Carnegie-Lawther Library,
Red Wing, Minnesota; Miss Johnnie Elizabeth Riner, Public Library of Jefferson City,
Missouri; Mr. Paul North Rice, Chief of the Reference Dept., New York Public
Library; Mrs. Emma W. MacMillan, Librarian, Public Library, Wilmington, N. C.;
Mrs. J. W. Simmons, Orange Chamber of Commerce, Orange, Texas; Mrs. Gordorelle
Williams, Librarian, Hot Springs, Arkansas; Mr. James W. Tufts, Pinehurst, N. C.;
Mrs. Louella B. Albee, Nokomis, Fla.; Miss Marget Tompkins, Assistant Western
History Dept., Denver Public Library; Mrs. Mildred N. Freeman, Lending Dept.,
Cincinnati Public* Library; Mrs. Anna Neal Muller, Librarian, Free Public Library,
Topeka, Kansas; Miss Helen M. McFarland, Librarian, Kansas State Historical Society,
Topeka, Kansas; Miss Pauline D. Weedon, Reference Dept., Tampa Public Library;
Miss Helga H. Eason, Reference Librarian, Miami Public Library; Mrs. Alys Freeze,
First Assistant Western History Dept, Denver Public Library; Miss Evelyn R. Dale,
Fiison Club, Louisville, Ky.; the late Mr. Howland Dudley, Harvard, Mass.; Mrs.
Alyse D. Westbrook, Hayward High School, Hayward, California; Mr. A. T. White,
Manager, Chamber of Commerce, Southern Pines, N. C.; Miss Margaret Lucille Stull,
Reference Librarian, Des Moines Public Library; Miss Flora Hartsook, Assistant Li-
brarian, Public Library, Marion, Indiana; Mrs. Elizabeth McCrory, Louisville, Ky.;
Misses Edna Grauman, Hattie Burrell, Nanette Crutcher, Ruth Rinehart, Amy Lutes,
Helen Frantz, and Mrs. Alene Christine, Louisville Public Library; Senator Paul H.
Douglas, of Illinois; Mr. B. P. C. Bridgewater, Secretary, British Museum, London,
England; and Mr. Robert A. K. Stevenson, Keeper, National Museum of Antiquities
of Scotland, Edinburgh, Scotland.
For permission to use copyrighted materials grateful acknowledgment is hereby
made to:
The American Home, for line drawings of two monkey spoons.
Houghton Mifflin Co., for the lines of poetry from "The Children's Hour," "Court-
ship of Miles Standish," "Wreck of the Hesperus," and "Paul Revere's Ride," by
Longfellow; "The Sandpiper" and "Good-By, Sweet Day," by Celia Thaxter; "Old
Ironsides," by Holmes; "Song of the Kansas Emigrant," by Whittier; and "The New
Colossus," by Emma Lazarus.
Charles Scribner's Sons, for selected lines of poetry from "The Jamestown Cele-
bration," from Poems, by John R. Thompson.
The Macmillan Co., for selected lines of poetry from "Ode to the North-East
Wind," by Charles Kingsley; and "Mother and Son," by Dinah Mulock Craik.
Doubleday & Co., Inc., for selected lines from "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," in
Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman.
Harcourt, Brace & Co., for brief quotations from Main Currents in American
Thought, by Vernon Louis Parrington.
Brandt & Brandt, for quotation from "The Devil and Daniel Webster" from
Selected Works of Stephen Vincent Benet, published by Rinehart & Co., Inc., copy-
right, 1936, by Stephen Vincent Benet.
E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc., for quotations from The World of Washington Irving,
by Van Wyck Brooks, and copyright, 1944, by Van Wyck Brooks; and also from
The Alamo, by John Myers Myers, and copyright, 1948, by John Myers Myers.
The Caxton Printers, Ltd., Caldwell, Idaho, for quoted material from Pony Trails
in Wyoming, by John K. Rollinson, published by The Caxton Printers, Ltd.
Mrs. Michelle Ticknor Furlow, for the stanzas from "The Sword in the Sea," by
Francis O. Ticknor.
S. J. Bloch Publishing Co., Detroit, Michigan, for quoted material from Doctor
and I, by Louella B. Albee.
Above all, I owe a debt of gratitude to the trustees, and also to Mr. LI. Davies,
agent, of the Jackson Estates, Cardiff, Glamorganshire, Wales, for their kind per-
mission in allowing me to use drawings and illustrations of many rare spoons from
the private collection of the late Sir Charles James Jackson, as shown in his Illustrated
History of English Plate, and here accompanying my introductory chapter.
The line drawings in this book were made by Miss Henrietta Baker, Middletown,
Ky.; the photographs, by Mr. and Mrs. Richard G. Potter, Mrs. Ruth Howard, and
Mr. Herbert Leopold, all of Louisville, Ky.
LIST OF SPOONS ILLUSTRATED
I Historical Types of Spoons
PLATE
1 CORONATION OR ANOINTING SPOON
2 CORONATION SCENE IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
3 EGYPTIAN SPOONS
a. Goat
b. Fish
c. Lotus Bud
d. Woman with Cow's Ears
e. Crux Ansata
4 GREEK AND ROMAN SPOONS
a. Goat's Foot
b. Vitruvian Scroll
c. Fiddle Pattern
5 EARLY ENGLISH SPOONS
a. Anglo-Saxon
b. Coronation (obverse and reverse)
6 MEDIEVAL SPOONS
a. Crusader (two types)
b. Scottish
7 SPOONS ca. 1350-1500
a. Acorn Knop
b. French Diamond Point
c. Maiden Head
d. German Fruitlet
8 SPOONS ca. 1500-1650
a. Writhen Knop
b. Owl Knop
c. Scallop Shell Knop
9 APOSTLE SPOONS (from the Lambert Set)
a. Saint James the Less
b. Saint Matthew
c. Saint Andrew
d. The Master
10 DUTCH APOSTLE SPOON
a. Saint Paul
11 SPOONS WITH UNUSUAL HANDLES
a. Disk and Keel
b. Folding Pocket-Spoon
c. Puritan Spoon
PLATE
12 YORKSHIRE FUNERAL SPOON
a. Live to Die
b. Die to Live
13 SPOONS ca. 1660-1760
a. Trifid (obverse)
b. Trifid (reverse)
c. Rat Tail (reverse)
d. Double Drop
14 SPOONS ca. 1748-1820
a. Onslow
b. Feather Edged
c. Fiddle Pattern
15 ORNAMENTAL SPOONS
a. Persian
b. Spanish
16 AMERICAN SPOONS ca. 1815-1830
a. Keepsake Spoon (obverse)
b. Keepsake Spoon (reverse)
c. Friendship
17 MONKEY SPOONS
a. Girl and Cow
b. Harbor Scene
c. Funeral Memento
d. Man on Horseback
II American Souvenir Spoons
PLATE NO.
18 1 GRAND CANYON
19 2 YELLOWSTONE ELK-AND-BEAR
20 3 FORT DEARBORN MASSACRE
4 CENTURY OF PROGRESS
5 YELLOWSTONE BEAR RAMPANT
6 BLACK PARTRIDGE
21 7 MOLLY PITCHER
8 CADILLAC
9 LONGFELLOW
10 CHIEF SEATTLE
22 11 PINEHURST RETRIEVER
12 KENTUCKY THOROUGHBRED
13 MAINE SQUIRREL
23 14 WHAT CHEER ROCK
15a ACTORS' FUND FAIR (obverse)
16 SARATOGA SPRINGS
PLATE NO.
24 17 OSCEOLA
18 YOSEMITE BEAR
19 STAGE COACH
15b ACTORS' FUND FAIR (reverse)
25 20 EXCELSIOR SPRINGS
21 HUDSON AND FULTON
22 LOTTA'S FOUNTAIN
23 BERTHA PALMER STATUETTE
26 24 YOSEMITE LOVERS
25 RIP VAN WINKLE
26 OLD IRONSIDES
27 GENERAL GRANT
27 28 GRANT'S TOMB
29 STEAMER ROBERT FULTON
30 LONGFELLOW'S HOME
31 GETTYSBURG BATTLEFIELD
28 32 IRISH BRIGADE
33 CAVES OF LA JOLLA
34 FORT DEARBORN LIGHTHOUSE
35 PIQUA
29 36 MILWAUKEE INDIAN
37 PIKE'S PEAK
38 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
39 HISTORIC ST. PAUL
30 40 SERGEANT JASPER
41 GEORGE D. PRENTICE
42 SMITH AND POCAHONTAS
43 MARDI GRAS
31 44 STATUE OF LIBERTY
45 HOT SPRINGS
46 SALEM WITCH
47 WASHINGTON'S HATCHET
32 48 ROYAL GORGE
49 UNION STATION
50 HOT SPRINGS HOSTELRY
51 RAMONA'S WEDDING PLACE
33 52 PEORIA CORN-AND-JUICE
53 VENICE ALLIGATOR
54 SEQUOYAH
55 SARASOTA ALLIGATOR
34 56 ORANGE-O'-TEXAS
57 MAID AND CANOE
58 HISTORIC SAVANNAH
59 BROOKLYN BRIDGE
PLATE NO.
35 60 LEWIS CASS
61 ALVARADO
62 LAST SACRIFICE
63 WASHINGTON'S TOMB
36 64 WASHINGTON'S BUST
65 SOAPY SMITH
66 BALANCED ROCK
67 LOG CABIN
37 68 WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS
69 CALVERT AND KEY
70 GARDEN OF THE GODS
71 RED WING
38 72 TAMPA STRAWBERRIES
73 LOS ANGELES GRAPES
74 JACKSONVILLE ORANGES
75 ROCKY FORD MELONS
39 76 BIRTHPLACE OF RUFUS CHOATE
77a MILES STANDISH (fruit bowl)
77b MILES STANDISH (oval bowl)
78 KNICKERBOCKER
40 79 GOVERNOR ALTGELD
80 DANIEL BOONE
81 PATRICK HENRY
82 SHAKESPEARE
41 83 HEARTS OF OAK
84 ALAMO
85 PRISCILLA
86 ANNEKE JANSE
42 87 ALABAMA BLUE SEAL
88 PHOENIX GIRL
89 GEORGE AND MARTHA
90 BERTHA PALMER VIGNETTE
43 91 JOHN ALDEN AND PRISCILLA
92 PLYMOUTH COURTSHIP
93 BEEHIVE
94 ANGEL MORONI
44 95 TEMPLE AND TABERNACLE
96 NINETY SIX
97 JEFFERSON CITY
98 LAWRENCE WINDMILL
45 99 CHATTANOOGA VALLEY
100 FORT WORTH
101 CHICAGO BLOCKHOUSE
102 JUMBO
PLATE INTO.
46 1O3 LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN
104 MOUNT VERNON
105 MARION GATEWAY
106 EARLY MIAMI
47 107 CHAMPLAIN
108 SALT LAKE DAISIES
109 TWO SALMON
HO SANTA MARIA
48 111 MOUNT HOOD
112 LURAY CAVERNS
113 ISLES OF SHOALS
114 HISTORIC WILMINGTON
49 115 WEBSTER'S BIRTHPLACE
116 SOUTHERN PINES
117 GOLDEN GATE BEAR
118 PEORIA COURTHOUSE
50 119 UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO
120 JOHN MARSH BEAR
121 ROGER WILLIAMS
122 WRECK OF THE HESPERUS
51 123 PRESCOTT WINDLASS
124 HORSE-IN-HORSESHOE
125 CHICAGO KATE
126 NAVAHO SYMBOLS
52 127 SIR WALTER SCOTT
128 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE
129 NANTUCKET WINDMILL
130 PLYMOUTH ROCK
53 131 ALAMO FACADE
132 HAWKEYE
133 HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION
134 WILLIAM PITT
54 135 OLD FAITHFUL
136 THE VOYAGER
137 LONGFELLOW'S BIRTHPLACE
138 WASHINGTON'S MANSION
55 139 KAMEHAMEHA
140 CHEYENNE BRONCO BUSTER
141 DAVY CROCKETT
142 DYNAMITE
56 143 LANDFALL OF COLUMBUS
144 MINNESOTA PIONEER
145 NEW MEXICO INDIANS
146 FORT PITT
PLATO NO.
57 147 RETURN OF COLUMBUS
148 CINCINNATI FOUNTAIN
149 TYLER DAVIDSON FOUNTAIN
150 HOUSTON
58 Spoons from an early Robbins Company catalogue
59 A page from a Watson Company catalogue showing various trade-
marks used by the company
60 A page from the Shreve Company catalogue of 1910
61 Souvenir teaspoons from the Paye and Baker catalogue of 1906
62 State, tea, and coffee spoons from the Paye and Baker catalogue
of 1909
63 Fruit and flower spoons from the Robbins Company catalogue of
of 1911
Introducing
THE SPOON
The old nursery rhyme beginning "Hey-dey-diddle" and winding up
with this confession, "The dish ran away with the spoon," expresses by
inference the romantic nature of the spoon. The pie-faced, homely dish
obviously passed up the keen-edged knife and the sharp-pointed fork,
both common-sense, hard-working worthies, to grow spoony and elope
with the more handsome, likeable spoon.
The dish, thus personified, is not unusual in showing an honest prefer-
ence for the spoon, A great many people, passing up knives and forks,
have gone about collecting and treasuring a wide variety of spoons. Evi-
dence that many fine folk have a flair for this particular utensil may be
deduced from the fact that, if any one piece is missing from an old set
of family silver, it is sure to be a spoon. Four centuries ago Robert
William Chapman naively admitted: "When I dine out and find my soup
embellished by a notable Spoon, as may often happen to those who dine
in Colleges and Inns of Court, my Manners are seldom proof against
Temptation." Boswell records Doctor Samuel Johnson's pronouncement
on a fellow of lax principles: "If he does really think that there is no
distinction between virtue and vice, why, sir, when he leaves our house,
let us count our spoons."
The temptation to purloin spoons gradually led people to an associated
idea, that the devil often appeared to certain persons in the guise of a
shapely spoon, and this article, accordingly, had to be long and ungainly
before one could hope to keep the devil at a safely respectable distance.
Chaucer, in The Squires Tale, declares of a weak-willed character: "There-
fore bihoveth hire a ful long spoon." Shakespeare makes mention of this
superstition twice. In The Tempest-
Mercy, Mercy, this is a devil.
I will leave him; I have no long spoon.
And in the Comedy of Errors, he repeats the idea as it usually appeared
in the old proverb-
Bespeak a long spoon. Why, Dromio?
Marry, he must have a long spoon
that must eat with the devil.
John Heyward, an Elizabethan dramatist slightly earlier than Shake-
speare, also repeats this old adage in one of his plays.
Shelley pictures the devil and the stealer of spoons as identical crea-
tures
1
THE ANOINTING SPOON THAT FOUNDED
A CAR MAKERS' CRAFT
A hush descends on the great cathedral on this glad day in the seven-
teenth century.
A shaft of sunlight dances on the rich silver spoon as the prelate dips
his fingers into the precious oil it bears. He is preparing to anoint a new
king of England.
This is the great ceremony of coronation, blazing with ritual handed
down from Biblical times. And it is fitting that an important part of it
be the magnificent silver spoon, created with painstaking care by the best
craftsmen in the realm . . .
These anointing or coronation spoons were among the earliest examples
of the silversmith's art in pieces of this kind.
In the old days, silverware had very limited uses since, as you learn
in history, even royalty used their hands while eating. But when spoons,
forks, and knives began coming into their own, the silversmith rated
high as an artist seldom hurrying, always working to achieve perfection
in line and balance.
Today, you can see many examples of the silversmith's work right in
your own home in mother's best dinner-table setting, for example. You
may also see it, surprisingly enough, right in the family car . . .
Reprinted from an advertisement of GENERAL MOTORS
CORPORATION and used through their courteous permission.
The Devil, I safely can aver,
Has neither hoof, nor tail, nor sting;
Nor is he as some sages swear,
A spirit, neither here nor there,
In nothingyet in everything.
He is what we are; for sometimes
The Devil is a gentleman;
At others a bard bartering rhymes
For sack; a statesman spinning crimes;
A swindler, living as he can;
A thief, who cometh in the night,
With whole boots and net pantaloons,
Like some one whom it were not right
To mention or the luckless wight
From whom he steals nine silver spoons.
Spoons have always made pleasing gifts. The giving of spoons by
godparents to children at christenings appears to have been a well-estab-
lished custom already under the Tudor and early Stuart kings. In one
scene of Henry VIII, Shakespeare has the king urging Cranmer, Archbishop
of Canterbury, to be the godfather of the infant Elizabeth. The arch-
bishop declines on the grounds that he is unworthy of such a great honor,
being only a "poor and humble subject," without the blood of royalty in
his veins. Whereupon the king chided him on his parsimoniousness : "Come,
come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons."
The story is told that Shakespeare himself once stood godfather to
one of Ben Jonson's children. After the christening he appeared to be
in such a meditative mood that Jonson inquired for the cause. "I have
been considering a great while," he replied, "what would be the fittest
gift to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolved it at last." "I prithee
what?" asked Ben. "F faith, Ben, I'll give him a dozen good latten spoons,"
rejoined Shakespeare, "and thou shalt translate them." Lowes astutely
asserts that this witticism "cut two ways: first, a dig at the erudition of
the father, by the play upon the word latten (Latin); and lastly, the gift
of a set of tinned-iron spoons, which were used by the poorer classes,
instead of a set of Apostle spoons such as Shakespeare might be expected
to give."
The spoon was one of the earliest inventions of man. Being a kind
of ladle, it was always a prime necessity for conveying liquids or hot
foods to the mouth. A French courtier, De la Borde, truthfully remarked
that "spoons are old, I will not say, as the world but certainly as soup."
Probably the earliest dipper used by cavemen of the Stone Age was the
palm of the hand. With the discovery of fire and the heating of food, a
better receptacle than the hand was needed. It is only natural that shells
Goat's Foot
Vitruvian Scroll
PLATE 4
GREEK AND ROMAN SPOONS
Fiddle Pattern
MJLUIUU ue tne reaaiest suDstitute, tor they lay accessible in all sizes and
shapes along river banks and ocean beaches. Bivalve mollusks, like the
cockle, oyster, and clam, supplied the most natural form of spoons. In-
deed, the Greek word for spoon meant the same as valve, wedge, or shell.
The cylindrical handle with knobby ends found in early Greek spoons
suggests a carved wooden stick or the leg-bone of an animal attached
to one end of a shell to form a dipper useful in stirring hot foods. The
English word for spoon is derived from the Anglo-Saxon spon, meaning a
chip of wood, and has cognate forms in Dutch, Danish, Swedish, and
German. In Northern Europe the first spoons were carved from wood.
Later specimens were devised from the horns of cattle, ivory tusks, bronze,
and eventually from silver and gold.
The earliest mention of spoons made from precious metals occurs in
the Book of Exodus, when Moses is commanded to make dishes and spoons
of pure gold for the Tabernacle. When the altar was dedicated and
anointed by the heads of the twelve tribes of Israel, we are told in Num-
bers VII, 84-86, that "twelve chargers of silver, twelve silver bowls, [and]
twelve spoons of gold" were used. We learn further: "The golden spoons
were twelve, full of incense, weighing ten shekels apiece ... all the gold
of the spoons was an hundred and twenty shekels/' As a shekel of gold
is estimated at $10.88 in modern money, it would mean that these spoons
were worth more than thirteen hundred dollars. Fortunately we are
given the name of the goldsmith who made the spoons. In Exodus XXXI,
1-5, it is stated that Moses commanded Bezalel "to devise cunning works,
to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass." Thus, Bezalel becomes the
first spoon maker definitely known to us by name in history.
Since Bezalel had come with his native people under the leadership
of Moses out of Egypt, it is obvious that he must have learned his trade
in the land along the Nile. While time has effaced all of Bezalel's handi-
work, we can easily conjecture what specimens of his craftsmanship were
like by the spoons which have been preserved in the tombs of Egyptian
pharaohs dating back more than four thousand years.
The most striking feature about Egyptian spoons is their unconven-
tionality of form. Most of those that have come down to us are commonly
made of flint, slate, wood, ivory and bronze, occasionally bearing hiero-
glyphics with religious connotations. Since those wrought of gold and
silver are rarely unearthed, it is likely that marauders entering the pyra-
mids long ago carried off the more valuable spoons once deposited in the
tombs. Many Egyptian spoons were cast in the form of paterae or handled
dishes, with covered bowls, annular feet, and a spout or lip features which
made it possible for them to stand safely as receptacles for sweet-smelling
perfumes and incense. The movable cover was contained by a pin on
one side.
The crux ansata, or ankh, shown on Plate 3, is hewn out of slate in
the form of a tall cross with a loop at one end. The ankh was a sacred
emblem of motherhood and fertility to the Egyptians, and symbolized
[sis. the queen of Heaven. Sometimes Isis is represented as a woman
with cow's ears. In this state she is supposed to be shedding the tears
which cause the Nile River to overflow its banks, thus creating the fer-
tility for an abundant harvest and sustenance of life. The lotus, which
grows in the marshy banks of the Nile, is the sacred flower of Egypt.
The fish, goat, ram, dove, and serpent, being integral features of the life
of ancient Egypt, are frequently pictured on spoons, many of them painted
and having richly ornamented borders. The handles of these diversified
spoons are extremely impractical.
Greek and Roman spoons begin to assume a modern appearance and
sometimes it is difficult to distinguish clearly between them. Bronze and
silver were the metals most commonly used, although gold implements
were occasionally employed for sacred services in. the temple. Pan, the
god of field and flocks, and the patron of huntsmen and shepherds, is
popularly represented as having the hoofs, ears, and horns of a goat. No
god was held in higher esteem by the Greeks, and hence he was honored
by the goafs foot on numerous spoons. The one illustrated here has a
tripartite lobe running from the bowl into the handle-drop, on which the
stem has been affixed. Examples of the goafs-foot spoon have been un-
earthed at Cyzicus, Pompeii, Herculaneum and Berthonville (Normandy).
At the latter place sixty pieces of silverware weighing fifty-five pounds
and belonging once to the treasury of a temple dedicated to Mercury six
centuries before Christ came to light in 1830. Some of the pieces were
chased with battle scenes from the Iliad; others featured the exploits of
Achilles. Forty-two persons are distinguished on a single ewer. These
exquisitely embossed pieces, of varying date, are now in the Bibliotheque
Nationale at Paris. Spoons of Greek workmanship have been found as far
distant as the Crimea in burial grounds of the Scythians.
The influence of Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, a Roman architect living in
the Augustan era, is seen in the ivory convolutions ornamenting the flat-
tened rim of the Vitruvian scroll spoon, This rim is about one-fourth of
an inch in width and runs entirely around the bowl. The Vitruvian scroll
was revived with success during the Renaissance by Andrea Palladio, who
followed closely the styles pictured in De Architectures, a scholarly com-
pendium by Marcus Vitruvius.
The fiddle-pattern spoon, of Roman origin in the first or second century
after Christ, resembles the modern type known by the same name, differ-
ing only in that the stem-head is squared off in the Puritan style instead
of being arched.
The keel-and-disk style appears on both Greek and Roman spoons, with
many modifications. On those of Greek provenance a rectangular strip or
keel projects in increasing thickness from the convex center of the bowl
till it meets the stem under which it coils or convolves into a disk. The
stem is accordingly attached to the upper surface of the disk, causing
Anglo-Saxon
O o\
Coronation (obverse)
PLATE 5
EARLY ENGLISH SPOONS
Coronation (reverse)
Crusader (two types)
Scottish
PLATE 6
MEDIEVAL SPOONS
as
&
O
e
ft
the handle to repose, when placed horizontally, about one-half an inch
above the bowl. The Roman variations of this spoon generally show the
disk placed between stem and bowl almost on an even level. The stem-
ends are often sharp spikes useful for spearing morsels of meat or gouging
the edible parts out of lobsters, oysters, or clams baked in the shell.
Numerous Greek and Roman spoons have been found in Britain. One
located in Monmouthshire bears the monogram of Christ, the Greek letters
Ch (i) and R (ho), the first two letters in Christos, the Greek name
for Christ.
The earliest English spoons were undoubtedly imitations of those
brought in by the Roman encampments in Britain. The Angles and
Saxons, however, on arriving from the Continent introduced a spoon with
small, pear-shaped bowl and a long rectangular or a hexagonal stem. The
illustration in this book shows a slender handled spoon, eight and a half
inches long, with a flattened disk in the middle and a decoration of
interlaced reeding along the handle and around the edges of the bowl. It
lay buried with a cache of seventy silver coins, dated from the ninth
century, in Wiltshire, south-central England. Most of the early English
spoons were made of horn or wood; by the fourteenth century castings
of bronze, brass, pewter, and latten (or sheet tin) were fairly common,
A beautiful silver spoon, set with garnets and encased in gold foil, but
showing signs of great wear and mended fractures, was discovered among
the bones of an atheling buried at Chatham about the time of the Norman
Conquest.
The finest and undoubtedly the most priceless spoon in existence is
the Coronation or Anointing spoon, ten and a half inches in length, which
has been employed at the crowning of all English sovereigns since the
days of the Plantagenets in the twelfth century. The heart-shaped bowl
is divided perpendicularly through the middle by an intersecting ridge,
the entire surface being ornamented by a stately swirl of arabesque
engraving. The stem is divided into three sections, the lower one of
which is joined to the bowl by a monster's head simulating the characteristic
features of gargoyles found in the frieze-work of Gothic cathedrals.
The lower section of the stem is centered about a large amethyst
rosette of royal purple, encircled by a beaded band, touching which are
four large pearls, two above and two below, like pairs of watchful eyes.
Above and below the pearls are rings of enamelled work, through veins
of which a fine tracery of gold leaf is interlaced. The central section
is embellished by a cartouche of finely-enamelled foliations. The upper
section, joined to the middle area by a monster's head of smaller size than
the one below, is composed of swirled cable terminating in a seal knop
on top of which appears a minute scroll-work similar to that found in
the central section.
The reverse side of the spoon presents several interesting features.
In the first place, the junction of bowl and stem is effected by means of
13
a modified keel-and-disk construction, a feature that suggests a definitely
early genesis. Chased rosettes and interweaving incisions ornament the
lower section on this side. Zigzagging lines and dots are engraved features
of the central section.
The anointing of a sovereign at his coronation is a long-established
rite, having had its origin in the symbolistic rituals of the most ancient
peoples. We learn in the Old Testament that Saul, David, and Solomon
were anointed with oil poured from horns by the high priests of their
time. French kings were anointed by oil from a vial preserved in the
cathedral at Rheims. English monarchs have been anointed for seven
centuries in Westminster Abbey by oil poured from an ampulla into the
coronation spoon, over which the Archbishop of Canterbury presides.
Some authorities maintain that the original anointing spoon was de-
stroyed along with all the other royal regalia when Oliver Cromwell
became master of England during the Protectorate. It is true that the
coronation of Charles II was held up for two years because the old
regalia could not readily be located, and some of the crown jewels,
decorations, and robes were irretrievably lost, but there is documentary
evidence that the anointing spoon was mended for the coronation of
Charles II at the small sum of two pounds, the spoon being one item
discovered on a repair bill after that monarch's death. Henry Shaw, an
expert on old English dress and decoration, asserts: "We can have little
hesitation in considering our spoon as having belonged to the ancient
regalia. There can, of course, be no doubt of its antiquity; and it is not
at all probable than an article of this kind should have been obtained
from any other source."
Belief in the authenticity of the coronation spoon was strengthened
when, late in the nineteenth century, four spoons wrapped in a gold
crown-like snood were by accident uncovered from beneath the stone
ruins of the floor that had once been part of a nunnery on the island
of lona, off the west coast of Scotland. All the spoons bore a distinguishable
likeness in style, configuration, and length to the English coronation
spoon, and one of them, showing fewer signs of use than the others, is
well preserved. The history of the nunnery confirms the belief that the
spoons belong to the thirteenth century, when the Western Isles, hitherto
independent and Celtic in spirit, were brought into subjection by the
Scottish Crown. During the long reigns of Alexander II ( 1214-1249 ) and
Alexander III (1249-1286) the convents and monasteries in the islands
off the west coast were repeatedly the scenes of sieges and battles.
Commander G. E. How, of the Royal Navy, believes that the spoons and
the gold snood were concealed for safe keeping under the large stone
during that period. Sir Edward James Jackson, the notable English
authority on old silver, tends to believe they belong to a somewhat later
period, perhaps to the troubled times attendant on the wars of the
14
disputed succession and independence following the death of Alexander III.
The genesis of these spoons is purely conjectural.
An interesting type of spoon that has survived out of the Middle
Ages is the Crusader spoon, of which two specimens are herewith given,
brought back by European warriors who went on Crusades to the Near
East to recover the Holy Land from the Turks. These spoons present
an unusual feature in the shape of their shallow bowls, fashioned somewhat
like shields, with an angular base and a sharp edge on one side, thus
making a handy combination of knife, fork, and spoon, all in one, very
serviceable for soldiers compelled to eat frequently on the run and in the
open. The spatulate handle of the one shown on the left precedes by
several centuries its general acceptance for flatware in Western Europe.
These Crusader spoons, from a Parisian collection, probably originated
in Persia.
It may well be worth noting here that forks were not introduced to
the table service till the time of the Crusades, when the Doge Domenice
Silvie, of Venice, and his Dogess at the beginning of the twelfth century
astonished their guests by placing a fork beside each plate at one of their
banquets. It required more than three centuries to accustom the people
of Northern Europe to the use of a fork, instead of fingers, for conveying
food to the mouth from their plates.
Knives had long been carried in the belts of hunters and soldiers
employed more extensively for the dispatching of meat on the hoof than
on the platter. In England and France knives were not universally used
by individual diners at the table until the middle of the seventeenth
century. "Fingers were made before knives and forks" was no idle adage
even at the festive boards of kings and their most elegant courtiers. The
rise of factories, however, for the production of tableware on a wide
scale in England after 1650 effected a profound revolution for the better
in table etiquette. During the next fifty years a general code for the
observance of more genteel manners at the table was evolved.
Spoons made of silver appeared on the continent before they did in
England, although frequently in the guise of a hard wood inlaid or
overlaid with silver. In time, strict laws demanding high standards
greatly improved the quality of silverware, and the necessity for stamping
the name of the maker, the place, and the date-letter very effectively curbed
the imposition of slipshod work on the public. In England, where the
finest articles of silver were produced, the word "sterling" came to mean
"of unexcelled quality."
From an inquiry into old legal documents it is apparent that spoons,
especially those made of silver, were prize possessions, if the frequency
with which they are mentioned in wills is a reliable indication. The first
of such references is found in the will of Martin St. Croix, dated 1259,
leaving a dozen silver spoons among his chattels. On the wardrobe expense
-inventories of Edward I for the year 1300 several gold and silver spoons
15
with the fleur-de-lis (Paris) hallmark are listed. The Court of Husting
records for 1305-06 mention the bequest of thirteen silver spoons by Edith
Pannier to her daughter Edith could this have been an early set of Apostle
spoons? An inventory of the crown jewels of Edward III for 1329 lists
thirty-six silver spoons valued at 59 s 10 d and five of gold at 9 12 s 6 d.
After 1400 the mention of spoons in wills is a common occurrence.
Eventually, it became a custom for those possessing silverware to bequeath
their spoons to grandchildren or friends in a wide and varied distribution.
A particular instance is the will ( 1634 ) of Alice Williams, mother of Roger
Williams, who left among other things: to Anne Williams, grandchild,
two gilt spoons; to James Wightman, grandchild, two silver spoons; to
Hester Davies, two spoons,
A form of folding pocket-spoon, first developed on the continent,
spread to the British Isles; it was popular everywhere because it enabled
the traveler to have his chief eating implement with him at all times.
Most of the folding spoons that have come down to us are of French or
German origin, and are wrought from the cheaper materials pewter,
copper or latten but a few made of the more precious metals have also
survived. These often display an elaborate ornamentation perhaps having
been made to order.
During the fourteenth century, spoons began to be characterized by
the different styles of knops, that is, their modes of "head-dress." There
was little variation otherwise, the stems being hexagonal and the bowls
fig-shaped. The first mention of the acorn knop occurs in 1351, when
John de Halegh willed a dozen silver spoons "with akernes" to Thomas
Taillour. Its popularity continued for nearly a century. Spoons "with
dyamond poynts" seem to have originated in France, where they were
most prevalent, but the style spread elsewhere, and lasted a great while,
from the latter part of the fourteenth to the beginning of the sixteenth
century. The knop was faceted like a diamond with a gleaming gold-leaf
tip, creating the semblance of a previous gem scintillating in the sunlight.
Even folding spoons of the better type were diamond pointed.
The maidenhead spoon assumes its name from the image of the Virgin
Mary adorning the stem-caput or knop. One testament as early as 1446
lists this spoon, though no further mention of it is found for several
decades, that is, through the terrible period of the Wars of the Roses;
then it sprang into popularity and continued in evidence till the time of
Queen Elizabeth. Changes in styles of head-dress to follow the prevailing
fashions render this spoon unique. Usually meek and mild, the "may den"
began to look like the devil during the reign of Henry VIII, when women
drew their hair out in conical peaks resembling horns. Sometimes the
bust was armless; again, the arms would be folded or allowed to hang
suspended beside the body. The idea that this spoon originated in honor
of either Mary I or Elizabeth is erroneous.
16
The fruitlet spoon, although mentioned as such in a bequest of six
silver spoons as early as 1440 in England, was never too common there.
It was probably made before that time on the continent, -where many
specimens have been found dating throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries. In France the mulberry appears most often as the finial while
the strawberry and blackberry were exceedingly popular in Germany.
Spoons with a writhen or twisted knop were somewhat of a fad for
about a quarter-century following 1487, and then disappeared completely.
Sir Charles Jackson likens this bulbous-shaped finial to a pellet around
which several strands of wire were twisted thick in the middle and smaller
at the extremities. Duhousset, the Frenchman, compares this finial to a
mint drop coated with a swirled-rib-icing. Since similes are in order, I
might suggest an onion in petticoats doing a round waltz.
In the beginning of the sixteenth century birds, and infrequently
animals, found a perch at the stem end of a spoon. In England the lion
sejant, dove, and owl were devised most frequently; in France, the colum-
bine (dove) and the falcon; in Germany and the Low Countries, the stork
and the eagle. The owl-knop spoon in the illustration, one of a half-dozen
sets presented to Oxford College by Bishop Foxe, bears the London hallmark
for 1506-07.
Sundry other types of spoons made their appearance in the first part
of the sixteenth century, the most frequent knops being the pine cone,
the pineapple, a bunch of grapes, those with seal tops bearing family
crests, a spear point, and the "slipped-in-the-stalk," the last-named having
an end rounding off to an edge and thus being devoid of any finial.
Ribbed and fluted balls were in vogue during the reigns of Henry VIII
and Edward VI. Sometimes an English silversmith, hoping to encourage
in his countrymen the Italian custom of eating with a fork, introduced that
implement on the end opposite a spoon. Many of the seal tops, plentifully
made from the accession of Elizabeth till the execution of Charles I, dis-
played a new style in the handle known as the baluster stem, especially
in the later examples. Legend ascribes the Pudsey spoon, the most famous
of seal tops, to the middle of the fifteenth century, far ahead in time of
any other spoon of this type.
The scallop-shell spoon shown here was made by Hans Koppel of
Nuremberg in 1549. The scallop appears on both the obverse and reverse
sides, and along the stem in front runs a shallow groove widening as it
approaches the bowl. Koppel was a contemporary of Hans Sachs and
Wenzel Jamnitzer in the heyday of Nuremberg's great cultural prosperity.
Jamnitzer, a migrant from Vienna, is sometimes called the Cellini of
Germany for his versatility in all the fine arts. Both Koppel and Jamnitzer
utilized various kinds of shells for the thematic enrichment of silver, the
nautilus, scallop, and limpet being especially favored. Even replicas of
the shells themselves were skillfully artificed one of the few instances
where articles of silver were made for other than utilitarian purposes.
17
Spoons cast for the Apostles were the first genuine souvenir spoons,
since they were presented by sponsors as gifts at the baptism of godchildren.
Apostie spoons enjoyed a long and continuing popularity for two centuries.
The earliest mention of them occurs in 1494-95, in a Yorkshire will of
thirteen spoons "cum Apostalis super eorum fines." But spoons with London
date-letters from 1478 to 1491 have been unearthed in a half dozen
instances. St. Nicholas, while not one of the Apostles, was honored by
a spoon, marked 1488, that sold for thirty-five hundred dollars at a London
sale. Only five complete sets of the twelve Apostle spoons and the Master
have been assembled in our day. One of those brought $24,500 at auction;
another, $45,000. A single Apostle has been known to rocket to the
astronomical heights of five thousand dollars.
The Apostles all wear the sacerdotal gown and the mortarboard cap,
and would be indistinguishable one from the- other, were it not for the
insignia of their office or the sign of their martyrdom. St. James the Less
has a fuller's bat; St. Bartholomew, a butcher's knife; St. Peter, a Icey, often
a fish; St. Jude, a cross, a club, or a carpenter's square; St. James the
Greater, a pilgrim's staff and gourd, bottle or script, often a hat with the
scallop shell; St. Philip, a long staff, often with a cross in the T, in some
cases a double cross or a basket of fish; the Savior or Master, an orb or
cross; St. John, a cup (the cup of sorrow) with a serpent crawling out
of it; St. Thomas, a spear or a builder's rule; St. Matthew, a wallet and
script, often an axe or spear; St Matthias, an axe or halberd; St. Simon
Zelotes, a long saw; St. Andrew, a saltire cross and script.
In the Byzantine Manual, the figures of James the Less, Jude, and
Matthias are replaced by Paul, Luke, and Mark. Paul, usually distinguished
by a sword, or even two swords, was always a favored figure because
his festival was the first Apostle's day on the calendar.
Apostle spoons are frequently referred to in Elizabethan literature.
Thomas Middleton in his play, The Chaste Maid of Cheapside, has one
Gossip inquiring of another, "What has he given her? What is it, Gossip?"
Whereupon the other replies: "A faire high standing cup, and two great
Apostle spoons one of them gilt." The famous collaborators, Beaumont
and Fletcher, in one of their plays, The Noble Gentleman, slyly satirize
the custom of giving spoons: "111 be a Gossip Bewford; I have an odd
Apostle spoon." Ben Jonson likewise pokes fun at the "spoon chasers" in
Bartholomew Fair: "And all this for the hope of a couple of Apostle spoons,
and a cup to eat caudle in."
An interesting old Apostle spoon of Dutch make is that of Saint Paul
shown on Plate X. It is the workmanship of Johannes Lelij, of Leeuwarden,
in Friesland, the northernmost province of the Netherlands. As the date-
letter indicates the year 1687, one would like to think that this spoon
was brought over to England in 1688 by one of the Dutch courtiers in
the train of William and Mary after the overthrow of James II. All the
marks are on the reverse side of bowl. The year-letter A with the serif
18
0)
I
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rt
CO
2
CS
S
rt
CO
1
I
CO
O
CO
W
h
j
Saint Paul (front and back)
PLATE 10
DUTCH APOSTLE SPOON
s
Q
Z
8
to
C/3
I
PH
1/1
Live to Die
Die to Live
PLATE 12
YORKSHIRE FUNERAL SPOON (1670)
is across its top, while the containing box and even the lower part of the
A are entirely worn away; the duty mark is stamped near the rat-tailed
prolongation of the stem; the hallmark contains a lily or fleur-de-lis (after
the maker's name, Lelij) and a Laubkranz (laurel wreath). The handle
is unique in that it furnishes a combination of features: the figure of St.
Paul with the characteristic sword in his left hand mounted on a quadri-
lateral capital and cornice placed at odds with the rectangular stem; the
strange little figure of a squatting, pop-eyed beast resembling a monkey
in the central plaque; and a cherub's head in the boss just above the
bowl. Down the front of the handle runs a grooved channel of irregular
ornamentation. The maker of this spoon, Johannes Lelij, and his son,
Garbijnus van der Lelij (the son moved up a notch on the social scale by
the additions to his name ) , worked industriously in Leeuwarden from 1680
to 1750, and pieces by them are highly prized by collectors of Dutch silver.
In the seventeenth century the custom of giving spoons to children
led to the making of a special type, known as the christening spoon,
which was quite prevalent during the early Stuart reigns. As with our
American birth spoons, the bowls contained the record of a child's entrance
into the world engraved with the specific data, for instance: "Margaret
Austen born the 11 day of September 1610," Christening spoons drove
the Apostle spoons out of fashion during the Commonwealth, when any
saints or images were looked upon askance.
The middle of the seventeenth century witnessed the transformation
of the spoon stem from the "six-squared Stele" to the flat handle, and the
knop to all purposes disappeared. The flat, rectangular stem had been
employed during the Middle Ages in the Near East; then during the
Renaissance this style was taken up on the Continent, and even in Scotland
as early as 1565, but in England the flat handle, as seen on the Puritan
spoon, did not reach the peak of its popularity until the period between
1640 and 1675. The bowl likewise underwent a change in form, from
the rounded fig to the somewhat lengthened or elliptical egg shape.
Later Puritan spoons exhibit a limited amount of decoration in simple
scroll work and foliage.
The Death's Head spoon, a forerunner of the Dutch-American monkey
spoon, was a peculiar kind of souvenir that originated in Yorkshire, where
at funerals it was the custom to present friends and mourners with such
a keepsake to serve as reminders of the departed. These spoons were
discarded or remelted by a younger generation that had no recollections
of the persons commemorated. The sombre phrases LIVE TO DIE and
DIE TO LIVE appear respectively on the front and back of the handle
of the Yorkshire spoon, dated 1670-71, on Plate XII.
Some of the earliest Trifid spoons are known to have come from
Dublin, Ireland, but they were made in many parts of the British Isles.
The end of the stem handle is lobular and its form begins to assume a
likeness to the caput so widely seen on our American souvenir spoons.
23
Two notches are cut, far up, on each side of the lobe, making two small
ears below the disproportionately large, semicircular projection extending
upward in the center. Sometimes this termination is known as the pied de
biche or hind's foot. The bowl has a tongue-like plate or keel running
into the handle, a precursor of the rat-tail spoon and a progression of the
slipped-in-the-stalk. Many trifid spoons still exist, some cast as early as
the reign of Charles II (1660-1685), others as late as Queen Anne's
(1702-1714).
The Rat-Tail spoon, commonly associated with the House of Hanover,
first made its appearance a few years previous to the accession o that
family about 1705. The rat-tail is an extension of the rounded handle
running evenly down the back of the egg-shaped bowl and tapering to
a pointed end near the center of the bowl. The handle end is modified
to form an upturned arch with a mid-rib while the trifid ears disappear
altogether. Sometimes the rat-tail terminates in some sort of embellishment
like a molded cockle-shell. The most frequent shape of the rat-tail, however,
was an extended V, on each side of which were variegated scroll arabesques.
The double-drop on spoons was an outgrowth of the rat-tail principle.
A shell, anthemion, or curl formed the second drop, while the stem became
more circular in its general contours, except that a rib or channel often
ran down the front side of the handle, which was evenly rounded in a
concave curve at its end. It was undoubtedly of the rat-tail or double-drop
spoons that Alexander Pope was thinking when he wrote, in The Rape
of the Lock, about the delightful tea-drinking parties at Hampton Court
Palace:
For lo! the board with Cups and Spoons is crown'd;
The Berries crackle and the Mill turns round.
The custom of placing spoons on the reverse side across the top of the
cup when no more tea was desired may serve to explain the reason for
the rat-tail or double-drop ornamentation. It is erroneous to believe that
these features were added merely to strengthen the junction of bowl and
handle.
After 1760 the rounded handle-head was turned down instead of up,
and the bowl-tip became narrower. The Onslow spoon, named for the
famous tea drinker, Arthur Onslow, a member of the House of Commons
during the reigns of George II and George III, enjoyed a wide vogue
for more than thirty years after 1748. The end of this spoon was not
only turned down but also folded back, as Jackson explains, "in the
manner of an Ionic volute, the upper side being moulded with a series
of deeply-cut, curved members which converge to a point about halfway
down the stem." A variation of the Onslow spoon was the Scroll Head,
more curled than usual to simulate a scroll.
In the latter half of the eighteenth century the ornamentation on spoons
became more florid. It was the age of Wedgwood and Spode, Chelsea
and Worcester, in china; of Waterford, Bristol, and Nailsea in glass; and
24
8
Q
o
CO
kf
Onslow
.Feather Edged
PLATE 14
SPOONS co. 1748-1820
Fiddle Pattern
I 1
kr
Persian
Spanish
PLATE 15
ORNAMENTAL SPOONS
Keepsake Keepsake
(front) (back)
Friendship
PLATE 16
AMERICAN SPOONS ca. 1815-1830
OS
|
I
O
e
I
CO
O
O
&
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S
O
I
oj
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of Hepplewhite, Chippendale, Sheraton, and Adam in furniturean age of
.superior production in, all the arts. The prevailing styles in every branch
of artistic production felt the influence of rococo, a term taken from the
French word rocaille, meaning "a rockery" or a "richly bedight grotto/'
Rococo in silver was characterized preeminently by shell and scroll motifs;
hence there is much evidence of shell and scroll work on spoons, the
two appearing either together or singly on bowls, handles, and handle
drops. Another manifestation of the rococo was the feather edge for a
border decoration on all pieces of silverware. On spoons the feather edge
assumed the shape of short lines weaving obliquely round the obverse
margin of the handle a style known as the gadroon. In the caput appeared
family coats-of-arms embossed inside a rococo or cartouche ornamentation
accompanied by the incuse initials of the master or mistress of the house-
hold. The feather edge has continued down to our own time so persistently
that it may be called by natural right of preference the Old English pattern.
About 1810 there first appeared one of the most popular of our modern
styles, the fiddle back, really the revival of a style that came to light in
the excavation of old Roman villas. Sometimes the fiddle pattern was
ornamented by a threaded or a thread-and-shell edge, but more often the
handle margins were devoid of ornamentation.
Teaspoons did not come into being until after the introduction of tea
in 1660. The size of teacups abbreviated the length of spoons to the
point where both utensils conformed to equitable proportions. Caddy
spoons, cream ladles, and salt and mustard spoons were developed toward
the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth centuries
to fit the need of well-stocked condiment and table sets. Snuff spoons were
a natural development growing out of the introduction of snuff in the
eighteenth century.
Two spoons among our illustrations, the Persian and Spanish, demand
some explanation of the exquisite creations of those two highly artistic
peoples. The Persians, or Iranians, are inherently poetic, with a natural
love of beauty, decoration, lucidity, and poise, and an ingrained dislike
of the clumsy, ugly, and banal. "We have to acknowledge," says Arthur
Upham Pope, "that in the decorative arts it was Persia which must be
credited with the highest achievements." The Persians have excelled in
the molding of jugs, amphorae, and ewers, and in the weaving of carpets,
rugs, and linens. The great value placed on their wares attests their skill
in making pottery, bronzes, and woven goods, which are "not merely a
delight to the eye or an entertainment to the mind" but which reveal to
the initiate a far deeper significance in the symbolistic nature of their motifs.
The spoon illustrated dates from the late sixteenth century, when the
Safavid dynasty (1501-1734) was at the apogee of its power and glory.
During the long reigns of three shahs, Ismael (1501-24), Tahmasp (1524-
1576), and Abbas I (1576-1627), it is said that artists were placed on a
par with the highest members of the nobility and the most powerful men
30
of state. Oppressive rulers have come and gone, but they have not deterred
the Persian people from making objects of superb craftsmanship, while
maintaining visibly their refined decorum and unconquerable love of the
beautiful in art.
The most striking characteristic of Spanish art is its uniqueness. More
than any other Europeans, the Spanish people have evolved styles strictly
their own, original and popular, with elaborate, decorative devices that
are a blend of both Oriental and Occidental features, displayed in their
architecture, iron grill work, furniture, wood carving (chests), embossed
leather goods, ceramics, fans, laces, jewels, and costumes. The ornateness,
intricacy, and delicacy of their work in filigree, so marked in all their
artistic production, are manifest qualities in the spoon we have illustrated.
It was carved from ivory, and has been ascribed to Francisco Saltillo ( 1707-
1783), a Castilian from Salamanca, and an artist greatly moved by the
Moorish traits and influences still lingering in Andalusia. The bird and
flower motifs of this spoon are characteristic of Saltillo's style, displayed
also in his carvings of rosaries, earrings, and necklaces.
Silversmithing in America had its beginnings in New England, where
Boston, the most flourishing social and commercial center, led in the
making of silver articles. New Amsterdam and Philadelphia also fashioned
a considerable amount of plate for local consumption, the products of the
former showing distinct Dutch influences. In the Southern colonies more
silver was made locally than was formerly believed. One of the artisans
arriving with Captain John Smith in 1607 at Jamestown was a silversmith.
The rich planters of Virginia, Maryland, and South Carolina surprised
travellers with the copious array of fine plate on their tables. Baltimore
supplied some of this silver, but more of it was imported from England.
Practically all this Colonial ware went into the melting pot during the
Civil War.
The first American silversmith on record to wax fat on the trade was
John Hull, who made so many pinetree shillings for the government of
Massachusetts, receiving one out of every twenty for his just share, that
he was able to give his son-in-law as a dowry his plump daughter's weight
in silver shillings. There were soon many expert craftsmen making good
things out of silver in the small towns of Massachusetts, Rhode Island,
Connecticut, and New York. Of course, the most famous maker of fine
teapots, tankards, and spoons was Paul Revere, familiarly known to every
school child for his rousing midnight gallop.
The first silver goods made by the Colonial craftsmen were spoons,
the patterns for which were found in the designs on articles imported
from the Old Country, meaning in this case England or Holland. Con-
sequently we find in America, from the latter part of the seventeenth
century down into the nineteenth, the same trends of fashion as in Europe,
such as the Puritan, the rat-tail, the double-drop, the scroll-headed, the
feather-edged, the coffin-shaped, and the fiddle-back.
31
Untii the Revolutionary War there were only three sizes of spoons
made in America, the most artistic being the teaspoon, which approximated
in size our postprandial coffee .spoons of today. Another spoon, used for
porridge, was often the only utensil placed on the table for breakfast in
many homes. The tablespoon, somewhat shorter than in its modern form,
had to do double duty in the preparation as well as in the mastication
of a meal. The teaspoon was always more ornamental and more expensively
made than the other two types of spoons because it was seen and admired
by tea-drinking guests.
By the time of the Revolution there were certain formalities that had
already become unwritten laws of the social code to be honored at tea-time
in the strictest observance of the letter. Those ignorant of the code
suffered accordingly. Prince de Broglie, visiting at the home of Robert
Morris in Philadelphia, had to drink twelve cups of tea poured by Mrs.
Morris before he learned that he should place his spoon across the top
of his cup to imply that he wished no more. To have openly blurted out
that he would have no more of the delectable tea would most assuredly
have offended the lady's sensibilities. This ceremony of the spoon impressed
the Frenchman with the fact that Versailles had nothing on the American
colonies when it came to the finer graces of civilization.
It is a moot question just when the first American souvenir spoons
were made. Should the Apostle and monkey spoons be considered as
such, or merely forerunners? Were not the early spoons bearing college
crests incuse on handle-heads put out and kept as souvenirs by the alumni?
Americans have always been lovers and collectors of spoons even in
Colonial times. What Emerson remarked about the Englishman's love
of old plate applies equally well to many an American of this day and
of times past: "The Englishman is fond of his plate, and though he has
no gathering of portraits of his ancestors, he has their porringers and
punch bowls. Incredible amounts are found in good homes, and even
the poorest have some spoons and sauce pans saved out of better times."
Spoons are priced at such moderate values that they are within the
reach of one and all, yet nothing can be more highly prized than a collection
of old spoons. In 1816 an impoverished young Boston minister, John
Pierpont, grandfather of John Pierpont Morgan the financier, had to pawn
a collection of valuable heirloom spoons to defray the expenses of printing
his Airs of Palestine. Whether the story of the hocking of the Reverend
Pierpont's spoons reached the ears of the general public or not, the Airs
did, paying off to the tune of three editions. The redeeming of the spoons
must have brought an upsurging demand for that article, because within
the next few years Moses Morse of Boston, Jabez Gorham of Providence,
Samuel Kirk of Baltimore, and others were making "keepsake spoons" in
considerable numbers for graduates of Eastern and Southern colleges. For
more than a generation, ever since the end of the Revolution, silversmiths
had occasionally turned their hand to the making of this sort of spoon.
32
Johnny Fitch, the washed-up inventor of the steamboat, spent his last,
unsobered days in Bardstown, Kentucky, in fashioning these spoons and
other "trifling keepsakes" for his little friend, Eliza Rowan. There was
no great attempt at ornamentation on most early keepsake spoons except
for a simple flower, leaf, grape, scroll, or shell, sometimes nothing at all.
On the college spoons, however, insignia and seals were placed incuse
on handle heads. A number of these keepsake spoons still survive. The
one illustrated is a Harvard seal spoon of conventional fiddle-back contours.
It has the turned-up handle-end and the long, ovoidal-pointed bowl-tip.
Made by Moses Morse in 1817, this spoon exhibits so much hard usage
that the shell decor on the reverse of bowl just below the handle-drop
has all but worn away.
Similar to the keepsake spoon is the friendship spoon, which usually
exhibited the initials of both the giver and the recipient of the gift at
the top of the handle. The one illustrated here was devised in the old
handmade style in 1815 by Samuel Kirk (17934872), who founded the
House which is considered today to be that of "America's Oldest Silver-
smiths." Kirk, of Pennsylvania Quaker descent, started his business career
in 1815 in Baltimore, where the concern has always remained in the
hands of the same family. Working in nothing but solid silver, the firm
of Samuel Kirk and Son has continued to turn out some notable patterns,
of which the Repousse is most highly prized by lovers of old and fine
silver. In addition, the House of Kirk is represented by many exquisite
museum pieces, such as the two goblets presented by Lafayette in 1824 to
his Baltimore host, David Williamson; the silver spade employed by
Marshal Foch in breaking ground for the War Memorial Building in 1921;
and the dinner service made in 1906 and presented to the first cruiser
Maryland by the citizens of the state. The friendship spoon in our illus-
tration contains on the reverse of handle not only the mark of Kirk and
Smith, as the firm was known from 1815 to 1820, but also the assay stamp
of the city of Baltimore and the head of the Goddess of Liberty, the latter
frequently seen on pieces of this period.
One of the strangest spoon-designs on record is the monkey spoon,
which originated in Holland but found its way to the banks of the Hudson
during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The affluent Dutch
patrons of early New York bestowed these spoons generously upon friends
and relatives at funerals, betrothals, weddings, and christenings. Mary P.
Ferris, the first person to delve into the history of this curious spoon,
offers this explanation of its purpose and modus operandi: "Among the
Dutch drinking is called 'zuiging de monkey' (sucking the monkey), and
a drunkard is known as a 'sucker of the monkey' . . . When a worthy
burgher was ready for his morning meal, he went to the old sideboard
and took his morning tonic of Santa Cruz rum, following it with a pinch
of salt. This morning dram was to serve only as an appetizer, and must
be a small one, hence the use of the monkey lepel (monkey spoon) or
33
liquor spoon with its shallow bowl. And as the flowing bowl played a
prominent part in the weddings and funerals of our worthy Dutch an-
cestors, it will be readily seen that a monkey spoon was a most significant
token of esteem, and hence an appropriate gift."
Genevieve Whnsatt in a recent and very illuminating article in The
American Home on this particular spoon, displays an assortment of the
varied types that she has collected. Most of them are of the curvicaudate
variety, which makes it possible for them to be suspended from the rim
of a punch bowl. Others, purposed simply for gifts or tokens of friendship,
have straight or more often flexed handles without the caudate appendage.
The knop in many instances exhibits, not a monkey, but a faun, crouching
boy, skeleton, hippogryph, squirrel, lion, bird, or fowl. Most of them
also have a boss, directly beneath the knop, exhibiting a cherub, heart,
rosette, or a mourner standing by a cinerary urn.
There are no revealing clues, such as hallmarks, initials, or date-letters,
to indicate the provenance of these spoons. We can, however, ascertain
a general chronological period for their dissemination by the following
account of the funeral of Philip Livingston, a descendant of Anneke Janse,
in 1749: "As usual, there was the spiced wine, and each of the eight
pallbearers was given a pair of gloves, a monkey spoon and mourning ring."
An elaborate mode of decoration is evident in nearly all the bowls
which are either round or oval in shape. A betrothal spoon pictures two
lovers plighting their vows by moonlight; a gift to an old friend displays
a windmill, lighthouse, and homes near a landing pier, perhaps nostalgic
reminders of childhood scenes; a friendship token to a young girl depicts
a dairymaid ready to milk a cow, with tulip foliations in the foreground;
a funeral favor represents St. Michael, assessor of souls, carrying a sword
and scales.
Mrs. Ferris describes the most typical scene designed for tokens at a
funeral: "The monkey spoon has a circular, very shallow bowl on which
was represented a man on horseback, going from house to house to deliver
invitations (to the funeral), with the church just behind him. This was
hammered out in the bowl of the spoon, the silver of which was very
thin, The handle of the spoon was of heavier weight, and on the end
of the spoon was a monkey, half crouching, half charging, drinking from
a goblet in solids." Surprisingly indeed, this very representative specimen
turned up here in Kentucky when, after a discussion on spoons, an old
lady went home and searched in the attic past midnight and into the
wee hours of the morning, to disinter this very spoon from among her
long-discarded belongings. It had passed through many hands on its
migration from Holland via old New York, till it came into her possession
a curious substantiation of the fact that a spoon can have as many reincar-
nations as the proverbial nine-lived cat.
The great vogue of the modern souvenir spoon had its beginnings in
the late eighties of the last century. The Leipzig Fair and the Paris
34
Exposition, in the same year, 1889, featured displays of this new mode
of gifts in silverware. By 1891 sufficient interest was aroused for George P.
James to bring out a small book on souvenir spoons. Many of the spoons
listed in this book appeared in that volume. By 1893, when the Columbian
Exposition was held in Chicago, the collecting of spoons had become not
merely a hobby but a consuming rage. Throughout the Gay Nineties the
avid interest continued, and well into the twentieth century. Everywhere
that people went, on tours, excursions, vacations, or visits, by train or by
boat, they brought back an assortment of spoons as memento-gifts for the
folks and friends who had stayed at home. The fascination of spoon
collecting at its apogee may best be seen in this observation by Helen
Archibald Clarke in Longfellow's Country, written in 1909: "The only
witchcraft exercised by Salem now is upon the pocketbook of the summer
person who has a fad for souvenir spoons and a taste for the delectable
confection made there and known as the Salem Gibraltar a delicious
compound of softness and peppermint. Coins large and small fly from
their hiding places when coming into proximity with these luxuries."
Gradually, however, spoon interest waned about the time that the
newfangled contraption, the horseless carriage, began to snort up and
down our highways. Perhaps a reason for the subsidence of the fancy
can be deduced from the changing modes of transportation employed
by people in their travels. In the old days, not much space was left
over for gifts in a tightly-packed, cumbersome grip that had to be "toted"
considerable distances by hand from place to place. A half-dozen spoons
could be packed away safely without danger of breakage or too much
elbowing aside of necessary articles de toilette. Whether the automobile
allowed travellers more room for the stowage of larger presents, or whether
people were just tiring of the spoon-collecting fad, it is certain that the
hobby had seen its better days by the outbreak of the First World War.
A listing of Trademarks of the Jewelry and Kindred Trades in 1922 indicates
that all those companies which had once existed prosperously by making
only souvenir spoons had by then gone out of business. The larger com-
panies dropped the production of souvenir spoons and continued with
other lines of silverware. In the years from 1925 to 1930 a few companies
attempted to revive the hobby by issuing sets imprinted with the busts
of movie actors and actresses or specimens to attract the speculating tourists
in the Florida boom-towns of that period. But the depression very
effectively squelched that revival. Since then, only such events as the
Century of Progress Exposition in Chicago, the World's Fair in New York,
and the coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth have impelled
the silver tradesmen to turn out commemorative spoons. At present only
the Robbins Company is actively engaged in this special branch of the
industry.
An examination of trademarks leads one to the conclusion that more
than fifty firms, at one time or another, made souvenir spoons. A brief
35
mention of the more outstanding of these will be of interest to collectors.
Answers to inquiries often revealed the fact that some of the companies
had lost all record or knowledge of their former spoon-making activities.
One company assured me that they had made only one souvenir spoon,
while I had already seen more than twenty of them pictured on pages
of their old catalogues.
The Watson Company, of Attleboro, Massachusetts, began operations
as the Watson-Newell Company in 1879, and did the bulk of their business
from the period of 1890 through 1914-15. The naval code flag or pennant,
used from 1879 to 1905, is the most frequently seen trademark in any
collection of souvenir spoons, and it appeared on spoons for every state
in three or four sizes and also for every important city in the United
States. In addition, the Watson Company put out many spoons featuring
designs of fruits, flowers, birth months and signs of the Zodiac.
The Gorham Company, of Providence, Rhode Island, also made
hundreds of souvenir spoons at one time. The founder of this firm, Jabez
Gorham, was already, as a youth of fifteen in 1792, molding spoons in a
blacksmith's forge. By 1831 Gorham, with two assistants, was making
some dozen spoons a day, and his prosperity caused him to place a sign,
"Silver Spoons and Jewelry" above the door of his modest shop. In 1842
John Gorham, son of Jabez, became head of the business. He had studied
British methods of artistic production in Birmingham under the guidance
of some of the most skillful English silversmiths. Under Gorham's third
president, Edward Holbrook, the company witnessed a rapid growth after
a complete overhauling and modernizing of the shop machinery. The
Gcrham sterling trademark is the lion, anchor, and G, the lion being the
English hallmark for sterling, the anchor the sign of the State of Rhode
Island and Providence Plantation, and the G indicating the company's name.
In The Whitesmiths of Taunton, by George Sweet Gibb, a complete
and interesting account of Reed & Barton is presented from its humble
beginnings in 1824, when two enterprising mechanics, Isaac Babbitt and
William Grossman, having just finished their apprenticeship, established
a partnership, out of which there eventually emerged the organization
of Reed & Barton. Although the company changed hands and titles several
times in earlier years, it has always remained true to the essential aims
and purposes of its original founders. We have space here to refer to
only one item in Mr, Gibb's book, since it concerns matter quite pertinent
to our discussion, and I herewith quote: "In the late 1890's the line of
sterling flatware was augmented to meet a great demand for souvenir
spoons of all descriptions, and Mr. David Howe invented a process of
etching upon metal which enabled both souvenir spoons and a new
patented type of baby spoon to be inscribed with appropriate scenes
and verses."
The Paye and Baker Manufacturing Company, of North Attleboro,
Massachusetts, started business about 1900, and the first goods they made
36
were souvenir spoons. By 1905 the firm had prospered to the extent that
it was able to branch out in making all kinds of souvenir novelties that
included (all of silver or in part) watch fobs and charms; hat, lace and
belt pins; bookmarks, tie clasps, link buttons, thimbles, and ash trays;
class and flag pins; manicure and desk novelties; card and cigarette cases;
baby sets; food pushers; and every kind of souvenir spoon. On the back
covers of their early catalogues appeared this statement in large letters:
"We make a specialty of very unique souvenir spoons of special handle
and bowl design, to be controlled by you exclusively." By 1912 this
statement disappeared from the back covers; in a few more years the
souvenir spoons themselves disappeared from between the covers. All
their spoon dies were given for war material during the scrap drive. The
trademark of this firm consists of three hearts enclosing P & B.
The Alvin Silver Company, now the Alvin Corporation, was organized
in the late eighties of the last century at Irvington, New Jersey, but after
a few years changed its general offices to Providence, Rhode Island. "In
regard to our production of souvenir spoons," states a member of the firm,
"a period of achievement was reached by the Alvin Silver Company at
the time of the World's Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago, wherein
the artistry, and skilled craftsmanship of the Alvin workmen were called
upon to manufacture the official souvenir spoon. This spoon was made
for the Exposition as its official memento for all visitors." The trademark
of the Alvin Corporation is the letter A enclosed by an eagle on the left
side and a quarter moon and cross on the right.
The Williams Bros. Silver Company, of Glastonbury, Connecticut, has
been in business since 1880. It probably made more souvenir spoons of
the nation's capitol over the years mostly of the small coffee type than
any other firm. One of its especially fine spoons was put out for the
Connecticut Tercentenary celebration in the early thirties. During the
first part of the century this company supplied a souvenir spoon made
by the thousands for Fairy Soap. The trademark of the Williams Bros,
is a lion to the right and left of W, although several other marks of
companies that have merged with this firm are occasionally encountered.
Shreve and Company was organized by George C. Shreve in San
Francisco in 1852 during the height of the Gold Rush excitement. It is
thus one of the oldest firms in the state of California, and also the only
large silver company not located in the East. The Shreve spoons, not
too numerous, deal exclusively with California scenes, and usually terminate
in a bear finial. Shreve's trademark is composed of three figures: in the
center is a quatrefoil or four-lobed figure inside of which is a pendent
bell; on either side is a smaller, pentagonal figure containing an S.
The Bobbins Company was started by Charles M. Bobbins in 1892 as
a jewelry business manufacturing school and college articles such as seals,
pennants, badges, buttons, brooches, bar pins, and fobs. Mr. Robbins
37
specialized from the very beginning in "French glass enamel this being
the application of vitreous enamel on precious or base-metal for decorative
purposes." From the early years of the nineteenth century the Robbins
Company has listed spoons among its souvenir items. In 1911 it started
making seal spoons for all the states, the larger cities, and for many schools
and colleges throughout the country. These designs included mountains,
parks, lakes, and buildings near the various vacation spots and the famous
tourist resorts; names and figures identified with various places; and college
and fraternity crests. Another type of spoon shows various state flowers
or special products including fruits and vegetables. In addition to its baby
spoon, the company has made a special child's spoon with birth record
in the bowl, which has spaces for the name, date, place, time of birth,
and weight. An old catalog illustrates some special spoons made for
Christmas and Thanksgiving and also those which were known as "Venetian
spoons." These latter were very fine spoons on which pictures were repro-
duced in vivid enameled coloring.
Miss Catherine S. Thayer, speaking for the Robbins Company, explains
the manufacturing process for their spoons thus: "In making spoons with
a special design on the handle our hub cutter cuts the design in steel
on a hub which is then forced into another piece of steel to produce the
die for stamping in the metal. After this die is cleaned up and hardened,
it is placed in a stamp and the spoon handle design is struck from it."
The Robbins Company resumed the making of souvenir spoons in 1946
after discontinuing their manufacture for many years. In the earliest
catalogs of this firm the trademark was simply CMR in a horizontal lozenge.
The second trademark combines the original design with two additional
sections, the second of which is a shield showing the Massachusetts state
crest, and the third is a round-cornered rectangle showing a robin as
symbolic of the company's name. The present modernistic trademark
carries the letter R in a stylized wing design.
A few of the companies which once made numerous souvenir spoons,
but have long been out of business are: Shepard Mfg. Co.; George W.
Shiebler & Co.; Silberstein, Hecht & Co.; Edward Todd & Co.; Howard
Sterling Co.; Mount Vernon Co., Fessenden & Co.; Sterling Silver Mfg.
Co.; Campbell-Metcalf Silver Co.; Codding & Heilbom Co,; and others.
Only a very few trademarks have remained unidentified, and in some
cases there have been no trademarks present to assist in their identifi-
cation. Who the makers of these spoons were, must necessarily remain
a mystery for the time being.
In concluding this introductory matter, the author can do no better
than quote from an anonymous editorial on spoons in HOBBIES for
September, 1947: "For the lover of silver, spoons are certainly of impor-
tance, there being few things that surpass them for historical and artistic
interest/*
38
PLATE 18
1. GRAND CANYON
PLATE 19
2. YELLOWSTONE ELK-AND-BEAR
THE AMERICAN STORY IN SPOONS
No. 1 GRAND CANYON
How explain that magnetic spell which the Grand Canyon casts over
its onlookers? Perhaps you can't do so in words. All you can do is to
look in silence, and sense that here is something more like its prehistoric
self than any other spot you have ever seen, and the restless, dominating
white man, who is always wanting change, has not been able to master
or mar it so easily as he has other less primordial and less enduring earth-
surfaces.
Who first gazed upon those colored heights and depths, and felt their
indescribable fascination? All we know is, that cliff dwellers dug into
the walls and lived there for protection centuries ago. Shards of pottery,
fire pits, and even grains of maize and pods of beans remain to attest
their presence.
The three Indian tribes, the Navaho, Hopi ? and Havasupai, now living
in this region, are peaceful farmers, sheepherders, weavers, and potters.
They have not warred on the palefaces who encroach on their boundaries,
perhaps feeling there is plenty of room for all. They love this great color-
ful land and seem willing to welcome every one who comes and wants
a share of its wild beauty.
White colonizers were slow in coming to live in this region. It was
magnificent, but it was too remote, too inexplicable, too unlike anything
known to them in their homelands.
In 1539 a Spanish friar, Marcos de Niza, back from an exploring expedi-
tion into the northern part of Arizona, created a flurry of get-rich-quick
anticipations when he spoke of fabulous cities of gold which the Indians
had told him existed there, but which he had not been allowed to see on
his trip. At once a party of three hundred men led by Francisco de
Coronado was dispatched to verify the report and possibly to bring back
some of the precious metal. The expedition was a failure. About all the
Spaniards encountered were villages of Hopi Indians eking out a miserable
living by dint of hard scratching and primitive implements on parched,
disfavored plateaus. A small scouting party under Luis Cardenas stum-
bled upon the brink of a "Grand Canyon" and attempted to cross it but
had to give it up as an utter impossibility.
More than two centuries later, in 1776, two more Spanish friars fol-
lowed the course of the Colorado River till they found a convenient fording
place in Glen Canyon. Still the Spaniards made no efforts to establish a
permanent settlement.
American trappers in the 1820's first began to pace the rims of the
Canyon and to niche their names on its rocky walls. An occasional horse
thief slipped into the shadows of the gigantic chasm for a refuge. Now
and then trappers and fur traders would scramble up and down its bluffs,
41
but only a few daring sheepherders thought of gaining a livelihood by
settling in such a dry, barren region.
In 1886, when Benjamin Harrison was a senator from Indiana, he
suggested the idea of making this region a national park. Not until 1908
did the dream become a reality when President Theodore Roosevelt signed
the bill creating the park.
Superlatives cannot describe Grand Canyon. Its sublimity beggars
words. Puny man can only stand and gawk in wonder. His eye can pro-
ject itself over the panorama with one mighty sweep, but his brain can
scarcely comprehend that the pages of geologic history for two thousand
million years lie open before him. All the forces of erosion, the wind and
the rain, the heat and the cold, the sunshine and the onsweeping water
have been working here for ages, disintegrating, dissolving, and carrying
off ton after ton of loosened rocks and sediments, leaving this upthrust
labyrinth, two hundred and eighty miles in length and averaging twelve
miles in width, showing shapes that resemble towers and turrets, cathedral
domes and spires, flying buttresses and vaulted columns, truncated pyra-
mids of terraces; shapes that are wrinkled, writhing, lacy, graceful, gro-
tesque, fluted, flattened, peaked, measureless, motionless, massive. Pris-
matic colors rise, flash, fade, and die in an endless interweaving of rich,
mysterious changes. The sight makes the thought of time senseless, of
weeping and laughter a folly, of man irrelevant.
An artist who would attempt to portray any feature of Grand Canyon
on a spoon would have to be something more than adroit. At most he
could show only an infinitesimal segment. Therefore the maker of this
spoon has discreetly refrained from any pictorial visualizations. In the
bowl is engraved "Grand Canyon." An Indian's face rises high in a cameo-
relief on the caput of the handle, a face at once impassive and impressive,
symbolic in its rugged grandeur of the Grand Canyon itself, the grandest
of all earth's natural wonders.
Made by Watson and Newell. Length, 5% inches.
No. 2 YELLOWSTONE ELK-AND-BEAR
No. 5 YELLOWSTONE BEAR RAMPANT
No. 135 OLD FAITHFUL
One of Nature's greatest wonderlands, easily accessible in the north-
western part of our country, remained comparatively unknown till late in
our exploratory history. The first white man to see it was John Colter,
who turned aside on his return from the Lewis and Clark Expedition in
1806 to roam through this picturesque region that promised good hunting,
fishing, and trapping. Those who heard his Dantesque descriptions thought
42
he had created an Inferno out of his own imagination, and listened
incredulously.
In 1830 another explorer, Jim Bridger, brought back tall tales of the
region. He had shot several times at an elk without fazing it before he
realized he had been looking at the animal twenty-five miles distant
through a glacier that served as a mammoth telescope. His tales were
marked down as whoppers also.
The nation as a whole knew nothing about Yellowstone until two
reporters in 1870, after visiting the scenic region, wrote an account of their
travels for a Chicago paper. The public's attention was aroused, and in
1872 Congress passed a bill setting aside, before its natural beauty was
marred, most of the virgin tract now contained in the Park. Additions
have subsequently been made to include adjacent scenic features.
The tourist is amazed at the fantastic orgy of wonders in Yellowstone
Park. Its wild, rugged beauty appalls, dazzles, and delights at the same
time. The fauna and flora are rich beyond comparison. All the animals
of the old Wild West live unmolested in these haunts: the bear, buffalo,
moose, elk, deer, antelope, mountain sheep, and beaver. Birds of more than
two hundred species, like the wild geese and ducks, the eagles and hawks,
the pelicans and swans, may build their nests and eeries in the mountain
crags or by the rippling lakesides of the valleys.
The flora of the region cannot be equaled for variety anywhere else
in the northern hemisphere. Some of the most abundant of the seven
hundred and fifty species of flowers found here are the Indian paintbrush
(the Wyoming state flower), bitterroot, shooting star, aster, umbrella plant,
phlox, lungwort, columbine, larkspur, monkshood, wild rose, primrose,
violets, water lilies, wild geranium, magenta fireweed, and many others.
A gorgeous phantasmagoria of shifting colors sweeping downward from
the heights greets the eye of the spectator throughout the summer and fall.
The trees are mostly evergreens but include a few deciduous types.
Evidences of warmer climate in prehistoric ages are seen in the petrified
remains of oak, sycamore, rhododendron, and redwood.
But what attracts the tourist's attention most is the infinite variety
of subterranean waters emerging to the surface in every conceivable guise:
in shooting geysers; in muddy paint pots; in steaming fumaroles; in gurgling,
growling gas vents; in placid springs and lakes and pools; in churning
springs, frothing cascades, and turbulent falls. Merely to mention the most
notable of these kinetic wonders presents a stupefying roll call of names.
Of the geysers, the chief ones are the Vixen, Monarch, Rainbow, Giant,
Giantess, Rocket, Artemisia, Steamboat, Beryl, Old Faithful, Castle, River-
side, Jewel, Whirligig, and Valentine; of the springs: Devil's Thumb, Mam-
moth, Hot, Emerald, Grand Prismatic, and Dragon's Mouth.
The mountains have an interesting number of peaks, cliffs, and look-
outs. Sometimes there are placid lakes of vivid coloring nestled in the
mountains, such as Swan, Sylvan, Lily Pad, Nymph, and Sunset; or pools,
43
like Porcelain and Morning Glory. Again, from the laps of the mountains
rushes a violent volume of waters like the Firehole and Kepler Cascades,
or the Rustic, Crystal, Tower, and Lower Yellowstone Falls.
The latter fall, almost twice as high as Niagara, is shown in the bowl
of the Elk-and-Bear spoon. A silvery cascade of water, like a bridal veil,
drops 308 feet from heavily-wooded banks that slope steeply on either
side. The timber crowds right up to the water's edge. A cloud of white
mist hovers over the lower portion of the fall. Massive boulders close
in on the foaming tide that rushes out of the narrowed chasm. Rock-
heads are perceptible here and there, like irregular stepping-stones across
the basin. Annealed at the crest of the bowl is the embossed inscription,
"Lower Falls of the Yellowstone," the last word being separated, however,
and placed below on the patte.
On the handle, the name of the park advances lengthwise through a
constricted shaft, which widens out considerably into the nave. Here we
perceive a grizzly bear standing on a cliff and looking quite pugnacious
with his mouth opened in a displeased manner. The caput, or rather
here, a knop, is that of an imposing elk head. The tines of his antlers are
interlaced to form an overarching latticework closed together like an
arbor with a pathway leading out and down across the animal's forehead.
Four foliated scrolls, two below convexed and two above concave, on
either side, rise from a level with the shaggy neck and make openings
likewise till they touch the antlers directly above the ears.
The animal is a magnificent specimen. The nostrils are dilated, and
the eyes appear to be alerted to a sense of approaching danger.
The devisal of this spoon is on a par, in its majestic beauty, with the
natural wonders it represents. Made by Watson and Newell. Length,
6 inches.
Quite in contrast to the Gothic ornateness of this earlier spoon stands
the classic simplicity of the Bear Rampant, a modern production, still
obtainable, of the Robbins Company.
The bowl of this spoon is plain. On the shaft, "Yellowstone Nat'l.
Park" runs in small, raised lettering. The nave is by far the most striking
feature on the spoon. Bruin stands erect, forepaws dropped, ears cocked
in a quizzical manner, as pacific in appearance as a gentle old housedog
quite the opposite of the bear on the previous spoon. A cluster of three
western pine cones and needles rises beneath him and three more cones,
disconnected, enclose his head.
The Gardner Entrance, on the north side of the park, is contained in
the caput. This arch, resembling in general outlines a Roman or French
victory arch, was erected in 1903, and President Theodore Roosevelt was
present at the dedication. Although not shown on the spoon, the inscrip-
tion above the entrance reads: "For the Benefit and Enjoyment of the
People/' A pine cone is aloft the arch for an appropriate adornment of
the crown.
44
The general contours of this spoon are purely Greek, its beauty being
in its modesty. Length, 5% inches.
The third spoon in this group pictures, in the pierced caput and nave
of the handle, Old Faithful Inn and Old Faithful Geyser, the latter being
perhaps the best known and the most talked-of attraction in the whole
park. The name of the famous geyser is a misnomer, and does not live
up to its reputation in the claim that you can set your watch by it, that
it goes off "every hour on the hour." According to a recently-devised
gauge the intervals between eruptions vary from thirty-eight to eighty-
eight minutes, with an overall average of sixty-three minutes and fifteen
seconds between acts. In one sense, then, it does live up to its name, in
that if the tourist waits long enough Old Faithful will sooner or later
"kick up its heels." A rumbling, bass sound of swelling volume precedes
each performance. The jet column soon emerges out of the crater in a
cloud of powdery whiteness and ascends in a pillar of transparent clear-
ness to a height of well over a hundred feet. Struck by the sunlight, the
purling waters limn the varied hues and shapes of vast, kaleidoscopic
spectra. Gradually the plumy jet subsides till it disappears altogether
below the seamy surface of its built-up crater. It is estimated that 250,000
gallons of water are blown skywards daily by this geyser.
Old Faithful Inn, charming, comfortable, and hospitable, is located
at a favorable vantage-point for those wishing to see the geyser in repeated
action. It is built in the ever-fascinating, Swiss-chalet style, of native
timber and stone, and six stories high in its main unit. The roof is steep,
and broached with many dormer windows. Five hundred tons of rock
went into the construction of the fireplace and chimney in the entrance
lobby. Old Faithful Lodge, Old Faithful Museum, an herbarium, an
amphitheater, and the "biggest geyser-water swimming pool in the world"
are also found in the vicinity of Old Faithful Geyser.
Made by the Robbins Company, this spoon is 5% inches long.
No. 3 FORT DEARBORN MASSACRE
No. 4 CENTURY OF PROGRESS
No. 6 BLACK PARTRIDGE
No. 34 FORT DEARBORN LIGHTHOUSE
No. 101 CHICAGO BLOCKHOUSE
Chicago had its beginnings around Fort Dearborn, It is true that
French traders and trappers had been in this region more than a century
before, but they made no enduring establishment. It remained for Captain
John Whistler, grandfather of the famous painter, to build the first stock-
ade on the south-bank bend of the Chicago River in 1803. He named the
45
new iort in honor of Henry Dearborn, Secretary of War in Jefferson's
cabinet. This Captain Whistler had served first with the British under
Burgoyne; then, after being taken prisoner and freed, he switched his
allegiance to the American side.
On the north bank of the river were the cabins of the Burns, Ouilmette,
and Kenzie families. About a dozen more cabins had been built in the
forests near the fort by the time the War of 1812 came along to furnish
the Indians with sanguine hopes that they could successfully uproot the
pioneer outposts on the western frontier. The redskins were becoming
restive and apparently awaiting their chances. Some of the outlying cabins
had already been attacked and the settlers killed or captured.
Captain Heald, in charge of the fort, received a message from General
Hull, commander of the forces in the Northwest, that Fort Dearborn
should be abandoned and the little garrison withdrawn to Fort Wayne.
There was much discussion within the fort as to the propriety for such
a removal. The controversy raged for a week. Kenzie, a friend of the
Indians, advised against it. A small party of men under Captain William
Wells were marching from Fort Wayne to strengthen the forces at Fort
Dearborn. When Wells arrived, the decision to evacuate had already
been made, and the stores of ammunition which could not be taken along
were destroyed. All the provisions on hand were distributed among the
Indians, who were dissatisfied that the barrels of whiskey were not also
included. The liquor had been poured into the stockade well.
The day before the departure, a friendly chief of the Potawatomi tribe,
Black Partrdige, entered the fort and handed back to Captain Heald a
medal highly prized by the Indian because it had been given to him by
the Americans as a token of their long mutual friendship. Black Partridge
stated solemnly that "linden birds had been singing in his ears." It was
a dire omen that the redskins were on the warpath.
Nevertheless, on the morning of August 15, 1812, the little pioneer
band set forth resolutely on their journey to the cadence of the Dead
March from Handel's Saul, played by the fife and bugle corps. They
followed the shore line south along Lake Michigan, and had proceeded
about a mile and a half when the Indians, appearing suddenly from
behind the sand dunes, attacked in full fury.
The small party of whites, hopelessly outnumbered, defended them-
selves with the grim determination to survive in this deadly hand-to-hand
fighting, but were as flickering candle flames in the wind. Captain Wells
hewed to left and right, and brought down a number of the enemy be-
fore he succumbed in the fierce onslaught. The savages cut his heart
out and devoured it before the very eyes of his widow, believing the cour-
age, now deadened in that heart, would revive phoenix-like in their own.
Mrs. Helm, a daughter of the Kenzies, had ridden away from the fort
on horseback, and during the battle became separated from the main
part of the caravan. Dragged from her horse, she defended herself with
46
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all the strength at her command against a warrior who was brandishing
a tomahawk above her head. She had parried every blow until her
assailant caught her by the hair and was making ready to scalp her alive.
Just when she thought her last moment had come, another Indian came
up, seized her, and bore her away quickly to the lakeside. There he
carried her into the water till she was securely hidden from view behind
a cluster of cattails and sedge, her head alone emerging from the water.
Only then did she learn that her rescuer was a friend, Black Partridge,
who meant her no harm. At various times in the past she had cooked
venison steaks for this Indian, and lie had thus repaid her kindness bv
saving her life at this critical moment.
The unequal contest did not last more than thirty minutes. Thirty-
eight men, two women, and many of the children perished. More than
half the party lay dead along the sand dunes. The rest surrendered, and
were marched back to the fort so recently evacuated. They were held
captives for several months till a ransom of one hundred dollars was paid
for each of the survivors.
All the outlying cabins in the district were now attacked, and many
settlers were killed. Black Partridge performed another deed of mercy
by rescuing a Mrs. Lee, a farm wife, the sole survivor in a family of six.
The Fort Dearborn Massacre spoon, the official souvenir spoon of
the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893, was cast by the Alvin Silver
Company and controlled by C. D. Peacock. Seldom have so many figures
been represented on a single spoon. The bowl contains a view of Chicago
in 1832: two buildings in the foreground and one in the distance; two
Indians in a canoe and one seated on a log along the shore. The handle
in its entire length is an impressive panorama of the massacre at its bloody
climax. About forty people can be distinguished, all in active combat
except those lying dead or wounded on the ground. The covered wagons
are surrounded by angry warriors, and the horses are rearing and plung-
ing in the midst of the melee. Only around the abandoned fort, seen in
the extreme right background, is everything peaceful. In the handle-drop
is pictured the rescue of Mrs. Helm. Length of this spoon is 5% inches.
The Black Partridge spoon, put out by the Century Company for the
Chicago World's Fair in 1933, portrays the friendly Indian chief in a side
view on the caput The Hall of Science appears in the nave, and along
the shank are the words, "A Century of Progress." In the bowl is the
Court of States building. The official guidebook of the fa,ir says, con-
cerning this structure: "The feeling in previous expositions has been that
national participation could be shown only by a separate building for each
state. This resulted in some useless expenditure, and participation on an
elaborate scale by some, by a scanty representation by others, and by no
participation at all in the case of many. Preferring to emphasize the
solidarity of our Union, A Century of Progress determined that the States
should be grouped under one roof, architecturally arranged with the
49
Federal building to indicate its support of, and united efforts with, the
neutral government ... It is a beautiful setting for reunion, overlooking
the Jagoon, with its broad and beautiful Court of States, opening by several
entrances to the various state and territorial exhibits." This spoon has
been used through the courtesy of its owner, Mrs. Annie Hahn, Louisville,
Ky. Length, 6 inches.
Another spoon, designated as the Century of Progress, and included
in this discussion because of its likeness of subject matter with the others
in this group, was cast by the Watson Company for the Chicago Exposition
in 1933. The bowl is plain, but the handle is implemented with many
scenes. On the obverse side may be seen the Carillon Tower; a cornucopia
in the nave, symbolical of Time's outpouring beneficence through the years,
surmounted by the date "1933" above, and "A Century of Progress, Chicago,"
below the cornucopia; and the Hall of Science, symbolized by Laocoon
struggling with the serpent appearing in a cameo inset. The shank is
threaded by three lines along either edge. On the reverse side, "Fort
Dearborn" and the date "1803'' appear in the caput, and the Electrical
Group of buildings along the shaft. Length of spoon, 5% inches.
The fourth spoon, the Fort Dearborn Lighthouse, varies the picture
usually seen of the fort by a personal touch, in the bowl. Two Indians
on sentry duty are standing at attention in front of the fort, one shouldering
a gun, the other holding an arrow. "Chicago" in flourishing letters is the
only ornamentation on the handle. A product of R. Wallace & Sons.
Length, 5% inches.
The fifth spoon, the Chicago Blockhouse, a demi-tasse in size, was
probably made also for the Chicago Exposition in 1933, because in general
design it is modern and belongs to the period of the early thirties of this
century.
In the gold-washed bowl are seen the watch tower and the fort, and
behind both a brig with reefed sails lies at anchor close to shore. The
lower half of the handle is plain, but the widening upper half contains,
in swirled letters, the name of Chicago, surrounded and encroached upon
from the borders by a tongues -of -flame ornamentation. Made by R. Wallace
& Sons. Length, 4% inches.
No. 7 MOLLY PITCHER
In the barn of one George Ludwig, a farmer near Mercer City, New
Jersey, a fractious cow had just kicked over a pailful of milk. Molly,
Farmer Ludwig's sturdy young daughter, her face turning as red as her
hair, stood looking at the foamy white substance that spread in a widening
circle through and underneath the straw litter of the cow-stall. The
girl was exasperated. Such accidents had happened before. But this
50
time she had almost finished milking, and wished to squirt the last the
richest and creamiest drops of milk into the mouth of Toddy, her pet
cat. It was then that saucy old Bossy had acted up.
As she stared at the total loss of the milk oozing into the ground, and
pondered on the futility of her labors, Milkmaid Molly gave the placidly-
munching animal a resounding slap on the rump, picked up her empty
bucket, and walked defiantly toward the farmhouse. She was resolved
to be a milkmaid no more.
Not long afterwards Molly was installed as a servant girl in the house-
hold of William Irvine, a doctor practicing in the village of Carlisle, Penn-
sylvania. In no time the girl had captured the fancy of the local barber,
John Hays, a man of some means and almost twice the age of the fifteen-
year-old Molly.
For six years she lived in the back of her husband's shop, through
which she constantly passed to and fro, enlivening the place with her
salty remarks. She had no children, but Toddy, the tomcat, remained
with her as a faithful companion.
Come the Revolution, and Barber Hays enlisted at once in the forces
being raised by Doctor, now General, Irvine. Hays's company was com-
manded by Captain Francis Proctor. Molly decided forthwith that she
would not sit in the rear of a closed barbershop and twiddle her thumbs.
Moreover, Toddy had just died of senility, so there was nothing to keep
her at home.
For nearly three years Molly Hays stayed at the side of her husband,
tramping, camping, cooking, sewing, mending, washing, and doing all sorts
of odd jobs. Not the least of these odd jobs was a task that entailed
more than a wonted display of bravado. During a skirmish Molly would
go about fearlessly among the men, carrying an old broken-lipped earthen-
ware ewer and a pewter cup, ready to pour a drink of cool spring water
for any of the thirsty lads under Proctor's command. Grateful for these
oblations, the men rechristened her Moll o' the Pitcher, a name subsequently
changed to that by which history knows her.
On the twenty-eighth of June, 1778, at Monmouth, the Americans at-
tacked the enemy who were retreating from Philadelphia to the sea across
New Jersey. The day was extremely hot, and Molly moved back and forth
among the troops with her pitcher. Sergeant Hays was manning an old
muzzle-loading cannon. Just as he was getting ready to sight his charge,
he was struck in the hip. His wife saw him fall, ran to his aid, and
carried him back to a sheltered copse, where she helped a surgeon dress
the wound. Then, when she returned to his cannon, she found some
men already removing the piece from the field, as no one was available
to fire it. Molly begged to take over, and during the rest of the battle
she loaded or tamped the powder, set the charge on fire with the torch
through the vent at the top, covered over, and blazed away. Occasionally
51
she would return to her husband's side, and in transit fill her pitcher with
water.
Word of her services came to the ears of General Washington, who
declared that her heroism had so enflamed his men that a seeming defeat
was turned into an outright victory.
After the battle Molly conveyed her husband back to their home in
Carlisle, where he remained an invalid till his death shortly before the
end of the war.
On the recommendation of Washington, the Continental Congress made
Molly a sergeant and voted her a small pension for the rest of her life.
She died fifty-four years after the battle, a very old woman. She lived
alone during most of her widowhood, except for the companionship of
her pet cats, all of whom were supposedly descendants of Toddy.
One of her husband's comrades, who knew her well, had this to say
about her: "Big and boisterous she ever was, and ever ready with a
merry quip, but she was never coarse or vulgar. Though brusque in
manner, she was kindly, and always retained the respect and admiration
of the soldiers with whom her husband's lot was cast."
Actually, the figure on the caput of this spoon, a crone-like old woman
leaning on a cane, a cat with arched back and bushy, erect tail fawning
close to her side, was meant originally to represent Moll Pitcher, a fortune-
teller of local fame at Lynn, Massachusetts. She was called the "last of
the witches," and was still living during the Revolution. It is said that
a soldier acquainted with both women saw certain likenesses of tempera-
ment between the fortune-teller and the wife of Barber Hays, and thus
dubbed the latter Moll Pitcher. Every one, however, has taken this spoon
to commemorate the heroine of the Revolution.
The reverse of the handle carries the date, 1892, the imprint of W. H.
Newhall, and the Durgin trademark. Length, 5% inches.
No. 8 CADILLAC
Antoine de la Motte-Cadillac is one of the most neglected heroes of
American history. Outside Detroit, the name suggests only a well-known
make of motor car. A couple of statues, a town, and a street in Detroit
bear witness to his local fame. Even historians have been chary about
placing Cadillac in the Weltstrom of American history. Yet he belongs
there, even though he be a Frenchman who envisioned a New France
extending over the whole of North America.
There is one very good reason why Cadillac has never received the
accolade of biographers and historians, and that is, there are too many
missing links in his story. The springtime of his life is obscured by the
lack of authentic records, and his autumn was darkened by imprisonment
and loss of fortune.
52
Even the date of his birth is uncertain. At the time of his marriage,
his birth-year was recorded as 1661; at the time of his death, his birth was
registered as 1657. One of the earliest historians of Detroit mentions
1658, while Cadillac himself states in 1703 that he was forty-seven years
old, an age that would place his birth-date in 1656. Agnes Laut, author of
the only book-size biography of Cadillac, declares that he was born in
the heart of the Pyrenees on March 5, 1658. This last is perhaps the correct
date.
Born of a noble family whose fortunes had dwindled successively with
each generation, young La Motte set out from home in his sixteenth year,
like his fellow-countryman, d'Artagnan, to seek his way by the metal of
his sword and the mettle of his spirit. Miss Laut likens him to another
Gascon, Cyrano de Bergerac, the points of analogy lying in the aquiline
nose (that crag of prominence, the honor of which was so ably defended
by Cyrano), the swarthy complexion, the wiry physique, the readiness to
fight, the mastery of the foils, the abounding retort, their unquestioning
devotion to friends, and the contemptuous insolence toward enemies.
How many duels La Motte fought while he was still a "Gascon cadet"
in the French army we do not know, but he had not been long in Canada
before he established a great respect for the skill of his sword-thrusts.
He first came to Canada, in 1683, on a secret mission for the Crown: his
business was to ferret out grafters in the colonial government. He shuttled
about with such an observing eye and to such good purpose that his
reports came directly to the King's notice. Too honest to be bought by
chiselers, Cadillac reduced the size of the King's colonial budget materially.
As a reward he was given a seigniory on the north coast of Maine, with
a town house in Port Royal. In the last named settlement he met and
married Therese Guyon, a choice he never regretted. Madame Cadillac
seems to have been a woman in every way a worthy match to her husband
in mental and physical powers, becoming in time the mother of thirteen
children.
For five years, from 1689 to 1694, Cadillac was commissioned to make
surveys of the settlements and forts of both New France and New England
with the purpose in mind of laying plans for the eventual conquest of the
British colonies. As yet the French were too few in numbers to look
toward extirpating the heretical colonists along the seaboard. A greater
emprise and vision were needed to consummate this grandiose scheme
of empery.
Count Frontenac, the ablest governor that colonial Canada ever had,
kept his perspicacious eye trained upon Cadillac for several years, and
when the fur traders at Mackinac began to complain of British interlopers
ruining their business, the Count knew of no better man than Cadillac
to counteract this imminent threat to French suzerainty.
The post of which Cadillac was given charge was a trading center on
the Straits of Mackinac between Lakes Michigan and Huron. Around
53
the settlement at Fort Mackinac were clustered large numbers of Indians
of the Huron, Iroquois, and Ottawa tribes. Once a flourishing mission,
the place was now demoralized by the unlicensed sale of brandy, the
excessive drinking of which by the natives caused endless disorders and
all sorts of crimes.
Cadillac restricted the sale of brandy, but still allowed the Indians to
buy a certain amount, believing on this score that if the French refused
to sell them the liquor, the English would have no such scruples. And
those Indians who resorted to the British for brandy would likewise offer
their pelts in exchange. On this subject arose a vehement argument be-
tween Cadillac and the Jesuit, Father Carheil, who would sell no brandy
to the Indians. When the commandant said that he was only obeying
the royal orders in permitting the traffic in brandy, the Jesuit reproved
him for obeying man, not God. This rejoinder rubbed the temperamental
Gascon the wrong way. He reported on the incident: "I told him his talk
smelt of sedition a hundred yards off, and begged him to amend his
language. He told me that I gave myself airs that did not belong to me,
holding his fist before my nose at the same time. I confess I almost forgot
that he was a priest, and felt for a moment like knocking his jaw out of
joint; but thank God I contented myself with taking him by the arm,
pushing him out, and ordering him not to come back/'
Cadillac was dissatisfied with his position at Mackinac. He clearly
perceived that the site, while strategically important, lay too far north
to be the pivotal keystone for trade between the Great Lakes and the
Mississippi Valley. The Straits of Detroit, which lay at the northwestern
end of Lake Erie and formed the connecting link between that waterway
and Lake Huron, would be more feasible, not only as a trade emporium
but also as a tightening screw against the growing pains of the British.
When Cadillac laid his plans for a settlement at Detroit before an
assembly of officials at Quebec, Callieres, the then governor, stoutly opposed
the objectives outlined, which were in substance: first, that Detroit would
become a hub of the fur trade; and, second, that the Indians around
the new town would be civilized by teaching them French.
The intendant Champigny, a friend of the Jesuits, contended that the
Indians should not learn French, that those young squaws and braves
who had received some training at the Ursuline convent and the Boys'
Seminary led looser lives than did the uneducated. "M. de Champigny
does great honor to the Ursulines and the Seminary," twitted the mordacious
Gascon.
Disgruntled over his stymied plans, Cadillac was determined to carry
the matter straight to the King himself. In the fall of 1699 he set sail
for France, armed with maps and reports, as well as letters written by
Frontenac in his favor. Legend has it that he did not board the vessel
in port, for fear lest his enemies might detain him, but galloped away in
the dead of night and embarked from a canoe downstream.
54
At Versailles the king was busy with other matters and turned
Cadillac's request and the weight of evidence over to Pontchartrain,
advisor on colonial affairs. Either Cadillac was a persuasive talker or
else the concession for a new fort was deemed feasible, since the com-
mission was soon granted to the petitioner at one of the king's morning
audiences. Cadillac, always noted for his severity toward any of his soldiers
who were careless of dress, presented himself at court in a blaze of colorful
regalia, received his commission, kissed his majesty's hand, and bowed out.
On June 5, 1701, began the journey from Montreal to the Straits of
Detroit. Cadillac had assembled in his party fifty handpicked soldiers,
fifty capable backwoodsmen, two Recollet friars, and a number of Algon-
quin Indians to serve as portage men and interpreters. Twenty-five canoes
of birch and cedar were plentifully loaded with food, clothing, axes, garden
implements, guns and ammunition. Their itinerary followed a northerly
route through the Lachine Rapids, along the Ottawa River, around the
Chaudiere and the Rideau River Falls, up the Mattawa River, across
Nipissing Lake, and out of French River into Georgian Bay and Lake
Huron. He even cut across the latter lake to Mackinac ostensibly to pick
up garrison supplies which he had hidden before his departure from there
two years before. Skirting the west shore of Lake Huron southward, he
sailed into Lake St. Glair, and thence into the blue waters at the northern
end of Detroit River.
The history of the city of Detroit begins July 24, 1701, when Cadillac
and his migrant party selected a site for their settlement on the north
shore of the Straits, on a bluff below Belle Isle where the river perceptibly
narrows as if from two bisected semi-circles. The journey of forty-nine
days had been marked by only one untoward incident. Early in the trip
several of the enlisted men, believing rumors they heard of dangers ahead
from bushlopers during encampments, connived to take off with the provi-
sions and ammunition. In the argument that followed, a buffet from the
rear sent Cadillac's hat spinning off his head. Seizing his sword, he
challenged the pork-heads to test their metal against his. No rapier except
the commander's flashed in the sunlight. The mutiny was over, and no
blood, good or bad, had been spilled.
Cadillac in his very unorthodox reports to the French court waxed as
poetic as a Cyrano de Bergerac over the auspicious locality of this newly-
established fort, named for his patron, Ponchartrain, Listen to him: "The
climate is temperate and the air purified through the day and night by a
gentle breeze. The skies are always serene, and spread a sweet and fresh
influence which makes one enjoy a tranquil sleep . . . The grape-vine
has not strength enough to support the weight of its fruit and it has not
yet wept under the knife of the vine dresser . . . The shy stag, the timid
fawn, the bounding bucks, the turkey hen with bulging crop and numerous
broods, the golden pheasant, the quail, the partridge, the woodchuck, the
turtle dove-all sweeten the melancholy of these solitudes . , , You can
S5
shoot thirty turkeys in an afternoon for food. Besides the game birds, there
are tanagers, cardinals, cranes, blue birds, threshers, black birds, robins
. . . The swans are like great lilies. The ducks are so thick they hardly
move to let canoes pass amid their flocks/' An idlyllic spot amid a wilder-
ness plenitude was this site for a town which in time was to become the
hub of our automotive civilization.
The woodchoppers and carpenters in the group set to work at once
cutting down trees and building a stockade. Two days after their arrival,
ground was broken for a chapel dedicated to St. Anne, patron saint of
the voyagers. Fifty cabins were constructed before the cold weather
set in. Small farms were laid off, wheat was sown, fruit trees were
planted, and provisions stored away for the winter. In late September
arrived Madam Cadillac and her five children. More women and children,
as well as more settlers, continued to arrive through the winter.
At first the Indians looked askance at this intrusion of their territory.
Cadillac soon dispelled their suspicions by inviting them to pitch their
camps near the new port and barter their furs at his trading post. His
friendly gestures brought more than six thousand Indians, members of
the Huron, Miami, Ottawa, and Potawatomi tribes, to make their head-
quarters in the vicinity. Cadillac exulted over the report that only
twenty-five Indians still traded off their furs at Fort Mackinac. He con-
sidered his success with the Indians as a personal triumph over his old
Jesuit adversary, Father Carheil, and expressed a rather smug, chop-smack-
ing satisfaction as he gloated: "I hope that in the autumn I shall pluck
this last feather from his wing; and I am convinced that this obstinate priest
will die in his parish without one parishioner to bury him."
Detroit prospered and grew during the years from 1701 to 1710 when
Cadillac was commandant, but this very prosperity and growth brought
a spate of charges from jealous onlookers. Most of these accusations had
no basis in fact, but they were numerous enough. Cadillac was allowing
Indians to join the royal regiments; he encouraged the savages to learn
French, and granted them equal privileges with the whites in churches,
hospitals, and schools; he sold goods cheaper than in Montreal and Quebec;
he was making too much money from this fur monopoly; he spoke causti-
cally of the Jesuits; he was detested by his troops and the settlers.
The malicious reports against Cadillac gradually had their effect. A
new colonial minister, Vaudreuil, none too friendly toward the Detroit
commandant, replaced Pontchartrain. Vaudreuil listened seriously to the
accusations, and decided that the best means for removing Cadillac from
his present post would be by promoting him to another one elsewhere.
Hence this dispatch in September of 1710: "Having appointed you to
the governorship of Louisiana ... it is the will of His Majesty that you
go at once to Louisiana . . . This is for the welfare of the service." The
order was signed by Vaudreuil.
56
Vainly did Cadillac try to stave off the transfer, and delayed his
departure to the southern colony for a year and a half. The worst feature
about the transfer of the Detroit post to new hands was, that it carried
all of Cadillac's property with it. These holdings were not large, but the
loss involved everything that the commandant had managed to secure
through initiative, thrift, and shrewd supervision on his part. He filed
suit to retain his property and tarried eleven months in Quebec until he
realized that the decrees of corrupt politicians at Versailles were inexorable.
Cadillac was still in Canada when the consequences of this removal
made their effects felt. Dubuisson, the new commandant, sent a dispatch
to Quebec for help in November, 1711,- saying that all the Indian tribes
were ablaze with insubordination. "By what miracle had Cadillac con-
trolled them? . . . There was no obedience inside the fort, nor out/' A
Recollet gray friar records that it was terrible to see what was happening
under the change. Detroit underwent a siege of nineteen days. There
was a constant shifting of commandants for Detroit before peace once
more descended on the harried settlement. The wonder is, that it survived.
Cadillac's exploits in Louisiana were far less brilliant than they had
been at Detroit. Most historians of this part of his career seem to be
biased against him and find little of commendation in his actions. A new
clique of politicians, mostly strangers to him, had grasped the reins of
government at Versailles. Cadillac had no intimate dealings with them.
He sent them few reports, favorable or unfavorable. To tell the truth,
his heart lay not in this semi-tropical country. Even though his recall,
in 1717, came unexpectedly, and rudely worded to the effect that he had
proved himself unfit to administer the King's affairs in Louisiana, he must
not have grieved or wished to linger, for he immediately returned to
France.
Just about the time that he set foot in the French capital, John Law's
Mississippi Bubble was being blown to enormous dimensions. Cadillac,
as always, more courageous than tactful, denounced the rash scheme with
snorts of vehement condemnation. He boldly declared that no revenues
could be derived from Louisiana for many years yet.
When he denounced Law as a fraud, Cadillac was clamped in the
Bastille, where he might have rotted without further extenuation, if Law's
scheme had not crashed so hard that the quake opened the prison doors
for Cadillac to go free again.
But his life during his latter years sinks back into the same sort of
obscurity out of which it rose. For a while he was the governor of a
small department in southern France, a position which, since it was auc-
tioned and sold to the highest bidder, cost him sixteen thousand five hundred
livres. Here, at Castel-Sarrarin, he died on October 15, 1730.
Agnes Laut, in her colorful biography of Cadillac, speaks of him as
"one of the few great early heroes in North American history whose life
has never been written." Even Miss Laut, for all her painstaking research
57
that carried her over most of the territory covered by Cadillac himself,
still had to admit encountering many blind gaps.
Arthur Pound, historian of the "dynamic city," eulogizes Cadillac in
these words: "On the whole, Detroit has reason to be proud of its dashing
and dramatic founder, who stands out after a hundred and fifty years as
one of the really great figures in America's colonial history. Cadillac is
one of those leaders of destiny who grow in stature as the veils are drawn
aside through historical research. A century ago he was almost forgotten;
a century hence, when his daring record and enlightened opinions are
better known, he may stand out as one of the trail-breakers of history."
The spoon honoring Cadillac purveys his portrait in the caput, his name
being seen in the banderole beneath and the date, 1701, in smaller letters
to the left side. A heraldic scaly-backed dragon, somewhat like a gargoyle,
charges the left border of the nave, on which appears DETROIT. The
dragon-tail, in its windings, divides the shaft into two sections, on each
of which there is a fleur-de-lis. This distinctively French flower also forms
the handle drop. A diorama of Detroit, viewed from a river-boat, appears
in the bowl. The decor, being symmetrical, shows a definite rococo influ-
ence, late Louis XIV or early Louis XV. The spoon was cast by Dominick
and Haff, a company later merged with Reed and Barton, for Wright, Kay
& Co. The length of spoon is 6 inches.
No. 9 LONGFELLOW
No. 30 LONGFELLOW'S HOME
No. 137 LONGFELLOW'S BIRTHPLACE
Longfellow was literally born with a "souvenir spoon" in his mouth.
Good fortune seemed to smile upon him all the days of his life. Seldom
do we see a more favorable combination of happy chance and achievement
in any man's career. Not a little of the disparagement voiced by his
detractors springs from envy at the fortunate circumstances of his life and
the uncritical adulation of his poetry. "When we see a person of moderate
powers receive honors which should be reserved for the highest," says
Margaret Fuller splenetically, "we feel like assailing him and taking from
him the crown which should be reserved for grander brows."
Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine then, still a part of Massa-
chusettson February 27, 1807. The second of eight children, he was
named after his mother's favorite brother, Henry Wadsworth, a naval
officer who had lost his life three years before when his ship exploded
during gunfire off the coast of Tripoli.
The father, Stephen Longfellow, of the sixth generation of the family
in America, was a Harvard graduate like his father before him. He prac-
ticed law in Portland, and expected in the course of time to have his son
58
follow in his footsteps. The mother was directly descended from John
and Priscilla Alden, those two Mayflower voyagers who were to be so
widely publicized and romanticized, much later, in The Courtship of Miles
Standish. Stephen Longfellow and his wife were emancipated Puritans,
still holding the same high standards of conduct and morality as their
ancestors, but no longer having scruples about the enjoyment of beauty
in the fine arts of painting, music, and literature. Indeed, Zilpah Wads-
worth, in spite of her intellectual bent, had a streak of gayety in her
nature: she loved dancing though it cannot be said that she imparted any
of her fondness for this amusement to her son, for he confessed that he
cared only for an occasional waltz, and then his preference inclined toward
the older women who appreciated such attentions more than did the
younger girls.
Henry learned to read almost before he had cut all his teeth, that is,
at the age of three, and thenceforward he progressed so rapidly that he
was able to enter Bowdoin College at fourteen. By this time he had
already published anonymously his first poem, "The Battle of Lovell's Pond,"
in the Portland Gazette. But a damper was put on the boy's poetic
aspirations when at the dinner table the same day of its appearance, a
judge picked up the Gazette and asked of Henry's father, "Did you read
that poem in the morning paper? Very stiff, remarkably stiff. Moreover,
it's borrowed, every word of it." From those remarks the youthful poet
learned one valuable lesson: to get favorable reactions from your readers,
you must write what they like to read.
At Bowdoin College, where Nathaniel Hawthorne was his classmate,
he continued to write poems for the Portland Gazette. Most of these,
if included at all among Longfellow's poems, are found among the
"Juvenilia." An address which he delivered at his graduation deserves
more than passing notice, however, as his theme was "Our Native Writers."
To Thomas Wentworth Higginson this speech appears "to be one of the
most interesting landmarks in the author's early career, and to point
directly towards all that followed." A few excerpts will suffice to show
its nature: "To an American there is something endearing in the very
sound Our Native Writers. Like the music of our native tongue, when
heard in a foreign land, they have the power to kindle up within him the
tender memory of his home and fireside ... Is then our land to be indeed
the land of song? Will it one day be rich in romantic associations? Will
poetry, that hallows every scene that renders every spot classical and
pours out on all things the soul of its enthusiasm, breathe over it that
enchantment which lives in the isle of Greece? . . . Yes and palms are to
be won by our native writers!" He calls for a native literature emancipated
from the English literary tradition. "We are a plain people, that have
had nothing to do with the mere pleasures and luxuries of life; and, hence,
there has sprung up within us a quick-sightedness to the failings of literary
men and an aversion to everything that is not practical, operative, and
59
thoroughgoing/' He proceeds to say that "our poetry is not in books
alone" but in those men whose hearts have been warmed by the beauty
of our natural scenery. And he closes with that perfervid line from Scott
to show his amor patriae
This is my own, my native land.
Longfellow might have become a purely provincial poet, hymning the
praises of his New England hills and hollows as jingoistically, if not so
raucously, as Walt Whitman bellowed the beauties of Brooklyn, if one
of those unexpected "lucky breaks" had not chanced his way. His alma
mater offered him the chair of modern languages if he would go to Europe
for the study that would equip him adequately for the position. He
accepted the offer, glad to escape the bonds that would have made him
a lawyer, like his father.
For three years he wandered over Europe, studying in France for
eight months, in Spain also for eight months, in Italy for a full year, and
in Germany for six months. He felt homesick for Spain when he went to
Italy, but in the latter country he became so conversant with the language
that hotel clerks mistook him for a native.
For six years Longfellow labored strenuously at Bowdoin, often writing
or editing his own texts when none suited him or they were lacking. The
college trustees granted him a professorship when he stoutly refused a
tutorship at an annual salary of eight hundred dollars. He took over
the duties of librarian also for an additional hundred dollars. In 1831
he married Mary Storer Potter, a native like himself of Portland. He
saw her first in church, and was so attracted by her that he called upon
her a few days later in the company of his sister. A whirlwind courtship
terminated in marriage.
When the scholarly George Ticknor wished to retire as professor of
modern languages at Harvard in 1835, he suggested Longfellow as his
successor. Before assuming his duties, the young professor made a second
trip to Europe to improve his knowledge of German, Dutch, and the Scan-
dinavian languages. This journey was saddened by the unexpected death
of Mrs. Longfellow in Holland.
For eighteen years he held the chair as "Smith Professor of the French
and Spanish Languages and Literature, and Professor of Belles Lettres" at
Harvard. He had a great deal of supervision to do, often acted as
substitute-teacher, and was scheduled every term for a series of lectures.
He complained once that seventy lectures were hanging over his head
'like a dark curtain/' "Six hours in the lecture-room," he exclaims, "like
a schoolmaster!" As the emoluments from his literary labors increased, he
found his academic duties becoming more and more distasteful. "My
work here grows quite intolerable, and, unless they make some change,
I will leave them, with or without anything to do," he wrote to his father.
Somewhat later he questions himself, "Ought I to lead this life any
longer? If I mean to be an author, should I not be one in earnest?"
60
Irritably he confides to his diary on December 31, 1853: "How barren of
all poetic production this last year has been! I have absolutely nothing
to show. Really there has been nothing but the college work." Finally,
confident that his growing income would be sufficient for the needs of his
family, he resigned his professorship at Harvard, to be succeeded by James
Russell Lowell.
His family life was ideally happy during these years. In 1843 he had
married, for his second wife, the daughter of a wealthy Boston merchant,
Frances Elizabeth Appleton, a young lady whose portrait fully justifies all
the laudatory epithets bestowed upon her for her "Junonian beauty,"
"kindest heart," "gentle face," "deep unutterable eyes/' When, after her
tragic death by fire in the summer of 1861, the poet bore his grief man-
fully and silently. Years later he tenderly wrote of her that
soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose.
There were two sons and three daughters born to this second marriage,
and these children were always a source of happiness to the poet. He
was especially fond of the little girls-
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.
A whisper and then a silence;
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall,
By three doors left unguarded,
They enter my castle wall.
They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.
Craigie House, where Longfellow lived first as a lodger, then as the
master, from 1837 until his death, was a spacious three-story mansion
overlooking the Charles River. The place was distinctive for its historical
associations, even before Mr. Appleton bought and presented it to his
son-in-law, the poet. George Washington made it his headquarters when
he and Mrs. Washington spent the winter of 1776 in Cambridge. Talleyrand
61
and the Duke of Kent, Queen Victoria's father, had sojourned there as
guests of General Craigie.
Longfellow's home became the focal point for an ever-widening circle
of noted people. The poet was no introvert, like Hawthorne, to shy
away from his fellowmen, nor did he even assume the pedestal-like posture
which would cause people to shy away from him. Dickens, on his tour
of America, made it a special point to visit Craigie House. Among his
most intimate friends, who freely came and went, were Lowell, Emerson,
Hawthorne, Howe, Howells, Ticknor, Bancroft, Parsons, Norton, Agassiz,
Whittier, Sparks, and Prescott. His two favorite authors, Bryant and
Washington Irving, although not frequenters of his home circle, were
good friends whose acquaintance he had made in Europe.
Longfellow's study and adjoining library at Craigie House suggested
to the visitor a pleasant sense of cozy Gemutlichkeit, as well as an atmos-
phere of expansive scholarship in the high, white-panelled walls, large
open fireplace, comfortable armchair near the fire, and the informal piling
of hooks on shelves and tables. Coleridge's- inkstand and a statuette of
Goethe stood on his desk. A gold-leaf Federal mirror hung over the
mantel, and oil paintings, among them a Tintoretto, were spaced here
and there along the walls. A lemon-tree in one window niche reminded
him of Italy; an orange-tree in another brought back memories of Spain.
He was often interrupted in his musings by admirers, curiosity-mongers,
and beggars, but he was never irritated by these unannounced visitors.
One woman, among a group of English sightseers, offered this extenuation
for an unheralded call. "As there are no ruins in this country, we thought
we would come to see you." Penniless tramps and hungry beggars imposed
on his soft-hearted generosity, and their sad tales, often fabricated, were
a ready pledge for small sums of money and parcels of food before they
departed. A steady stream of children trotted up the hallway to see the
chair made from the "spreading chestnut tree" and presented to the poet
as a gift from the children. The welcome mat was spread for all comers.
Out of sheer compassion, he took an old friend, George W. Greene, to
live out his last days as a pensioner at Craigie House. The poet even
took much of his own time to wait upon this destitute, paralyzed old man.
Longfellow enjoyed a tremendous popularity both at home and abroad.
For several years before his death in 1882, the children of America honored
his birthday with special services in the schools. The simplicity, wide
appeal, and moral purity of his writings endeared him to all young people.
Typical of his influence is this incident told by a well-known bookseller
when a stranger wished to buy a book of poetry as a Christmas gift for
his daughter. "I don't want Byron or Shelley, or somebody like that,"
explained the stranger. "I want somebody like Longfellow a good, safe,
family poet."
In England he was more popular than Tennyson or Browning. Oxford
University conferred the D.C.L. degree upon him, and Cambridge the LL.D.
62
When he visited London he was feted by the most notable Englishmen of
the time, among whom were Gladstone, Tennyson, Carlyle, Bulwer-Lytton,
Aubrey de Vere, and Lord John Russell. The Queen herself invited him
to visit Windsor, where the maids peeped from behind curtains to catch
a glimpse of the royally-received American. At Newcastle his carriage was
abruptly halted by a group of grime-coated miners, who opened the door
and asked, "Are you Mr. Longfellow?" The poet, thinking he was about
to be the victim of a robbery, rather hesitantly admitted his identity.
"Well, sir/' declared the spokesman, "we heard you were to pass by here
at this time; so we got permission to come up out of the mines to see you.
We just want to shake your hand and say, "God bless the man that wrote
"The Psalm of Life." * " This incident is not as surprising as it seems on
the surface after this explanation by a British publisher: "A stranger can
hardly have an idea of how familiar many of our working people, especially
women, are with Longfellow. Thousands can repeat some of his poems
who have never read a line of Tennyson and probably never heard of
Browning." Two years after Longfellow's death, a bust of him was
unveiled in Westminster Abbey. In our own Hall of Fame, the name of
Longfellow was among the first selected for inscription on its walls. For
his tomb in Mount Auburn the sole inscription, LONGFELLOW, suffices.
Singular as it may appear to us now, he began his career as a writer
of travelogues. Outre Mer, exactly what its sub-title says it is, A Pilgrimage
Beyond the Sea, describing his wanderings on his first trip to Europe,
is written in a sentimental Irvingesque vein. His second work of prose,
Hyperion, betrays the growing influence of Jean Paul Richter on his
imaginative faculties. For several decades this book now long out of
print was a sort of vade mecum for those wishing to familiarize themselves
with the romantic associations of the Rhine Valley. "It opened up to
Americans a new world," says Fred Lewis Pattee, "the splendid vista of
continental beauty and it brought a new longing into a thousand American
homes/' His last prose work, Kavanaugh, the colorless romance of a New
England village pastor, was less successful.. The criticisms of it proving
rather severe, he forewent any further ventures in prose fiction.
Voices of the Night, Longfellow's first volume of poems, was published
in September 1839, two months after Hyperion. It contained such popular
things as these: "A Psalm of Life," "The Reaper and the Flowers," "Foot-
steps of Angels," and "Hymn to the Night." Just how firm and permanent
a hold some of these poems took on the public mind may best be shown
by the fact that a century later, "A Psalm of Life" won, in a newspaper poll
of sixty thousand readers, first place among the ten favorite poems of
America. The criticasters may scoff at the didacticism of this poem as
much as they please, yet the general public will continue to love it and
feel as uplifted and encouraged by reading it as by any passage in the
Bible. Harvey O'Higgins calls it the "paean of an ego facing reality
courageously, disdaining the pleasure motive, and turning its back on the
63
path of psychotic repression. It is a profoundly important psychological
poem." To those critics who decry the sermonizing which Longfellow
constantly injected into his work, Grant C. Knight says very pertinently
that "no one has yet proved that a desire to instruct or improve is in-
compatible with the demands of art."
Ballads and Other Poems, issued in 1841, gave readers two straight-
forward narratives in "The Skeleton in Armor" and "The Wreck of the
Hesperus/' revealing for the first time the author's ability to tell a story
in verse. "The Village Blacksmith," typical of the worst kind of Victorian
poetry, yet presented at his best the most familiar character of village life
in nineteenth-century America. Shoddy the poetry is, yes, but every
American blacksmith, being a man of brawn rather than brain, could
understand it, and 111 wager he appreciated the honor bestowed upon
him. No one has done a similar service for the garage man of today.
The moralizing strain persisted in all those early poems, and yet it is
this very characteristic feature that endeared him to the masses. The
titles, though legion, are still familiar to us from our school days: "The
Rainy Day," "Maidenhood," "Excelsior," "The Bridge," "The Day is Done,"
"The Old Clock on the Stairs," "The Arrow and the Song," "The Building
of the Ship," "The Ladder of St. Augustine," "My Lost Youth," "Daybreak,"
"Seaweed," "Children," and "The Children's Hour." A glance at his later
short poems reveals fewer and fewer familiar titles. Illogically enough,
some of his best poetry is in these, especially in the sonnets, among which
"The Cross of Snow," "Nature," "Venice," "On Translating the Divine
Comedy," "Shakespeare," "Milton," and "Keats," are memorable achieve-
ments. Tales of a Wayside Inn is built up on the device employed by
Boccaccio and Chaucer of having a group of people, thrown together for
a certain length of time, relate stories for one another's mutual entertain-
ment. A host of good narratives, derived from a variety of sources, abound
in these pages, and each narrator tells his tale with right good zest. There
is not a dull story among them, and especially fine are "The Birds of
Killingworth," "The Legend of Rabbi Ben Ezra," "King Robert of Sicily,"
"The Saga of King Olaf," "Paul Revere's Ride," "The Monk of Casal-Mag-
giore," and "The Falcon of Ser Federigo."
His wings having grown strong on the short, swallow flights of song,
Longfellow felt emboldened to make longer flights of passage. In three
of these, Evangeline (1847), The Song of Hiawatha (1855), and The
Courtship of Miles Standish (1858), he demonstrated his ability to write
the sustained narrative form in verse with such success as to produce "best
sellers." He also demonstrated his ability to discover the intrinsic, poetic
beauty inherent in purely native themes. Let those who will carp about the
rough spots in the hexametric measures of Evangeline, the sing-song
iterations in Hiawatha, or the prosy lines in The Courtship, there will still
be a host of people who will find pleasure in reading them in preference
64
to the soul-wrenching eruptions of those "chaotic erotics" who give pleasure
to nobody except themselves.
Another facet of Longfellow's talents that showed to good advantage
was his expertness at translating. While he made translations from nine
languages, his best work in this field may be narrowed to those four
tongues from which he derived endless inspirations. From the Spanish
he translated the Coplas of Jorge Manrique, a bit of work that compares
favorably with Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat; sonnets from Lope de Vega; ballades
from Gongora; and lines from St. Teresa of Avila. From the German
there are perfect renditions from the songs and ballads of Uhland, Heine,
Goethe, Arnim, and Brentano. Perhaps the most arduous task he ever
set himself to do was the translation of Dante's Divine Comedy from
the Italian, done in the years following the death of the second Mrs.
Longfellow. From the Swedish he made translations of Tegner's Children
of the Lord's Supper and Frithiofs Saga. Edmund Gosse says that there
is such an affinity of taste and sentiment between Longfellow and the
Scandinavians that a Swedish critic once placed Longfellow in an anthology
among his native poets. Van Wyck Brooks speaks of a "secret kinship be-
tween the pastoral children of the Vikings and the child of Maine for
whom the sea and the forest possessed an unfailing magic."
The belittlement of Longfellow's verse began with his contemporaries,
those nearest in time and place, the Transcendentalists. His chief antagonist,
Margaret Fuller, says bluntly that he is "artificial and imitative . . . mixes
what he borrows so that it does not appear to the best advantage. The
ethical part of his writing has a hollow second-hand sound." Poe, though
sometimes laudatory, is on the whole much more condemnatory: "His
conception of the aims of poetry is all wrong . . . His didactics are all out
of place. He has written brilliant poems by accident; that is to say,
when permitting his genius to get the better of his conventional habit of
thinking, a habit deduced from German study." Some foreign critics,
notably Swinburne, declare him banal and medieval in outlook. Coventry
Patmore nicknamed him "Longwindedfellow."
To these endless animadversions that have continued down to our own
day, the best rebuttal was made by George Saintsbury, most thoroughgoing
of English scholars: "For my part, I made up my mind long ago that the
critic who pooh-poohs Longfellow is a bad critic. If he cannot see the
poetry of Longfellow because of the other things not quite so poetical
which are there, he lacks the first qualifications of the critic."
Not the best poet that America has produced, Longfellow is still the
best loved. Generations of our school children, after cutting their mental
baby teeth on Mother Goose and other nursery pap, have cut their second
permanent set on Longfellow's substantial diet of simples always digestible.
For the great mass of common people Longfellow has been and remains,
so far as poetry goes, staple provender. Not only was his taste devoid of
all objectionable faults, but his vision remained clear, unimpaired and far-
65
reaching, It is said that the last words Goethe spoke were "More light."
As typical of Longfellow were the last words he wrote
It is daybreak everywhere.
All three spoons commemorating Longfellow show the poet's head in
relief in medallion-form on the caput of the handle. The Longfellow
spoon gives a profile view of the face from the left side, the entire oval
encircled by a chaplet of laurel. The initials HWL appear in the nave,
and PORTLAND on the shaft. The date, April 6, 1891, is still visible,
though badly worn, on the reverse side of caput. This spoon, 6 inches in
length, is a Durgin product, controlled by J. A. Merrill & Co.
The Longfellow's Home spoon presents a view of Craigie House, the
poet's Cambridge residence, in the bowl. Diagonal reedings and tiny
trefoils share equal portions on the shaft. The reedings traverse upwards,
scroll-like, along the left margin of the nave, while acanthus foliage runs
upwards on the right. Wild roses appear at the base of the caput, in
which the author's face, guardant, is framed by an ogival arch. Made by
Silberstein, Hecht & Co., this spoon measures 4% inches in length.
The Birthplace spoon pictures Longfellow's boyhood home in Portland,
Maine, in the bowl. The stem carries the poet's name in engraved letters.
Both at the top of the stem and at the bottom, running into the handle
drop there are rosette bands, the rosettes being closely imbricated. The
nave shows an open book-like scroll. The poet's face, identical in pose
with that in the previous spoon, is encased in a caput influenced definitely
by Renaissance design. Made by Watson and Newell Co., it is 5 inches long.
No. 10 CHIEF SEATTLE
In our history there are many Indian chieftains whose names are
familiar to every schoolchild. Most of them are noted as redoubtable
warriors who fought a truceless fight against the encroachment of the
whites, and to all of them in the end came tragedy and inevitable defeat.
To millions of Americans, Seattle is the name of a busy shipping port
in the Northwest, a progressive municipality of which we speak with
pride. But it is also the name of an Indian sachem, little known, whom
we should really be proud to honor.
Chief Seattle, a man of integrity and always a friend to the white
settlers, was born about 1786 on Bainbridge Island, located in Puget
Sound midway between the present cities of Seattle and Bremerton. He
belonged to the Duwamish tribe: peaceable, lazy Indians who ate plenty
of salmon and wild berries, and who fled to the fir forests when hostile
tribes took to the warpath and invaded their territory.
Seattle at the age of six shared in the universal excitement experienced
by his elders when Captain George Vancouver, fresh from his voyage of
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explorations around South Sea Islands, dropped anchor in the Sound and
came ashore on Alki Island. Little Seattle left off picking berries and
ran to see the mammoth canoe, big as a sperm whale, and the achromatous
creatures who had disembarked from Captain Vancouver's ship, the
Discovery. At first the sailors were regarded as messengers of the gods.
A little later, when they temporarily lost their senses through a potent
liquid carried about on their persons, they were duly recognized as humans,
some of them as inhumans.
White traders and trappers, pushing westward over the inland trails,
soon became a familiar sight to the Indians around Puget Sound. Seattle,
while yet a boy, learned to distinguish between those white adventurers
actuated by good motives and, adversely, those actuated by bad ones.
The young chieftain, a natural leader, became an imposing figure over
six feet tall, with a voice strong and unmistakable in its meaning. His
superior intelligence was recognized -without dissent among his tribesmen.
Before his time the Duwamish were regarded almost in the light of
pacifists by other Indians. Seattle was no more bellicose than his fore-
fathers had been, but weary of the predatory raids made incessantly on
his people by hostile bands slipping in from the south, he brought the
marauders to a dead halt by an original method all his own.
The Muckleshoof Indians were planning a raid on the Duwamish, ac-
cording to the report of scouts. Seattle abided his time till they were
within striking distance. During the night, before the expected attack,
he ordered his men to cut the tallest firs on both banks of a narrowed
river just below a sharp bend, where a view for any considerable distance
was obstructed by high bluffs. The Muckleshoof braves came gliding
down the stream, twenty canoe-loads of them, cleared the bend at break-
neck speed, and hit the rapids like racers rounding a bend. The night
was too dark for them to perceive the watery pitfall awaiting them in
the weir of fir-logs until their canoes were catapulted, capsized, or smashed
to bits in the wildest confusion of a few seconds. The Duwamish leapt
upon them with brandished clubs and tomahawks. The invaders, having
lost their weapons in the debris, were stunned and defenseless. Most of
their skulls were bashed in while they flipped and floundered about, that
is, before they could figure out what had happened.
The clever ruse devised by Seattle, resulting in a top-heavy victory
for the Duwamish, was hailed as a sensational masterstroke by the other
tribes of the Northwest. Respect for the pacific Duwamish went up like
heated mercury.
Within a few years Seattle had become the head-chief of a confederation
consisting of six tribes. He created peace in the Northwest by being too
formidable for active opposition. He made Bainbridge Island his head-
quarters-his capital, if you will. And here he set up a capitol building,
too, though it did not have a dome, so the white settlers could recognize
it as such. It was more of a community house covering an acre and a
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quarter of land, nine hundred feet long and divided into forty apartments.
Each apartment had a separate entrance, separate quarters, and a common
hearth for kitchen and living-room. The six chiefs of Seattle's confederation
lived together here under one roof. Harmony prevailed because the guiding
spirit under that roof was a sagacious, wisely-tolerant leader.
The shell of this placid existence was broken by a Doctor David
Maynard, who came into the region looking for possibilities to establish
a salmon cannery. Chief Seattle received him amicably and even pointed
out to him a location suitable for his undertaking. The Indians were to
have a share in the enterprise. They were to catch the salmon that were
to be salted down in barrels and shipped south to San Francisco.
The first buildings were set up in 1852. A small boatload of people
landed during a heavy fall of rain. Doctor Maynard did not forget his
Indian friend when the question of a name for the new settlement was
broached. And thus a great Indian, honorable in all his dealings, scrupu-
lously honest, simple in his ways but profound in his mental attributes,
was signally memorialized in the name given to the borning metropolis.
In all his later transactions with the whites, Seattle pursued a policy
of cooperation and good .will. Even when the inevitable came to pass,
and the Indians were herded off into reservations, Chief Seattle accepted
the decision with resignation. He knew enough of history to be aware
that war with the white men meant death and defeat for the redskins.
During the single subsequent period of trouble, known as the Siege
of Seattle, in which about a dozen people were killed, Chief Seattle
remained on good terms with the whites. One report has it that the
Chiefs daughter, the Princess Angeline, paddled a little dugout through
a blinding storm to warn the town of an imminent attack by hostile warriors.
In 1854 the Territorial governor signed a treaty with Chief Seattle at
Elliott Point. Three thousand Indians were present, and about three
hundred whites. The speech made by the venerable Seattle, then nearing
seventy years, showed no diminution in his powers of utterance. Here can
be given only a few excerpts, but the entire discourse, recorded in full in
Archie Binn's Northwest Gateway, reveals a poetic beauty even in transla-
tion, and all the more surprising, coming as it does from a "Siwash" (a
corruption of "savage," the term applied by the whites to these Indians ) .
It could well find its way into some of our collections of great orations:
'"Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries
untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change.
Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are
like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great Chief
in Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the
return of the sun or the seasons. His people are many. They are like the
grass that covers vast prairies. My people are few. They resemble the
scattering trees of a storm-swept plain ... I will not dwell on ? nor mourn
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over, our untimely decay, nor reproach our paleface brothers with hastening
it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.
"Let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We
would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young
men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men
who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose,
know better.
"To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place
is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors
and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tables of
stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The
Red Man could never comprehend nor remember it. Our religion is the
traditions of our ancestors the dreams of our old men, given them in
solemn hours of night by the Great Spirit, and the visions of our sachems;
and it is written in the hearts of our people.
"Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled
the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the
morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my
people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them.
It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not
be many.
"But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that
we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any
time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this
soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley,
every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event
in days long vanished . . . The very dust upon which you now stand
responds more lovingly to their footsteps than to yours, because it is rich
with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the
sympathetic touch.
"And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of
my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores
will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's
children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the
highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone.
The White Man will never be alone.
"Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are
not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of
worlds."
Late in life, Chief Seattle accepted the Christian religion after giving
it thoughtful study. During the Civil War, he suffered from lack of food
and medicine, when the Government failed to make its promised payments.
He lived to see the end of the War, and died in 1866, at the age of eighty.
His grave was neglected till 1890, when some of his early pioneer friends
raised a fund to mark his last resting place.
In 1912 an imposing monument was erected to his memory in the
center of Denny Place in Seattle. The statue, molded in bronze by James G.
Wehn, represents Chief Seattle with one hand extended in a gesture of
welcome and friendship toward the arriving white settlers.
The embossed figure on the caput of this spoon shows the Indian Chief
seated, his eyes closed, his hands folded in his lap, a braided, shell-shaped
hat and a cane resting on one knee. This likeness is from a photograph
taken by L. D. Lindsley in Chief Seattle's old age.
An image of Mt. Rainier is outlined in the bowl. The spoon, which
is devoid of any identifying trademark, measures 6 inches in length.
No. 11 PINEHURST RETRIEVER
"Take an old-fashioned New England village, sprinkle it with pleasant
homes and a handful of good hotels, add three magnificent golf courses
and a hundred miles of bridle paths, garnish with a wealth of flowering
trees and shrubs, serve with a clear, dry climate and you have Pinehurst,
North Carolina." So begins a booklet that describes this unique health
and recreational center ensconced in the piney woodlands bordering on
the Piedmont region.
In 1895 James W. Tufts visited this Sandhills area and was mightily
impressed by the things he saw while wandering through the forests: an
oxteam plodding along a picturesque pine trail; two young nimrods carrying
a deer on a sling across a pinelog foot-bridge; mamma bruin and two
playful cubs perched high on a pinetree lookout; rabbits, squirrels, foxes,
possums, and coons scurrying about in amazing numbers; quail, grouse,
doves, woodcocks, and wild turkeys courting an easy bag; soras, rails, and
gallinules loitering around lakes in primeval abundance.
Mr. Tufts was enjoying his stroll immensely, when suddenly there came
to him the dismaying thought that it was a pity so few people had a chance
to enjoy, like him, a close acquaintance with all these denizens of the forest.
At once he was struck by the altruistic idea of establishing a center to
which people could come to derive the benefits of an outdoor life in this
ideally mild climate through all twelve months of the year.
The original conception of Mr. Tufts was to make Pinehurst a health
resort on the five thousand acres which he had bought from the family of
Walter Hines Page. Gradually, however, the hotel he built was being
patronized by so many huntsmen that he converted his place into a center
for sports and recreation. From New England came most of the visitors,
who liked especially the fall weather, which seemed to be one continuous
Indian summer. December days here rivaled "October's bright blue
weather" in the Northern states.
Unlike its twin resort, Southern Pines, Pinehurst has never been in-
corporated. It has preferred to remain a village, albeit an oversized one,
70
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with such rural regulations as those which prohibit dogs from prowling
at night and roosters from crowing in the morning.
In addition to the mild climate, Pinehurst has another asset in its sandy
soil. After a rain the soil is soon dry enough for sports. The humidity
is low and the filtration of water through the sandy surface insures a fine,
soft drinking water.
At one time the main sport at Pinehurst was hunting, for which the
sandy hills and pine thickets offered excellent runs of quail, grouse, wild
turkey, and deer. Today, however, the place is famous for its golf. In
fact, it has become the "winter capital" of the game. Perhaps nowhere
else are people so golf-conscious.
No small part of the credit for this addiction to golf is due to Donald J.
Ross, whom Mr. Tufts engaged in 1901 to manage golfing activities. The
Scottish-born Mr. Ross built more than six hundred courses, scattered from
one end of North America to the other. Two tournaments were in progress
at Pinehurst at the time of his death in 1948. Some felt that the contests
should be cancelled or postponed. But others felt that, if Mr. Ross had
had the decision to make, he would have told the golfers to proceed with
the games. So the flag was lowered to half-mast on the clubhouse, and
the tournaments continued without interruption.
The important role played by Pinehurst in the history of American golf
may be stated in Mr. Ross's own words: "Pinehurst was absolutely the
pioneer in American golf. While the game had been played in a few
places in this country before Pinehurst was established, it was right here
on these sandhills that the first great national movement in golf was
started. Men came here, took lessons, and went away determined to
organize clubs. Their influence gave golf the sort of start it needed."
And perhaps nowhere else is there such an atmosphere of pleasant
indifference to the hectic passing of time in the outside world. Those
who wish to wear the fashions of an earlier day may do so without being
thought odd. Those who wish to ride in tallyhos or "surreys with the
fringe on top" can gratify their wishes here. And there are plenty of lanes
bordered by stately pines, soaring oaks and magnolias, dogwood, judas
trees, and hollies shining with lustrous red berries, to lure one out of
doors for delightful excursions. A horseback jaunt along any of the
numerous meandering trails provides a haunting memory of never-to-be-
forgotten scenes. Then there are occasional fox hunts, horse races, dog
shows, turkey shoots, field trials, and gymkhanas on the list of entertainment.
The bowl of this Pinehurst spoon shows the engraved image of a
retriever with a quail in his mouth. The handle shank bears the name
of North Carolina, and in the nave appear a bale of cotton and a pine tree.
The North Carolina seal in the caput is represented by the two female
figures of Liberty and Plenty. But contrary to the stances of the two
women on the official seal, Liberty is sitting here and Plenty is standing,
the end of the cornucopia touching her right hand instead of her left.
73
The reverse side of the handle reveals an eagle resting on an unfurled
scroll-map of the United States, a drape and tasseled cords running down
into the shank.
The Pinehurst Retriever spoon was made by the Shepard Company.
Length is 5% inches.
No. 12 KENTUCKY THOROUGHBRED
No. 124 HORSE-IN-HORSESHOE
To most people the casual mention of Louisville conjures up at onte a
vision of a half-dozen or so fleeting thoroughbreds dashing down the home
stretch at Churchill Downs on Derby Day, and craning, straining necks
they don't all belong to the horses either and the uninhibited crying of
voices, some raucously stentorian, others trebly shrill. It's pandemonium
broke loose for a couple of minutes. Then it subsides momentarily, till
the great round of cheering indicates that another thoroughbred is being
crowned king of the turf with a horseshoe of roses.
The term "thoroughbred" was not applied to horses till near the close
of the eighteenth century. Before that they were "blooded" or "imported."
Yet horse-racing was a well established sport in the British Isles already
in the reign of James I, 1603-1625. This monarch, by his interest in creating
lighter breeds of horses and by his regular attendance at the Newmarket
Tracks, aroused the enthusiasm of the Scotch and English and eventually
the Irish for this type of sport. He sponsored a law, however, which
limited one's winnings to three hundred dollars; any surplus went to charity.
Blooded horses were imported into the Southern colonies by 1700.
Racing clubs were formed in Charleston, South Carolina, and Annapolis,
Maryland, by 1750. Daniel Boone and other Western pioneers rode horses
into Kentucky through the Cumberland Gap, and one of the laws drawn
up at the first legislative assembly in the new territory called for the
improvement of equine strains. A four -mile race course was laid out at
Lexington in 1789, part of it through the unpaved streets of the town.
By 1850 the races at Lexington were drawing wildly-enthusiastic crowds
of people, many of them from other states.
The Derby run was initiated at Louisville in 1875, and Aristides was
the first winner to niche his name on the notable list of those "galloping
ghosts." Most of the winners have been sired and trained on Bluegrass
stock farms centering around Lexington, a city that holds its annual meet,
the Lexington Trots, to display the finest showmanship there is of horses
in harness. Another innovation, the steeplechase, has recently caught fire
in the public imagination through the hurdle-jumping contests at the Oxmoor
Steeplechase, held the last week in May at the famous old Oxmoor Planta-
tion, near Louisville.
74
The education of a young colt (or filly) begins at the age of seven
months. He is taught to respect the bit, trot or walk in circles, feel the
presence of the saddle and human weight on his back, and know the
commands of the rein. In trial heats he learns his business with competi-
tors. By the time he is two years old, he is prepared for a series of races
which culminate in the Futurity at Belmont. By the time, he is three, he
is entered if he's among the lucky stars for the great Derby event. The
winnowing process narrows the competing field down to about a dozen,
sometimes less.
The Derby is seventh of the eight races run on the first Saturday in
May at Churchill Downs. The crowd starts filing through the gates early,
often eating breakfasts, brought along, on the grounds. The grandstand
seats are soon filled one by one until every single one is full. Thousands
mill around on the infield. Entrance to the boxes is like a fashion parade
the Easter parade on Fifth Avenue has nothing on this one. Ticket sellers
have more work than they can handle handling other people's money.
There is a matchless thrill in that moment when the Derby mounts march
to the post to the strains of "My Old Kentucky Home."
The personal reactions of the individual spectator, the general over-all
repercussions of the crowd, the climactic expectancy of "this is it!", and
the anti-something-or-other aftermath of this classic showdown have been
impounded by the present author in a none-too-poetic rondeau to give his
own homespun version of the affair
"Oh, weep no more!" the brass band blares;
And wildly every one prepares
To stand on tiptoe to adjust
Himself for that oncoming thrust
Of lunging horseflesh-bombadiers.
"They're off!" resounds. And unawares
Each devotee repeats his prayers
Beneath his breath: to win or bust!
Oh, weep no more!
They round the curve, the goal post nears.
Ye gods, a dark horse wins the cheers
The favorite's bitten bitter dust!
The Derby's over. Ties are mussed.
And my new straw hat's on my ears . . .
Oh, weep no more!
On the Horse-in-Horseshoe spoon the thoroughbred appears conspicu-
ously in the knop, his head thrust through an inverted horseshoe, the latter
surmounted by a jockey's cap. Two looping whips, one on either side of
the horseshoe, form, as it were, small handles, beneath which are two large
75
clovers. A bar bit (it is a gentle racer indeed that can be managed with
such a bit) crosses both obverse and reverse sides of the handle to enclose
the nave. Bridle reins cross twice in running vertically down the handle.
An "old Kentucky home" is shown in the bowl, with a log cabin, windlass
well, and chickens clearly denoted in the foreground. A product of the
Watson Company. Length, 5% inches.
The bowl of the Kentucky Thoroughbred spoon contains the picture
of a horse and "Louisville" cut out on the lower left side, above the animal's
back. The serpentine handle contains "Kentucky" in embossed lettering,
a keg, a horse, and the state seal the latter having upon it the device of
two friends embracing each other, and the state motto, "United We Stand,
Divided We Fall." Made by the Shepard Mfg. Co. Length, 5% inches.
No. 13 MAINE SQUIRREL
The squirrel, one of the most fascinating exhibitionists among animals,
has always been popularly portrayed on glass, three well-known patterns
being much prized by collectors. Lap robes in the horse-and-buggy days
often bore the squirrel in some sort of antic pose, either on the ground,
up a tree, or safe at the top of a high stump, being barked at mightily by a
frustrated puppy. China makers have been less disposed to put squirrel
designs on dishes.
The healthy and happy-looking little creature on the bowl of this spoon
is sitting on the compact part of a limb close to the tree trunk, his paws
empty of nuts and his thickly-bushed tail in a curlycue behind his back.
His figure is incised in a gold-glint outline against a silver backdrop that
closes in around him from the golden bordure of the bowl.
Under the tree limb, in backstroke flourishes, is written "Island, Me."
Squirrel Island, here represented, has long been a favorite summer resort.
Even before colonists settled on the mainland, the island had been fre-
quented by voyagers, and Kidd's Cave, a grotto of considerable length on
the east coast, testifies to a belief that the doughty freebooter cached some
of his pickings in this area.
At one time the island belonged to a Squire Greenleaf, and when he
sold the land to the resort corporation, he made a request that sand be
brought from the farthest tip of the island as a covering for his grave on
the mainland. In carrying out this stipulation, the crew-members com-
missioned on the errand decided it would necessitate less hauling to scoop
up sand from the point closest to the mainland.
On the way back to shore, however, a furious squall arose and the boat
was in imminent danger of sinking. And then something strange happened.
The wraith of the old squire appeared, like a jinni out of an Arabian Nights
story, and bobbed up and down over the heads of the terrified seamen,
extending his claw-like hands in wrathful, menacing gestures. The crew,
76
fearful of being swamped for their failure to carry out the squire's specific
orders, cleared the decks of the accursed sand and went back to reload
the lighter with the sand called for in the unwritten contract. The tempest
moderated at once, and in peaceful waters the boat on its second journey
returned safely to shore.
The handle of the spoon is sinuous, being plain except for a border of
sea-lettuce leaves. The caput is crowned by a scroll of seashell. Length,
inches.
No. 14 WHAT CHEER ROCK
No. 121 ROGER WILLIAMS
It took three centuries for America to realize that in Roger Williams
she had been witness to the first of her major prophets. Even now, when
he is beginning to be rightly appraised as one of the great fathers of our
American democracy, we are surprised at the amazing modernity of his
thought. He was so far ahead of his time that we are still searching for
the right catoptrics with which to view more clearly the many mirrors of
his faceted mind. Nor have we found for him any of those stereotyped
labels which we like to use for bracketing conveniently our famous men.
As yet, there is not much unanimity in these labels, and the epithets of
his own day, such as "enemy of society/' "incendiary," and "rebel" are still
echoed in the chatter of the unwitting. True, he was a rebel against every
sort of stick-tight, unthinking orthodoxy, and he did come "loosing wild
foxes with firebrands" to burn out the dead brushwood of inherited narrow-
nesses. But he was far more constructive than destructive in blazing new
trails. Modern historians, being more tempered to Williams' way of
thinking, qualify their judgments and speak of him, to employ Parrington's
terms, as a forerunner of Jefferson, Emerson, Channing, and Paine; a social
architect; an intellectual barometer; the incarnation of Protestant individual-
ism; a bold innovator; the most generous, most open-minded, and most
lovable of the breed known as "the Puritan saints."
Roger Williams was born in London of parents who had migrated
from Hertfordshire in the Welsh border region. We do not know definitely
what year it was, as the parish records that could have told us were swept
away by the great fire of 1666, but it would be safe to say that he ventured
into the world about the time Queen Elizabeth left it, that is, in 1603.
His father was a master tailor who on occasion made fine clothes for
fine gentlemen, among whom was Sir Edward Coke, chief justice of the
Star Chamber Court. Roger assisted his father at times, and from a
workshop window he could look out across the way at Newgate Prison,
from the doors of which there often issued sundry poor wretches being
shuffled off a short distance to Snrithfield Square to be hanged by the neck
or roasted at the stake,
77
Witnessing the executions of these people who were dying because
their religious beliefs were at variance with those of the church authorities
created a deep impression on the boy. He expressed a great compassion
for them to his father, but the old man disapproved of such chicken-hearted
sentiments. Common sense expediency demanded that one should believe
his father declared as the state church authorities believed. But the boy
had been imbibing from various sources the new unsanctioned teachings
flowing abroad through the land, and in spite of persecutions done upon
him in his father's house, Roger already at the age of eleven believed it
were better to obey conscience than the adventitious practice demanded
by expediency.
When he was fourteen, a widow by the name of Margery Pate, being
a communicant of the church Roger attended, left him a small legacy
which enabled him to advance his education. He studied shorthand,
becoming such an expert that Sir Edward Coke made him his personal
secretary. Years later the daughter of the eminent jurist scribbled a note
on the back of a letter that Williams wrote her, perhaps to freshen her
memory: "This Roger Williams when he was a youth would, in shorthand,
take sermons and speeches in the Star Chamber and present them to my
dear father. He, seeing so hopeful a youth, took such a liking to him that
he sent him to Charter House . . . Full little did he think that he would
have proved such a rebel to God, the King, and his Country."
At Charter House he did so well that he won a scholarship to Pembroke
College, Cambridge, where he possibly met John Milton, who was there
at the same time. They were intimate friends in after years, for in 1654
he was teaching the Dutch language to Milton, then Cromwell's Secretary
of Foreign Tongues, He left the university in 1627, and a year later was
ordained to the ministry. Sir Edward Coke would have secured for him
a good living in London, but preferring to be at a greater and safer dis-
tance from Bishop Laud, who was threatening to crop the ears of all
nonconformists, Williams accepted the chaplaincy of a country estate
in Essex.
The master of this lovely old manor house at Gates was Sir William
Masham, a member of one of the most Puritanical-minded groups in Eng-
land. Here the young chaplain moved in an atmosphere of intellectual
revolt, mingling with men who were strenuous Parliamentarians pitted
against King Charles and his arbitrary government.
The beauty of the moated grange, Italianate gardens, ivied walls, park
with gamboling fawns, waterfall slipping over mossy rocks, and lilied
pools, must have been conducive to the spirit of romance, for Roger fell
in love. The object of his fervor was Jane Whalley, the niece of the
aristocratic Lady Barrington, the mother of Lady Masham. The girl recip-
rocated his attentions, and all would have followed to the inevitable union
of the two if the hawk-eyed aunt had not intercepted the match. A con-
siderable correspondence was exchanged. In one letter the chaplain begged
78
to visit her Ladyship at Broad Oaks, her country seat, but she graciously
declined to see him. He admitted the inequalities of their social and
financial status, saying it would be "some indecorum" for Jane to demean
herself to his "low ebb." On a cheerful May morning he gloomily writes:
"We hope to live together in the Heavens though the Lord have denied
that union on earth!" He mentions a number of "thunderclaps of late"
that the Lord had sent to "open the door of your Ladyship's heart . .
Certainly, Madame, the Lord has a quarrel against you."
The Mashams pleaded the cause of their chaplain with Lady Barrington,
but she barred any further contact or communication between the young
minister and the "passionate and hasty, rash and inconstant Jane." For
his part, Roger took to bed with a "burning fever." The Mashams thought
he was gasping his last breath and implored Lady Barrington to relent and
proffer Mr. Williams the boon of her friendship again. She did so, but
the match was definitely a thing of the past.
The hurt to his heart was not long in being assuaged. Lady Masham's
daughter by a previous marriage, Jug Altham, had a maid named Mary
Barnard. The chaplain often talked with the two young women as they
strolled together over the countryside. The spirited Jug was too high-born
for him ever to turn his eyes her way. But more and more he perceived
the fine traits of character and housewifely virtue of the humble servant-
girl. He began to search his own heart for the eradication of his most
besetting sins. He had courted Jane Whalley partly out of a desire to
advance himself socially. And while he was absorbed in this worldly
pursuit he had been neglecting his spiritual duties. He humbled himself
and prayed God to uproot the tares of self-seeking and self-exaltation
planted in his mind by the devil. Early in December, 1629, Lady Masham
added in a footnote to her mother: "Mr. Williams is to marry Mary Barnard,
Jug's maid."
The next year Roger and Mary Williams sailed on the good ship Lyon
for America, and after a sixty-seven-day trip, marked by dangerous storms,
landed near Boston, on February 5, 1631. Immediately an offer was made
him of the largest church in the colony, that of Boston, but when he heard
that Bishop Laud was still its titular overlord, he refused the offer, and
went to Salem instead as a religious teacher. From there he went to
Plymouth, and then back to Salem. Everywhere he disclaimed the authority
of Bishop Laud, proclaimed the right of the church to be free of domi-
nation by the State, and denied the right of the State to interfere with a
man's religious beliefs.
In October, 1636, Roger Williams was brought to trial before the leading
citizens of the Massachusetts Bay Company, meeting in general court at
New Town, now Cambridge. He was spreading "divers new and dangerous
opinions" from the pulpit. Cotton Mather expressed himself about the
matter in his Magnolia: "There was a whole country in America like to
be set on fire by the rapid motion of a windmill in the head of one particular
79
man/' One of the torches held by Williams that must be put out was that
incendiary idea that the Indians should be paid for their lands. It was
not likely that Williams would be acquitted. They knew his views and
he acknowledged them.
The verdict was guilty, and the sentence, exile within six weeks. In
the midst of winter it was certain that he would perish of the cold or
from the claws of wild beasts. If he recanted his heretical opinions, the
judges would be lenient and allow him to stay his banishment till spring.
The sentenced man had so many friends, and received so many expres-
sions of sympathy that his home became a regular clearing house of ideas
for his visitors. His enemies, jealous of these attentions, decided to capture
Williams, carry him off under cover of darkness, and put him on board
a ship about to sail for England. A friendly letter from former Governor
Winthrop apprised him of the plot and suggested that he seek refuge
among the Narragansett Indians. He was gone three days when his would-be
captors from Boston arrived at his house in Salem.
Weak from a long illness, he was forced to plow through snow up to
his knees and wade through half-frozen swamps. When he came upon
the Indians he -found the three sachems, Massasoit, Canonicus, and
Maintonomo, engaged in a bitter quarrel that threatened to break into
open warfare. Being considered a sachem and held in the highest respect
by the bickering chiefs, Mr. Williams, quite familiar with the Indian lan-
guage, set about to rig up a compromise that would avert hostilities, and
his efforts were entirely successful.
In gratitude for his effective work as peacemaker, Massasoit gave
Williams a strip of land along the Seekonk River where he could set up a
"shelter for the poor and persecuted." Williams and several of his followers
began to clear land and plant corn when an order arrived from Governor
Winslow that he would have to move again, since he was still within the
bounds of the Bay Colony.
Being advised by the governor to settle on the opposite side of the-
river where the land was not under the jurisdiction of the Bay government,
Williams and his men pulled up stakes and sailed up the river till they
came to a place where a large rock jutted out into the water. Hearing a
familiar call, "What cheer, friend?"' from some Indians fishing on the rock,
Williams stopped and went ashore to talk with them. They walked to-
gether some distance from the river to a large fresh-water spring where a
number of Indians were gathered, ready to eat. Inviting the white men
to join them at their meal, the Indians hospitably served up bowls of succo-
tash and platters of boiled bass.
This welcome in the wilderness from men who were supposedly savages
was never forgotten. In an oral agreement with Canonicus and Mainto-
nomo, he was given a grant of land embracing this very spring as well as
What Cheer Rock, and his new settlement he called Providence, "from
the freedom and vacancy of the place and many other providences of the
80
most holy and only wise." The sachem Canonicus was not stirred to sell
this land in return for money. Says Williams, "I declare to posterity that
I never got anything out of Canonicus but by gift."
The new settlement grew rapidly, and soon Providence was a flourishing
town, welcoming every one regardless of race or faith. Other settlements
followed, all holding the same tolerant principles. Quakers were allowed
to hold their meetings in peace. The first Jewish synagogue in America
was established at Newport.
The Boston authorities cast a suspicious eye at the thriving new colony,
calling the people of Rhode Island the "Lord's debris." The Puritans scoffed
at this "Rogue's Island" with its "windy fancies." Unable to swallow up
the new colony by means of peaceful persuasion at home, the Massachusetts
people took their case to London. Roger Williams- was aware of this
intrigue, and in the spring of 1644 he journeyed to the British capital and,
with the aid of influential friends, secured a charter for Rhode Island,
whereby the plantations of Narragansett Bay could exercise the full power
of sovereignty to rule themselves "by such laws as they should find most
suitable to their estate and condition." The seal on the new charter bore
this motto: "Love will conquer all things."
In contrast to the theocratic form of government prevailing in Massa-
chusetts, the system established in Rhode Island was a democracy, the
first in the New World. The merchants, farmers, fishermen, and hunters
met at first in the open forest to discuss matters of general welfare. Laws
were passed by a majority vote. The discussions often led into noisy
altercations, but after a few sessions, the system was seen to be a most
effectual one, staunchly upheld by men of all religious beliefs and shades
of political opinion.
In the same year that he obtained a charter for Rhode Island, Roger
Williams also wrote a treatise setting forth his views on religion and
statecraft. In The Bloody Tenet of Persecution he argued for complete
separation of Church and State, declaring that the church should be neither
subsidized nor patronized by the government, but should "gird itself only
with the breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, and 'the
sword of the spirit."
In a famous controversy with John Cotton, the chief advocate of religious
coercion, Roger Williams clarified his views still more fully. No one should
be forced to worship according to governmental dictates, since the "Christian
religion cannot be propagated by the civil sword." No one should be
accused of harboring wrong beliefs, for a "false religion out of the church
will not hurt the church no more than weeds in the wilderness hurt the
enclosed garden, or poison hurt the body when it is not touched or taken."
No one should be forced to attend a church if he chooses to absent himself.
Even atheists should not be punished.
In the realm of political government, he advocated the right of everyone
to vote and to be eligible for holding office. He also contended that the
81
tenure of office should be limited to two or three years. These ideas, first
put into practice in Rhode Island, gradually spread westward and southward
till they conquered, as Gervinus, the German historian says, "the aristocratic
tendencies in the Carolinas and New York, the High Church in Virginia,
the theocracy of Massachusetts, and the monarchical persuasion in all
America."
Among other things, Roger Williams advocated care by the state for
widows and orphans, for the insane and the aged poor, for highways and
transporting systems, as well as consideration for all those problems that
arise from the social relationships of ordinary citizens. Whites, Indians,
and Negroes should be looked upon with the same due regard for their
civil rights.
And withal, Roger Williams was a very learned man. He knew Latin,
Greek, Hebrew, French, and Dutch from his college days; in New England
he lived with the Indians long enough to become conversant with their
multiple dialects of speech. He enjoyed the best in literature and music,
and thought the latter stimulating to religious worship. He was a shrewd
business man, always fair and square in his dealings. He put all those
who came into his presence fully at their ease, whether it were a lord of
the London drawing room or a swart-brown savage of the American forests.
He used wine abstemiously, and smoked tobacco with the Indians as a
friendly gesture. Many men, even his political opponents, such as Governor
Winthrop, felt the magnetic draw of his pleasing personality. He was
devoted to his wife and six children, and provided well for them during
their enforced separations. He was engaging in conversation and used apt
figures of speech to illustrate a point. No one ever produced more telling
effects than he in the placement of words. When Governor Endicott in
the most conciliatory manner proposed a merger of the two colonies,
Williams replied that he preferred to live among the "Christian savages"
on Narragansett Bay rather than among the "savage Christians" on Massa-
chusetts Bay.
Roger Williams died at the age of eighty, in 1683. He had lived long
enough to see his colony of Rhode Island firmly established, and the liberal
principles he stood for fairly well on their way toward becoming the ideals
of the future American democracy. "The Puritans banished him to the
wilderness to perish," says Charles Smull Longacre, "but Providence
watched over him, protected and nurtured him, and gave him the courage
of a hero and the spirit of a martyr . . . Persecuted in the Old World and
banished in the New, he was led forth by Providence to a new and goodly
land to found an asylum for the oppressed children of God, where the
wicked should cease from troubling them."
The first spoon in our heading shows in the bowl, which is almost a
perfect circle, the warm welcome being given by the four Indians on
What Cheer Rock to the four men arriving at shore in the boat. Williams
and one of the Indians are shaking hands. The words What Cheer and
82
1636 are printed in relief. The shaft of the handle rises gracefully in a
slender fluted column of the Ionic order to a voluted capital, on the abacus
of which rests the seal of Rhode Island showing an anchor placed diagonally
and the State motto, Hope, above it. Made by Gorham & Co., the spoon
measures 5% inches in length.
On the second spoon, of Colonial design, Roger Williams stands atop
a "pillar of Hope." His figure showing him with a Bible in his left hand
occupies the entire caput. On the shaft is embossed the name of Providence.
The gold-washed bowl is plain. Manufactured by the Williams Bros.
Silver Co., the spoon is only 4 inches long.
No. 15 ACTORS' FUND FAIR
No. 22 LOTTA'S FOUNTAIN
No. 25 RIP VAN WINKLE
An entire book, or even a series, could be written about the great
actors and actresses whose faces appear on the Actors' Fund Fair spoon.
They represent a period in the history of the American theatre that is long
definitely closed, and few are the people, indeed, venerable enough to
recall having seen them in person on the stage. How little they mean
to the present generation of movie and television fans may be gathered
from the fact that, when famous stars of that era have survived into our
own, the newspapers make scant mention of their passing. To prove that
my contention is correct, I quote a release item coming from New York
as I write this: "Mrs. Alberta Gallatin Childe, 87, once acclaimed as one of
America's greatest actresses, died yesterday in a city hospital. In her stage
career of more than thirty years, Miss Gallatin was co-starred with such
distinguished leading men as Edwin Booth, Maurice Barrymore, Otis
Skinner, Richard Mansfield, and Jacob Adler." Certainly a grudging notice,
tucked away on the inside of a newspaper under conspicuous advertise-
ments, for some one who once enriched the lives of thousands by her superb
acting. But that is the tragedy of extreme longevity in this topsy-turvy,
cockeyed, forgetful world.
The Actors* Fund Fair here commemorated, May 2nd to May 7th, 1892,
was the first of its kind ever held by that organization, which was founded
in 1882. It took place in the old Madison Square Garden, at Madison and
Fourth Avenue, 26th and 27th Streets, and was enormously successful
under the direction of A. M. Palmer, the then president of the organization.
The five women who appear on the obverse side of the handle are
Charlotte Cushman, Mary Anderson, Clara Morris, Agnes Ethel, and Lotta
Crabtree. A San Francisco spoon showing Lotta's Fountain has been
included in this sketch because of its intimate associations with Miss
Crabtree. On the reverse side of the handle are the busts of the five men:
83
Edwin Forrest, Edwin Booth, E. L. Davenport, Joseph Jefferson, and,
William J. Florence. Both sides of this spoon are shown (on Plates 23
and 24). The Rip Van Winkle spoon naturally evokes memories of Joe
Jefferson, who long played the lead role in the drama dealing with that
notorious ne'er-do-well.
Charlotte Cushman, whom competent critics speak of as our greatest
native-born tragedienne, stands almost alone on the heights, approached
only by a chosen few, such as Mrs. Siddons, Eliza Rachel, Sarah Bern-
hardt, and Eleanora Duse. The gods did not grace her with beauty but
they endowed her with a robust intellectuality that enabled her to vault
all the crooked hurdles leading upward to the peaks of superlative art.
Ironically enough she sprang from that Puritan stock which had looked
with horror upon the stage since the days of the Cavaliers. One of her
ancestors, Robert Cushman, was a Pilgrim minister who helped found
Plymouth Colony. She was born in Boston in 1816, the oldest of five
children a wild hoyden who could not endure dolls and toys, considering
them infantile distractions. Her father died young, leaving his family
burdened with debts; the responsibility of supporting the family devolved
largely upon Charlotte.
She took vocal lessons with the intention of being a teacher, but en-
couraged by several critics who heard her sing the role of the Countess
in The Marriage of Figaro at the Tremont Theatre in Boston, she turned
toward a singing career on the stage. Her teacher, James G. Maeder,
secured an engagement for her in New Orleans. Whether it was caused
by the climate or by an overstraining to reach the higher tones in her
register, her vocal vigor failed her; the bright prospects of an operatic
career went glimmering into darkness. The English actor Barton, who
had witnessed her performances, advised her to ^witch from singing to
acting, and coached her in the part of Lady Macbeth, for which he played
the role of her husband. Her performances for a season in New Orleans
were so cordially received that she went to New York, hoping to dupli-
cate the same success. When she sought an engagement at the Park
Theatre, the manager merely offered her a place on the waiting list.
Indignant at this ice-box reception and being short of money, she accepted
an opening at the run-down Bowery Theatre for twenty-five dollars a
week. Here, while playing Lady Macbeth and Jane Shore creditably
enough, she was harassed by a host of troubles. Rheumatism, which was
to become her most redoubtable enemy, plagued her remorselessly, leaving
her prostrate in bed for days on end. She had gone into debt for an
extensive wardrobe, and while she was in bed, the Bowery Theatre burned
completely, every one of her costumes going up in smoke.
For a short period she appeared at the National, where she first acted
two of her favorite roles, Meg Merrilies and Romeo. The story is told
that she took the role of the half -demented gypsy woman, Meg Merrilies,
on a few hours' notice, the lady scheduled for that part having become
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ill. She was told she might read the lines, but by the time the curtain
rose she had learned all the forty speeches well enough to amaze the
audience with her graphic interpretation.
A short engagement followed at Albany. Here the happiness of having
her family with her was marred by the sudden death of a younger brother,
who was thrown from a horse that Charlotte had just bought for him.
For three years, beginning in the fall of 1837, Miss Cushman played
"general utility" parts at the Park Theatre. She was now willing to under-
go the disciplinary training demanded by the more exacting traditions of this,
the principal show-house in New York. She added the characters of Portia,
Emilia, Joan of Arc, and many others to her repertoire. An apathetic
English critic with slight esteem for American acting was electrified by
her performance of Emilia and had to resort to the program to find out
who had so shocked his slumbering sensibilities. "I knew that there was
no ordinary artiste in this then comparatively unknown young woman. I
saw her next in Lady Macbeth, and my conviction was only the more
confirmed by this terrible test of any genius. I went away filled with
admiration, resolved to see this powerful actress as often as I should have
the opportunity. I then foresaw her fame, and time has justified my
prophecy."
For two seasons Miss Cushman was the manager of the Walnut Hill
Theatre in Philadelphia. At this time, she met and played opposite the
English actor Macready, who was making a triumphal tour of the chief
American cities. He recognized her abilities and suggested that she should
try her luck in London the plaudits of a British audience would add
immeasurably to her prestige.
Charlotte Cushman landed in London unheralded and unhired. Even
with letters of introduction from Macready and other people whose word
should have borne weight, she encountered difficulties. To tell the truth,
she was far from being a striking figure off the stage. She was tall, raw-
boned, and homely. Her deep contralto voice sounded mannish when
not warmed by the passionate intensity of stirring lines. When Maddox,
the manager of the Princess's Theatre, curtly refused to make any offers,
she rose and walked to the doot' where she wheeled and burst out dra-
matically, "Yes, I know I have too many rivals here already (and she
clinched her fists), but so help me God, I shall defeat them!" Maddox
glimpsed her forensic powers in her sweeping gestures and called her
back for an audition. Not long afterward she was playing the role of
Lady Macbeth opposite Edwin Forrest,
At first she met with considerable opposition in London, not from her
audiences but from members of her supporting cast. When she chose
to act the part of Romeo to her sister Susan's Juliet, the actor who im-
personated Mercutio declared, "There should be a law against such per-
versions. Romeo requires a man!"
87
The critics came, saw, and were conquered. Said one: "For a long
time, Romeo has been a convention. Miss Cushman's Romeo is a creation;
a living, breathing, animated human being." Said another: "I listened
and gazed and held my breath, while my blood ran hot and cold." Law-
rence Barrett, who was in the cast of Oliver Twist, for which she played
Nancy, termed her acting magnificent and breath-taking: "Her voice, as
she called for Bill (at her death) and begged him to kiss her sounded as
if she spoke through blood."
At a benefit performance before Queen Victoria, she acted the part
of Queen Catherine in Henry VIII. This vivid personation of a truly
tragic character, so admirably adapted to the grand manner, aroused the
critics to new heights of enthusiasm. It revealed new facets in Miss Gush-
man's nature by the sweetness and gentle womanliness of her portrayal.
Her engagements after her return to America in 1849 were like one
long triumphal march. Everywhere she played to packed houses and co-
starred with such noted actors as Edwin Forrest, Edwin Booth, E. L.
Davenport, John Gilbert, and George Vandenhoff. But though she was
now rich with honors and freed of financial worries, she was becoming
more and more susceptible to rheumatic attacks, which caused her to take
several official farewells. When finally cancer was added to her old ail-
ment, it was necessary for her to forego all further work.
Her final appearance in New York took place at Booth's Theatre on
November 9, 1874, before a vast assemblage of people. After her brilliant
performance as Lady Macbeth, Miss Cushman was called back upon the
stage crowded by such notables as Joseph Jefferson, John Gilbert, Dion
Boucicault, Richard Henry Stoddard and William Cullen Bryant. A tre-
mendous ovation greeted her, and homage was paid to her art in speeches
and poems. At the end of the ceremony Bryant, then in his eightieth year,
advanced and placed a laurel wreath on her head, with these words:
"What came to your hand in the skeleton form you have clothed with
sinews and flesh, and given it warm blood and a beating heart. Receive
then the laurel crown as a token of what is conceded to you, as a symbol
of the regal state in your profession to which you have risen and which
you so illustriously hold."
She appeared for the last time in her native Boston May 15, 1875, as
Lady Macbeth. Her death occurred early the next year.
William Winter, the eminent author and critic, has written several
fine studies of Miss Cushman's art from which I shall quote briefly: "She
was not a great actress merely, but she was a great woman . . . When she
came upon the stage she filled it with the weirdness and the brilliant
vitality of her presence . . . She diffused, as no other representative of
the part (Lady Macbeth) in our time has done, the awe-inspiring, pre-
ternatural horror which is the spirit of that great tragedy the most weird,
portentous, sinister, afflicting work of poetic imagination that the brain
of man has produced . . . When Meg Merrilies sprang forth in the moon-
88
light and stood with towering figure and extended arms, tense, rigid,
terrible, yet beautiful, glaring on the form of Henry Bertram, the spectator
saw a creature of the ideal world and not of earth . . . She needed great
moments on the stage and when they came she invariably filled them;
whenever the occasion arrived for liberated power, passionate feeling,
poetic significance, dramatic effect, she rose to that occasion and made
it superb . . . She not only acted great parts but, in acting them, she gave
something to her auditors. She imparted to them a conception of noble
individuality, and an incentive to noble behavior. She told them that they
also were of an immortal spirit; that it was their duty to live pure lives;
to do right; to endure with fortitude; and to look onward with hope and
trust. She did not fill their minds with images of decadence and prompt-
ings to degeneracy, recklessness and failure. She was a minister of the
beautiful; and therefore she was a benefactor to her time and to all times
to follow . . . Many female actors have been distinguished in tragedy on
the American stage, many beautiful women have appeared, and many
displays have been made of genius and ability in various lines of dra-
matic art; but of opulent power in acting, such as was manifested, at
certain supreme moments, in the Othello of Forrest, the Lear of Booth,
and the Lady Macbeth of Charlotte Cushman, the audience of the present
day has seldom seen a superior example . . . Her best achievements
were white marble suffused with fire."
Many poets were swayed to pay fealty to the consummate art of Miss
Cushman. Sidney Lanier expressed this homage most aptly when he wrote:
Full calm thine image in our love doth lie,
A Motion glassed in a Tranquility.
So triple-rayed, thou movst, yet stayst, serene-
Art's artist, Love's dear woman, Fame's good queen!
# * * *
Mary Anderson, unlike Charlotte Cushman, did have the advantage
of beauty. And it was no ordinary beauty. She was loveliest when she
assumed a statuesque pose and allowed her audience to gaze upon the
superior structure of her classic figure with its tall, stately form, and its
radiantly charming face. Ranken Towse speaks of the noble, stag-like
poise of her head, the gracious refinement of her manner, and the sweet,
virginal innocence of her art, attributes which cast a potent, enduring
spell over those who saw her. A product of the "provinces," she quickly
became an ideal of the finest type of American womanhood.
Mary Anderson was born at Sacramento, California, on the 28th of
July, 1859. Her mother's parents were Germans living in New York, strict
Catholics, and much opposed to the theatre. Her father was an English-
man who had spent most of his youth in the South. "With all his graces
and accomplishments," says his actress-daughter, Tie was, unfortunately,
not religious, and his proposal for my mother's hand was met by a stern
89
refusal from her parents." The pair corresponded in secret for several
months, then eloped. They left New York immediately for California.
When Mary was only a year old, her parents moved to Louisville, Ken-
tucky, and from this time to the end of her stage career her name was
always associated with that city. Her father enlisted in the Confederate
army, rose to the rank of first lieutenant, and died of malarial fever at
Mobile, Alabama, in 1863. It is said that the actress greatly resembled
her father, who was known as the "gallant cavalier" by his Southern friends.
Her early training was supervised by a Franciscan priest, an uncle to
her mother. After she graduated from the Ursuline Academy at the age
of thirteen, she began to study elocution and literature under Professor
Noble Butler, that distinguished teacher and textbook-author in whose
widely-used grammar appeared that oft-quoted, self -violating rule: "A
preposition is a word you should never end a sentence with." Professor
Butler oozed an infectious enthusiasm for the classics, and he drilled
"Mamie" in readings from Shakespeare. Most of the monologues she
learned were from the male characters in Hamlet, Richard the Third,
Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet; she was also coached to give long passages
from Schiller's Joan of Arc in German, a language she had learned to
speak rather fluently from her mother. The character influence of the
Maid of Orleans cast a profound influence upon her entire after-life.
When she was fifteen years old, she made a special trip with her
mother to see Miss Cushman, who was then staying in Cincinnati. They
met in the lobby of a hotel, where the noted actress was seated, waiting
for her carriage. Mary introduced herself, and Miss Cushman vigorously
shook her hand, inviting her to come back early the next morning. When
Miss Cushman had departed, Mary begged to be the first to occupy the
seat just vacated by the famous woman, whom she reverenced. When
Mary appeared and gave some of her readings, she made a very favor-
able impression. Miss Cushman told her that, although she had the three
essentials required for the stage, voice, personality, and gesture, she still
needed a year's hard study before venturing before the public. For a
teacher, George Vandenhoff was recommended. And finally, the acknowl-
edged queen of the stage admonished her to "start at the top" and "stick
to the best" an excellent piece of advice which she never forgot.
A few months later, George Vandenhoff came to Louisville to help
stage a special performance of Romeo and Juliet. The cast consisted of
purely local talent and the performance was not widely advertised, but
Mary Anderson in the role of Juliet stirred the audience to their feet in
wild volleys of applause by the dazzling lure of her presence and the
freshness of her impersonation. As William Winter says: "The sweetness,
sincerity, force, exceptional superiority, and singular charm of that nature
could not be mistaken, The uncommon stature and sumptuous physical
beauty of the girl were obvious. Above all, her magnificent voice copious,
90
melodious, penetrating, loud and clear, yet smooth and gentle delighted
every ear and touched every heart."
John McCullough, the noted Shakespeare authority, attended a repeat
performance and waxed so enthusiastic over the acting of this "mere
novice" that the girl was hired for a regular engagement at Macaulay's
Theatre beginning January 20, 1876. Before the season was over, Miss
Anderson was hailed affectionately by her native Louisvillians as "our
Mary" a name soon taken up by the rest of the country. For eight seasons
she went on tour from one city to another, always as a star, and everywhere
she played to packed houses, well sold out long before her appearance.
Her fame increased, and the news of her coming was always heralded as
an event of transcendent importance. She scored an unprecedented line
of successes and her popularity suffered no diminishments in public esteem
during repeated engagements.
Only once, when she attempted the impersonation of Meg Merrilies,
did she verge on the borders of failure. Spectators, long familiar with
Cushman's particularized version of this role, disparaged Miss Anderson's
artistry, according to their preconceived notions, as inferior in conception.
Certain detractors, having little else tc criticize, found Miss Anderson
lacking in voluble warmth. The criticism was justified only in the sense
that she did not stoop to soppy displays of passion in melodramatic mush.
Many and diversified were the roles which she played, including Juliet,
Galatea, Parthenia, Hermione, Perdita, Rosalind, and Desdemona. Juliet
always remained the favorite with the public, though her crowning achieve-
ment was the doubling of the mother-and-daughter parts in The Winters
Tale. In the semblance of Hermione, Miss Anderson reached the full
heights of her regal stature, the apogee of her art, in "not merely wearing
royal attire but being invested with the royal authenticity of divine en-
dowment and consecration/* In contrast she endued her Perdita with the
captivating charm of youth, the joyousness of life and lovely thoughts,
and the embodiment of that beauty which is an ecstasy forever. Many
people admired the charming childlike naturalness of her Galatea, so totally
devoid of sophistication or semblance of artifice.
Three seasons in London, provincial tours, and appearances in Edin-
burgh and Dublin made her as much a favorite in the British Isles as at
home. Then returning to this country, she appeared one more season
before she announced her intention of retiring. In April, 1889, after thirteen
years of unparalleled success on the stage, and still young and affluent of
health, she played her last role, that of Hermione, in the national capital.
The next year she was married to Antonio de Navarro in London, and
for the remainder of her long life she lived in the pleasant countryside
once the haunts of her beloved Shakespeare. She made no public appear-
ances except occasionally for charitable benefits.
George Arliss, who knew her intimately, relates in his memoirs: "When
I look at Mamie now, she is so little changed that I cannot believe it is
91
fifty odd years since 1 first saw her at the Lyceum Theatre when I used
t:> sit in front, night after night, because she was the greatest actress and
fciir most magnificent creature I had ever seen, Just how great an actress
she was I cannot say; but I do know that she took London by storm and
was able to hold her own with all the English actresses then playing. The
fact that she left the stage when she was thirty and yet is still vividly
remembered by all old theatregoers seems to me to prove that she was
an actress of great charm and ability."
Miss Anderson died in 1940. Although she left Louisville more than
seventy years ago, her name is still quite familiar, for the Mary Anderson
Theatre, like a guidepost on the main downtown street of the city is passed
daily by thousands of pedestrians from whose lips you will frequently
hear escaping the sounds: "Past the Mary Anderson? Near the Mary Ander-
son? Yes, at the Mary Anderson!"
# * * $
Some critics of the dramatic art have denied genius to Mary Anderson
and even to Charlotte Cushman, stressing the physical force in the one
and the intellectual stamina of the other to account for their phenomenal
successes. Nobody ever gainsaid the divine gift of genius to Clara Morris,
albeit that genius was an uneven one. The true test of an actor's forensic
abilities lies not solely in his intellect, his gratifying physical appearance,
his knowledge of stagecraft, or the mastery of many diversified roles, but
in the presentment of great emotional crises to that degree where the actor
and the part acted suffuse into a single entity in the sympathies of the
audience. Clara Morris could do that. She did not become lost or
submerged in so doing, for often she recreated a dull colorless part,
animating it with her own personality. She resuscitated more lifeless plays
than any other actress. No accusation was ever hurled against her as
against Mary Anderson, that the part had to fit her like a glove before
she was successful.
She was born on St. Patrick's Day, 1846, at Toronto, Canada. Her
mother, a humble Irish-immigrant, working girl, had married a French-
Canadian, only to find out after the birth of her third child that her husband
was a bigamist with another wife and family. The poor, distracted woman
fled to Cleveland, resumed her maiden name of Morrison, put her two
smallest children in an orphans' home, but kept Clara, the oldest, with
her. A soul-blighting childhood fell to the lot of Clara, who apparently
shortened her name from Morrison to Morris in an effort to help forget
her hard, unhappy past. Her formal schooling was scant. At fifteen she
was dancing in ballets and operettas at the Academy of Music. Her early
proclivities pointed toward music, but after entering stock companies, she
underwent a long, grueling education in the practical school of dramatics,
traveling about from one city to another, working chiefly in Chicago, St,
Louis, and Indianapolis, which were then called Western towns.
92
Her first opportunity to take a leading role came to her unexpectedly,
at an age when the average person has already given up all stellar aspira-
tions. She had joined Daly's company just a few days before the first
performance of Man and Wife. The play had already been advertised
when Agnes Ethel, the leading lady, refused to act the part on account
of certain objectionable lines, which she assumed to be immoral. The
next lady in line was out of town and left no address. Daly then gave
the role to Miss Morris, who changed the indelicate lines, and the play
which only a short time before seemed headed for the rocks leapt into
popular favor through Miss Morris's fervid portrayal of an unjustly-treated
wife.
The New Magdalen, written, like Man and Wife, by Wilkie Collins,
was revived by Miss Morris for her next production. She made several
changes in the dialogue to suit her purposes, the plot remaining essentially
the same, yet the play was something new. It was not only dramatic but
also homiletic; it pled for tolerance toward those women who would lead
virtuous lives after being shipwrecked by vice,
Miss Morris had few graces of voice or gesture; there was nothing -
clever, cunning, or skillful in her purpose; her artistry was amateurish;
but for the presentation of painful, vivid reality and the startling poignancy
of her emotional utterances, she was never surpassed. In Mm Mutton,
a variation of the "East Lynne" story, she plummeted the depths of despair
in portraying the unrecognized mother. In Alixe, Raymonde, Jane Shore
and Madeleine Morel, she revealed various aspects of that passionate love
which can be hidden in a woman's heart. In Article 47 she made beads
of perspiration purl down the brows of her auditors by her graphic incar-
nation of a poor demented, heartbroken woman, sent forlornly to a lunatic
asylum. In The New Leah, an adaptation of the German folkplay Deborah,
she personated a Jewish maiden who has been cast off by her Christian
lover. The scenes of the curse pronounced in the churchyard, of the lonely
wanderings of the homeless girl, and of the forgiveness changing the curse
to a blessing after many years, showed Miss Morris's abilities to portray
the saint-like traits of patience, endurance, simple piety, and forgiveness
as well as the climacteric emotions engendered by a frenzied love.
The great emotionalism in Miss Morris was regarded by many as a
natural phenomenon, inexplicable in the ordinary terms of education or
training. She was awkward in her movements and gestures; she blurred
her r's, enunciated poorly, and stumbled over big words; in routine scenes
she was as lifeless as a puppet. Then suddenly, in dramatic moments she
rose to great heights of inspired passion. Louis James, who played opposite
her in Miss Mutton, said that "her acting had not only her audience but
her fellow actors in a condition almost hysterical." He was so stunned
in the scene where, as the heartbroken mother, she flung herself at the
feet of her husband and, with tears coursing down her cheeks, exclaimed,
"Maurice, for God's sake, let me see my children!" that he was incapable
of uttering a word. "Yet in that moment of supreme agony he heard her
whisper. 4 * 1 say, what ails you up there? Are you dumb?' The effect was
like a shower bath."
She essayed several classical roles. Camille was definitely in line with
her metier, but critics were curiously interested to see what she would
make of Lady Macbeth. Every one was pleasingly surprised by the
originality of her characterization, so different from the traditional ones
made by Siddons, Cushman, and Terry. She humanized the lady, divested
her of her conventional, regal imperiousness, and endowed her with all
the attributes of a naive femininity. At times she was weak, nervous, and
inconsistent, but always wholly woman. At odd moments she laughed or
moaned, her sleep-walking scene was weirdly effective, and her "invocation
to the spirits to unsex her was uttered with the concentrated intensity
which she could always command." Her ideas of Lady Macbeth's appear-
ance likewise differed fundamentally from those of her predecessors. A
buoyant, petite figure, she wore gorgeous gowns that accentuated the
curves of her wasp waist, and a diadem of sparkling stones that enhanced
the luxuriance of her golden hair, making her an alluring Lorelei, who
did not have to browbeat the king to win her points, but made his heart
beat faster and in more obedient measures at sight of her charms. Mrs.
Siddons believed that the blonde type was the true one, consistent with
the Celtic origin of Lady Macbeth, but Mrs. Jameson disagrees, believing
the Black Agnes of Douglas type more in accord with the character. This
achievement with the blonde type was a triumph of original over hackneyed
ideas.
In 1874, Miss Morris was married to F. C. Harriott. She continued
her career as a great emotional actress until physical disabilities forced
her retirement in 1894. For the next thirty years, till her death in 1925,
she wrote numerous books and magazine articles on the varied vicissitudes
of her stage career and about the many interesting people she had met
during her long arduous climb to stardom.
Edmund Clarence Stedman, the banker-poet of Wall Street, paid her
a well-deserved tribute on one of her few return engagements when he
wrote:
The secret given to her alone
No frigid schoolman taught .her
Once more returning, dearer grown,
We greet thee, Passion's daughter!
* * # *
On the twenty-second of January, 1857, the curtain had just fallen
upon Camille, the triumphant premiere of the season at Wallack's Theatre
in New York, when a Mrs. McEthol and her six-year-old daughter Agnes
pushed their way in an opposite direction through the great throngs of
people streaming out the aisles and into the corridors. In spite of the
94
difficulties encountered, they eventually managed to secure an entree to
the dressing room of Matilda Heron, the actress who had just scored such
a success as Camille that she was forever afterwards to be identified with
that role.
All the other admirers had to stand by when the actress learned that
she and Mrs. McEthol had come from the same county of Londonderry
in Ireland. But while the two women were conversing in the quaint
brogue so sweet to their ears, the actress was attracted to the little girl
at her mother's side. No spectator had been more struck by Miss Heron's
recent impersonation than the actress, in her turn, now was by the strange,
elfin beauty of the child.
"No fairies of the old sod are half so pretty/' exclaimed Miss Heron.
And addressing the winsome child, she asked, "Would you like to be an
actress some day?"
"Yes, and I would like to act Camille just like you," declared the little
girl confidently, affecting certain of Miss Heron's mannerisms in her bodily
movements and voice.
"Oh, no, Agnes!" said her mother firmly, somewhat horrified at the
thought that her only daughter should leave a comfortable home to share
the unpredictable fortunes of a troupe of actors gallivanting around the
country in all sorts of questionable situations and none too favorable
circumstances.
The close friendship that began between the temperamental Miss Heron
and the ethereally beautiful child in that dressing room was terminated
only by the death of the older woman twenty years later. When Agnes
was in her teens, she became a pupil of Miss Heron's and studied not only
the part of Camille but also the Shakespearean roles of Ophelia in Hamlet,
Viola and Olivia in Twelfth Night, Celia in As You Like It, and Hero in
Much Ado About Nothing. These "sweet girl" parts were admirably
adapted to her personality. They seemed to have been molded especially
for her, or with some one exactly like her in mind.
On Saturday night, October 10, 1868, a select audience sat in Jerome's
Theatre, then on the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and 26th Street,
and watched the private debut of Agnes Ethel, sponsored by the solicitous
Matilda Heron. She had fearlessly invited the most seasoned critics, who
expected to see an ambitious but callow amateur cleverly coached by
her preceptress go through the feint of playing Camille. Anything else
would have been better because there were bound to be unfavorable
comparisons, the popular role having been enacted by so many profes-
sionals in recent years. But the appearance of Agnes Ethel completely
disarmed the most carping of critics. 'She is a blonde, delicate in frame,
quite handsome, and thoroughly in earnest," stated 'the reporter for the
Times the following Monday. "She had a graceful timidity in the early
acts that was truly delightful," Her voice was none too strong and prevented
a show of forcefulness in the first three acts. Thus far Miss Heron's
95
guidance was obvious in the semblance of stance and gestures, and in the
idiosyncrasy Miss Heron had of ignoring period pauses. In the fourth
and fifth acts, however, where "quivering tones are all potent, the debutante
exhibited clearest knowledge of what was required, and answered with
an emotional power all her own."
On the merits of this initial appearance Agnes Ethel, the stage name
assumed by Miss McEthol, was offered a place in a company that traveled
through the season of 1868-69. She played not only her Camille and the
Shakespearean roles but also several bits in dramatic efforts, mediocre and
clumsy to say the least, written by Americans.
There is no evidence that the company played outside of New York
state except for short visits to Philadelphia and Boston. And here it might
be well to note that Agnes Ethel was exclusively a phenomenon of the
New York stage, and never ventured far away from that big city.
In the autumn of 1869, Augustin Daly undertook the management of
the Fifth Avenue Theatre, a showhouse that rarely drew large crowds,
changed hands regularly, and had lately degenerated into a burial place
for cheap variety shows. An announcement was forthcoming that "this
superb house/' closed for an overhauling, would reopen August 16, 1869,
for the "production of whatever is novel, entertaining, and unobjectionable,
and for whatever is rare and worthy in the legitimate drama."
Daly assembled a notable company of players, most of them "has-
beens," who drew the largest salaries and did the least to earn their pay.
There was also some young blood, untried, whose mettle was yet to be
tested in the fires of experience. "Of course, the two most interesting
among the fresher aspirants," says Odell, "were those wonderfully attractive
young women, Agnes Ethel and Fanny Davenport, whose lauds and glories
will soon be amply sung. I love to write their names, and wish I were
a poet, to tag them in rhyme."
The Fifth Avenue Theatre opened as scheduled on August 16, 1869,
with a pleasant but fantastic comedy called Play by Robertson, then the
most popular of British playwrights. The inconsequential "Play" dealt with
the life of guests idling away time in the fashionable watering place of
Baden-Baden. Agnes Ethel took the part of the chipper Rosie Farquhere
and aroused considerable interest by her performance, in which she ex-
hibited a "succession of alternations between wildness and delicacy, grace,
and the most abandoned rompish gaiety, and the tender sweetness of a wise
and gentle womanhood." Every one was attracted by the rapt beauty of
the gifted young woman. After a run of three weeks flay was succeded
by Dreams, another comedy by Robertson, but the public had enough of
this British humor which it could not relish. Ethel took the part of Lena
in this piece.
To bolster his sagging office receipts, Daly had to change his program
radically; he resorted to Twelfth Night, which, for the sheer beauty of
its lyrical fancies, is unsurpassed by anything else which Shakespeare ever
96
indited. Agnes Ethel portrayed Olivia the 'virtuous maid" who "abjured
the company and sight of men" until the proper man swam into her ken.
Then the masterful countess was no longer u queen o'er herself." Ethel was
eulogized for the "swan-like elegance" of her bearing in this comedy,
which ran for two weeks.
Daly tried serving a different fare in King Rene's Daughter, a poetic
drama translated from the Danish and successfully performed on occasion
in London. Then he put a number of English and American plays on the
bills, but these all wilted after the first or second performance. To meet
expenses he had to turn again to Shakespeare. In Much Ado About
Nothing Agnes Ethel played the role of Hero, a mild but colorless maid
in juxtaposition to her wilful, quick-tongued cousin Beatrice. But Miss
Ethel imparted a lustre and grace to the role seldom seen before. As Celia,
the quiet but intelligent girl, in As You Like It, she received warm com-
mendation from the press. In fact, she reversed the usual procedure and
eclipsed the witty Rosalind.
From August 16th to January llth eighteen different bills were presented
-what an onerous grind! It kept the players constantly on their toes and
there were few interims of rest for anybody. Agnes Ethel was on fourteen
of the eighteen bills. After a day of rehearsing and a performance at
night, the weary actors often had to work till after midnight on the altera-
tion of their costumes, ripping a pleat here, snipping off frills there, and
sewing on needed buttons. "Even the mechanics were worn out," writes
Daly's son, "but health, hope, and buoyancy of heart carried them over all
the disappointments. There was always some incident to laugh over, some
trifling mishap, some misadventure turned to merriment; then the stage
was cleared for another effort, and the feet of youth, which always tread
upon air tripped lightly after their untiring leader, who as everyone knew,
labored longer and harder than anyone else, and got no salary, not even
his expenses. He came to the theatre in the morning before the watchman
left, and he was the last at night upon whom the key turned. He spent
nothing on himself. All that came in went upon the stage. The scenery
was exquisite, the dresses costly, the furniture real. So far all had been
struggle now came reward."
The reward came with the tremendous success of a play translated
from the French of Meilhac and Halevy. The very title Frou Frou suggests
the gaiety, the frivolity, and the enchanting allure of the Paris boulevards.
Frou F rou y one of the great emotional dramas of the nineteenth century,
was different in type from the usual French comedy of manners because
it ended in tragedy. Gilberte Brigard, the dainty little Parisian housewife
popularly known in the sidewalk cafes as Frou Frou, meaning that soft
sound of rustling silk so dear to the ears of French women, goes gaily on
her flirtatious way for three merry acts, neglecting her home and her hus-
band until she finds to her sorrow that she is supplanted in her husband's
affections and then cast out. The reversal of situation is terrifyingly tragic.
97
Too late does the amusing little giddy-pate learn the terrible wages of her
own levity.
Agnes Ethel absolutely stunned her audiences by her audacious playing
of the title role. She became a sensation overnight. Her name was on the
tongues of all theatregoers. Dithmar gives us a description of her at this
time: "Her youth, fragility, delicacy, and elusive charm made her perform-
ance of one of the most difficult parts in the whole range of modern drama
not merely acceptable, but, for the time being, thoroughly satisfying. With
long crinkly waves of light brown hair shading her pale face, her graceful,
almost fairy-like presence, her appealing eyes, she seemed the very em-
bodiment of fascinating irresponsibility."
Frou Frou ran for one hundred and three nights. After the one
hundredth performance, Daly entertained his company with a gala banquet
at the St. James Hotel. His dreams had materialized with financial returns
surpassing his fondest expectations. Everyone was happy except Fanny
Davenport who, in a fit of jealousy at Agnes Ethel's popularity, had resigned
her subordinate part in Frou Frou several days before.
The first season at the Fifth Avenue Theatre ended with the showing
of Sardou's Fernande, Agnes Ethel again in the title role. The play ran
for five weeks and the public, having learned to appreciate French emo-
tional dramas, followed the fortunes and misfortunes of Fernande as eagerly
as they had those of Gilberte Brigard.
The second season opened unpleasantly. There were strained relations
between Mr. Daly and his leading lady. More than likely it was a matter
of salaries. Some of the older figures, who should have been superannuated,
were drawing the largest checks. Mrs. Jennings and E. L. Davenport were
paid $200 a week and George Holland $150; while Agnes Ethel and Fanny
Davenport, as mere novices, received only $50. After some bargaining,
Miss Ethel's contract for her second year called for $125 weekly. Daly
had already learned that it did not pay to hire "big-name" people. He
was determined not to employ stars but to create them. He quietly rid
his company of all barnacles.
Clara Morris, then practically unknown, entered Daly's company the
second season. She soon learned, as she relates in her subsequent memoirs
that there were two antagonistic factions in the group, the Ethelites and
the anti-Ethelites, the latter spearheaded by Fanny Davenport. When Daly
called the players together to assign them their parts, he handed Clara Morris
the comic minor role of Blanche for Wilkie Collins* Man and Wife. The
next morning he called Miss Morris to his office and reassigned her the
leading role of Anne Sylvester, which, Daly said, Miss Ethel had refused
to take "on moral grounds," and he would change no lines to suit any
temperamental woman's fancy. "You will tell the people that you were
to play Anne in the first place," Daly advised Miss Morris. Really, had
Miss Ethel been asked to play the role? Was the shift in roles a slap to
humiliate Miss Ethel, a move to placate Fanny Davenport, or a ruse to
98
arouse publicity? All the newspapers heard from him was the statement
that Ethel had sprained her ankle, although said cripple walked without
a limp.
Clara Morris was really suited for the leading lady in Man and Wife,
simply because Anne Sylvester was a screaming, hysterical woman at times,
and Miss Ethel did not possess the voice for that type. After one of Morris's
impetuous outbursts during rehearsal, this remark was overheard in the
wings: "I ain't afraid to bet twenty good dollars that she makes pie out of
Ethel's vogue!" Miss Morris was aghast at the manifest hostilities proceed-
ing apace behind the scenes, and wisely held her peace when "the anti-
Ethelites suddenly placed me on one of the sixty-four squares of their
chessboard; but I knew not whether I was castle, knight, bishop, or pawn;
I only knew that I had become a piece of value in their game, and they
hoped to move me against Ethel."
Clara Morris, as we know, proved a great sensation in Man and Wife
and temporarily overshadowed Agnes Ethel, whose dethronement was
hailed with grim satisfaction by that faction led by the "full-blown, buxom
Davenport." Obvious efforts were made to stir up enmity between the
two leading ladies. But Miss Morris was too discerning to poison her
mind with "the cruel jibes, the bitter sarcasms reported to me as coming
from Miss Ethel." She confesses that she was cut to the quick by the
"unpleasant stories" purportedly emanating from her rival during the run
of Man and Wife, but she said nothing. "Then one night," says Miss
Morris, "I met her a slender, auburn-haired, appealing creature, with
clinging fingers, sympathetic voice, and honest eyes a woman whose
charming and cordial manner not only won my admiration but convinced
me she was incapable of the brutalities charged to her."
Meanwhile Miss Ethel continued to play, supported by Daniel H.
Harkins, sometimes at the Fifth Avenue Theatre but generally on loan
to other houses. Several times she performed in revivals of Fernande, as
Julia in The Hunchback, and as Olivia in The Twefth Night. In the latter
piece she shifted to the role of Viola, one of her finest Shakespearean
interpretations. With George Vandenhoff she gave recitations for various
charitable causes, and played in the Lady of Lyons and Camille opposite
Walter Montgomery.
E. L. Davenport, a good soul who was perturbed at the unfortunate
hostility existing between his daughter and Miss Ethel, enlisted the latter
to play Ophelia for his Hamlet in an abridged version at a benefit for
the enfeebled George Holland at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Lau-
rence Hutton writes of this performance: "Miss Ethel was a perfect picture
of the most beautiful Ophelia. It was her first attempt at anything like
a legitimate tragedy part, and was decidedly successful."
In the spring of 1872 Daly lent the services of Miss Ethel to the Olympic
Theatre to play in Horizon, a drama of superior literary merits which
Daly himself had written. In this play of pioneer life in the Far West,
99
Miss Ethel, as Med the "White Flower of the Plains," became a sort of
Annie Oakley and created a mild sensation by her ability in handling a
gun against the Indian attackers of a new settlement. The play, which
had an excellent cast, ran for eight weeks.
At the end of the third season not only Miss Ethel, but several other
players, including Kate Claxton, Ada Dyas, D. H. Harkins, George Parks,
Fanny Morant, and Plessy Mordaunt, resentful of the dictatorial ways,
strange inconsistencies, and the supercilious treatment accorded them,
seceded from Daly's company.
In the summer of 1872, Albert M. Palmer, who had assumed the man-
agement of the Union Square Theatre, was feverishly casting about for
experienced actors to entice patronage to his new enterprise when some
one suggested Agnes Ethel, now out of a job and considered by her enemies
as "washed up." Miss Ethel, who had been in contact with Victorien
Sardou, brought with her a play Andrea, written especially for her by the
famous French playwright.
Palmer rechristened the play Agnes and used it for his premiere, which
opened September 17, 1872. Miss Ethel had an excellent supporting cast
in D. H. Harkins, Walter Montgomery, Plessy Mordaunt, George Parks,
Ed Lamb, Welsh Edwards, F. F. Mackay, Emily Mestayer, and Kate
Holland. Agnes, one of the most epochal triumphs of the American theatre,
ran for one hundred nights to such record-breaking audiences that it prac-
tically killed 'competition at other showhouses. Sardou, with his skillful
technique and uncanny knowledge of stagecraft, knew how to create parts
which would enable a large number of players to make the most of their
lines. Not only was Miss Ethel superbly cast but her supporters also
added lustre to their names. "I wonder," says Odell, "what Daly, whose
autumn had been one of numerous changes of bill, thought of this new
rival in his old field, especially with Miss Ethel, Harkins, and Parks, all
secessionists from his corps, in the leading roles?"
For the first three months of 1873, Palmer tried various dramatic
mediums, but failed to draw crowds. At his wits' end he revived Agnes
(twice to cover up fiascos), Fernande, and Frou Frou, all of them sure-
fire vehicles for box-office successes. After a run of nearly six weeks,
Frou Frou was forced off the boards by the illness of Miss Ethel.
The brief but brilliant stage career of Agnes Ethel was over, contained
within five years, at a period when the American theatre reached its most
glorious heights. After 1873 we hear no more of her except for the read-
ings of scenes from her plays at charity matinees. Among her many acts
of generosity was the unstinted assistance she gave to her old coach, the
improvident Miss Heron, who, although she had earned more than $100,-
000, died penniless. Being none too robust, Miss Ethel decided to retire
at the end of the 1872-73 season, and after her marriage the next year,
she led a life of tranquil domesticity until her death in 1903. William
Winter describes her at the height of her career: "Agnes Ethel's loveliness
100
was of a peculiarly sweet, insinuating, enticing character. She actually
was a woman of uncommonly strong will and great vital energy, but her
apparent fragility was such that she seemed to be a sylph."
Two of her rivals, if they can be called that, Clara Morris and Fanny
Davenport, went on to win laurels for many more years. Miss Davenport,
pudgy, immature, but irrepressibly ambitious in the early years at the
Fifth Avenue Theatre, was destined to develop into a great emotional
actress, find unhappiness with two husbands, and die from the strain
of too many undertakings.
Clara Morris, who experienced much the same difficulties with Daly
as Miss Ethel had, soon transferred to Palmer's establishment where she
occasionally had contacts with the well-known star. "While I never worked
with her/' says Miss Morris, "I received such gracious courtesies from
her kindly hands that the name of Agnes Ethel must ever ring pleasantly
in my ears/' The fact is, both these women were great actresses in their
own right. The essential difference between them and the primary dis-
tinction of each may be clarified by this animadversion on a certain actress:
"She possessed all the freshness of Agnes Ethel without her fascination and
all the energy of Clara Morris without her power."
Even though her career be the shortest perhaps in the annals of the
stage, it founded securely the fortunes of the two most famous theatrical
managers in our history, Daly and Palmer. She contributed no little part
to the introduction and popularity of the French emotional drama which
held sway in America for nearly two decades till the advent of Ibsenism.
Then, too, her slight, buoyant, girlish figure with its fragrant essence of
innocence and beauty, was wonderfully adapted for portraying those
exquisitely tender girl-creations of Shakespeare . . . those marvelous con-
ceptions which so few actresses are capable of rendering with a vivid
reality. Miss Ethel's favorite role was that of Viola in Twelfth Night,
that maid who "never told her love but let concealment, like a worm in
the bud, feed on her damask cheek . . . pined in thought . . . [and] sat
like Patience on a monument, smiling at Grief." The acme of femininity,
epitomized in her very name, Agnes Ethel was a vision of delight, a
cameo of supernal beauty, a joy forever to those who were once privileged
to gaze upon her fascinating presence.
In the old days it was customery for actors to establish a reputation
in New York or one of the big Eastern cities before they went West on
tours to enhance their growing fame. What the Eastern seaboard had
seen and praised, the West wished to see and appraise also. But Lotta
Crabtree reversed the usual procedure by acquiring such a reputation on
the West Coast that the East was clamoring to know what this will-o'-the-
wispish idol of the remote mining camps had to offer.
101
Lotta Mignon Crabtree was born in New York on the 7th of November,
1847, Her father ran a bookshop that did not provide a comfortable
living; so the mother, an English-born woman, did upholstering to help
meet family expenses. John Crabtree was an impractical visionary, a sort
of Micawber, who saw a chance for escaping the confinements of a dreary
bookstall and striking it rich when he joined the gold-rush trek to Cali-
fornia in 1850. Mary Ann Crabtree lingered in New York three more
years before she decided to go West also.
Mary Ann stayed in San Francisco with her small daughter long
enough to become aware of the craze there for theatrical entertainment.
There was drama in the air because there was drama in the making in
the Golden Gate city of those days. When she learned the whereabouts
of her husband, she departed with Lotta for Grass Valley, a mining camp
high in the hills of the Sierras.
When John Crabtree had found a suitable boarding-house for his wife
to keep, he set out again in search of gold. A few doors away lived Lola
Montez, a very emancipated female who could never free herself from
her own follies and mischances. Lola was attracted to the small Lotta
and invited her in to see her two pet bear-cubs. Noticing the bewitching
way in which the child skipped about in her garden, Lola offered to
teach Lotta some Spanish dances, which had been the specialty of the
notorious woman before she was kicked off the European stage. Mrs.
Crabtree had no objections, and soon Lotta had learned not only how to
do a few fancy steps, but also how to sing pretty ballads as well. Before
a crowd assembled in a blacksmith's shop at Rough and Ready, Lotta was
placed on an anvil, and while Lola beat out time with her hands and
hummed, Lotta danced in such a spritely fashion that her mentor de-
clared she should go to Paris for further study. At this idea the mother
balked; she wanted to keep the child by her side.
There were numerous children playing small parts in the companies
traveling up and down the Mother Lode country. Tiny mites often made
the biggest hits with the mining element. As Mrs. Crabtree looked upon
the performances of these infant prodigies, ideas began to creep into her
mind. Although there were no theatrical antecedents in the family, Mary
Ann thought that her daughter showed enough histrionic ability to stand
comparison with any of the child-actresses she had seen. Her plans did
not materialize, however, for another child, John Ashworth, was born to
her at this time. Then Crabtree, spouting enthusiasm about the rich
deposits of gold to be found farther up in the hills, moved his family to
Rabbit Creek, where Mary Ann had to fall back on keeping another board-
ing house to eke out a living for herself and children. Crabtree went on
prospecting but found nothing.
At Rabbit Creek, Lola Montez paid the Crabtrees a visit with the
ostensible purpose of carrying Lotta along with her on her forthcoming
trip to Australia. Again Mary Ann refused. She had run into Mart Taylor,
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an Italian, who owned a saloon and a log-cabin theatre. He was a versa-
tile man with many interests, among them being dancing and music he
played the drum to perfection. On the guitar he could strum chords for
a few plaintive ballads. But his finest gift was an ability to improvise
words on the spur of the moment for any old tune.
At Mary Ann's connivance, Taylor rigged up a show featuring Lotta,
for whom a dapper green outfit was made, consisting of stovepipe hat,
swallowtail coat, tight-fitting breeches and a pair of brogan shoes. Plenty
of instrumental music was provided. In addition to the guitar and drum
on which Taylor doubled, and the triangle which Mary Ann had learned
to beat, there was a violin, which supplied animation and verve to the
ensemble.
The occasion was St. Patrick's Day, and when Lotta danced her Irish
reels, wielded her shillalah, and exuded mirth with her rippling laughter
between songs, she almost brought the roof down by the riotous enthusi-
asm she aroused especially when she was dancing, and her effervescing
merriment became infectious. The other numbers on the program were
simply side features to Lotta's act. The rude miners, starving for enter-
tainment, coaxed the red-haired black-eyed Lotta back for encores by
showering her with nondescript pieces of gold: slugs, nuggets, pesos,
dollars, watches, rings, and even pokes of gold. Mary Ann watched care-
fully that none of this precious metal escaped her; she gathered most
of it up in her apron and swept up the dusty scrapings later into one of
Lotta's brogans.
The future of the eight-year-old child was now settled. Mary Ann
determined to form a troupe with Taylor and travel up and down, playing
in all the mining camps and heading eventually for the biggest game of
all San Francisco. Before she departed forever from Rabbit Creek, she
left a note and a pot of cooked beans on the table for Crabtree, who
occasionally blew in for something to eat.
They traveled in a covered wagon. Lotta often preferred to ride a
burro, while Ashworth, barely able to walk, had to be kept in the wagon.
They found few stages but always a ready audience wherever they tarried.
More often than not they played in some barroom, where Lotta, if too
crowded for space, danced and sang on the counter. Taylor would walk
through the streets beforehand, beating his drum, to announce the time
and place of a performance. The attendance was good but the gold drip-
pings from Lotta's act were better. Everywhere the crowds became
boisterous, once to such an extent that the Crabtrees had to lie behind
a counter till a private feud was settled on the barroom floor. They crawled
out only when the dead bodies were being carried out.
The company was a success but had to disband when it came time
for Mary Ann to have another child. It looked as if maternal duties would
wreck all the theatrical ambitions she had planned for her daughter. As
soon as baby George was a few months old, however, she left the two
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boys with her sister Charlotte, then living in San Francisco, and set out
with a new company of players from the mushrooming city by the Golden
Gate for the Valley of the Moon.
Lotta now had a legitimate role as Gertrude in A Loan of a Lover.
Her initial appearance was at Petaluma, a place that boasted a genuine
theatre, even if it was upstairs, with boxes and a parquette. Mary Ann
wove small comic bits into Lotta's part to enhance its importance till it
stood out in a unique setting of its own. "She had, in fact," remarks
Constance Rourke, "receded into the position which she was to occupy
for years, that of Lotta's mother, Lotta's manager, the dragon who made
the bargains and guarded the rewards." They met up with Mart Taylor
once more, Mary Ann not only beating the triangle this time but also
impersonating a -Miss Arabella in one act. The roving troupe christened
themselves the Metropolitan Company, and played to paying audiences
in such towns as Oakland, Sacramento, Stockton, Fresno, Placerville, and
Eureka.
Lotta added parts to her repertory, all of them being of the variety
type. She became a blackface, a cockney sailor, a Highlander, a miner
with pick and shovel. She remained as much of a hit as ever, and the
gold nuggets were flung at her sometimes in such quantities as to frighten
her off the stage. She mastered the banjo and struck responsive chords in
the hearts of her listeners with O Susanna and Old Dan Tucker.
Their most profitable showings were in the smaller towns. In San
Francisco there was too much competition, rivals parodied her songs and
belittled her style. There were discouragements all along, but Mary Ann
was always fortified with an indomitable will power against every rebuff
of fate.
Lotta was growing up. One young fellow who admired her wanted
to take her horseback riding, but Mary Ann declined the invitation in
her daughter's name. The girl had no companions except her mother,
certainly none of her own age. As soon as her part of the entertainment
was over on the stage, Mary Ann whisked her daughter off to bed. She
was suspicious of too friendly overtures. In San Francisco, Lotta occa-
sionally met her old acquaintance, Lola Montez, who still thought she
should go to Paris. Lotta also met another actress, Adah Isaacs Menken,
and her latest husband, and in their company she frequently ate at the
Cliff House. It was this pair who convinced Mary Ann that her daughter
should try her luck in New York. Lotta's great popularity in Northern
California and her recent successes in San Francisco stood to show that
her dancing and singing in the East would also meet the acid test of
approval.
In the spring of 1864, Mary Ann and Lotta, accompanied by Pa Crab-
tree, boarded the train for New York, the two boys being left behind. At
first it was not easy because Mary Ann did not know how to make the
proper contacts. Placed on a circuit that started in New York, Lotta played
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in Buffalo, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Louisville, Nashville, New
Orleans and Mobile. She was hailed as the California Favorite in a variety
of acts that now included both Ma and Pa Crabtree, the latter usually
appearing as a grandiose figure smoking a big cigar, ambling across the
stage in leisurely fashion, and thinking himself a very significant addition
in his very tiny bit. The homely Mary Ann seemed proud of her handsome
but quite worthless mate puffing with importance on the stage, while the
audience merely tolerated his presence because of its flitting briefness.
John Brougham, who first publicized her in New York, called her "the
dramatic cocktail" a title that horrified Mary Ann. She played before
packed audiences at Niblo's, Wallack's, and the Broadway. Then she went
on to Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, and the Southern cities.
Brougham wrote his own version of Little Nell and the Marchioness, so
butchered that Dickens would not have recognized his own creations, but
showing Lotta's jigs and reels, her banjo pickings, and her inimitable tricks
to the best advantage. She played both title parts and kept her audience
either laughing or crying most of the time.
San Francisco heard so much about her phenomenal successes in the
East, that they wanted to see her again. In 1869 she made her reentry
on the California stage. Bret Harte read an informal note of welcome for
the homecoming of its most famous daughter. The applause for each of
her acts was overwhelming, and she gave generously of her encores. The
old bonds of intimacy between the stage and its spectators, an art she
had learned in the mining camps, were never so close as when she romped,
kicked, skipped, and danced with the most hoydenish abandon before the
"home folks" in San Francisco. Everybody was delirious with joy and
showed it, that is, everybody except Mary Ann, who sat poker-faced in the
wings, drinking in her daughter's triumph. Invitations to dinners poured
in galore, but Mary Ann refused them all. The other actors might go out
after the show and celebrate with caviar and cocktails or shrimp and cham-
pagne, but Lotta abstemiously dunked a few crackers in a glass of milk
and went forthwith to bed. Mary Ann was truly indulgent when she
allowed Lotta to buy her first silk dress in San Francisco. A thoroughgoing
Puritan, Mary Ann's head was never turned by gauds or finery; hers was
not the tradition of pomp and circumstance.
London was conquered next. "Lotta is the incarnation of drollery,
mischief, and broad farce," said one Londoner. Another spoke of her
youthfulness; she seemed to have bathed in the Fountain of Youth! "I
expect every morning, looking over the newspapers, to find her name
among the births."
The little strawberry blonde with the impish ways captivated the
hearts of Englishmen in full measure. "Lotta's Marchioness is a per-
formance sui generis" comments the London Theatre Magazine. "It is
outside the domain of serious criticism. It is a thing to be seen and
laughed at. It is the quaintest, oddest conception in the world, and though
105
it may be heresy to say so, her breakdown is the funniest thing ever
done in comic dancing. The scene between Swiveller and the Marchioness
was the making of the play, which is, as all the Dickens plays must be,
a procession of various well-known characters; Lotta's face, as she sits
on the kitchen table eyeing that dreadful mutton-bone, haunts one."
When the American papers reported that the chill foggy atmosphere
of London did not agree with Lotta, that she was dying perhaps, an outcry
went up. She must come to America. And when she did come home,
she played to jam-packed audiences everywhere. New Orleans held her
for half a season before everyone had laughed enough. In the Midwest,
where they never do things by halves, young men met her at the station,
unhitched the horses, and themselves pulled her carriage to the hotel. And
Lotta reciprocated by making pals with her audiences, but only across
the footlights.
And what was Lotta's private life like in those days? It was accurately
described by Teddy Marks, who said to James T. Powers one day: "There
goes the great Lotta with her mother, her constant companion and chaper-
one. The old lady has mapped out Lotta's life for her, and marriage is
barred. While Lotta is playing, she takes the greatest care of her; at four
every afternoon Lotta is ordered to bed, and when safely tucked away, the
mother takes a chair and like a sentinel sits outside the door. If any guests
pass the room, they see the little figure with her finger to her lips as she
whispers, 'Quiet please, my daughter is asleep/ She has all the guests,
bell boys, and chambermaids walking on their toes."
And thus this idolized comedienne went on playing with undiminished
popularity till her retirement in 1891. She bought a modest home on the
shores of a lake in New Jersey and spent her leisure there in sketching and
painting. Sometimes she would give entertainments in her barn-studio for
the neighboring children, who loved and applauded her uproariously. She
bought a few thoroughbred horses and rode around the countryside on
horseback. Occasionally she was seen riding a bicycle.
After her parents and her two brothers died, she lived a very lonely
life. In her old age she took an apartment in a hotel which she owned
in Boston. When she died in 1924 it was discovered that her fortune
amounted to four million dollars. All sorts of spurious claims were
advanced immediately for this rich lode of gold. One woman claimed
she was Lotta's daughter by a secret marriage but her fantastic story was
quickly discredited by the too well-known facts of Lotta's life. The entire
mass of this fabulous fortune, accumulated solely on the stage and hoarded
religiously by Mary Ann Crabtree, went to charity, the disabled veterans
of World War I being the main recipients.
To most people who saw her there "was only one Lotta and there will
never be another like her." Yet it might be well to hear this animadversion
on Lotta's acting by the dispassionate critic, J. Ranken Towse, who says:
"Of no artistic importance in herself, a theatrical will-o'-the-wisp, she was
106
a striking example of the slender capital with which popularity and fortune
may be won before the footlights in a degenerate age. She attracted the
attention of some theatrical agent on the lookout for a novelty, was dili-
gently and successfully photographed, brought East, and introduced as a
prodigy of humor and pathos. She was a bright and piquant morsel,
prankish, audacious, with a pleasant aroma of girlish innocence about her,
and she 'caught on/ For years the public adored her. She appeared in
many parts and played them all in exactly the same way. She never
developed or suggested any real dramatic force or adaptability . . . The
so-called pathos of her Little Nell was the emptiest and dreariest of
affectation. But she had splendid press notices, as if she were a luminary
of purest ray serene. Modern press criticism has a good deal to answer
for." What Towse seems to have overlooked is the strong personal element
in Lotta's acting, which provided good, clean fun capable of making the
world split its sides with healthful, harmless laughter. He misses the point
entirely when he says her acting was of no artistic importance; it was not
meant to be artistic but human, and truth expressed in terms of human
values transcends artistic values. But you can't argue with some one who
believes that all plays except Shakespeare's are trash.
Lotta's Fountain, on the spoon featuring San Francisco scenes, was given
by the actress to the city in 1875. The fountain, originally a watering
trough for horses but converted later into a drinking fountain for persons,
stands on one of the main intersections of the city. It consists of four
fluted bronze basins, adorned by lion heads, surrounding a cylindrical
shaft of stone. It is one of the few landmarks that survived intact the
catastrophic earthquake of 1906.
Lotta's Fountain is a favorite spot for carolers at Christmas. At other
times during the year concerts are held here. Perhaps the largest crowd
ever seen here, about one hundred thousand people, assembled to hear
Luisa Tetrazzini sing on Christmas Eve in 1910. Speaking of these
Christmas gatherings at Lotta's Fountain, Aubrey Drury says that they
are "an eloquent tribute to the climate . . . Often the silvern notes of a
prima donna hush to silence the mighty crowd; sometimes choir boys carol
loud and clear; sometimes all the people together take up familiar hymns
of praise and rejoicing, all creeds joining, and the singing of thousands of
voices reverberates under the stars of a California Christmas."
# # * *
The chief tragedy in which Edwin Forrest played the major role was
his own life. With not too much difficulty his story could be traced
through its rising and falling actions, so necessary for good tragic drama,
in steps that are ready made and rough hewn, though clearly discernible
at all points. Shakespeare would have found him excellent bullion for
his literary mint. Forrest himself recognized the tragic seam in his greatcoat
during his latter days and, like a true Shakespearean character, only then
107
did he somehow sense that the gaping rents had first been opened by his
own scissors, To McCullough's compliment, "I never saw you play Lear
so well as tonight," Forrest rejoined imperiously, "Play Lear? What do
you mean, sir? I play Hamlet, Richard, Shylock, Virginius, if you please;
but by God, sir, I am Lear!" His acting was cut like his character out of
the web and woof of his own mammoth conceits. "His nature," says Winter,
"fulfilled itself, and for that reason his life was a failure. It was this which
made him a pathetic figure." In his temperament he may be compared,
perhaps, to Andrew Jackson; like Benedict Arnold, he betrayed those
nearest and dearest to him; as with Aaron Burr, his monstrous egotism
and inordinate vainglory led him astray; but no one else is exactly like
him; he is one of America's great tragedies.
He was born in Philadelphia, March 9, 1806, of immigrant parents, half
Scotch and half German, yet no one was ever more chauvinistically American
than he. Barely could he walk and talk well before he had decided defi-
nitely upon a stage career. He was molding candles for ships to help
feed the family, his father having died early, when his first opportunity
came to fill in a female part at the old South Theatre of his native city.
Attired in dress and petticoats and displaying horse-hair ringlets from
under a blazing turban, he advanced onto the stage as Rosalia de Borgia.
The audience refused to take him seriously, and one youngster, sighting
the heavy boy's boots under the dress, yelled out, "Look at his legs, would
yuh?" The would-be-actress strode to the footlights and threatened to "lick
the hell" out of the "hoodlum" after the show. The uproar that ensued
brought the curtain down on the performance. The threat was successfully
carried out, but under no circumstances would the manager rehire Forrest.
The ambitious boy took matters into his own hands and slipped onto the
stage, some time later, after the curtain had fallen, to recite Goldsmith's
famous epilogue for Harlequin. He acquitted himself well, and when he
left the stage with hand-springs and flip-flaps, the audience gave him
enough applause to warrant an encore.
Having once tasted the sweets of applause, he craved more. The
managers of the Walnut Street Theatre gave him a chance to play in
Douglas, billing him as "A Young Gentleman of the City." A critic com-
plimented him for the naturalness and careful articulation of his speech,
and predicted a promising future for the fourteen-year-old boy. When
Edmund Kean gave a series of performances at the Walnut, young Edwin
studied his acting closely.
He now cast about for a permanent engagement. In 1822 he joined
a company that traveled about, playing at Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Newport,
and Lexington. A salary of eight dollars a week was promised him but
he did not always receive it. At Pittsburgh the roof leaked so badly that
the audience had to hoist umbrellas to keep from being soaked. At
Cincinnati a starving dog gnawed one of his boots to pieces and Edwin,
108
unable to buy new footwear, substituted an old house slipper for his loss
and limped on and off the stage, affecting a sore foot.
The rough-shod experiences of these difficult days gave Forrest a won-
derfully diversified training. He adapted himself to step into any role
almost at a moment's notice, being at one time a direful Richard III, at
another a blackface comedian. Once he was so hungry he stole, between
acts, some roas'n-ears, "hard as Pharaoh's heart," from a cornfield in back
of the barn serving as a theatre. The company folded up at Lexington,
and Edwin, at his wits' end for resources, found work with a circus at
twelve dollars a week.
Soon he received an inducement that took him to New Orleans to play
in James Caldwell's stock company at eighteen dollars a week. Forrest,
then in the flush of youth, was extraordinarily handsome and attracted
notice by his large, dark eyes, his black curly hair, and a fine figure as
muscular as a Roman gladiator's. His voice, strong and clear as a clarion,
could literally blow any man down. The fact that Forrest had caught the
eye of the beautiful Jane Placide, the leading lady of the company, aroused
CaldwelFs jealousy, and he assigned the young actor to all the roles calling
for old men. Forrest accepted his parts without resentment, and went
about studying carefully the old men whom he met. He also visited the
gaming tables and the race tracks, asked the famous Bowie for pointers
on the use of his knife, and spent a month vacationing with Push-ma-ta-ha,
living as primitively as the Indians.
Back in Albany, New York, the next season Forrest procured employ-
ment from Charles Gilfert, who let him play lago for Edmund Kean's
Othello. Kean gave him a copious meed of praise for saying two words
in a whisper, a manner that struck the older actor as being the right one.
Forrest soon drifted down to New York and wondered what he would
do next, when the chance came to play Othello at the Park in a benefit
preformance for Woodhull, a destitute actor with an over-stocked family,
Gilfert the phlegmatic Dutchman was down from Albany, dropped in to
see the show, and was so delighted at the enthusiastic bravos given the
young actor that he lost his pipe, specs, and snuff box in the rush backstage
to congratulate Forrest.
When the Bowery opened the next season under the management of
Gilfert, Edwin was drawing forty dollars a week. Envious theatres borrowed
him from Gilfert for two hundred dollars a night! On the renewal of his
contract, Forrest demanded that exorbitant price, and Gilfert willingly
paid him that amount each night for eighty nights.
The success of Forrest wherever he went was unbelievable. People
stood in line for hours to be sure that they would secure tickets. In New
York choice seats were auctioned off, and a box of six chairs sold for one
hundred and fifty dollars. One source of his popularity stemmed from
his staunch advocacy of an American theatre free from British influences.
He assumed all kinds of risks to introduce plays written by native dramatists.
109
The Gladiator, by Dr. Robert Bird of Philadelphia, was shown not only
in America but was placed first on the list of those plays which Forrest
earmarked for London, whither he repaired in 1836. Before this first
English season was over, he had played Macbeth at seven performances
King Lear at eight, and Othello at nine.
Everywhere he was cordially hailed by the theatre-goers and the critics
alike. William Macready, afterwards to be his bitterest enemy, enter-
tained him at the Garrick Club. At the home of John Sinclair, the singer,
he met the daughter of the house, the bewitching Caroline Norton Sinclair.
Their hearts were soon singing in unison, and there being no objections,
they were speedily married in St. Paul's Cathedral.
It would seem that the gods had led Forrest undeviatingly to the
pinnacle of popularity with his eyes open, but at this perilous point they
blindfolded him and gave him one nasty jab after another to send him
careering headlong downwards.
It all started when Macready was making his first tour of this country.
A great many people not necessarily blue-blooded aristocrats with long
genealogies and proud armorial bearings, though they were called that,
and worsefavored the acting of the Englishman as being more genteel
than that of the American, and possessing more finesse. The red-blooded
patriots retorted that this "prissy pet of the Anglomaniacs" could draw
applause from kid gloves, but that the virile American democrat could do
better in drawing tears from strong men's eyes. The newspapers, opening
their columns to this reprehensible sort of argument, hardly realized what
seeds of folly they were sowing. Two wars fought with England had not
been enough; this third, if fought only on a small stage, a tempest in a
teapot, aroused much bad feeling and ill will that had lain dormant for
a long time on both sides of the water. The two men directly involved
were innocent bystanders of this petty warfare, that is, at first. But the
old demon, professional jealousy, had reared his ugly head in their bosoms.
When Forrest made his second appearance in London, in 1845, he
heard some hisses from the pit. He also learned now that he spoke with
a "dreadful Yankee nasal twang" and grinned like a "wolf showing its fangs."
Forrest traveled about after he left London, and in Edinburgh he
attended a performance of Hamlet by Macready. From a box seat Forrest
sat leaning over the railing and was almost as conspicuously in view of the
audience as the actors on the stage. At that point where Hamlet learns that
the court will attend the play, he becomes merry and tells Mercutio; "I must
be idle. Get you to a place." Macready, here acting like a sportive mad
man, cavorted back and forth across the stage and fluttered a handkerchief
above his head. As the proverbial red rag is to the bull, so was this hand-
sheet to Forrest a namby-pamby idea, so he thought, that could be con-
ceived only by a foppish actor. At the third "gallopade" across the stage,
Forrest, unable to stomach more of this "business," rose slightly and, with
elbows still on the edge of his box, registered his disapproval by uttering
110
a long, pronounced hiss. Coming from an ordinary lout, the contemptuous
sound would have escaped comment. Coming from Forrest, it evoked
strong condemnation from the press.
To add to the bad pourri in the pot, Forrest spewed forth more venom
by a written defense of his action in the London Times: "Mr. Macready
thought fit to introduce a fancy dance into his performance of Hamlet,
which I thought, and still think, a desecration of the scene. That a man
may manifest his pleasure or displeasure after the recognized mode, accord-
ing to the best of his judgment, actuated by proper motives, and for
justifiable ends, is a right which, until now, I have never once heard
questioned; and I contend that that right extends equally to an actor, in
his capacity of a spectator, as to any other man."
What a bad taste this acidulous subject leaves in the mouth, and one
would fain drop the matter here and be done. But the climax had not
yet been reached. The Amercian newspapers picked up their cudgels in
defense of Forrest, now roundly attacked in the British press. Forrest's
cause was the battle for independence from Britain on the artistic front.
And no punches were pulled in that slugging match of acrid wits.
The democratic masses stood loyally by Forrest when Macready made
a third tour of the United States. The "Forrestites" and "Macreadyites"
lacerated one another's flesh and poured salt on the open wounds. What
epithets were bandied about: Traitor, shoddy hero high-brow, low-brow
pussyfoot, club foot kidglove, rawhide pusillanimous prig, blustering bull.
It seemed that every sore, long scabbed over, broke open at once into a
pussy stream of virulence.
The two protagonists in this off-stage drama did not stand idly by.
Both were now writing "angry cards" to each other and to the newspapers.
Macready defended himself and made remarks about Forrest before the
footlights of a Philadelphia Theatre. He was showered with rotten eggs.
The Boston Mail flashed in large headlines: MORE ABOUT MACREADY-
HIS ABUSE OF FORREST-ENDEAVORS TO PUT HIM DOWN-HIS
ABUSE OF AMERICANS. There were more headlines like that in other
papers. Some of Macready's private opinions about Americans came to
light, and they were not too favorable. He liked Americans in general
but he disliked their crudities and discomforts. He condemned slavery
in the presence of Southerners.
The climax of this stupid drama came when Macready began his fare-
well engagement by playing Macbeth at the Astor Opera House in New
York, May 7, 1849. Bedlam broke loose when he stepped upon the stage.
u Down with the English hog!*' and "Down with the bigwig aristocrat!" were
the cheers that greeted him along with flying eggs, onions, bricks, and an
asafoetida bottle. When two chairs sailed down from the gallery onto the
stage, the curtain dropped, and the play was over before it began.
Macready would have canceled his engagement if he had not been
assured henceforth of police protection, On the night scheduled for his
111
second appearance, the house was heavily posted with policemen. There
were scornful hoots and shaking of fists; four men were arrested and locked
in the basement under the theatre, to which they vainly tried to set fire,
Macready finished the stage-tragedy of Macbeth, but the real tragedy
of that night occurred outside the theatre. An angry mob was gathering
on the streets; bottles and stones came flying through windows. A third
of the spectators left the theatre before the play was over.
As the police were leaving the building, the ugly mob attempted to
crash the doors in search of Macready. The mounted militia rode up to
halt their rush. Insults followed threats, and shots followed a disregard
of both. The wildest pandemonium prevailed for half an hour, and when
the smoke cleared, twenty-two people lay dead and thirty-six were
wounded. Macready escaped through the riotous crowd unrecognized,
boarded a train for Boston, and sailed immediately for England. He retired
a year later from the profession which he had always despised, his chances
for knighthood having vanished.
Forrest continued to play to packed houses for several years more.
He was looked upon as a hero by some, but the beginning of his decline
soon set in when he sued his wife for divorce on the grounds of infidelity.
He could prove nothing, and testimonials showed the case to be a wreck-
tangle a four-sided rather than a three-sided affair, harmless indiscretions
having been committed on both sides with no malice prepense. Forrest
lost many supporters by his asinine outbursts of choler during the trial.
His wife won many adherents by her quiet demeanor, and the jury decided
in her favor. She was granted an alimony of three thousand a year-a
sum which Forrest steadfastly refused to pay. Mrs. Forrest went into the
show business herself and died a very rich woman, many years after her
husband.
After the Civil War, Forrest gradually ebbed in popularity with the
public. People were weary of him. New stars were burgeoning their
points. New styles of acting were drawing the crowds. Forrest was getting
old, irritable, and crotchety. His "puissant animal splendor and ground-
swell of emotion" had worn thin. He was playing to empty houses and he
saw the handwriting on the wall. Still, the lonely, deserted old man would
not give up. His last performances were pathetic failures, and he tottered
from the stage in time to die a few days before Christmas, 1872.
A kind word might be said for the better side of Forrest's nature. The
first big amount of money he earned, four hundred dollars, he deposited
in his mother's hands. Wherever he was, even in far-away New Orleans,
he sent groceries and fresh fruits home. As soon as he was able, he bought
a comfortable home for his mother and three sisters, provided well for
them and buried them all. His only child, a son, died young, and the loss
is said to have embittered him. But he always tenderly loved children
and built a miniature theatre in the basement of his home for them, working
for hours with them there. Once he was infuriated, and cast all manner
112
of obloquy at a member of his cast who did not show up. When the mis-
creant appeared, to explain that one of his children had just died, Forrest
was overwhelmed, spoke tenderly to the grief -stricken father, and gave
him fifty dollars, all he had in his pockets at the time. One night, after a
strenuous performance, he found a sick mother and a crying child next
to his room at a boarding house. He paced the floor with the ailing child
in his harms and nursed it till morning with milk he had sent for. The
doctor declared that Forrest had saved the infant's life by the warmth,
food, and care he had provided. In his will he stipulated that his luxurious
home near Philadelphia be converted into a sanctuary for impoverished
old actors, with generous provisions for their comfort.
A memorable man was Edwin Forrest, our first great actor, but un-
fortunately one who played too long and let his artistic powers run to
seed. A sober lesson is entailed in his story, and that is, how closely bound
is greatness to the littleness in human nature.
* r # *
Just as Miss Cushman was her most magnificent self as Lady Macbeth
and Edwin Forrest the living reincarnation of King Lear, so did Edwin
Booth become by the quality of his melancholy reflective nature the very
embodiment of Hamlet. "Booth was Hamlet," says Edward Robins. "So
long as the memory of his performance endures, no other Hamlet can take
his place; to the American playgoer he seems the greatest exponent of the
part, whether we think of the past with its long line of fine Hamlets, or
of the future when tyros and accomplished actors alike will have their fling
at the sabled fatalist/'
How inseparably associated the characters of Booth and Hamlet were
in the minds of theatregoers, old or young, may best be illustrated by an
incident related by Mrs. Goodale, the former Kitty Malony who played
in Booth's company in later years: "My little niece, scarcely more than a
baby, came behind for the first time in her life, and to her mind Hamlet
was Hamlet not Mr. Booth. She gazed so yearningly at Hamlet that I
overcame my timidity and presented the mite to him. But I need not have
hesitated, for Mr. Booth's face became tender. He impulsively stooped
and kissed her, saying, 'You are a beautiful little one/ She did not smile
but gazed heavenward, murmuring, 'Hamlet kissed me!'" A quarter of
a century after Booth's death, two days after the armistice for the First
World War was signed, a statue of Edwin Booth was unveiled in Gramercy
Park, New York. The figure on the pedestal shows Booth in the character
of Hamlet-and to the school children, for whom Booth in person is not
even a memory, it is Hamlet standing there and for them it will always
remain Hamlet.
Junius Brutus Booth, the actor and father of three sons who were
actors, left England for America because of a rivalry with, as well as an
annoying similarity in appearance to, Edmund Kean. That similarity did
113
not extend as far as his bandy legs, which were the subject of many a wise
crack. Once, when he was playing in Cymbeline a joker from the gallery
broke up the show when he yelled: "Ah, ha, you're a pretty fellow to stop
a pig!"
This elder Booth was married twice. By his first wife he had one son,
who eventually died in the Confederate service. His second wife bore him
nine children, of whom Edwin, named for Edwin Forrest, was the sixth,
born the 13th of November, 1833, on a night when the heavens were
bright with shooting stars.
"The Farm/' the home of the Booths not far from Baltimore, was a
pleasant menage when the father was there in the summer, or between
engagements in the winter. Very early little Edwin was assigned the task of
accompanying and caring for the father on his travels. The boy received
scant formal education, but close association with his father, a graduate
of Eton, and a well-read man, enriched his mind with a treasury of literary
knowledge.
Junius Brutus Booth was an erratic man, prone to wander off and not
keep his engagements on the stage. Edwin would often tag along and
plead with his father to bring him back on time. Once, after a show the
old man paced up and down a deserted market place till the farmers
began to open their vegetable stalls at daybreak. In Boston, when the
father wanted to stroll off after the show, Edwin earnestly begged him
to remain at the hotel. Surprised at his son's unyielding attitude, the elder
Booth disappeared into a dark closet and locked the door behind him. For
two hours, Edwin did not hear a sound; he did not know if his father were
dead or alive. When he was finally sure he had better call for help to
remove his suffocated parent, the supposed victim marched out, undressed,
and went to bed without a murmur of explanation.
Being the veritable guardian of his eccentric father made Edwin pre-
maturely serious and thoughtful. The strain of sadness in his disposition
was early evident, and it grew more pronounced with time. While he
had an apt sense of humor, he seldom gave vent to an exuberance of mirth.
The characteristic thing about his laughter, some one has said, was its
soundlessness.
Junius Brutus Booth was resolutely opposed to any theatrical ambitions
for his children. Seeing how facile Edwin was with saw and hammer
in adjusting stage properties, he planned for him a career as cabinet-maker.
But Edwin abided his time and, when less then sixteen, got his first chance,
in Boston, to appear on the regular stage. His father was to act in Richard
III, and the prompter for the show complained that he had enough to do
besides taking the part of Tressel, the mounted messenger. Edwin volun-
teered to relieve him, and, already dressed for the part, announced the
fact to his father, who forthwith drilled him on the character of Tressel.
Edwin answered all the questions correctly, but was censured for forgetting
the spurs, those accessories so necessary for a fast-riding courier.
114
A few months after this performance, Edwin and a friend got up a
blackface show in their home town of Belair, Maryland. The posters
advertising the event had been sent around with an elderly slave who,
with the best of intentions, tacked the signs upside down, yet a big crowd
attended this "Grand Dramatic Festival" and enjoyed the plantation songs
played by Edwin on the violin and banjo.
In 1851 he played his first major role. His father had been billed at
the National Theatre in New York to act Richard III, his most popular role,
Just before he was to go on the stage, he felt a strange indisposition and
cried out, "I can't go on!" When Edwin begged him to "pull himself
together" and go through with the part, Junius Brutus retorted, "Go act
Richard yourself!" And Edwin did, declaiming the lines as well as his
father. The spectators felt at first they were being rooked and imposed
upon by a mere stripling. As the play progressed, their sullen attitude
shifted to one of appreciation, and before the end there were enthusiastic
calls for encores. The father sat in the rear and quietly watched his son
present the part of the humpbacked, bandy-legged monarch. He never
tried thereafter to dissuade Edwin from entering upon a stage career.
The next year Junius Brutus Booth and two of his sons, Junius Junior
and Edwin, traveled to California, taking the short cut across Panama by
stagecoach. The West Coast was suffering just then from a slump, and
the times were not propitious for actors. The income from their services
was a mere pittance, and Edwin derived more money from his black-face
offerings than from Shakespeare. The father pulled up stakes and set
out for home, leaving the boys to fend for themselves. He died on a
steamboat en route. The news reached Edwin when he was roughing
it in the snowbound mining towns of Nevada.
Edwin and Junius Junior experienced a variety of vicissitudes. Many
times they were on the verge of starvation. Once Edwin was wandering
about the streets of San Francisco wondering where the money for his
hotel bills would come from. A man to whom he had lent twenty dollars
a few months before walked up and deposited two ten-dollar bills in his
hand. Delighted at this windfall, Edwin figured that Dame Luck was
his attendant that day; so he strolled into a gambling parlor, staked his
money on a roulette wheel, and promptly lost it. His ill-fortune taught
him a salutary lesson, for he never gambled again.
Leaving his brother in San Francisco, Edwin sailed for Australia, which
was enjoying a prosperity boom. He played opposite Laura Keene on
this tour. On the return trip, the company stopped in Honolulu and
played before appreciative audiences. King Kamehameha IV sat behind
the stage and watched a performance of Richard III. After the show the
sovereign complimented Edwin on his acting, saying he was equally as
good in the part as his father, whom the king had seen in New York some
years before.
115
Back in California Edwin traveled about from town to town, adding
one role after another to his repertoire but nothing to his bank roll. He
returned East and played first in Boston, where his acting of Sir Giles
Overreach was highly commended. His reputation preceded him to New
York; there he was billed as the "Hope of the Living Drama." He was
hailed as the "son of a great tragedian/ 7 but this appellation was soon
shortened; the son was a great tragedian in his own right. In Philadelphia
he played Macbeth in support of Charlotte Cushman's Lady Macbeth.
The two differed radically in their conceptions of the ambitious king. To
Miss Cushman, Macbeth was the "grandfather of all the Bowery villains."
Booth interpreted Macbeth as an intellectual villain, a composite of good
and bad motives struggling constantly for the upperhand.
Booth's long apprenticeship had made him a thorough master of his
art. The press accorded him the highest praise wherever he appeared.
A public fed up on the heavy, pompous style of Edwin Forrest forsook
the trumpetings of a Stentor grown hoarse to hear the sweet "flute-like"
tones of the sad-faced young idol, who secured his most telling effects
seemingly in the kaleidoscopic nuances of expression emanating from a
profound intellectuality. "His genius," remarks Edward Robins, "was. a
dramatic trinity of mind, poetic feeling, and power of expression. He was
a deep and lucid thinker, to whom Shakespeare was an open book, not
a mystery; he had keen sensibility, and a vivid imagination quick to grasp
every subtlety and possibility of a part, and he could, by the magic of
his look, tone, or gesture give theatrical form to every idea that was passing
through his fertile brain."
Booth married twice. His first wife, Mary Devlin, was a native of Troy,
New York; an accomplished musician and a very lovely woman, she was
influential enough to cause her husband to give up his immoderate drink-
ing, a weakness that had started and grown upon him during his Western
travels. The three years of their wedded life were ideally happy and he
was always passionately devoted to his daughter, Edwina, the one offspring
of this marriage. His second wife, Mary McVicker, played the part of
Juliet to his Romeo at the opening of Booth's Theatre in New York. This
marriage, which lasted for twelve years, was harrowed by the tragedy of
Mrs. Booth's insanity toward the end of her life. Those who knew what
dark clouds were hovering over Booth's home marveled at his patience,
endurance, and ability to play night after night in the theatre.
The season of 1864-65 saw Booth at the pinnacle of his career. The
unprecedented run of his Hamlet for one hundred nights at the Winter
Garden in New York set a record for Shakespearean performances in this
country. On November 25, 1864, the three Booth brothers, Junius, Edwin
and John Wilkes appeared together in Julius Caesar while their mother,
from her proscenium box, proudly witnessed the tribute of cheers and
curtain calls given her handsome sons.
116
But the happiness of that moment was dashed not long afterwards by
the direful tragedy perpetrated by the youngest son at Ford's Theatre in
Washington. The assassination of Lincoln whom he had supported and
voted for by his brother struck Edwin Booth like an atom bomb. He
cancelled all engagements and hurried to New York, where he stayed in
the seclusion of his home, brooding over the sorrow which that "rattle-
pated fellow, filled with Quixotic notions" had brought to his family as
well as to the nation. He could find no words to comfort his distraught
mother who was to live for twenty years after the calamity.
He would have retired permanently from the stage if friends had not
insistently declared that it would be foolish for him to do so. His re-
appearance as Hamlet in 1866 at the Winter Garden was greeted with
flowers, enthusiastic cheers, and a wild waving of hats.
Soon after, he planned and built a theatre to be a model of its kind.
The expenditure ran above a million dollars, and the debt thus incurred
he could never pay off. He ran the house for three seasons; then it passed
out of his hands.
He made several tours of the continent. His appearances in England
in 1861 were coldly received, partly because of an intense dislike of
"Yankees" at that time. The unfriendly reviews of critics kept spectators
away from theatres where he was playing. A pleasure jaunt to Paris
afforded him relaxation, and several receptions were given in his honor.
On his second visit to England in 1880, he was accorded a much better
reception, although one critic stated peevishly that he was prone to "gob-
ble like a turkey."
His tour of Germany was perhaps the happiest in Booth's life as an
actor. He received tremendous ovations everywhere in Berlin, Hamburg,
Bremen, Hanover, Leipzig, and Vienna. Trophies were showered upon
him, and once he was handed a laurel crown consisting of gold leaves.
Kitty Malony in her memoirs, gives an account of Booth's contacts with
the very formal stage manager in Berlin. In Mr. Booth's own words: "He
embarrassed me. His punctiliousness was harder to endure than contempt
or rudeness. His directing let me see at once he was a student of Shakes-
speare and an authority on stagecraft. He knew his business ... I had
no fear of his working against me. I should have what I was entitled to;
but not one jot more did he intend me to get out of him.
"The rehearsal ended and the performance began. I was busy and
so was he! I had not given him a thought-the scenes ran too smoothly
for thatbutwhen the final curtain fell, it occurred to me there might
be something pleasanter in life than running against this hostile stage
manager again, so I turned to leave the stage. Something solemn charged
the atmosphere. It arrested me. The actors stood as statues but the
stage manager came to me. He bent over my hand he seemed to be
kneeling he kissed my hand and said, e Herr Meister!" It was done so
simply with such sincerity I wanted to cry."
117-
Mr. Booth never did retire but his appearances were less frequent in
his later years. He presented an infinite variety of roles and traveled far
and wide over our country, stopping even in many small towns. In
Cheyenne a brass band was out to greet him at the station with "Lo,
the conquering hero comes!" Sometimes he was accused of being too
cold and formal at his curtain calls but to this his usual reply was, "Why
should I be worked up over the approval of unripe judgment?"
He always inspired a sense of loyalty in the other members of his cast.
He referred to the young people affectionately as "my little chickens."
He was never known to quarrel or lose his temper over minor details.
One incident will reveal his easy-going manner. "Where do you stand?"
he inquired of one young fellow, whose answer was: "Mr. Barrett had
me over there." "I usually have him here," said Mr. Booth, pointing to
the opposite side of the stage; "but never mind. Suit yourself. I'll find
you wherever you are." Would that all people were as complacent and
easy to please!
He suffered a stroke of paralysis in 1891, and his health gradually
failed till his death on June 8, 1893. "I cannot grieve at death," he once
wrote. "It seems to me the greatest boon the Almighty has granted us,"
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, in describing Booth's funeral, writes: "Just as
Edwin was laid in the grave, among the fragrant pine-boughs which
lined it, the sun went down. There in the tender afterglow two or three
hundred men and women stood silent, with bowed heads. The soft June
air, blowing across the upland, brought with it the scent of syringa blos-
soms from the slope below. Overhead, and among the trees, the twilight
was gathering. 'Good night, sweet Prince/ I said under my breath. Then
I thought of the years and years that had been made rich with his
presence."
# * # #
While other actors are known preeminently as either tragedians or
comedians, outstanding in a few distinctive roles, Edward Loomis Daven-
port is known simply as a stage star famous for his versatility. He could
act, sing, or dance equally well. His repertoire included everything from
the Shakespearean tragedies and comedies to the most preposterous farces;
with his fine tenor voice he could sing the part of Thaddeus in The
Bohemian Girl, the merry ballad of Sally in our Alley, a plaintive planta-
tion ditty, or the lofty strains of the Messiah; he could trip the light
fantastic in the stateliest measures, the tap-and-heel of a hoe-down jig,
or the thumping clatter of a sailor's hornpipe. He could give an evening's
readings from the poets, orate eloquently, or preach a funeral sermon.
He was seldom miscast, and as a rule he could grasp any situation by
forelock or fetlock and master it with unseeming effort.
Davenport was born November 15, 1815, the son of a Boston innkeeper.
His parents were strait-laced people who "abhorred theatres." Yet the boy
at an early age was already anxious to get into "other garments than his
own" at school entertainments. Long afterwards, when a teacher of his,
a Mr. Lovell, then an octogenarian, saw his former pupil perform, the
old man wept the entire time.
For a while E. L. as he was subsequently known clerked in a hotel,
then in a dry-goods store.
He was interested in amateur theatricals, and when Edwin Forrest
saw him in one of these and gave him some encouragement, the dis-
interested clerk abandoned his dry goods for the more glamorous costumes
of the stage. The minor parts he handled at a Providence theatre pre-
pared him for a more seasoned role at Newport in Douglas Jerrold's
nautical drama, Black-Eyed Susan. The character of William, which he
personated, continued to be popular for years; an English sailor once
declared that Davenport's insight into a seaman's life knocked the "very
salt water out of his bloomin' top-light."
Not till he became associated with Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt in 1845
did he advance to the position of a star. Under her management he
began to play Sir Giles Overreach, the best of all his personations. In
the fall of 1846, Mrs. Mowatt's company toured the South, stopping in
Louisville, Nashville, Augusta, Macon, Columbus, Montgomery, Mobile,
and New Orleans. The stages were often inadequate sometimes there
was none but the vicissitudes encountered were valuable, and interesting.
On a steamboat between Louisville and Vicksburg, Henry Clay was aboard
and Davenport, determined to get acquainted with the famous statesman,
rigged himself up in an odd assortment of clothes, clapped a red wig over
his poll, strode on deck, and in a voice as twangy as a Yankee rustic's said
loudly, "Wai, I hyear that thar feller Henry Clay's aboard; I guess I'll
get acquainted." Of course, Clay overheard the remark; the two struck
up an immediate friendship; and for the rest of the trip the entire com-
pany was regaled by the hilarious jokes and tall tales of the two expert
funsters.
In 1847 Mrs. Mowatt's company sailed for England, where Davenport
met and married the English actress, Fanny Vining. His sojourn abroad,
quite agreeable in all its aspects, lasted for seven years. At one time
Macready invited him to play in his support. But soon the Englishman
became jealous of the attention that Davenport was attracting, and bel-
lowed irritably, "I wish you wouldn't try to overact; your extreme earnest-
ness detracts from the total result." Davenport obediently subordinated
his efforts to such a degree that Macready now charged him with dead-
ening the total effect of the show.
When he returned to Boston after his long absence, he was greeted
by cheering crowds. A banner flung across a main thoroughfare, bore the
words: "Welcome home, E. L. Davenport."
For ten years he handled an incredibly large number of roles, made
several tours, and served as manager at numerous theatres. It was nothing
119
for him to act two roles in the same play-in For Branded he actually
personated five parts and came off amazingly well. He appeared along-
side an imposing galaxy of stars: Charlotte Cushman, Edwin Forrest,
Edwin Booth, Lawrence Barrett, John McCullough, Matilda Heron, Mr.
and Mrs. W. J. Florence, George Vandenhoff, Agnes Ethel, Mary Devlin,
Joseph Jefferson, J. W. Wallack, Kate Claxton, Adelaide Neilson, his
daughter Fanny in fact, with everybody of any importance.
He was an affable man who made few enemies. Although he fell
out with the irascible Edwin Forrest over the rights of performance to
a certain play, the two men eventually came to have a high regard for
each other. Forrest, when he once heard Davenport spoken of as being
"just above the average," offered this stout rebuttal, "They may say what
they please, although Davenport and I haven't spoken for years, he is
the best actor on the American stage." Davenport returned the compli-
ment; in his opinion Forrest was "by far the most original and greatest
actor America has ever produced."
As a manager Davenport was not too successful. He wished to hurt
no one's feelings; he was not satisfied till all the members of a cast were
satisfied with their parts. For him every one had possibilities and he was
ever anxious to help develop the latent talent, however little it was, which
he saw in the worst of amateurs. He was generous and thoughtful of
others, and a spirit of kindliness emanated from his very presence, making
life humanly pleasant for those around him. When he hung up a notice:
"Boys don't smoke, and if you love your manager, turn down the gas,"
the boys were amused, but obeyed the behest.
The family life of the Davenports was singularly happy, and the doors
were always swinging open to welcome visitors informally. A frequent
guest for Sunday dinner was Edwin Booth, who was visibly brightened
by the antics of the nine romping children. There was a side table at
which any misbehaving youngster had to eat alone. One Sunday when
Fanny, the eldest child, was thus humiliated, Booth moved his chair to
her table and kept her company, much to the delight of the mischievous
young lady.
Mr. Davenport is described in his later years by Goddard as "tall,
not over-stout, but with a well-knit figure, mild blue eyes, florid face,
prominent nose and thin light hair that revealed coming baldness. His
voice, like his manner, was indescribably pleasant and winning."
The two outstanding roles which he presented were those of Brutus
in Julius Caesar and Sir Giles Overreach. J. Ranken Towse says that he
was a "splendidly dignified and magnanimous Brutus," and it was largely
owing to his superb interpretation that the play was so popular, running
for two hundred and twenty-two nights. One veteran devotee of the
stage penned this tribute to his acting of Sir Giles:
120
While viewing each remembered scene,
before my gaze appears
Each famed depictor of Sir Giles for
almost fifty years.
The elder Kean and mighty Booth
have held all hearts in thrall,
But, without overreaching truth, you
overreach them all!
His Bill Sikes in Oliver Twist made people shudder at the vividness
of his personation. His Hamlet and his Richelieu were likewise intrinsi-
cally good, worthy of mention with the best. Had he limited and identi-
fied himself more fully with fewer roles, he would have received the
greater measure of recognition which he merited.
When he died September 1, 1877, he was followed to the grave by a
large assembly of people from all walks of life, William Cullen Bryant
and Judge Daly being among his ballbearers. The epitaph on his tomb
begins with "Our Father who art in Heaven," and follows with a lament
on the loss to the world by the passing of a noble, virtuous, Christian
gentleman.
Seven of Mr. Davenport's children were actors at one time or another.
We have already mentioned Fanny (1850-1898), who won spectacular
successes in the emotional drama toward the end of the century. Like
her father, she essayed every type of role from Shakespeare to ebullient
froth. A remarkable actress, she overtaxed herself and died prematurely.
The youngest member of this histrionic family, Harry Davenport ( 1866-
1949) could boast of the longest acting career in American stage history,
stretching over seventy-eight years. He began at five, played later with
Lotta Crabtree, Minnie Maddem Fiske, and his older sisters. At the age
of seventy he switched to Hollywood, and was filmed in more than one
hundred movies, among them being Gone With the Wind, (in the role
of Dr. Meade) Forsyte Saga, Meet Me in St. Louis, and The Farmers
Daughter. For longevity of effort, he should become a legend with
Louis XIV, Queen Victoria, George Bernard Shaw, and Methuselah.
* $ # *
There is no more striking contrast than that presented by the careers
of E. I. Davenport and Joseph Jefferson. The one portrayed the most
varied types of characters, totaling more than six hundred in all. Jefferson
confined himself for the last forty years of his life almost exclusively to
a single character. And yet, in spite of this particularity, Jefferson is still
pleasantly regarded as the greatest comedian of our legitimate stage.
Some critics would refuse to grant Jefferson a place in the category
of great actors. Lewis C. Strang remarks: "Should one resolve seriously
to consider Mr. Jefferson as an interpreter of characters and of plays,
what is there to say in his favour? The fact of the matter is, Mr. Jefferson
121
never interpreted anything in his life; he knew too much to try." J. Ranken
Towse takes a similar viewpoint: "None of the parts in which Jefferson
delighted his audiences could by any stretch of the imagination he called
great. None of them sounded the heights or depths of emotion, lofty
flights of imagination or passion, or demanded the exhibition of uncommon
intellectual, moral, or dramatic power. They all lay within the limits of
the middle register. All of them were played, and often very well played,
by actors of no extraordinary capacities." But Towse is willing to acknowl-
edge that the "secret of Jefferson's popularity and fame" lay in his "con-
summate artistry and personal fascination."
On the other hand, William Winter is disposed to rank Jefferson with
the best. "He was not only a great actor, he was a man of noble mind,
original character, sympathetic temperament, and lovely spirit; he not
only exercised a potential influence upon the dramatic profession, but
by virtue of the sweetness and kindness that his genial nature diffused,
through the medium of his acting, he deeply affected the lives of thousands
who were personally strangers . . . No name throughout the teeming
annals of art in the nineteenth century has shone with a more genuine
lustre, or can be more proudly and confidently committed to the remem-
brance and esteem of posterity." Disregarding the disparagements of
critics, a sympathetic public, from the very first presentment of his Rip
Van Winkle, took Mr. Jefferson to their hearts and kept him there with
no diminution of their attachment.
The Jeffersons were one of the "famous actor families of America."*
Thomas, the first of these actors, was encouraged by David Garrick to go
upon the stage. It is said that the comic vein in his descendants was
inherited from his wife, who died from a ruptured blood vessel in the
brain during a merry outburst of laughter. The impersonator of Rip
declared that he always felt a sharp pain in his head if he laughed too
heartily. The first Joseph Jefferson left England for America, not only
because he was drawn instinctively toward our republic but also because
he quarreled constantly with his step-mother. This Joseph I generally
portrayed the parts of old men; once he did it so effectively that a sym-
pathetic old lady started a subscription to retire him from the stage. His
natural bent was entirely comic; a single attempt at tragedy swept him
off the stage in a gale of laughter. John Pendleton Kennedy, the noted
novelist, leaves a testimonial of the abilities of "Jefferson, the imp of
ancient fame," to provoke uninhibited exhibitions of mirth when he came
to Baltimore: "He played everything that was comic, and always made
people laugh till tears ran from their eyes. Laugh? Why, I don't believe
he ever saw the world doing anything else. Whomsoever he looked at
laughed. Before he came through the side scenes when he was about to
enter O. P. or P. S., he would pronounce the first words of his part to
* This term was used as the title of a book by Montrose J, Moses.
122
herald his appearance and instantly the whole audience set up a shout.
It was only the sound of his voice. He had a patent right to shake the
world's diaphragm which seemed to be infallible. No player comes to
that perfection now."
Joseph Jefferson I had three sons, all of whom were actors. One of
them injured his lungs when a high jump from a rocky ledge, called for
by his part, landed him painfully hard, not on his feet but on his chest.
A second son slipped on an orange peel, left on the stage from a previous
act, and fractured his skull. Joseph II also played the parts of old men
who were invariably reprobates, vagabonds, or aging buffoons. He mar-
ried a widow ten years his senior, the daughter of French refugees from
Haiti. Mrs. Jefferson had by her previous marriage a son, Thomas Burke,
who became a close companion to the two Jefferson children, Joseph III
and Cornelia.
The future Rip Van Winkle was born at Philadelphia, February 20,
1829. He was hardly able to walk and talk well when "Jun Crow" Rice
carried him onto the stage in a sack and emptied him out head foremost,
after which the two, both blackfaced, did a hotfoot jig and sang:
Ladies and gem'men, I'd have yuh for to know,
Tse got a little darky here, to jump Jim Crow.
The spectators laughed unroariously, and after the tall, angular Rice
and the diminutive boy of four sang through a dialog consisting of crazy
questions and crazier answers, they were pelted with a shower of pennies,
sixpence, and shillings from the pit and the galleries.
During a large part of his boyhood we find young Joseph accompany-
ing his family, now strolling actors, through the West and South, pushing
their, way from town to town, playing in make-shift theatres, fording the
Mississippi on rafts, losing half their clothes and scenery overboard, fol-
lowing buffalo trails in covered wagons, sleeping in unheated hotels, and
frequently speculating when they would eat next. Once they had to hire
a homely-looking lawyer named Abraham Lincoln to override an act of
sequestration on their stage properties. The father, worn out by the con-
stant drain on his physical resources, caught the yellow fever and died
in Mobile, Alabama.
The family continued its tours till the Mexican War broke out. Joseph
followed the Army into Mexico, where his mother and sister assisted in
selling coffee, eggs, ham, and hot cakes over an improvised bar.
Returning to this country he secured minor comic roles in companies
that played in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and several Southern
cities. In 1850 he married Margaret Lockyer, an actress whom he played
opposite in several comedies. His sister Cornelia, as capable a comedian
as her brother, made a distinctive hit as Little Pickle in The Spoiled Child.
After a short trip to Europe in 1856, Jefferson entered Laura Keene's
company and for the first time he attracted more than the usual attention
by his Asa Trenchard, which, paired with E. A. Sothern s Lord Dundreary,
123
made Our American Cousin one of the comic highlights of the season.
Two other characterizations, Caleb Plummer in The Cricket on the Hearth
and Bob Acres in The Rivals, brought him further affectionate notices
from the public.
After his wife's death, Jefferson wandered off once more, spending
almost four years in Australia. Then he returned to England and applied
for engagements from several managers but was refused because he had
nothing new to offer. He submitted a version of the Rip Van Winkle he
and his half-brother, Charles Burke, had written, but it was rejected.
For several years Jefferson had been toying with the idea of playing
this character. As early as 1859 the obsession began to take hold of him,
and it derived from the reading of Washington Irving's life and letters.
He was vacationing at the time with his family in an old Pennsylvania-
Dutch farmhouse near the Pocono Mountains. It was a rainy day, and
Jefferson had found a quiet sconce in the attic under the eaves to read.
His eyes suddenly came across a passage in which Irving mentions his
pleasure from a visit to the theatre where Jefferson was performing on
September 30, 1858; the comedian was delightful, reminding him, in look,
gesture, and size, of the elder Jefferson, who, in Irving's opinion, was the
best actor he had ever seen.
This praise from his favorite author, the great Washington Irving, for
the acting of the two Jeffersons thrilled him inordinately. And to think
that he had no reputation beyond that of the common run of actors. Yes,
he would repay that compliment. And how better than to represent
Irving's most famous creation, Rip Van Winkle, a character which had
always fascinated Jefferson.
One day the actor met Dion Boucicault, the playwright-author, and
asked him to revise the rejected version. Boucicault read both Jefferson's
play and Irving's story. To him Rip was a picturesque character but hope-
lessly undramatic. The old sot lacked interest and romance. He must be
a happy-go-lucky blade, a curly-headed, good-humored scamp, with such
mischief in his eye as to turn girls heads and excite children and dogs to
scamper after him. "Oh, no," declared Jefferson, "that would never do."
But Boucicault insisted on this more dramatic conception, and within a
short time handed his version to Jefferson with the apology, "It is a poor
thing, Joe."
Three weeks later, on September 5, 1865, Rip Van Winkle was pre-
sented at the Adelphi Theatre, and took the sophisticated London audi-
ence by storm. It ran continuously for one hundred and seventy nights.
But that success was nothing in comparison to the one scored in America,
where it was performed thousands of times and ran for years and years.
L. Clarke Davis wrote in the Atlantic Monthly soon after the play came
to America: "From the moment of Rip's entrance upon the scene for
it is Rip Van Winkle, and not Mr. Jefferson the audience has assurance
that a worthy descendant of the noblest of the old players is before
124
them . . . There is no fustian, no sham passion, no tawdry sentiment, no
untruth of any kind . . . From the rising of the curtain on the first scene,
until its fall on the last, nothing is forced, sensational, or unseemly. The
remarkable beauty of the performance arises from nothing so much as
its entire repose and equality." Brander Matthews made this observation
in Scribners Magazine: "It is saturated with kindly and wholesome humor.
Although Rip is an idle good-for-nothing and ne'er-do-well, we accept
Mr. Jefferson's presentation of him as a personification of the beautiful
and the good," And George William Curtis in Harpers Monthly adds
that "people return again and again to see him as to see a lovely landscape
or a favorite picture. Indeed, it is the test of high art that it does not
pall in its impression."
People were quick to see that the play carried a moral import as well
as its burden of pathos and humor. A minister asserted after he had
witnessed a performance: "I never saw such power, I never remarked
such nature in any Christian pulpit ... So simple, so true, so beautiful,
so moral! No sermon written in the world, except that of Christ when
he stood with the adulterous woman, ever illustrated the power of love
to conquer evil, and to win the wanderer, as that little part does, so
perfectly embodied by this genius which God has given us, to show in
the drama the power of love over the sins of the race."
And thus we can well understand how Joe Jefferson affectionately came
to be called Rip Van Winkle simply because he was Rip Van Winkle,
genial, generous, gentle, and warm-souled. Fame and fortune actually
came Jefferson's way because he was spontaneously portraying the sterling
qualities of his own amiable nature. Off-stage he was as willing to do a
good turn for some one as Rip was on the stage. It was he who first gave
publicity to the Little Church Around the Corner by taking an actor there
for Christian burial after being refused at another church.
Mr. Jefferson married a second time in 1867. He had a numerous brood
of children, six by his first wife and four by his second. Seven of these
children were boys and Mr. Jefferson was once asked what he was teach-
ing them. He meditated a moment and then replied in the slow, pausing
voice so characteristic of Rip, "To fish and-to tell the truth." That his
sons were truthful as well as humorous may be seen from the following
incident. When Willie Jefferson was in Paris, he cabled his father: "Send
me two hundred," The cable returned with a query: "For what?" And
Willie answered, "For Willie!"
In his private life, Mr. Jefferson was as highly esteemed as he was on
the stage. He was sociable to folks of all ranks and ages, high or low,
young or old. His company was enjoyed on fishing trips as much by
ex-president Cleveland as by many a small country urchin. Wherever he
angled, at Buzzards Bay, on the Florida lakes, or by Louisiana streams,
his whistle and halloo were heard with amusement when he landed a
sea-bass, a snook, or a pompano. Often he occupied himself with paint-
125
ing, which he had learned from his father on tours, when the stage
scenery, "runny" from frequent soakings, needed refurbishing. Harvard
and Yale invited him to lecture on the art of acting, and granted him
honorary degrees. He was active in raising money for the Actors' Fund
and was president of The Players, succeeding Edwin Booth. When he
died at Palm Beach, Florida, on April 23, 1905, which by the way, was
the anniversary of Shakespeare's death, the country felt that it had suf-
fered a distinct loss.
Once he was accused of lacking ambition: "Why, you can only play
one part. You are the prince of dramatic carpet-baggers, and carry all
your wardrobe in a gripsack. Look at that huge pile of trunks mine,
sir, mine! Examine my list of parts! Count them half a hundred at the
very least. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Where is your versa-
tility?"
"My dear Charlie," he replied, "you are confounding wardrobe with
talent. You change your hat, and fancy you are playing another character.
Believe me, it requires more skill to act one part fifty different ways than
to act fifty parts all the same way."
And thus, by portraying the single character of Rip Van Winkle "fifty
different ways" so that it never staled on him or his audience over a period
of nearly forty years, Joe Jefferson became immortal, our greatest comedian.
* * # #
Yankee characters proved popular on the stage as early as 1799, when
George H. Hill took to reading Yankee stories on the Boston stage between
acts. Later "Yankee Hill" went to the Park Theatre in New York, and
from there elsewhere over the country, showing the dramatic possibilities
of this crude but shrewd old wiseacre. Even before this, Royall Tyler
had introduced a Yankee servant into his play The Contrast, produced in
1787, in Jonathan, the prototype of all subsequent stage Yankees. James H.
Hackett, the most famous impersonator of Falstaff in this country, utilized
Yankee dialect in the characters of Solomon Swap, Jonathan Ploughboy,
Lot Sap Sago, and Colonel Nimrod Wildfire, all of them endearing him
to unsophisticated theatregoers. When he played the colonel in A Ken-
tuckians Trip to New York on the London stage in 1833, he scored a
tremendous success. And the colonel's fiancee, Miss Patty Snap of Salt
Licks, who had no "back-out in her breed, could whup her weight in wild
cats, and had shot a bar at the age of nine," familiarized London with the
species of indomitable female who had helped wrest the American forests
from savagery for the refinements of civilization. Then came F. S. Chan-
frau who, as Mose, the volunteer fire-boy, in A Glance at New York, dragged
a hose back and forth across the stage, to the delight of his New York
spectators. Joe Jefferson played Asa Trenchard the amiable Yankee as a
foil for Sothern's Lord Dundreary in Our American Cousin. John Edmond
Owens provoked belly-shaking laughter in that comical country teamster,
Solon Shingle. John T. Raymond animated the part of Mulberry Sellers,
126
the Southern colonel rigged up by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner,
in The Gilded Age. A host of other plays of this type included Davy
Crockett, M'liss, The Old Homestead, Way Down East, Alabama, David
Harum, Margaret Fleming, and Kit the Arkansas Traveller.
American audiences had been well-trained to recognize Yankee charac-
ters when W. F. Florence introduced a new one, fascinating though
unctuous, in the Honorable Bardwell Slote, the politician-hero of B. E.
Woolf s The Mighty Dollar, first performed at the Park Theatre in New
York, September 6, 1875. "It was an original character," says Lawrence
Hutton, "fresh, quaint, and entirely possible to life, who is destined to
walk down to posterity arm in arm with Rip Van Winkle, Solon Shingle,
Davy Crockett, and Colonel Sellers, the typical stage American of the
nineteenth century, Mr. Florence's most enduring character by a large
majority/'
Billy Florence, whose real name was Conlin, was born in Albany, New
York, July 26, 1831, of parents who had migrated from Ireland a few years
before. Always intensely interested in dramatics, he left Albany for the
state metropolis in 1846, but had to plug along in amateur productions
for three years, clerking in a shoe store to gain a livelihood by day and
freedom for his theatrical activities at night.
He secured a small professional engagement in 1849 as Tobias in The
Stranger at the Marshall Theatre in Richmond, Virginia. He soon made
his way back to New York, joined a company at Niblo's Garden, and not
long afterwards had an opportunity to play Macduff for Booth's Macbeth
at Providence, Rhode Island.
He was then engaged by Brougham's Lyceum to do utility parts, in
several of which it was seen that he was far above the average run, as
audiences frequently called him back for encores. He married the dancer,
Malvina Pray, on January 1, 1853, and in June of the same year they
appeared at the National Theatre as the Irish Boy and the Yankee Gal
in a feature that lifted them at once to stardom and a conspicuous success
that was repeated everywhere on the tours they made around the country.
Mrs. Florence astonished audiences by her versatility in acting, dancing,
singing, and playing of musical instruments. The tunes she introduced
were soon hummed and whistled, and sold by the thousands.
In 1856 they went to London, where they remained for five years. At
Drury Lane the comedy, Yankee Housekeeper, featuring Mrs. Florence
as the gawky but not so stupid servant-girl, played for fifty consecutive
nights to sold-out houses. Mr. Florence s role of Captain Cuttle in Dombey
and Son was such an excellent impersonation that ^Dickens asserted it
"thoroughly realized his conception of the character "
In 1861, on their return to America, the couple not only repeated their
British successes but also played together in Tickets-Leave Man, he as
Bob Brierly and she as Emily St. Evremonde. The characterizations were
far more serious than anything either had previously undertaken. They
127
were regarded as sensations, the play running at the Winter Garden for
a hundred and twenty-five nights. Then followed two plays, Caste and
No Thoroughfare, which provided Mr. Florence with two more original
conceptions in George d' Alroy and Jules Obenreizer. It was now apparent
that he had developed an extraordinary versatility, and could portray
characters diametrically divergent in tastes, temperaments, and abilities,
yet thoroughly convincing in minutiae of detail.
When he added Bardwell Slote of The Mighty Dollar to the list of his
distinctive portraits, he was recognized as an unrivaled master, to quote
Towse, "In the art of self-effacement, there is certainly no other actor
of prominence in this country capable of presenting three characters so
completely distinct as those of Obenreizer, Bardwell Slote, and Captain
Cuttle, not to speak of other personages in his theatrical repertory." He
could be a comedian, ridiculous, jovial, or fancifully poetic; he could
endow serious parts with the dynamics of a fierce, explosive energy or
languish, uncurably resigned, like one whose will power is completely
broken; each successive part manifested subtle niceties like a new canvas,
freshly painted. One Chicago critic says very pointedly: "To sum him
up in a word, Mr. Florence is an actor and how few actors we have today!
We mean those actors who play one part well, but can never submerge
that character or their own individuality in any other part."
The presentment of the Honorable Bardwell Slote, although a caricature,
created a furore of comment because it was so true, and recognizable.
The "smirking, grasping, greedy, shrewd, yet simple" member of Congress
might be from the Cohosh district, but his counterpart was to be found
obviously among the representatives from every state in the Union. Un-
deniably dishonorable in politics, which he used as a springboard for the
most detestable practices, the M. C. from Cohosh had many fine qualities
as a private citizen which endeared him to his friends and family. William
Winter likens him to a character out of Dickens, "portly, grizzled, slightly
bald, red-nosed, bright-eyed, addicted to black satin waistcoats and big
bosom pins ... A politician, resident in Washington, and engaged in trying
to feather his nest by taking bribes for lobbying railroad bills through
Congress." This rich caricature was played by Mr. Florence with such
droll archness that audiences actually came to love the amiable but
patently dishonest politician.
Mrs. Florence received a generous share of praise for her inimitable
personation of Mrs. General Gilflory, the comely, vivacious widow who
was always spouting forth, at the most inopportune moments, the most
irrelevant French phrases in a French ' so execrable that no Frenchman
could understand her. "She is simply superb," exclaimed a London critic.
"Mrs. General Gilflory is not an original character. She is a combination
of Mrs. Ramsbottom, Mrs. Malaprop, and the Begum in Penctennis; but
her wit, her humor, her good nature and her wonderful French are all
Mrs. Florence's own."
128
It might be worth noting that, twenty years later, Alfred E. Smith won
his first political laurels through his successful playing of the Honorable
Bardwell Slbte in The Mighty Dollar.
The occasional teaming of Billy Florence and Joe Jefferson was a
felicitous combination that delighted theatregoers immensely. As early
as 1881 they had played the two gravediggers in Hamlet together. The
seasons of 1889-90 and 1890-91 saw them together again. In The Rivals
a brilliant cast was assembled that included Jefferson as O'Trigger, and
Mrs. John Drew as Mrs. Malaprop. In The Heir at Law Jefferson acted
the part of Dr. Pangloss and Florence that of Zekiel Homespun. Mr.
Florence was called "extremely delightful" in both these characterizations.
At various times during his life Mr. Florence acted in classic roles
from Shakespeare, Goldsmith, and Sheridan, as well as in modern dramas,
in the company of such players as Forrest, Cushman, Booth, Henry 'Irving,
E. A. Sothern, Lotta Crabtree, Mrs. John Drew, McCullough, Barrett,
Toole, Brougham, Burton, and Raymond.
Off the stage Mr. Florence was an excellent companion. He was fond
of jokes and was always being reminded of some incident that was
applicable to the circumstance of the moment. Once an actor complained
that he had to stand on his feet too much during rehearsals while his
feet, filled with corns and calluses, sorely pained him. "I wish I were
a shoe clerk/* said the distressed actor; "then I could try on all the shoes
in the store till I found a pair that fitted."
Mr. Florence, recollecting his early job in a shoe store and his dislike
for the work, then began to tell about his experiences with a colored
barber. "Haircut!" said he tersely as he sat down in the chair. Putting
both his hands on Mr. Florence's head, the barber proceeded to thump
his cranium like some one getting ready to plug a watermelon. Amazed
at this inexplicable action, he roared "What on earth are you doing? I
said, hair cut!" "Yes, suh! Yes, suh! Scuse me, suh. But I reads bumps/'
declared the barber grandiloquently as if he were revealing the greatest
secret in the world. "You know, suh, ah can read infallubly just what a
man's business in by duh bumps on h'ees haid." "All right," snorted
Florence, "tell me mine quickly and get to work on my hair." "Youse
certainly got high bumps, dat is high-brow bumps dey makes yuh an
aristocrat and dey are very ripe/' Then after some hesitation, the barber
blurted "Dare now Ise got it!" And walking triumphantly in front of the
chair, he bowed ceremoniously and whispered "Shoe-store man!" Mr.
Florence in no uncertain terms, enlightened him as to his real profession.
"Den, suh," mourned the incorrect guesser, "Yuh sho' missed your calling."
Mr. Florence was a faithful communicant of the Catholic Church, while
his wife was an Episcopalian. He was one of the two co-founders of the
Mystic Shrine of Masons in America. He died November 19, 1891, and
lies buried in Greenwood Cemetery, Brooklyn,
129
There is no finer instance in the annals of the American stage of a
couple whose work was more integrated to serve the purposes of good,
clean acting than that of Mr. and Mrs. Florence. Thomas E. Garrett paid
them a deserving tribute when he wrote:
Lustrous beacons of the stage
In a fickle, feverish age;
Striving on with honest heart
For the claims and aims of Art.
Twin starscircling year by year--
Radiant o'er a hemisphere;
Models of the good and pure,
May your influence long endure.
# * * &
The figures on the Actors' Fund Fair spoon were quite representative
for the period of the early nineties. The question arises: Twenty years
later, or at the present time, what figures would have been chosen? If
certain famous stage stars seem to have been omitted, it is, because their
light had not yet become so effulgently bright in the early nineties as
later. Everyone who is interested in theatrical stars probably has some
favorites not represented on this list.
The Actors' Fund Fair spoon, a rare prize for any one who holds one,
was cast by Gorhams in the form of a bouillon spoon or cream ladle.
Length, 6 inches.
Lotta's Fountain spoon is replete with scenes from San Francisco; the
Ferry Building, City Seal, Lotta's Fountain, Post Office, Mission Dolores,
and the Callel Dome. No trademark is given. Length, 5% inches.
The Rip Van Winkle spoon, reminiscent of both Washington Irving
and Joseph Jefferson, is a Durgin product, patented March 31, 1891.
Length, 6 inches.
No. 16 SARATOGA SPRINGS
The Saratoga Springs spoon, intended for a chocolate muddler, portrays
the earliest known visitors to this famous watering place in the central
part of New York state. On the finial of the handle stands an Indian with
an upright bow in his left hand and a quiver of arrows tucked into the
waist-band at the rear and extending above the right shoulder to form
part of a baldric that runs diagonally down across the Indian's bare
breast to the waist-band in the front. Three arrows, showing the head,
shaft, and butt-feathers in independent relief, form the shank and drop
of the handle.
Embossed in the gold-washed circular bowl is a group of four Indians
around High Rock Spring in the days of its primeval-forest setting. A
130
squaw with papoose on back is kneeling beside the spring to cup water
to her mouth with one hand. A husky child of three or four years is
peering into the hollow crater of a cone-shaped mound, truncated at the
top, the whole mineralized formation resembling a miniature volcano. A
warrior similar to the one on the handle, stands behind the rock spring.
To the right is visible a tree trunk from which a bare, gnarled limb is
extended. A forest closes in from the background, and there a wigwam
and another Indian may be seen.
Around High Rock Spring the Mohawk and Oneida Indians were wont
to gather in early times to partake of the beneficent waters for their various
ailments. Sir William Johnson, a powerful influence among the Indians,
was brought here on a stretcher in 1767, and he returned several times
after that to secure relief from his rheumatism.
Saraghoga, meaning the "place of running waters," was a favorite haunt
of the Indians also for their hunting expeditions, as wild animals abounded
in the heavily wooded forests nearby. In 1789 Gideon Putnam made the
first clearing around the springs, and a few years later built Union Hall,
the first hotel to make the place accessible to visitors. "Putnam's Folly/'
as this hotel was facetiously called, was soon too small to accommodate
the increasing crowds of people who came during the summer season; so
Putnam set about building an additional structure, Congress Hall, in 1811.
Several other fine hotels were built before 1900, most of them now outmoded
but splendid examples of ornate Victorian architecture and furnishings
at their best,
The eighties and nineties of the last century witnessed the peak of
popularity for this fashionable spa. All the elite of society, presidents and
senators, big and little capitalists in fact, everybody of any importance-
came to Saratoga. Of the presidents whose eminent names were registered
at its hotels at one time or another mention should be made of Millard
Fillmore, Franklin Pierce, Buchanan, Johnson, Grant, Hayes, Garfield,
Arthur, Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, and Theodore Roosevelt. President
Arthur was always a favorite at Saratoga, where he and his wife entertained
informally a host of friends. When President Harrison appeared at a
Charity Ball, given at the United States Hotel in 1891, every one rose to
his feet, applauded, and fluttered handkerchiefs as the band struck up
"Hail to the Chief." Among other guests in an early day were the statesmen,
Clay, Webster, Sumner, and Seward; of generals listed were Winfield Scott,
Winfield Scott Hancock, John Sherman, and Philip Sheridan. "Every
governor that New York has had since 1800 has made the acquaintance
of the spa," wrote Joseph Smith in 1897.
Mr. Smith who spent the four decades from the sixties through the
nineties as usher or manager at the Union Hall, and the Clarendon and
United States hotels, wrote a book of reminiscences on his experiences and
the illustrious personalities with whom he came in contact. The pages
of his record are an intimate revelation of life at Saratoga in the heyday
131
of its popularity. Many people whose names once filled the front pages
and the society columns of all newspapers are here revitalized creatures
of flesh and spirit, as they stroll before our eyes along the spacious halls
and piazzas of elegant hotels. "The charm of Saratoga to me/' a guest
once remarked to Mr. Smith, "is its cosmopolitan flavor. At Newport you
find New Yorkers; at Cape May and Atlantic City, Philadelphians; Boston
fills the Maine rescsrts; but here you get the cream of every city in the
Union."
Sometimes a name looms up in these annals with added interest because
of an important descendant. Such is the case of Leonard W. Jerome, the
grandfather of the wartime prime minister of Great Britain, Winston
Churchill. Mr. Jerome was one of the chief promoters of the Saratoga
Association for the Improvement of the Breed of Horses, incorporated
in 1865. He was noted for his skill in driving four-in-hands at Saratoga;
likewise, for his good fellowship. Once he offered a medal for the best
representative of a perfect gentleman in a graduating class at Princeton.
When asked for his definition of a gentleman to be used as a guide in
making the selection, he replied, "He who is the most thoughtful of others"
a dictum that is nothing more than a restatement of the Golden Rule.
Mr. Jerome's daugher, Jennie, was married to Lord Randolph Churchill
in 1874 and became the mother of the famous Winston Churchill.
A great pair of jokers often seen together with Mr. Jerome at Saratoga
were the comedians, Ed Sothern and Billy Florence. There was hardly
a day passed that they did not provide some sort of amusement for the
Saratogans to laugh over. Once Florence expressed great concern over
the poor health of the Duke of Beaufort within the Duke's hearing. Then
he approached the peer and confidentially suggested that he try a certain
exercise whereby, diverted of his outer garments, he would run back and
forth in his room raising and lowering a chair with serpentine movements.
Florence solemnly declared that he had been troubled the same way at
one time, and had secured marvellous results with this exercise. Jerome
and Sothern joined in persuading the Duke to make the experiment, and
"it was contrived, too, that the ridiculous bit of calisthentics was to be
tried on the very day when the Duke was to receive prominent visitors.
And just when the noble victim was in the heat of his mad chase with the
chair, Florence took the eminent visitors quietly up to the room, and
through the key-hole showed them an apparent maniac in the person of
their friend. Of course, they went about one to another echoing the lamen-
tation of Florence: It's very sad about his Grace, the Duke!' "
A few days later the Duke's clothes were hidden and a cry of "Fire!"
was made while he was taking his chair-lifting exercise. The Duke dashed
down into the lobby in his night-gown, bathroom slippers, and a plug hat
on his head! The Duke thus confirmed, to the satisfaction of all the
loungers in the lobby, the whispered reports that they had heard about
his insanity.
132
The first practitioner of homeopathy in America, Dr. John F. Gray,
a familiar figure in Saratoga, was noted for his charity and kindness of
heart. Typical of his many good deeds is the following story. To a poor
ailing seamstress who came to him for treatment, he gave a bottle of
medicine and prescribed several days of rest in bed. When she declared
that she could not waste so much time in bed, that she would starve if she
did so, the magnanimous doctor said promptly that he would have to
change the prescription a little. Whereupon he took back the bottle,
wrapped enough bills around the bottle to take care of all her wants for
at least a week and handed it back, saying, "Now, go home and take the
medicine, wrapper and all!"
Among other distinguished guests at Saratoga in the early days were:
John Godfrey Saxe, the popular poet and wit whose "Six Blind Men of
Hindustan" and other humorous tales in verse appeared regularly in the
columns of many magazines and newspapers; August Belmont, one of the
shrewdest financiers of his time; Robert Bonner who achieved a phenomenal
success by his original advertising methods; W. W. Corcoran, who estab-
lished the famous Corcoran Art Gallery in Washington, erected a monument
to John Howard Payne, author of "Home Sweet Home," and gave so
generously to the support of impoverished Confederate widows; Mr. and
Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt, who sent many Thanksgiving dinners and
Christmas gifts to orphan asylums and hospitals without mentioning them-
selves as the givers; John Graham, the authority on criminal law, and
General Daniel E. Sickles, who were such inseparable companions that
they came to be known as David and Jonathan it was Graham who said
that "God never made but one man in a century like the great Webster;"
Mrs. Coventry Waddell, the acknowledged queen of New York society, a
woman who counted among her close personal acquaintances such men
as Washington Irving, Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, William Makepeace
Thackeray, Judah Philip Benjamin, John Pendleton Kennedy, as well as
the "charmed circle" of the Astors, Rhinelanders, Minturns, and Schermer-
horns.
To Saratoga on their honeymoon came John Vinton Dahlgren and his
wife, the former Elizabeth Drexel, from Philadelphia, the bride wearing
a three-hundred-year-old ring, a ruby set in silver, once the engagement
ring given by Martin Luther to Catherine von Bora, his bride.
There were 30,000 visitors to the spa during the season of 1890, says
Mr. Smith, and of these, 17,000 stayed in boarding houses while the rest
resided in the more pretentious hotels. The daily receipts for these
visitors averaged about $90,000 for lodging and food alone; the amount
spent on carriages and blooded horses, the races, and other forms of amuse-
ment must have been a much larger sum. Miss Giulia Morosini, beautiful
daughter of Jay Gould's banking partner, created a sensation by driving
three horses tandem through a crowd of vehicles, the spirited horses being
133
guided by a set of snow-white lines, though seeming to be guided by magic
rather than human intelligence.
A ruddy-faced Texan flashed three diamond rings on one hand that
lifted a glass of Hathorn water to his lips. A stately dowager from Boston
wore to one ball a dazzling string of great solitaires on her neck, a scintil-
lating diamond star on the crown of her head, and an amazing array of
rings set with all sorts of precious stones on her hands. The alluring blonde
daughter of one millionaire displayed a set of ear-rings large as silver
quarters, studded with bands of diamonds. On this spectacular show of
great wealth, Mr. Smith merely comments, like a philosopher: "If there
were no beauty to be adorned by diamonds, and no fortunes to buy them,
to what would the seekers after precious stones turn their hand or the
dealers in them?"
John Wanamaker, then Postmaster General and owner of the largest
dry goods store in America, spent ten days with his wife and daughter in
a simple cottage. Mr. Wanamaker was also known as the superintendent
of the largest Sunday School in the world. Thomas Ochiltree, of Galveston,
Texas, was also among the guests at Saratoga in 1890. The story was told
of him that as soon as he graduated from law school, he was left in charge
of his father's law office for a while. When his father returned, he saw a
huge sign over the door of his office: "Thomas Ochiltree and Father."
In 1891 there was held in Saratoga the first Unitarian Convention, at
which George William Curtis presided. Mr. Curtis was a scholarly
gentleman, highly esteemed for his beautiful story, Prue and I. A few
years later, the fifth General Convention of the Unitarian Church was held
in Saratoga, of which gathering Edward Everett Hale was the master of
ceremonies. Dr. Hale, the author of the Man Without a Country, proudly
made mention of the fact that five of the leading poets of America were
Unitarians, namely, Longfellow, Lowell, Bryant, Holmes and Emerson.
During the season of the early nineties, Mr. Smith mentions as some
of the notable guests at Saratoga: Phillip Brooks, the leading minister of
the Episcopal Church in America and author of many hymns, including
that Christmas favorite, "O Little Town of Bethlehem;" Mrs. Julia Grant,
widow of the late president; ex-President Hayes, whose wife had just died;
Mrs. George McClellan, the attractive but unassuming widow of the Civil
War general; John D. Rockefeller plainly dressed and scarcely looking his
age; George Pullman, the palace car king, "cool as the centre seed of a
cucumber" in business dealings, but easily moved to tears by a simple
tale of hard times in the early West; Elihu Root, whose mother-in-law
thought him a "big man, not in stature but in greatness; 7 ' the Princess
Eulalie of Spain, who left four hundred dollars to be distributed as tips
for those who had waited on her; Levi P. Morton and Roswell P. Flower,
both worthy governors of New York; Jay Gould, John Jacob Astor, Henry
Flagler, Joseph Pulitzer, Chauncey Depew, and an unending list of other
people who might be singled out for special reference.
134
One of the most popular figures seen often at Saratoga was Ward
McAllister, who coined that term the "Four Hundred," referring to the
most exclusive persons in the upper circles of society. Mr. McAllister was
a Southerner, born in Savannah, but a lawyer who had spent most of his
life at Northern resorts, organizing picnics and parties that made him
famous. He once made a pie costing one hundred dollars we w r onder
what the ingredients were! As for wines, he knew their history, their
philosophy and their values down to the last penny. He posed as a
polished man of leisure, always wore clothes of the latest cut, trimmed
his beard and mustache with courtly precision, walked down Fifth Avenue
every afternoon at exactly the same time with a fresh flower in the lapel
of his coat, loved a title, and was regarded as the prince of epicures. His
wife being an invalid, he did the honors of society for both.
Saratoga Springs still attracts a gala throng of visitors through the
summer months. The peak of the season comes in August during the
races. The crowds that now come to Saratoga are somewhat less aristocratic
than formerly; members of the "Four Hundred" are there, it is true, but
they are lost among the hurly-burly throngs of little people. Yet they all
have just as good times as they ever did in the "gay nineties."
The Saratoga Springs spoon which I have in my possession bears the
date of its purchase, August 4, 1892, and the initials of its erstwhile owner,
M. F. F., engraved on the back of the rounded bowl. Length of spoon,
5 inches.
No. 17 OSCEOLA (SEMINOLE SOFFKEE)
One of the most original of spoons, differing from all others in the
contours of its bowl and handle, is the soffkee spoon. To the Seminoles
it is known as the cotaseechobee, hand-carved usually from bald cyress
wood, sometimes from custard apple or live oak, and is used to stir a pot
of soffkee, a favorite Seminole food compounded of cornmeal, vegetables,
and the meat of turtles or fish.
Osceola, the most famous figure in Seminole history, appears in a facial
profile on the reverse of the bowl. This is not a true likeness of Osceola,
if we are to judge by the portrait painted of the warrior by George Catlin
when Osceola was a prisoner at Fort Moultrie, Georgia. Catlin s painting
shows Osceola wearing three ostrich feathers thrust into a multi-colored
tarboosh wound around the rear of the head. His dress consists of a vivid
calico smock, bunched in closely above the waist by a wide, coiled sash
of prismatic beads. A flowering baldric rests over the left shoulder, and
three beaded necklaces circle in varying lengths around his neck. A rifle
rests in his hands.
The face on the spoon reveals genuine Indian features. The head is
decked full of short feathers, an annular earring hangs from the lobe of
135
the left ear, and a choke necklace of coffee shells and shark's teeth encircles
the throat.
The front view of Osceola painted by Catlin might lead one to think
that the painter had hired a white man, attired in Indian habiliments, to
pose for his picture. The fact it, there is not too much evidence of Indian
blood in Osceola's features. The skin was slightly dark, but his hair
shaded toward a reddish brown, and his eyes, set far apart, were light in
color, an inheritance from his Scotch grandfather. Not the least of his
Celtic characteristics were a volatile temper and a pride endued with the
defiant haughtiness of a Marmion or a Roderick Dhu. He was born
among the Creek tribes that hunted and fished over Alabama and Georgia.
His stepfather was white, and he might have grown up as a peaceable
American if the Creeks had not been forced to abandon their happy
hunting grounds when Osceola was four years old. His mother carried
the child with her into Florida, where he developed into a stalwart
warrior, embittered by the injustices which the Indians had to endure at
the hands of unctuous, land-grabbing white men.
A violent animus toward the whites was engendered in Osceola when
Morning-Dew, his wife, and the mother of his four children, was carried
off to be a slave on the flimsy pretense that she had a taint of negro blood
in her veins. This unforgivable offense rankled in the soul of the young
warrior like a virulent poison. He craved passionate vengeance. "Am I
a slave? My skin is red, not black. I am an Indian a Seminole. The
white man shall not make me black. I will make the white man red with
blood, and then blacken him in the sun and rain, where the buzzard shall
feed upon his flesh and the wolf shall crush his bones to bits!"
Osceola was not the head chief of the Seminoles, but he soon became
their acknowledged leader by his indomitable force of will, an amazing
courage in the face of great odds, and the ability to organize and carry
through intricate plans of action. When the Government set out to transfer
the Seminoles to reservations in the West and thereafter open up Florida
for white settlement, the Federal agents were unaware of the commanding
personality of the Indian leader with whom they were dealing. General
Thompson did not expect to encounter a "savage" with such a "manly,
frank, and open countenance, remarkably keen, bright eye, and independent
bearing." The American general sought to wheedle the Indian into signing
a treaty which would send his people into an eternal exile from the moss-
garlanded haunts of their homeland.
Osceola listened tautly to the blandishments of the white agents, his
hands hidden in the folds of his red mantle. He said nothing until
Thompson threatened to withdraw payment of certain small annuities if
the emigration treaty were not signed. Osceola was striding backward
and forward slowly, but he wheeled dramatically at the mention of a
threat, dashed to the desk, and thrust his dagger into the treaty with a
136
mighty slash. His voice was hoarse with rage as he cried contemptuously,
"The only treaty I will ever make with the whites is with thi$r
The war dragged on indeterminately for seven years. One after
another the unsuccessful generals were recalled by the Government:
Thompson, Clinch, Jesup, Gaines, Winfield Scott, Call, Hernandez, and
Worth. Colonel Zachary Taylor, leading a force of one thousand men,
fought one of the bloodiest battles of the war in deadly hand-to-hand
fighting against three hundred Seminoles near Lake Okeechobee on Christ-
mas Day of 1837. The Americans lost one hundred and thirty-eight men;
the Indians, fifteen. After this carnage the future president declared that
Florida was not worth fighting for at such cost of human blood, and
suggested the peninsula be turned over to the Indians for keeps.
The war became a series of ambush skirmishes. Guerrilla tactics were
employed on both sides, but the Indians showed to better advantage in
such warfare. Osceola was the master strategist planning and animating
the unexpected assaults. Black-flag adventurers abetted the Indian cause
by bringing in guns and ammunition from the West Indies, and even
joining in many a strike-and-scatter encounter. Andy Jackson in the
White House tore at his rebellious red locks and swore at the contumacious
savages. Bloodhounds trained in Cuba were employed to ferret out the
Indians hiding in hummocks deep within the mysterious swamp lands.
But the bloodhounds, baffled by watery trails, did little more than track
the few negroes attached to the American army-camps.
General Hernandez, pitted against the shrewd intelligence of an
intrepid savage leader, and sensing the futility of continued combat under
such adverse conditions of terrain, revised his strategy and called for a
peace conference.
Under a flag of true Osceola and several of his sub-chiefs assembled
at the place designated for the meeting. At a given signal the Indians
were surrounded, taken prisoners, and marched to Fort Marion in St.
Augustine. Then Osceola, realizing how he had been tricked by obviously
unfair means and incarcerated in a gloomy dungeon, became moody and
refused to speak. When accosted by General Hernandez, he turned to a
subordinate and said, "I feel choked; you speak for me."
He occupied the same cell with Coacoochee and Talmus Hadjo. These
two men starved themselves till they were slender enough to crawl through
the iron bars of the small casement overhead, leap into the moat outside,
and make their way to freedom.
Osceola languished for months in the prison at St. Augustine. He
might have liberated himself like his two confederates, but he declared
that he would not try to escape by the same sort of dishonorable tactics
employed by the Americans; that justice demanded his restoration to
liberty by every code of honorable warfare. He became emaciated, and
the once strong body, starving for the sunshine and free air of the great
outdoors, was an easy prey to sickness. His proud nature wilted as he
137
saw the clouds of doom lowering over his race. Shadows of sadness flitted
across his once imperious face. He accepted the defeat of all his purposes
in a spirit of noble resignation.
Shortly before his death he was transferred to Fort Moultrie in South
Carolina, where George Catlin painted his portrait. The soldiers stationed
in this America Bastille compassionated his condition, favored his release,
and looked upon him as a hero who deserved a more fitting close to a
tragic career. Osceola's hatred for the whites softened under the sym-
pathetic treatment accorded him. A large section of the American press,
heeding the voice of an indignant public, called for an end to Osceola's
imprisonment. But too late. An hour before he died, he attired himself
in the clothing he had worn in time of war, girded on his war-belt, bullet-
pouch, and powder-horn; painted his face, throat, wrists, and hands a
vermilion red; and "with most benignant smiles" he shook hands with all
the American officers and the members of his family; went to his bed,
clasped his scalping-knife between both hands crossed over his breast, and
lying thus, he passed into eternal peace in the thirty-third year of his age.
Somehow the voice of the martyred Osceola, THE PRISONER OF
FORT MARION, seems to be speaking to us across the vistas of time,
and his words, if we understand them aright, run somewhat in the
following fashion:
My eyes turn upward toward that little vent
They term a window (it has iron bars)
The only means in my imprisonment
To prove there still are things as moon and stars,
That there's a brighter world outside of this
Small zone of dusk: a torture to the mind
That thirsts for fountains of the sunlight's bliss
O'er broad savannas, free and unconfined.
I live as one that's dead, whom life recalls:
I walk around and touch these four blank walls
Which close me off from all that leaps and sings,
Which shut me in with creeping, crawling things.
I sit in man-made darkness like a stone-
Impassive, helpless, useless, cold, alone.
But I'm no passive stone! I have sharp eyes
To guide me if my feet could freely rise,
I have a beating heart that knows the pain
From losing those I shall not see again.
cursed be forever that dark day
That led my feet so blindly here astray!
1 cannot rest ... I will not rest so long
As my proud spirit knows that there still beams
A sun beneficent and pouring strong
Upon these walls its light in countless streams.
138
The serpent is less cunning than these men
Whose faces are so fair, whose minds so black
With thoughts that fain would grasp our lands and then
Would drive us out, a beaten, sniveling pack.
The serpent is more honest, for he wills
To give his foe fair warning ere he kills.
I was a leader once, and bound to see
That fight we must from sheer necessity.
I knew the right from wrong, and laws I set
For justice to be meted out and met;
And gave commands for cause so truly just.
And though my captors grind me into dust
Because they fear me, knowing I am right,
They cannot slay my spirit in fair fight.
In peace I was a hunter, free to roam
In happy sport throughout our forest home;
I ate the soffkee, berries, fruits, and maize;
I loved our tree-girt swamps, our streams and bays,
And all the pleasant wonders of our land;
And lived as did the birds that haunt our strand.
I heap derision on the very hint
That caused my fellow-prisoners to stint
Their bodies till they shrank as thin as nails,
And thus could squirm between those bars, as snails.
I too could have denied myself, and through
Those bars escaped, but that I would not do.
I came in honor, and I will maintain
That honor to depart. Their hope is vain
That I should stoop, forlornly, to betray
My people, or to sign their rights away.
The roaring of the sea I love to hear,
The starlight and the moonlight are most dear;
For me the constant sunshine is a balm,
A never-failing ointment, healing, calm.
But dearer far is the eternal light
Of justice shining in to break the night.
I will not sign, no, I will never yield!
Unto my purpose I will hold as sealed.
Though you may break my bones, O tyranny,
I, Osceola, still will victor be!
Our pale-faced foes will come to this fair realm
In droves onsurging till they overwhelm
Us by their throngs. Yet, without use of swords
The Great Red Spirit will defeat their hordes.
The Indian blood that's nurtured in this soil
Will rise from every grave. In plant and coil
Of every vine it will rise up once more.
That Spirit, knowing all of nature's lore,
Will teach the white men many things so rife
Among us, secrets of our health and life:
139
For they shall bathe in waters they now shun,
And leap upon our shores in sportive fun,
And eat the fruits that ripen in our sun,
And use the roots and herbs as remedies
Which we have known and used for centuries.
And then the Great Red Spirit with his beams
Will bronze the white man's face the while he dreams
Along our beaches. And his skin likewise
Will wear a golden brown like ours. Scant wealth
Of clothing for our clime he will devise-
But graceful, colorful, bestowing health;
And he will worship the great Sun as we.
Though all our lands be taken, still there'll be
Our spirit in the soil and in the air.
Though I be crushed, yet I cannot despair;
For some day in this land, when all this strife
Is gone forever, and our mode of life
Is called the right and true one, I foretell:
Red men will in the souls of white men dwell!
On the obverse side of this spoon there is one feature worth noting.
The Old Cape Florida Light, shown in the bowl, was built in 1826 and
withstood an Indian attack during the Seminole wars.
The Osceola Soffkee spoon is a Gorham product, and is here used
through the courtesy of its owner, Professor Reuben Y. Ellison, University
of Miami, Miami, Florida. Length, 5% inches.
No. 18 YOSEMITE BEAR
The Yosemite Bear spoon is shown in this book on its reverse side
because of the rat-tail handle, which is a rarity on souvenir spoons, not
more than half a dozen of this stem-type having been made. The rat-tail
is a triangular-shaped tongue extending down the back from the handle
and applied to a small upper surface of the bowl. From 1675 to 1725,
during the reigns of the later Stuarts and the early Hanoverians, rat-tails
graced nearly all the spoons made for flat tableware.
The handle of this spoon is divided into two sections, separated by
a horizontal ring. The lower section is smooth and cylindrical; the upper,
fluted on the two folds that advance to a cleft top. This open lamination
is a feature definitely indicating a late Restoration influence. California's
familiar grizzly bear stands athwart the bifurcation. The shaggy animal
occupies a place of prominence on both the seal and the flag of California.
Only one other state, Missouri, delineates the grizzly for these purposes,
two rampant bears being imaged there as supporters of the circular band
containing the state motto.
140
On the concave side of the bowl is a cut-out of the Bridal Veil Fall
in Yosemite, The height of this fall is six hundred and twenty feet, neither
the highest nor the widest, but perhaps the loveliest among many. Thomas
Starr King, who went West in 1861 to arouse and strengthen Union senti-
ment in California, was so deeply moved by the scenery in Yosemite
Valley that he wrote to his friends back East: "But what words shall
describe the beauty of one of the waterfalls, as we see it plunging from
the brow of a cliff nearly three thousand feet high? It is comparatively
narrow at the top of the precipice; but it widens as it descends, and curves
a little as it widens, so that it shapes itself, before it reaches its first bowl
of granite, into the charming figure of a comet. But more beautiful than
a comet, you can see the substance of this watery loveliness ever renew
itself, and ever pour itself away. And all over its white and swaying
mistiness, which now and then swings along the mountainside, at the
persuasion of the wind, like a pendulum of lace, and now and then is
whirled round and round by some eddying breeze as though the gust
meant to see if it could wring it dry all over its surface, as it falls, are
shooting rockets of water which spend themselves by the time they half
reach the bottom, and then reform, for the remaining descent thus fasci-
nating the gazer so that he could lie for hours never tired, but ever hungry
for more of the exquisite witchery of liquid motion and grace."
Thousands of other spectators, in visiting this region, have been held
spellbound, as was Thomas Starr King, by the sheer loveliness of lacy
waterfalls leaping like comets over rocky heights into the valley below.
Yosemite, located in three counties of east-central California, was created
a national park in 1890. Another attraction for the present-day tourist is
an extensive area of giant sequoias, considered the oldest of living trees.
The maker's mark is not indicated on this dainty spoon, which measures
3 l /2 inches in length.
No. 19 THE STAGE COACH
When a Hungarian magnate presented to a French king an extra-
ordinarily fine carriage made in the village of Kocs, on the pusztas of
Hungary, the new vehicle was named in honor of the obscure place where
it had originated. The word slipped into universal parlance throughout
Europe, being one of the very few words in English derived from the
Hungarian. Then, later, the Anglo-Saxons, with their ingenuity for com-
pounding words, placed a Gallicized Latin word before the coach to
indicate a public conveyance that made stops at regular stations or
"stages" for passengers.
For a hundred and fifty years after the first settlements, the American
colonists generally traveled by saddle or in private coaches. Roads were
rough and in many places too "stumpy" for any vehicle but an ox-cart.
141
There were some persons who preferred walking, especially on those
roads where inns and ordinaries offered frequent liquid inducements to
loiter,
As early as 1718 there were stage coaches running short distances in
the colonies, usually making quick connections between boat-stops on
the rivers. There were no regular schedules for such trips; and traveling
by this means was mostly a matter of private arrangements. The first
regular coach service between Boston and New York was established in
1772, and by 1786 a passenger could travel by schedule all the way from
Maine and New Hampshire to St. Augustine, Florida, although he had
to make numerous transfers.
The first coach line west of the Alleghenies began operations in 1803
between Lexington and Olympian Springs, one of the early watering places
in the Bluegrass.
In the first part of the nineteenth century the coach underwent a series
of improvements. The types known as the Cumberland, the Trenton,
and the Troy were all superseded by the Concord coach, first built in
Concord, New Hampshire, in 1813. Not only was this conveyance more
commodious but it was also more luxurious than its predecessors. Painted
in striking colors with gilt lines on the exterior, it was embellished on the
inside with murals based on historic scenes, damask cushions with ara-
besque patterns, and tasseled cords for the passengers to hold onto when
the road was jolty.
The coach-and-four, shown at a halt in the extension through the
nave and caput on the reverse-handle of this spoon, appears to be of
the Concord type. While it is possible to see only two persons on the
inside, it must be well filled because all the space on the top is occupied
and one person is seated beside the driver.
The front team for such a coach were called the leaders, and the
team in the rear were the wheelers. The leaders were usually older horses
noted for their intelligence, reliability, and long acquaintance with the
road. The main burden of the haul devolved upon the back team, younger
horses that did most of the ascending pull and served as brakes on a rapid
downhill run. Fresh horses were installed about every fifty miles along
the route. The shift was often effected before the coach springs could
stop oscillating, according to one observant passenger.
As a rule, the driver, as expert with his whip as with the reins and
supremely confident of his skill, was held in great respect by those whose
safety lay in his hands. On the larger coaches, a guard was poised on
the top rear-seat to keep an eye on the baggage and to blow the calls
on his key-bugle: one to announce an approaching halt, two for the
"All aboard!" signal, and three for a clear-the-road warning at tollgates
and bridges. Guide-posts and watering troughs, the latter usually hol-
lowed oak logs, were significant features of the turnpike along which the
stage coach traveled.
142
Although a journey by stage had many inconveniences, such as the
early hours for starting in the morning and long stop-overs at transfer
points, it did provide many thrilling moments, pleasant contacts, and
happy memories. One has only to read some of the Victorian novelists,
especially Dickens, to realize what romance this mode of travel possessed.
The invention of the steam locomotive marked the beginning of the end
for the stage coach, which reached the peak of its performance in the
1850's. After the Civil War the decline in turnpike travel was rapid. In
the Eastern states the stages were discontinued one after the other in
the nineties; the last stage coach in Kentucky suspended operations in 1912.*
Like many of the first souvenir spoons made, this one does not bear
the name of any town or state. The bowl is plain, but the obverse side
of handle points to a region of mountains, evergreen trees, and hair-
breadth waterfalls. According to all indications, the scenes depicted here
are in the White Mountains of New Hampshire or the Green Mountains
of Vermont. I might be mistaken, however, in my deductions about the
locality.
A reel and pole, a creel, and a .22 rifle on the reverse-shaft might lead
one to believe that this coach is staging a pleasure jaunt for vacationists.
This spoon was made by Edward Todd & Co. Length is 4% inches.
No. 20 EXCELSIOR SPRINGS
Like many other mineral springs of the Midwest, Excelsior Springs
in central Missouri has grown out of a local reputation, acquired solely
in the neighborhood for its hydrotheropeutical values, into one of our
national spas. When the health resort was first developed in the early
eighties, there was only one spring, but others with a variety of mineral
contents were gradually added. The iron manganese in the flow of two
of these springs is found nowhere else in such abundant quantity.
Today Excelsior Springs, besides being a health resort, is popular also
for its golf and bridge tournaments and for the mule fiesta, the latter an
entertaining exhibition held here in the fall.
A few miles away from Excelsior Springs is the Robert James farm,
which tourists turn aside out of curiosity to see because it was the birth-
place of the notorious Jesse and Frank James. The older part of the
house remains without alteration much the same as when it was built in
1822. Robert James, a Baptist minister, brought his convent-educated
bride here from Kentucky in the early 1840's. After his death the widow
married a Doctor Samuels.
The early life of the two boys was uneventful till the Civil War, when
* See Winston Coleman, Jr.: Stage-Coach Days in the Bluegrass.
143
Union soldiers hanged Dr. Samuels, a Southern sympathizer, maltreated
his wife and daughter, and horsewhipped Jesse into unconsciousness.
The two brothers, infuriated at this procedure, joined a guerrilla band
that harried the frontier towns of Missouri and Kansas. Outlawed by the
state government after the war, they took to the road as highwaymen.
Many are the tales of their exploits which ranged in area all the way
from Minnesota in the north, west into Kansas, and south into Tennessee,
Kentucky, and Arkansas. Doubtless many of the robberies attributed to
them were staged by other "gentlemen of the road/' since the turbulent
Reconstruction Period offered easily-obtained loot and quick getaways
in the holdup of stagecoaches and the cracking of bank locks.
On September 3, 1880, the stagecoach from Mammoth Cave to Cave
City was held up, and the seven passengers were relieved of eight hun-
dred dollars, their jewelry, rings, and watches. A valuable watch, worth
two hundred dollars, was taken from the aged Judge Rountree.
Two years later Jesse James, living in St. Joseph under the alias of
James Howard and running a livery stable, was shot in his home on
April 5, 1882, by a former associate, who was induced to do the deed
for the reward of $10,000 which had been offered for the capture, dead
or alive, of Jesse James. On the lifeless body Judge Rountree's watch
was still found ticking.
Frank James gave himself up to the authorities, served a term in the
penitentiary, and spent the remainder of his eighty-two years peacefully
on the old family farm, where he died in 1915.
The Excelsior Springs spoon belongs to the National Union series,
with the name of Missouri, the national emblem, and the state seal on
the handle. The Urfited States shield shows on the reverse side of the
handle.
The spoon was made by R. Wallace & Sons. Length, 6 inches.
No. 21 HUDSON AND FULTON
No. 29 STEAMER ROBERT FULTON
No. 133 HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION
In two enormous volumes containing 1,421 pages and weighing eleven
pounds slightly less with the dust removed lie embalmed the minutest
details of the Hudson-Fulton Celebration, 1909, prepared by a special
commission appointed by the New York legislature. These two ponderous
books would be terribly dull if it were not for the illustrations, which
cover 388 pages. These alone redeem the vast piece of reporting of any
further accusations on my part.
The more I looked at the pictures of the fifty floats in the carnival
parade and the fifty-four in the historical pageant, the greater became
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my amazement and admiration. The majority of floats in the average
parade usually flaunt a spectacle of colorful novelties without any pro-
gressional sequence of any kind, but the floats in this instance present
a development and continuity of ideas truly educational.
The historical parade was a panorama of New York history from its
beginnings down into the twentieth century, covering the periods domi-
nated by the Indians, Dutch, English, and finally, the independent Ameri-
cans. Mention of a few floats will reveal the great amount of planning
put into their construction: The Five Nations, First Sachem of the Iroquois,
Fate of Henry Hudson, purchase of Manhattan Island, Bronck's Treaty
with the Indians, Reception of Stuyvesant, Bowling on Bowling Green,
Governor Leisler, New Amsterdam becomes New York, Trial of John
Peter Zenger, The Stamp Act, Destruction of Statue of George III, Storm-
ing of Stony Point, Nathan Hale, Capture of Andre, Washington's Fare-
well to His Officers, Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Legend of Rip Van Winkle,
the Clermont, Fulton's Ferry, Reception of Lafayette, Erie Canal Boat,
Statue of Liberty, and Father Knickerbocker Receiving. These are all
highlights in the history of New York.
The Carnival Parade exhibited floats devoted to music, art, and litera-
ture, including everything from Cinderella to the Queen of Sheba. The
favorite operas at the Metropolitan were well represented, especially the
Wagnerian music-dramas.
This celebration was held from September 25th to October llth, 1909,
to commemorate two closely-associated events, the three-hundredth anni-
versary of the discovery of the Hudson River in 1609 and the centennial
of steam navigation on the Hudson in 1807. The primary motives behind
the celebration were purely educational, not commercial, and any idea
of an exposition tending to publicize modern industrial achievements was
abandoned.
Of all the preparations for the occasion, none aroused greater interest
than the reconstruction of Henry Hudson's vessel, the Half Moon. The
Dutch government generously offered to do the work gratis. After much
research, the Hollanders ran upon the original plans for the Hope, the
sister ship of the Half Moon. The displacement of the vessel occupied
4,239 cubic feet and measured sixty-five feet in length. The Half Moon
weighed anchor in the Brooklyn Navy Yard on September 25th and pro-
ceeded up the Hudson River at the head of a long naval parade. The
Clermont offered more difficulties in the way of construction than the
Half Moon, for no facsimile or blue print could be found for Fulton's
steamboat. Finally the specifications were drawn from measurements
mentioned in one of Fulton's letters. As built, the Clermont was one
hundred fifty feet long and displaced 3,640 cubic feet of water. Beside the
modern ocean liners, the vessel looked insignificant but quaint.
In addition to the parades, there were many dedications of parks
and monuments along the Hudson. At the official reception of the foreign
149
guests, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, author of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic,"
arose and read a poem written especially for the occasion. The audience,
out of respect for Mrs. Howe's ninety years, stood during the entire
reading of this poem.
There were many ceremonies and social events in all the towns along
the Hudson during the celebration. Many banquets were given in honor
of the foreign envoys and distinguished American visitors.
Of the two men honored in the Hudson-Fulton Celebration, the first
in point of time, Henry Hudson, explorer of the river which bears his
name, is an obscure figure of whom absolutely nothing is known except
during the last four years of his life, into which period are crowded the
multiple vicissitudes of four voyages which have given him rank as a
great discoverer, although he had no intention of making discoveries, his
hope being only that of finding a passage to India.
"Our ignorance of Hudson's life is as complete as is our ignorance of
his personal appearance," says his authoritative biographer, Edgar Mayhew
Bacon. It was on a certain day in April, 1607, that he first emerged from
the veil of obscurity and entered the pale of history. In the company of
eleven sea-going companions he attended St. Ethelburga's Church in
London, probably to pray for the success of their undertaking, which
was to "discover a passage by the North Pole to Japan and China," accord-
ing to the account given in the pages of Purchas His Pilgrimes.
His first two voyages for the Muscovy Company, undertaken to find
the Northeast Passage to the Indies via the North Pole route, were failures.
In both attempts he was turned back by the great fields of floe ice. On
one occasion his vessel was being crushed by the jamming ice when a
strong wind sprang up, and a changed current carried off the ice-floes
which had hitherto been booming like thunder in their impacts.
Finding himself adjudged a bad risk in England, Hudson went to
Amsterdam and found employment with the Dutch East India Company.
His ship, the Half Moon, a vessel of eighty lasts displacement, a Dutch
measurement corresponding to one hundred sixty tons, set sail from
Holland April 4, 1609, and first sighted the American coast July 15th, the
exact location not being known to us, as the description of pine forests
ashore might characterize a long stretch of territory.
For two months Hudson skirted the coast, first heading south, then
reversing his course to go northward. During the first week in September
the crew landed about where Coney Island is now. On the 12th he began
his trip up the river that now bears his name.
Wherever they stopped to fish, or waited for more favorable winds,
the natives came out to greet them, bringing corn, pumpkins, grapes,
tobacco, oysters, beaver and otter skins to barter for beads, knives, spoons,
dishes, hatchets, saws, and trinkets.
At one point the natives came on board in such numbers that Hudson
became suspicious of their good intentions, and to make them talk freely
150
he gave them unstintedly of his brandy. One of them became so intoxi-
cated that he fell into a deep slumber, from which his companions could
not awaken him. Thinking the sleeper had been put under the spell of
a magic potion, they fled precipitately. The next morning the intoxicated
savage awoke, and feeling no ill effects, went ashore to apprise his friends
of his well-being. The natives, grateful for his safety, returned to the
boat with gifts of tobacco and a huge platter of steaming venison.
Hudson ascended the river for a distance of about a hundred and forty
miles, probably reaching an area shortly above the site that Albany now
occupies. The maps and the journal that he kept, although their value
was not immediately recognized, soon proved to be the cornerstone on
which the Dutch based their claims for colonizing the region around
"Hudson's River."
Spurred on by the encouraging accounts given by Hudson, the London
Company hired him to head another expedition, this time in search of a
northwest passage to the Orient. Hudson assembled pretty much the
same crew of men, to the number of tweny-three, whom he had used on
his previous voyages. His son, John, aged twelve, was also included, as
usual. Among the new men on this trip was a young fellow, Henry
Greene, of good family, well educated, but of such depraved character
that his own mother had cast him out. Hudson, hoping to reform the
boy, even lodged him in his own home and privately promised him wages
the Company had refused to offer him anything.
The new vessel, the Discovery, weighed anchor April 17, 1610, from
London, and sailed in a northwesterly direction till they reached the
southern coast of Iceland. Here the crew disembarked and bathed in a
spring hot enough to scald a chicken. At this place a quarrel broke out
between the ship surgeon and the disreputable Greene, who in collusion
with Robert Juet, the master's mate, began to talk with the other members
of the crew in favor of an about-face to England.
Near Greenland they were disturbed by the presence of a great many
whales, two of which passed under the ship without offering to capsize it,
to everyone's relief. Mountains of ice floated by, and once a huge chunk
turned somersault near enough to churn the vessel out of its set course.
At one bay-landing the men ran upon freshly-made piles of stones. Peeping
into these crude cellars, they discerned a large stock of dressed birds hung
by their necks, as it were, in cold storage. Some of the men tried to
persuade their commander to tarry here long enough for them to replenish
their larder with this excellent supply of fresh meat, but he was too eager
to press on for the western ocean, which he felt sure lay at no great distance.
All through September and October precious time was lost in exploring
various streams that emptied into that great body of water, which thereafter
always bore the name of Hudson Bay. The vessel had been stocked with
provisions sufficient to last six months, and that period had now elapsed.
Supplies of food were running low, and winter was coming on.
151
An untoward incident happened at this juncture. The head gunner
died and instead of putting his clothes up for auction, as was customary,
Hudson allowed his protege Greene his choice of the clothing without a
sale. This show of favoritism angered some of the men who were already
in a mutinous disposition, since they were hungry and limping around with
chilblains and frozen toes. Hudson unwisely ordered a search of all chests
for remaining scraps of food, and when thirty cakes were discovered in
a bag in his own cabin, the rebellious crewmen, among whom Juet and
Greene were extremely active, plotted to make a definite move against
their commander,
The mutineers waited for a chance to find him alone. The following
morning, when Hudson emerged from his cabin, he was seized and his
arms bound behind his back. When he asked for the meaning of this
action, he was told to wait till they put him off in the shallop. The con-
spirators then set about seizing six men still faithful to Hudson, and these,
along with the ship's master and his young son, were put aboard the' shallop
and lowered from the deck into the chill, fog-covered waters.
Pricket, the only friend of Hudson's still remaining aboard the Discovery,
was kept because he alone was capable of piloting the vessel safely home.
Pricket, on his knees, begged the mutineers, for the love of God, to be
charitable and allow the eight men to stay aboard, but the conspirators
would hear none of it. Hudson called *to Pricket a last warning that Juet
would yet be the death of them all. "Nay," replied Pricket, "It is that
villain, Henry Greene."
Thus, Henry Hudson departed into the unknown just as mysteriously
as he had stepped out of it. There is little doubt that he and his friends
quickly succumbed to cold and hunger in such bleak, inhospitable sur-
roundings. The following year another expedition, of which Pricket was a
member, set out in search of Hudson as well as of the northwest passage-
but nothing further was ever heard of the lost commander.
* # # *
The question, "who invented the steamboat?" has not yet been answered
to everybody's satisfaction. Quite a number of men did the spadework
and cleared the way for Fulton's success. Among those who contributed
a share in the development of the steamboat, mention should be made of
William Henry, James Rumsey, John Fitch, William Symington, John and
Robert Stevens, Edward West, and Robert Livingston.
William Henry (1729-1786), of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, was a pioneer
in experimenting with vessels propelled by steam. Earlier in life he had
served as a gunsmith with Braddock and later helped to equip the American
forces with guns during the Revolutionary struggle. He eventually became
an important manufacturer of the Kentucky rifle, invented the screw auger,
and devised a method for controlling the heat escape from hot air furnaces.
In 1763 he constructed a steamboat with paddle wheels and launched it
on the Conestoga River. Before he could make an effective demonstration
152
of his invention, however, the engine by a curious accident slipped over-
board and was never recovered. Some believe this story to be a hoax.
Nevertheless, Henry did construct an improved model for such a boat and
laid his plans before the American Philosophical Society in 1782, but
nothing came of the matter beyond a speculative discussion.
James Rumsey (1741-1792) was a handsome, smooth-talking man, the
proprietor of a hotel, "At the sign of the Liberty Pole and Flag," at Bath,
an up-and-coming watering place in the western part of Virginia. Rumsey
gained the ear of the unsuspecting George Washington, who, while a lodger
at the Liberty Pole and Flag, listened to a very daring plan that Rumsey had
in mind for making boats run upstream without the slightest aid of oar,
sails, or any form of human exertion. Washington was so thoroughly con-
vinced of Rumsey 's abilities to construct boats "upon a model that will
greatly facilitate navigation against the currents of rapid rivers," that he
assisted the hotel keeper in gaming exclusive rights for any such navigation
in the states of Virginia, Maryland, and South Carolina. Actually the
device that Rumsey had in mind when he broached the subject to Wash-
ington was nothing more than a pole boat, though shortly after he had
secured his monopoly, Rumsey began to think of the possibilities of using
steam power on boats. After several years of experimenting, Rumsey made
a trial run on the Potomac at Shepherdstown, December 3, 1787. When
the boat moved upstream for half a mile and then turned back, the
spectators became so enthusiastic they whooped, threw their hats into the
air, and applauded "crazy Rumsey" as a hero. A second run was effected
a week later, and the boat was then hauled ashore, never to operate again.
Although Rumsey had started experimenting on mechanically-propelled
boats before Fitch, the latter actually demonstrated a steamboat in action
three months before Rumsey's little exhibition on the Potomac. John Fitch
(1743-1798), who was to become a bitter rival of James Rumsey for the
honor of being acclaimed the inventor of the steamboat, was dogged all
his days by a malevolent fortune that rendered him an unhappy, will-o'-the-
wispish wanderer, so soured and disillusioned toward the end that he
tried to drink himself to death. Failing to snuff out his existence by this
means, he slipped into oblivion through an overdose of sleeping powders.
Fitch was as open about his plans for building a steamboat as Rumsey
was secretive. He talked to everybody, and somebody advised him to
approach George Washington for support in his enterprise. Fitch did so,
his main purpose being to solicit from the general a letter of commendation
to the Virginia legislature, but such a pat on the back was denied him.
Fitch's enthusiasm and eloquence found him enough supporters to
supply his wherewithal to buy the essential equipment he needed. All
through the spring of 1787 he worked in collaboration with Henry Voight,
his right-hand man, to perfect his engine. In August of that year Fitch's
steamboat ran its first trial heat on the Delaware River. A large number
153
of demonstrations followed, but the vessel traveled at too slow a speed
to be of any value commercially.
Fitch improved on his boat till it could easily make seven or eight miles
an hour. In June, 1790, his company placed this ad in the Philadelphia
papers: "THE STEAMBOAT is now ready to take passengers and is in-
tended to set off from Arch Street Ferry, in Philadelphia, every Monday,
Wednesday and Friday for Burlington, Bristol, Bordentown, and Trenton,
to return on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays." For three months
Fitch's steamboat plied back and forth between Philadelphia and Trenton,
traveling more than a thousand miles till the line, not paying, was suspended.
The increasing hostilities between Fitch and Rumsey played no little part
in blighting the prospects of both. In all the colonies, now become states,
there were struggles, quarrels, and litigations over the granting of rights
to either contestant. In the end, the hopes of both were utterly ruined.
Edward West (1760-1827), a silversmith of Lexington, Kentucky, sur-
prised everybody by announcing, along in the summer of 1793, that he would
give a public demonstration, on South Elkhorn Creek, of a steamboat he
had perfected. The performance was successful, but faith in steamboats
had reached a low ebb by that time. No wealthy persons would risk
money on a project the like of which had fallen flat so repeatedly. Twenty-
three years later, in 1816, a steamboat company using West's demonstration
boat for a model, built packets and started a commercial line with carriers
that plied back and forth successfully from New Orleans for many years.
West should be remembered as an inventor of sorts, ranging from the
modern-type nail to an iron hobble for rheumatism.
It remained for Robert Fulton (1765-1815), an experienced engineer
and a practical inventor, backed by such wealthy men as Chancellor
Livingston, to put the steamboat on a commercial basis successfully. A
poor widow's son, from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, he had been sent to
Europe by charitable friends to study art under Benjamin West in London.
For twenty years Fulton resided in Europe. He turned aside from his
art to invent such things as a derrick- for use in canals, a rope-making ma-
chine, a device for spinning flax, a new method of tanning, a submarine,
and the torpedoes to accompany it.
Fulton had already put one successful steamboat afloat on the Seine
before he returned to America to build The North River Steamboat of
Clermont, which Fulton himself always called The Steamboat, but which
posterity has known merely as The Clermont.
For several pionths the boat was in process of building. It was a large
vessel displacing a hundred and fifty tons, and using side wheels to secure
propulsion through the water. The name Clermont was actually added
as a happy afterthought by Fulton Clermont being the pretentious country
estate of Livingston, the backer of the enterprise.
Scant attention was paid to the sailing of the Clermont in New York
on August 17, 1807. Only one newspaper announced the event beforehand
154
in its columns. People were too skeptical of new ventures in steamboats.
A few spectators cheered when the Clermont chugged away from the
wharf, but their approbation was silenced by the stopping of the boat a
short distance out in midstream. Fulton went below, looked over the
machinery, and discovered a "slight maladjustment." They were soon
moving again, and after a brief period of nervous tension the crowd
relaxed and assumed a gay holiday spirit. Some one burst into song; others
joined in. Gawkers on the shore were awestruck, even terrified, by the
"fire-belching monster" and the ferocious-sounding whistles that blew off
steam near landings and bends.
Just before the steamboat reached Clermont, Chancellor Livingston
addressed the crowd on deck on the momentousness of the occasion. Among
other things, he announced the engagement of his cousin, Harriet Living-
ston, to Robert Fulton, whose name, he said, would descend into history
as one of the world's great benefactors.
The boat anchored at Livingston's baronial estate, and the party went
ashore to spend the night there. The next day the Clermont steamed into
Albany, a distance of one hundred and forty-six miles in thirty-two hours.
The return trip downstream required only thirty hours.
A granddaughter bestowed this note of praise upon the hero of that
trip: "There were many distinguished and fine-looking men on board the
Clermont, but my grandmother always described Robert Fulton as surpass-
ing them all. That son of a Pennsylvania farmer/ she was -wont to say,
'was really a prince among men. He was as modest as he was great, and
as handsome as he was modest. His eyes were glorious with love and
genius'."
Fulton was a busy man the remaining years of his life. When he died
at the age of fifty, he had already built seventeen steamboats, in addition
to launching the first steam warship. His death came unexpectedly, caused
perhaps by overwork and harassments from an endless number of lawsuits
over patent rights. He lies buried in an unmarked grave in Trinity
churchyard.
* # * a
The Hudson and Fulton spoon portrays those two worthies in neat
embossments on the handle, along with the state seal in the caput. The
bowl is of splendid devisal, the Half Moon, 1609, being in the upper half
and the Robert Fulton, 1909, in the lower. The two are separated by a
foliated banderole, cornucopian in shape, along which is written, "On the
Hudson."
The reverse side of the handle exhibits scenes on the banks of the
Hudson; the state capitol at Albany, the Poughkeepsie Bridge, and the
Statue of Liberty. Produced by Paye and Baker Co. Length, 5% inches.
The Steamer Robert Fulton spoon contains that gala vessel afloat, in
the bowl of the spoon, while on the handle there appear the name of New
155
York on the shaft, some lilies-of-the-valley in the nave, and the state flag
on the caput. An anthemion graces the reverse tip of the caput Also a
product of Paye and Baker, its length is 4 inches.
The Hudson-Fulton Celebration spoon, showing the Clermont in the
bowl and De Halve Maene on the caput, bears the imprint of Tiffany and
Co., the M after the imprint representing the surname initial of J. C. Moore,
who was president of Tiffany & Co. from 1907 until 1940. The New York
state seal and a laurel wreath also appear on the handle. The bowl is
slenderer and longer than that usually found on souvenir spoons, and the
handle-tip sways backwards to a lancet point, giving one the impression
that the spoon was fashioned after the pattern of an old Dutch mold.
Length is 5% inches.
No. 23 BERTHA PALMER STATUETTE
No. 90 BERTHA PALMER VIGNETTE
In 1902 Potter Palmer, one of the great real-estate magnates who had
helped create a modern Chicago, lay dying in the palatial sandstone,
Tudor-style mansion which for seventeen years had been his home on
Michigan Boulevard. His will had already been drawn up, and his
property, estimated at eight million dollars, was being left in a chunk
to his wife, Bertha Honore Palmer. When the lawyer broached the possi-
bility that the still very vital Mrs. Palmer, a full generation younger than
her husband, might remarry, the old realtor rejoined, "If she does, hell
need the money."
Potter Palmer, a simple Quaker lad, had descended upon Chicago a
half century before and set up a dry-goods establishment that granted
goods on approval and unstinting credit to female shoppers. During the
Civil War he quietly bulged his warehouses with cotton and wool products
before the inflationary spiral zoomed prices skywards. His foresight re-
warded him with plush dividends. He paid the Federal government a
million dollars in income taxes within three years. Then he sold out to
Marshall Field and plunged into real estate.
He also plunged into matrimony about this time. The beauteous dark-
eyed girl, not quite half his age, was Bertha Honore, born in Louisville,
Kentucky, in 1849. Her great-grandfather, a Frenchman, had settled at
the Falls of the Ohio in 1806 and was the first navigator to operate a steam-
boat between Louisville and New Orleans.
The youthful bride seemed favored of the gods: not only beauty was
hers, but smartness of several kindscharm, wit, verve, and vivacity. She
had an uncanny ability for saying and doing the right thing at the right
time. An ideal hostess who invariably pleased, she became the acknowl-
edged queen of Chicago's social elite. Majesty was to come later when
156
she established homes also in London and Paris, and hobnobbed with
royalty.
Within two years of his marriage Potter Palmer was to suffer two huge
financial reverses. First, the great Chicago fire in the fall of 1871 obliter-
ated his booming business prospects. He would have decamped to greener
pastures if his wife had not convinced him it was his bounden duty to
stick gamely, if grimly, by the stricken city.
He gambled with chances for all he was worth to build new homes,
new hotels, new stores. The Palmer House was an extravaganza in stone.
People came from the wide open spaces all over the nation to stand in
the main rotunda and gawk upward at the scintillating skylight.
But disaster was to overtake Palmer again in the panic of 1873. He
was still burdened with debts from his recent speculative ventures. He
had to beg, borrow, and juggle like a necromancer. His position was
precarious, but he managed to weasel through this era of depression safely
on top. He began to prosper abundantly after State Street, the main
shopping mart of the city, had been fully reconstructed.
In the course of time Mr. Palmer retired more and more from active
business and concerned himself solely with a close watch over his already
numerous investments. When his wife entertained, he retired into the
background and admired her from a distance. Sometimes he was not
seen at all; then again he would descend from his secluded apartments
in the tower of his house, sit for a while on a sofa in some sequestered
alcove "just to rest his tired feet," and then withdraw as inconspicuously
as he came.
In 1891 Mrs. Palmer was chosen president of the Board of Lady
Managers for the Columbian Exposition in Chicago. This choice pleased
her husband mightily. She made a trip to Europe to arouse foreign
interest in the project. Her name appeared almost daily in the newspapers.
Her strikingly handsome picture was featured on front pages throughout
the country. It was on this occasion that the two spoons showing Mrs.
Palmer were made.
But this lady continued to take an active part in all civic and charitable
projects in Chicago for a good many years after the Exposition. In 1910
she entered upon another interesting phase of her career. Having read
an ad in the Sunday Chicago Tribune about Sarasota in the 'land of
eternal sunshine," she decided to see for herself. For the next eight years
she spent most of her time in Florida, built herself a beautiful mansion
overlooking Little Sarasota Bay, developed "Meadow Sweet Pastures," a
large cattle ranch in the Myakka River Section, and organized the Sarasota-
Venice Realty Corporation. Under her guidance Sarasota was transformed
from a somnolent fishing village into a bustling tourist town. When she
died in 1918 the city flag was lowered at half mast as a mark of respect
to the lady who has become in the retrospect of time the patron saint of
Sarasota. She had tripled the fortune left her by her husband.
157
The bowl of the Statuette spoon contains a view of the Woman's Build-
ing at the World's Columbian Exposition. The shank shows a maiden
flowingly clad, standing with arms aloft holding a globe or disk, on which
is written, "World's Fair, 1893, 'Chicago." Two cherubs or cupids in the
nave support the finial of Mrs. Palmer's bust an armless bust comparable
in its beauty to that of Venus de Milo. The cut-out head of this stately
dowager is shown in profile. Around her neck are fine strands of pearls.
A wreath of forget-me-nots forms a coronet in the upper coils of her hair.
A pearl earring graces the lobe of her left ear and a spray of two roses
adorns her right breast.
This spoon, occasionally surfaced with a gold wash, was imprinted by
Dominick and Haff, now incorporated by Reed and Barton. Length 6 inches.
The Vignette, a demi-tasse spoon, shows the Children's Home, Chicago,
in a gold bowl. The shaft, plain except for the name of Chicago, Illinois,
is divided into three slightly differentiated sections. The nave bears a
globe on which an eagle with outspread wings is perched. The two
Americas are in evidence on this side. The profile figure of Mrs. Palmer,
the same as on the previous spoon, is enclosed in a medallion-like caput.
On the reverse side of handle are the dates, 1492-1893; the Eastern
hemisphere; the United States arms; and in the oval on the caput is a
little girl holding a long-handled parasol over her head, superimposed by
the words, "Going to the World's Fair."
This spoon is a product of the Alvin Corporation. Length, 4 inches.
No. 24 YOSEMITE LOVERS
Within the shadows of the great hills enclosing Yosemite there once
dwelt two tribes, the Monos and the Ahwahneechees, who from time im-
memorial had smoked together the calumet, the pipe of peace. Together
they celebrated the three chief feasts of the year, that of the manzanita
berries, that of the acorns, and finally the late autumn feast at which choice
venison steaks were served.
A strong bond of friendship had thus held the two tribes together for
a long time in all their activities. When they played their ancient game
of chance, the henowah, they pledged their best bearskins, wampum, and
arrows on the outcome. When one tribe performed its tribal dances or
recited the legends of its hero-ancestors, the members of the other tribe
rendered a full tribute of applause. Likewise in their burial chants they
clasped hands in common sorrow.
Now, at one of these venison feasts Tenaya, a chieftain of the
AhwahneecheeSj was attracted greatly by the strange, haunting beauty of
Wahulah, a demure Mono maiden, whose voice was soft and low like
that of a mourning dove.
158
Tenaya excelled himself in exhibitions of strength and skill during
all the games solely to win the admiration of Wahulah. But in vain did
he wait for a sparkle of love-light to dart in his direction. More eagerly
than ever he sought to captivate her fancy by passing words of regard.
But she did not reciprocate this affection at all.
The heart of Wahulah had not always been so recalcitrant. Two years
before this, she had joined in the funeral wail for her true love, a handsome
young Mono warrior whose frail canoe, caught in an eddying current, had
carried him over the swift falls of Pyweack to an untimely death. Since
then she had known no more happiness in this world.
The Ahwahneechee chief now felt deeply agitated in mind. All during
the snows of winter his memory reverted warmly to the sweetly sorrowful
face of Wahulah. He was able to endure the torment no longer. When
spring began to melt the snowy trails, he journeyed across the greening
hills to the lodge of the Mono chief, with whom he amicably smoked the
peace pipe.
Yet ere dawn of the following day he had cut the bonds of tribal
friendship in twain. Wahulah was gone. In the night Tenaya had abducted
her from the elegant bower where she dwelt apart, and which had been
built purposely for her high in a balcony of her favorite tree, the Wawona.
A beautiful place was this balcony, graced by finely-wrought carvings
obtained from the Spaniards. Tenaya had gained access to this lodge
by the rope ladder which Wahulah inadvertently had failed to pull in after
her when she retired. There, while resting on her couch of doeskins, she
was rudely awakened out of her repose and borne forthwith down the
ladder on the shoulders of the indomitable Tenaya. She made no outcries,
knowing they would not be heard, since her father and other members of
his tribe slept at a considerable distance away from this particular tree.
On through the forest and over the hills sped Tenaya, who did not
tarry for rest till he had brought his prize to the camp of the Ahwahneechees.
Then he placed her in a lodge of his own making, which he had carpeted
and roofed with boughs of fragrant pine. She said nothing but sat there
silent, with downcast eyes, while he went away to prepare for her a feast
of appetizing bear meat, acorn bread, and the tender shoots of spring
bracken.
While he was preparing this repast, delicious enough to please a goddess,
Wahulah warily moved one moccasin slipper after the other over the pine-
wood carpet, fearful lest a snapping twig would betray her meditated
flight. Neither her hunger, increased by the smell of the savory stewing
meat, nor the great physical weakness occasioned by the fear of failure
deterred her from the course she was taking.
Onward she bounded along the trail bordered by tall swordferns, rhodo-
dendron, azalea, and dogwood. Fillets of moonlight streaked down through
159
branches of the giant sequoias like ghostly fingers to clutch at her feet and
stay her passage.
It was not long before her escape was discovered. A hue and cry rent
the still night air, and she knew the Ahwahneechees were bounding
through the forest like hounds hot on the trail. Her moccasined footprints
were plainly visible on the soft, loamy soil in the moonlight. The Ahwah-
neechee braves knew every inch of ground that she traversed, every twining
vine, root, rock, and crevice.
She sped close to the canyon trail where the Pyweack threw its spumy
effervescence across her face. Out into the open, away from the mighty
tree-giants, and straight toward the broad, calm, emerald breast of the river,
ran the frightened Mono maiden. Close at her heels were her rabid
pursuers, their exultant cries of triumph ringing in her ears and whiplashing
her on to a mad desperation.
Down toward a cove of the placid stream she sprinted, sprang into a
canoe there at haven, and pushed away from shore just as the Ahwah-
neechees clawed out to detain her. With deftly measured strokes Wahulah
plied the shaven birch paddles, leaving behind her the demoniacal shouts
of her tormentors. The current grew swifter and wilder and blacker. No
need now for strokes from the paddles for guidance. Faster and faster
she glided. Straight as a birch sapling she stood in the boat, the strands
of her flowing black hair coruscating like will-o'-the-wisps in the moonlight.
Soon in a dizzying whirl the frail craft raced forward toward the falls
of the Pyweack. Swift was the descent of Wahulah into the wild-churning
caldron of waters. Into the murky, mysterious depths she went down, as
went down her lover before her. And thus did the Great Spirit bring peace
to the maiden . . . The waters rushed over her mourning.
The Yosemite Lovers spoon portrays on the handle the abduction of
Wahulah by Tenaya from her elegant boudoir-bower in the niche of the
Wawona tree.
In the bowl may be seen the Wawona Tree itself and the road leading
up to the tunneled archway cut through the trunk, in 1881, to a height
of ten feet, a width of eleven feet, and a length of twenty-five feet. While
this is perhaps the most famous tree in the Mariposa Groveoften called
the most famous tree in the world there are other giant sequoias notable
for their unique size and age. The Grizzly Giant, 209 feet high and 96.5
feet in circumference, is estimated to have reached the hoary age of 4,000
years the oldest living thing in the world. The Fallen Monarch, another
mighty tree, lies on its side to a length of nearly 300 feet. The Wawona,
said to be the Indian word for "big tree," measures 231 feet in height.
In all, the Mariposa Grove contains 545 trees.
This spoon was made by Rogers, Lunt and Bowlen Company, carrying
an early trademark for their "Treasure" solid silverware. Length, 5% inches,
160
No. 26 OLD IRONSIDES
Without ships, what would our nation have been? A land not only
without a past, but one also without a future! The Nina, Pinta, and Santa
Maria carried Columbus and his men to the Great Discovery; the Half
Moon, the Mayflower, the Ark and Dove brought famous explorers and
pioneers to our shores; with the Bon Homme Richard, John Paul Jones
captured more than three hundred British vessels during the Revolution;
Robert Fulton proved the practicability of the steamboat when he plied
the Clermont up the Hudson; the Constitution demonstrated the sea power
of our infant republic against the Barbary pirates and the British man-of-
war during the War of 1812; such clipper ships as the Dreadnaught carried
the goods of Yankee merchants to the remotest corners of the globe; the
Civil War produced those valorous fighters, the Merrimac (Virginia) and
the Monitor, the Alabama and the Kearsarge; "Remember the Maine'' be-
came the hue and cry of the Spanish-American War, in which the battle-
ships, the Oregon and Olympia, won distinction; during our two World
Wars an innumerable host of ships performed their duties so quietly,
effectively, and courageously that it is difficult to single out any one above
the other, although the name of the "Mighty Mo" (the Missouri) somehow
springs to the forefront in our minds.
Of all these ships none is so dear to the hearts of our people, young
or old, for the long and glorious role she has played in our history, as the
Constitution, affectionately known as "Old Ironsides." Louis J. Gulliver,
formerly a commander of this frigate, has written: "The brave relic of
brave days, Old Ironsides is not only a ship but a challenge. She represents
the problems of a young, sparsely peopled country fighting for its life; we
appreciate the idealism and strength that built her, manned her, and fought
her. We realize our immense indebtedness to the past that lived and died
that we might be as we are, free, powerful, a leader among nations. She
is a part of what America has been, is, and will be ... If one were to
select a solitary symbol for America's adolescence, it would be this majestic
Frigate that rides the seas today/'
Early in March of 1794 several members of Congress, indignant over
the humiliating fact that we were forced to pay tribute to the Barbary
States in North Africa to keep their pirates from attacking our merchant
vessels, demanded from Congress an appropriation for the beginning of
an American navy. A measure for the authorization of six vessels was
voted on and passed, March 27, 1794. Two weeks later Joshua Humphreys,
a Quaker shipbuilder of Philadelphia, was commissioned by General Henry
Knox, Secretary of War, to begin the construction of the Constitution
according to models and measurements which he had already proposed.
Work started immediately at Hartfs shipyard, Boston, under the general
supervision of Colonel George Claghorn, assisted by Captain Samuel
161
Nicholson, the ship's first commander. General Knox sent an expert ship-
wright to ? St. Simon Island, Georgia, to select the best grades of longleaf
pine, live oak, red cedar, cypress and white oak. To Paul Revere went
the contract for the metallic parts-the heavy copper spikes, bolts, and
braces. The spars, anchors, and sails were made near at hand. Skillings
Brothers carved the figurehead, a likeness of Hercules, for the prow.
Betsy Ross created all the bunting, including the flag with fifteen stripes
and an equal number of stars. The ship measured 175 feet in length and
43% feet in width at the center, providing a displacement of 2,200 tons.
Bad luck attended the launching of the Constitution. Scheduled origi-
nally for September 20, 1797, the launching did not actually take place
till October 21st. Due to the settling of the runways, the ship could not
clear itself into the water at the first two attempts, and considerable time
was spent to give the ways a steeper descent. Most inauspicious occurrence
of all was a round of fisticuffs between Colonel Claghorn and Captain
Nicholson on the day before the frigate finally slid into the water. The
Colonel granted an entry-pass to several spectators who had previously
been denied this privilege by the Captain. A heated argument arose as
to who held the rights of command at this juncture, the Colonel claiming
they were his until the ship was launched. Nicholson raised his cane and
Claghorn made a couple of thrusts at the Captain before neutral onlookers
parted the combatants.
For three years the Constitution cruised in home waters along the
Eastern coastline and around the islands of the Spanish Main, and then
remained in port for two years before being sent as the flagship of the
Mediterranean squadron to the Barbary Coast, where there were prospects
of trouble. An American brig had been seized by a Moroccan cruiser, the
Meshboha, belonging to the sultan, and in retaliation our frigate the
Philadelphia promptly captured the Meshboha. Commodore Preble of the
Constitution aroused the sultan from his slumbers, by a twenty-one gun
salute, as the American squadron steamed into the Bay of Tangier. The
sultan, frightened by this audacity, soon signed a treaty of peace granting
the release of the American merchantman and promising to respect our
ships in the future, while the Meshboha was returned to the sultan.
On the last day of October, 1803, the Philadelphia ran aground off
Tripoli and was hauled into port as a great prize by the Tripolitan pirates.
Knowing that the vessel would be reconditioned and used against their
squadron, the Americans devised a plan for boarding and burning the
captured vessel. A party led by Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, then only
twenty-four, and Midshipman Charles Morris, only nineteen, in a small
ketch crept up to the sides of the Philadelphia under cover of darkness,
climbed on board, distributed combustibles, fired the ship, clambered back
onto the ketch, and were gone before the pirate crewmen had time to
realize what had happened,
162
Early in August of 1804 the American squadron began its bombardment
of Tripoli, a city strongly protected by twenty-five thousand soldiers behind
high walls mounting more than one hundred cannons at strategically-
placed intervals. For two hours the Constitution withstood the bombard-
ment from three batteries without receiving serious injuries, at the same
time pouring "upwards of three hundred round shot, besides grape and
cannister, into the town, the bashaw's castle and the batteries silencing
the castle and two of its batteries. In all this unprecedented exposure to
the deadly aim of a land battery, the frigate was only injured in her sails
and rigging her hull being but slightly peppered with grape shot."
Inside the city, during the worst part of the bombardment Captain
Bainbridge and the Chaplain, "Schoolmaster" George Jones, both of whom
had been captured with the Philadelphia by the pirates, were covered with
a rubbish of mortar and stone when a cannon ball from the Constitution
struck their prison walls. Both were speedily excavated from the debris.
During a close-in action on one of the gunboats, Lieutenant Decatur
would have been cut down by an assailant from the rear if a seaman by
the name of Jack Reuben James had not parried the blow, which side-
swiped his own head. Afterwards, Decatur called seaman James before
him on deck and asked him to mention whatever recompense he desired
and it would be granted if it lay within the power of the donor. All his
messmates whispered to seaman James to ask for such favors as these:
"Double pay/' "a pocketful of money and a swing on shore" or "a boatswain's
berth." The bystanding chronicler relates: "J ac ^ elbowed them all aside,
and would have none of their counsel. After mature deliberation, he
announced the reward to which he aspired; it was, to be excused from
rolling up the hammock clotJis! The whimsical request was of course
granted; and from that time forward, whenever the sailors were piped
to stow away their hammocks, Jack was to be seen loitering around and
looking on, with the most gentlemanlike leisure."
A treaty was made the next year with the Tripolitans, who promised
to respect the rights of American merchant ships on the high seas. A
similar treaty was effected with Tunis somewhat later. Both these treaties
were signed on board the Constitution.
On June 18, 1812, Congress declared war against England. The next
day the Constitution., which had been lying in the Washington Navy Yard
for repairs during the previous three months, slipped down the Potomac,
took on extra stores of ammunition, and added a complement of crew
members before working out into the open sea. On July 16th a squadron
of the enemy fleet sighted the Constitution and gave chase. The British
squadron consisted of four frigates, and a ship-of -the- line, with two prize
vessels, a U. S. brig and a schooner, in their midst. For three days the
pursuit continued, but during a rainstorm on the early morning of the
19th the American ship managed to outdistance her stalkers so far that
the chase was abandoned. Commented Captain Isaac Hull: "Now, we'll
163
take a cruise by ourselves; but if I ever come across one of those chaps
alone, depend on it he shall pay for this."
During the next month several barks flying the British colors were
captured, or else fired and sunk. "But we always saved the crews, and
living animals/' noted Moses Smith in his seaman's diary. "I do not remem-
ber that a goat, dog, fowl, or cat was thus burnt up."
About 10 in the morning, August 19, 1812, an enormous vessel, so fully
rigged with sails as to be awesome, made her appearance over the horizon.
"Before all hands could be called, there was a general rush on deck"~
I quote gun sponger Moses Smith, as I shall continue to do liberally, since
he can tell this better than I can. "The word had passed like lightning
from man to man; and ah 1 who could be spared, came flocking up like
pigeons from a net bed. From the spar deck to the gun deck, from that
to the berth deck, every man was roused and on his feet." Then the
Constitution, that "noble frigate, fairly bounded over the billows, as we
gave her a rap full, and spread her broad and tall wings to the gale."
It was soon apparent that the enemy vessel was the Guerriere, bearing
thirty-nine guns, and she opened up with a fire that kicked up splinters
but did no material damage. "Hull was now all animation. He saw that
the decisive moment had come/' He went about among his men exhorting
them to do their duty. Hear him saying: "Sailing-master, lay her alongside!
. . . No firing at random! . . . Let every man look well to his aim . . . Now
close with them!"
At the firing of a broadside, the Constitution trembled in her timbers
from stem to stern. Three huzzas rent the air at the charge, though some
men went deaf for a while. "Amid the dying and the dead, the crash of
timbers, the flying of splinters and falling of spars, the American heart
poured out its patriotism with long and loud cheers. The effect was
always electrical, throughout all the struggle for our rights. When the
smoke cleared away after the first broadside, we saw that we had cut off
the mizzen mast of the Guerriere, and that her main-yard had been shot
from the slings. Her mast and rigging were hanging in great confusion
over her sides, and dashing against her on the waves." At this discovery
the cry went up: "Huzza, boys! We've made a brig of her! Next time
we'll make her a sloop!"
At the sight of the American flag hanging downwards from the mast,
a plucky little Irish lad, Dan Hogan, scrambled up the rigging, and clinging
onto the topmast with one hand, fastened the flag upright again, "The
smoke curled around him as he bent to the work; but those who could see
him, kept cheering him through the sulphury clouds. He was soon down
again, and at his station in the fight."
At this point a heavy ball from the enemy's guns struck the planking
in the hull and bounded off into the brine. Immediately the cry resounded:
'Huzza! Her sides are made of iron!" And from that moment the ship was
164
Her deck, once red with heroes blood,
Where knelt the vanquished toe,
When winds were hurrying oer the tiooci,
\nd waves were white below, ?
No more shall feel the victors tread,
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
The ringing lines struck deep in the public soul, and reechoed across
the country. It was a challenge to action, and every newspaper took up
the cry: "Save the Constitution^ Public indignation demanded that the
famous old ship be saved. Secretary Branch rescinded the order for
dismantlement. The Government now decreed that Old Ironsides should
be "re-constituted." Recommendations for the reconditioning were made
by Commodore Charles Morris, the naval officer who had participated in
every one of the ship's notable engagements. Timbers from St. Simon
Island, Georgia, were again used when the historic old vessel was refitted
for active duty.
Through the years Old Ironsides served as the flagship for many
squadrons on voyages to all parts of the world. Several times she has
had to return to the naval yards for repairs. On her last foreign cruise,
carrying American exhibits to the Paris Exposition in 1878, she arrived
without mishap at le Havre, but on the way home she ran into the chalk
cliffs off Ballard Head, England. It is one of those little ironies of history
that Old Ironsides, victor over several of Britain's finest warships, had
finally to be pulled off the rocks and saved from being battered to pieces-
by English tugs.
In 1931 Old Ironsides became solely an exhibition piece, and since
then she has been view r ed with pride by thousands of Americans on her
triumphal tours leisurely taken from one port to another around the country.
The Old Ironsides spoon, with its gold-washed fruit bowl, displays a
rope-cable winding spirally upwards through the shank to its anchor-
attachment. In the nave a banderole bears the inscription "Old Constitu-
tion, 1812." The caput, beautifully bordered in a decor suggestive of
baroque, contains a fine embossment of the famous ship with sails unreef ed,
in quiet waters; to the fore is a small rowboat in which sit two men
166
handling the oars. "Old Ironsides" is seen in raised lettering on the reverse
of handle.
This spoon was pressed by Durgin & Co., June 3, 189L and controlled
by J. Hutchinson. Length, 5% inches.
No. 27 GENERAL GRANT
No. 28 GRANT'S TOMB
Before recently reading four full-length biographies of Grant, two of
them by Southerners, I had long held the notion that the general became
a hero by a sort of "good-fortune trend" in military events. My opinion
was based perhaps on his subsequent political career, for never have I
heard a politically-wise person speak a word in his favor. Elected to the
presidency as a military hero, he eventually lost his popularity in the fierce
antagonisms of partisan tactics. His two terms in office were signalized
by all kinds of troubles: devastating fires in Chicago and Boston; graft,
crime, and corruption among high office-holders in the capital, New York
City, and elsewhere; the crashing of stock values and the failure of banks,
creating the panic of 1873; and the long, turbulent period of Reconstruction
in the South. Looking back from our vantage point of time, we can see
that Grant's tenure in the White House may be likened to that of Warren
Harding or of Harry S. Truman it came in the let-down period after a
great war, when the profits of patriotism have degenerated into downright
political loot.
But to Ulysses S. Grant must be given the credit of doing more, militarily
speaking, than any other man has done, since Washington, to keep the
United in front of the States. Had he not saved a united democracy for
both North and South out of the welter of an uncivil war, there would
today be within the borders of this nation a dozen or more peanut republics
jumping to attention at the beck and call of every European strong man who
came along.
He wrote finis to a war that had chalked up finis for seven previous
commanders. Let his military glory remain unclouded. Only as a politician
was he a failure. His great opponent, General Lee, once said: "Before you
look for a man's bad points, first look for his good ones." So, let us "meet
General Grant." 1
He came of pioneer stock. In fact, his earliest American ancestors
narrowly missed the Mayflower. His father named him after the wise
Greek, Ulysses, his favorite character in legendary history. The boy
disliked working in his father's tannery enough to prefer going to West
Point. There he did not distinguish himself, but whatever he had to do,
he set about doing, and did it to the best of his ability, which was not
1 The title of a book on Grant by W. E. Woodward, a South Carolinian.
167
outstanding. Among the cadets he knew there, mention should be made
of Buckner, Buell, Ewell, McClellan, and Longstreet, all of whom, on a
later day, he would fight with or against
He had a certain shoddiness of appearance that neutralized the attitude
of the other cadets toward him-they neither liked nor disliked him. In
only one respect did he stand out and that was as a horseman. Once,
by reversing his sitting position and holding a mule by the tail, he mastered
a brute that had thrown everybody else. After his graduation from West
Point, he saw active service in the Mexican War, and was cited for
gallant conduct.
At the age of thirty-two he resigned his commission and tried farming
on sixty acres in Missouri-given him by his father-in-law. There was not
even a cabin on the farm, and he still had to clear the land of its thickly-
w T ooded white oaks. Finding the one slave he had a nuisance, he handed
the negro his papers of manumission. Running into debt on his farm, he
went to Galena, Illinois, to clerk in his father's hardware store. There
he was when the war erupted. Thus, at forty, he was already considered
a failure: a man of intemperate habits, lacking ambition, and working for
less than a thousand a year.
His first request for a reappointment to a commission was pigeon-holed
by McClellan, who did not bother to answer the letter. Then he offered
to train the volunteers for a local guard. Back in uniform, he was given
the command of a regiment recruited in southern Illinois. When he made
his first appearance before his men, some one yelled for a speech. Others
began cheering. Grant made himself master of the situation at once by
his first command: "Men, go to your quarters."
The war had already gone into its second year before Grant attracted
public attention. In quick succession he captured Forts Henry and
Donelson, and won the battle of Shiloh. The story goes that after Buckner's
surrender at Fort Donelson, Grant, knowing the defeated commander to
be without money, offered him his purse. True or not, Buckner always
held Grant in the highest esteem to the last, and followed him to the
tomb as a pallbearer.
Successes and advancements in rank were rapid. His skillful maneuvers
at Chattanooga were the most brilliant of the war. There were victories
at Vicksburg and in the Wilderness; success in the siege of Petersburg;
and finally, the forced surrender of the Confederacy at Richmond.
Grant's magnanimity in the terms tendered Lee for the final capitulation
is classic. The soldiers of the defeated army were allowed their side-arms,
baggage, and horses-the latter, said Grant, would be needed for the "spring
plowing." He later admitted a sense of embarrassment in the presence of
the immaculately-uniformed Lee. He remembered a rebuke once adminis-
tered tarn in Mexico by Lee, then his superior, for his slovenly appearance.
Had Grant died after Appomattox or at least before he became president,
he would today be venerated as our greatest military hero. His presidency
168
was an anti-climax. He lived too long, surviving his usefulness and his
country's gratitude. But his tomb on Riverside Drive in New York City
is a fitting memorial to the military hero who was "ruthless in war and
compassionate in peace" the man who saved the Union from disunion.
The General Grant, which is a fruit spoon, has an unusual-shaped bowl.
It is divided into two sections, the upper one being fluted into five scallops,
like petals. "Defender of His Country" appears as an exergue high in the
shank. Above it, in the nave, a sheathed sword and olive branch form a
St. Andrew's cross. In the cut-out of the caput is the bust of the general,
whose bearded face, uniform lapels, and insignia are showing, but not
his arms.
Made by the Shepard Mfg. Co., this spoon, as evidenced by its style,
was a product of the early Nineties. It could readily serve for a sugar
shell. Length is 5% inches.
The little demi-tasse spoon showing Grant's tomb is simplicity itself.
The mausoleum in the bowl is the only historical evidence telling us where
the spoon was sold. The handle is beaded up the shaft, and in the caput
around the empty medallion, which could well symbolize the cenotaph
for a president who was "not there" when it came to the great game of
politics.
Impressed by Watson and Newell. Length of spoon, 3% inches.
No. 31 GETTYSBURG BATTLEFIELD
No. 32 IRISH BRIGADE
At a time when the hopes of the Union were at their lowest ebb and
the spirit of defeatism was rampant in the North, two events occurred which
changed the whole course of the Civil War. One was the fall of Vicksburg,
which opened the Mississippi; the other, the battle of Gettysburg.
Fresh from victories at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, Lee at-
tempted to carry the war to the North by moving into Pennsylvania, there
crush the Army of the Potomac, and clear the way for the capture of
Philadelphia and Washington. If his plans carried through, the North
would be compelled to recognize Southern independence. With this idea
in mind, he began his march northward through the valleys of the Blue
Ridge Mountains on June 3, 1863. By the end of the month Confederate
forces were wheeling into position to take Harrisburg, the Pennsylvania
capital.
General George Gordon Meade, who had been placed in command
of the Northern armies only a few days before, occupied defensive positions
at Gettysburg on Gulp's Hill, Round Top, and Cemetery Ridge, from the
crests of which he would have a natural advantage of terrain over the enemy.
For three days, July 1-2-3, the bitterest, deadliest fighting ever witnessed
169
on this continent raged, much of it taking place in close, even hand-to-hand
encounters. One third of the men in Meade's army were natives of Penn-
sylvania, and this invasion of their home soil steeled them to an unflinching
resistance. Both armies were about equally matched. The numbers engaged
have been estimated variously at from seventy to one hundred thousand
on either side.
The lines fluctuated up and down the hills and back and forth across
the plains for three days without decisive results. On the afternoon of
July 3rd, during a temporary lull, when the Union troops momentarily
ceased fire, Lee, assuming that the enemy's ammunition was running short,
ordered General Pickett and his division of 18,000 men to charge across
the open plains and up the rolling hills to occupy Cemetery Ridge. It was
a desperate gamble, but in it lay the last chance for a Confederate victory.
The lines of gray infantry surged forward steadily against a blistering fire
from General Hancock's artillery. The ground was littered with dead and
wounded. One company, under Armistead, clambered over the Federal
breastworks and hoisted the "Bonnie Blue Flag" near the top of Cemetery
Ridge. But the odds were too unequal for the Southern banner to remain
there long. Their casualties, totaling about 25,000 men, were greater on
the retreat than on the advance. The hopes for a Southern victory were
shattered. Lee recrossed the Potomac successfully, but the Union victory
at Gettysburg had definitely turned the tide of battle in favor of the North.
It was the beginning that pointed toward the inevitable outcome of the war.
In 1938 the remnants of two once mighty armies assembled here for
a Blue-and-Gray reunion. The two thousand aged survivors gathered in
friendly converse, recounting the experiences that had befallen them when
they met here in mortal combat seventy-five years before. Thousands of
their old comrades had never left Gettysburg, but had been lying there
peacefully all these years under the grassy sward.
By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day,
Under the one, the Blue;
Under the other, the Gray.
The bowl of the Gettysburg Battlefield spoon pictures the heights and
ramparts of Cemetery Ridge after the carnage. The handle shows two
monuments. The one in the shaft is a memorial to Father William Corby,
chaplain for the Irish Brigade from New York City. The statuary image
of the priest has the right hand lifted in the act of absolving and blessing
the troops just before they marched off to wrest Round Top Knob from
170
the enemy. In the caput is seen the Soldiers' National Monument, standing
on that part of the battlefield where the dedicatory services were held on
November 19, 1863, when Lincoln supplicated in terms too fraught with
meaning for their full significance to be comprehended at the time, that
"we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that
this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that
government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish
from the earth/*
The bearded face of General Meade appears in the nave of this spoon.
Although born in Cadiz, Spain, where his father was a naval attache, he
was ahvays reckoned a native of Pennsylvania. He seems to have led a
charmed life, for he narro\vly escaped death several times. Once his hat
was shot off his head and twice he had mounts killed under him. Philadel-
phia has always regarded him as one of her honored sons.
Made by the Alvin Corporation, the Gettysburg Battlefield spoon comes
in several sizes and types. The length of this one is 3% inches.
The Irish Brigade spoon pictures, impressively needled in the bowl,
the monument erected in the form of a Celtic cross to commemorate the
courageous action of the Irish-born soldiers from New York City, most
of whom perished and were buried on the battlefield. No unit of either
Northern or Southern army suffered a more grievous loss of life at Gettys-
burg than the Irish Brigade. The edges of the bowl are unevenly scalloped,
and the contours of the monument stand out slightly from the incised areas
around them.
The shaft is reeded in widening ridges till it reaches the second section
of the handle, the nave and caput being combined in one unit. Gettysburg
appears here simply, surrounded by a foliate-scroll bordure, which is
capped by two wave-scrolls and a shell crown. The maker of this spoon
is not indicated. Length, 5% inches.
No. 33 CAVES OF LA JOLLA
No. 51 RAMONA'S WEDDING PLACE
Often coupled on postcards and scenic views because they are close
together both being tourist attractions near San Diego are pictures of
Ramona's wedding place along with the caves of La Jolla (pronounced
la hoy a). -
La Jolla is a delightful little town, perched on sheer cliffs offering
commanding views of the ocean and its beaches in front, with a backdrop
of fine homes, gardens, and parks all of which make this place an alluring
rendezvous for artists, writers, and musicians. Walt Mason, the poet, once
declared in the presence of Hildegarde Hawthorne that there was no better
place in the world for a sensible man to live than in La Jolla. Whereupon
171
she- inquired if that went for a woman too. "It does," he answered with
an equal conviction.
Underneath the precipitous cliffs the sea has bitten huge holes out of
the soft stratification of sandstone rocks, leaving a strange configuration
of many caverns, with openings that admit lights and shadows in such
van-ing' degrees that the rocks assume phantasmagoric forms and eerie
aspects to the spectator on the inside looking out.
There are ten main caverns penetrating the cliffs along the La Jolla
beach, some of them rising as high as two hundred feet in vaulted domes
unlike anything ever constructed by man in his architectural imaginings.
Old father Neptune, the sculptor of these seaside vagaries, rides in on every
high tide with a bellowing roar to continue his labors on the water-hewn
handiwork, and rides out again carrying away with him each time
imperceptible particles from the vast subterranean walls.
Formerly the only entrance to the caves was by way of the sea, but
since 1905 a flight of steps has been tunneled into the interior from the
mesa above. This land approach has made it possible for tourists when
they are on the stairs to see the evanescent chiaroscuros at different levels
and from better vantage points. Most notable perhaps is the "phantom
figure of the White Lady," about whom more than one story has been told.
The only piece of nature that in any way resembles the caves of La
Jolla is the weird formation off the west coast of Scotland known as
Fingafs Cave.
The bowl of the Caves of La Jolla spoon gives a view, taken at some
distance, of the beach-side penetrations made into the cliffs by the recurrent
poundings of the surf. At the top of the handle appears Ramona's Wedding
Place. These two scenes have been made by stenciled etchings. This
spoon, pressed by the Whiting Co., now a division of Gorham's, is 5% inches
long, and bears on the reverse of its bowl the date, 1893.
* * * #
The sad but poignantly beautiful story of Ramona has always moved
its readers so deeply that all the scenes connected with the unfortunate
outcast maiden have become the most dearly beloved shrines in California:
the Grapevine adobe house at San Gabriel, Ramona's birthplace; the
Camulos Ranch, in Ventura County, faithfully pictured by the author,
Helen Hunt Jackson, as the Moreno hacienda, Ramona's early home; the
Estudillo adobe house at Old Town, San Diego, used for Ramona's wedding
place; Temecula, where Ramona lived with her Indian husband amid his
people till driven out by the greed of the land-hungry Americans; the
Indian reservation near Soboba, where Ramona's grave is supposed to be.
Annually in April and May a Ramona pageant, produced by the towns-
people of Hemet and San Jacinto, reenacts the peaceful Arcadian folk-life
of early Hispanic California. The Guajone Ranch is pointed out as the
place where much of the novel was written.
172
Why have all these scenes become enshrined in the hearts of so many
Americans? Only the readers of the romance can understand the secret,
A town has been named after this heroine. Countless girls bear the name.
It has been the inspiration for one of our most popular songs. The story
has been filmed several times. Although such a character like Ramona may
have never actually existed, is it not true that she steps out of the written
pages as her misfortunes multiply, and that she becomes so real before
our eyes that she can no longer be regarded as a figment of the imagination?
Loretta Young, when asked what role of hers she liked best, responded:
4< Of all my parts, from drawing-room comedy to period tragedy, Helen
Hunt Jackson's classic Ramona is my favorite. Indeed, the book was my
favorite when I was a little girl. I used to fancy myself as the persecuted
Ramona; I'd wear a lace curtain for a mantilla and hang over the banister
in lieu of a balcony. My affection for the half-Scotch, half-Indian girl never
waned. When I was under contract to Fox, I talked so much about Ramona
that the studio finally bought the book and cast me in the title role. That
was a dream come true. The part had the magic of childhood make-believe
as well as the inspiration of a character rich in courage, intelligence, and
spirituality. I keenly felt the reality of Ramona as her beautiful and tragic
story unfolded among the arrogant grandees, the kindly duennas, and the
romantic caballeros all that intriguing panoply of characters who moved
through the history of early California."
Ramona's wedding place seen here on the bowl of this spoon, is a
simple one-story structure, built in the form of an open quadrangle with
the south side missing. The adobe walls are quite thick, and the tile roof
on all sides slopes toward the street. While not visible on the spoon, the
beams for the roof actually project from under the eaves, and cross pieces
have their rounded ends extending a couple of inches beyond the cream-
colored walls of the kitchen. Strips of rawhide take the place of nails in
knitting the framework together.
Three trees, either palm or acacia stand here on the northern and
eastern exposures of the house. The windows of these two fagades are
barred with forbidding iron grilles, and the two recessed street doors are
of heavy panelled oak.
There are many interesting features to this house not shown here: the
beehive oven (homo) outside the kitchen, the arbor, the patio with a
profusion of flowers from Old Spain, and somewhat apart the old chapel.
A high two-wheeled oxcart from the early days stands along one of the
patio walks.
This picturesque casa de rancho was built in 1825 by a Don Jose
Estudillo, and was still in the possession of his descendants when Mrs.
Jackson visited the place in the early 80's; she later used the chapel for
the setting of Ramona's wedding. The house has since become a veritable
mecca for "Ramonistas."
173
All the pictorial portions of this spoon are worked in relief . The handle
belongs to the familiar motif of the Indian with a side view of the face,
and com husks along the shank. It is a product of Paye and Baker, its
length being 5 J /4 inches.
No. 35 PIQUA
Piqua received its name, according to an old Shawnee legend, in a
rather unusual way. The tribe was assembled around a campfire at its
annual feast of thanksgiving. The fire had almost gone out when inex-
plicably out of the smoke a man's body rose in distinct contours above the
smoldering embers and ascended toward the heavens. The spectators,
awestruck at this mystifying apparition, exclaimed, "Otath-he-wagh-Pe-qua,"
meaning: he who has come out of the ashes. Ever since then the place
has been called Piqua.
The town is situated on the Greater Miami River in the state of Ohio.
Shawnee villages had long occupied the site until they were destroyed by
George Rogers Clark in 1782. Clark, believing that the white settlers south
of the Ohio would never be safe from sporadic attacks till the Indian
strongholds north of the river were razed, assembled a thousand Kentucky
riflemen, who marched so swiftly and quietly through the forests that they
took the Shawnees by surprise. Swooping down upon Piqua unexpectedly,
they killed most of the villagers; a few of them were able to escape with
their lives but with none of their belongings. Their fighting power way
broken.
For many years the Indians would return to visit the graves of then-
dead around Piqua, and to roam over the adjacent countryside which they
had known and loved as children.
As a white settlement, Piqua grew slowly through the years, then
stopped growing. It is still a small town with a reminiscent Victorian
atmosphere-a good home-town. And moreover, it is interesting to note
that the things made in Piqua largely pertain to the home, such as furniture,
kitchen utensils, stoves and furnaces, carpets, rugs, and curtains. Like
the Indians of yore, the native sons and daughters who have migrated from
this spot to live elsewhere, still love to return to Piqua, which they think
or as home.
The Piqua spoon lacks any form of ostentation, yet it somehow engages
our attention. Its shape, without a single angle in any of its lines, seems
to possess practicability and beauty in equally mixed proportions
tn Th , e f b 1 1 contail " **!', O.", appliqned in a gentle descent from left
to nght barely raised above the face of the bowl. On the stem are five
anT^ Set " me " n tS f d COSm S ' tW f ^ ascendin g alon S a center
and two appearing m the crown, all five attached together by a ribbon-like
174
vine. There is an open space left for an initial, and in this instance an H
has been placed here.
On the reverse side of the handle is Gorham's trademark, and etched
alongside of it "Addie," no doubt its erstwhile owner. The length is 5%
inches.
No. 36 MILWAUKEE INDIAN
Few states have preserved so many Indian place-names like Wisconsin,
itself an Indian word meaning a "meeting of the waters" a description
quite fitting to a state which counts over 8,000 lakes, 10,000 creeks, 4,000
miles of interior rivers, 500 miles of lake shoreline, and gushing springs
on almost every farm. A glance at the list of lakes, rivers, counties, towns,
and cities will reveal how universal is this survival of Indian nomenclature.
Milwaukee, the great metropolis of the state, was once a "meeting-place
by the waters" to the numerous Algonquin tribes who hunted and fished
over the area. Even though the redskins are gone a hundred years, the
abundance of fish and game still makes the hinterland region a sportsman's
paradise. A delight in happy living naturally springs from an acquaintance
with its woods and waters.
The territory was opened for development after the Black Hawk War
ended in 1832. Three years later the land around Milwaukee was sur-
veyed, and a county government organized. Two men, Solomon Juneau
and Morgan Martin, platted a town, called it Milwaukee, and spent con-
siderable money in promoting their project. Byron Kilbourn established
a rival port, Kilbourntown, west of the Milwaukee River, and brought in
settlers on a small boat from large vessels dropping anchor in Lake
Michigan.
The year 1836 was a memorable one for Milwaukee. The town experi-
enced growing pains from the rapid influx of settlers, most of them being
backwoodsmen from farther east. The first small contingents of Germans
and Irish were beginning to trickle in, later to swell into a floodtide for
several decades.
The roads by which most of the travelers came were ribbon trails
near the lakeshore, rounding the bend from Chicago. Rivers had to be
forded or ferried, and sometimes in the process the main highway was
lost. A simple expedient to mark the trail was to drag a tree back and
forth between settlements. Logs were aligned across marshy terrain, mak-
ing any kind of riding rough.
Often a traveler would thread his way through the forests alone. Only
a few miles out of Milwaukee one such adventurer, a German musician,
was attacked by wolves. Using presence of mind and his trumpet, he
saved his life by blowing the musical instrument directly at the animals
when they approached too near for safety. For two miles his progress
175
A warrior with more covering on his head than elsewhere about him
stands on an arrow-shaft pedestal, his hands bearing a poised battle hatchet.
No name of maker is discernible on the spoon. Length, 5 inches.
No. 37 PIKE'S PEAK
No. 142- DYNAMITE (SPOKANE BURRO)
One of the ironies of history is the fact that the man after whom the
celebrated Pike's Peak is named never scaled the heights, while thousands
of motorists easily reach the top today by means of a smoothly surfaced
highway. Leaving Pueblo on November 23, 1806, Lieutenant Zebulon M.
Pike set out with a half-dozen adventurers, inadequately supplied with
food and dressed in light fall clothing, to reach the summit of the peak,
but turned back when overtaken by a heavy snowfall, and declared the
crest was unsurmountable.
The first ascent of this mountain was made under more favorable
conditions in 1820. Following the gold rush of the late fifties, the peak
became a guidepost for prospectors who crossed the prairies in covered
wagons bearing the sign, "Pike's Peak or Bust." Gold not being as plenteous
as first reported, many of the would-be millionaires changed the signs on
their conveyances to read, "Pike's Peak and Busted!"
The bowl of the Pike's Peak spoon contains two interesting pictures,
symbols of two stages in our transportational progress. In the lower right-
hand corner is the medallion inset of a saddled burro marked "The Old
Way." The remainder of the surface shows a railroad track on which two
cars, smoke puffing from their chimneys, are ascending the inclined rails.
Beyond the railroad there is a signal tower and below, supporting the
tracks, is a great mass of boulders. The words, "Pikes Peak Signal Sta.
Alt. 14147 Ft.," run near the rim of the bowl. Beneath the boulder-pile
and tracks we are told that this is "The New Way." No thought then of
a newer way the motor highway.
The miner s badge appears in the shaft of the handle, and a prairie
schooner in the nave. The wagon is drawn by four mules, and the driver
sits in full view, with whip in hand, and feet directly on the double-tree
and tongue. A mountain sierra looms in the background.
The caput, consisting of one large columbine stalk (the Colorado state
flower), supports a knop which, in this instance, is a passive-looking burro.
On the back of the burro is a pack-kit of miner's implements, secured by
a girth running the circumference of the animal's belly.
The metal of this spoon is thin and of rather light weight. Maker not
indicated. Length, 5 inches.
* * * #
At first glance the two spoons placed together in this sketch might
178
appear to be different sizes of the same spoon. But even a casual exami-
nation will reveal to the observer that the burros are headed in opposite
directions, and the space is open beneath the Pike's Peak burro while not
fully cleared beneath Dynamite, who apparently is a miner's mule from
Spokane, Washington, if the picture in the bowl is any indication. The
name of Dynamite, imprinted in front of the saddle-girth, belies the appear-
ance of this grizzled, lack-lustre creature, but it is a common appellation
ironically bestowed, throughout the West, on such woe-begone beasts of
burden after years of hard and faithful service in the mines. Some of
them, however, have a latent vitality in their old bones. The author well
remembers holding on for dear life to the tail of such a dead-headed burro
as he galloped down a dizzy trail in Colorado after a wounded mountain
lion began to give evidence of his carnivorous instincts.
A mine wheel and tools are slung over the back of this Dynamite. In
the earlier catalogs of Paye and Baker, the creators of Dynamite, the
handle was beaded the entire length from the caput to the drop. But
in subsequent catalogs the handle shows a pick and mallet in the nave,
and a bucket suspended by a rope through the shaft into the handle drop.
The bowl of this spoon pictures the falls at Spokane, Washington. At
one time this city bore the name of Spokane Falls, but the last word was
dropped in 1890, although the prosperity and growth of Spokane can be
attributed directly to the falls for its great industrial expansion. In its
early days the town had a spirited struggle with Cheney to retain its
position as the county seat. For a while the contest was fairly even, and
the privilege of being the county hub teeter-tottered in favor of one, then
the other. Finally, when Spokane forged ahead in population and busi-
ness, Cheney gracefully relinquished its claims. Even a devastating fire
in 1889 could not retard the growth of Spokane; the setback was only
temporary.
The length of the Dynamite spoon is 3% inches. Used through the
courtesy of its owner, Mrs. Gordon Scheimer, Hayward, California.
No. 38 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
England got off to a slow start in the New World. It is true that she
made claims, as early as 1497, to the lands from Labrador to Cape Hatteras
on the basis of discoveries made by John and Sebastian Cabot, Venetians
in the employ of Henry VII. But following their two voyages none others
were undertaken for a period of eighty years. The English freebooter,
Sir Francis Drake, derived great personal profits from his expeditions prey-
ing upon Spanish vessels laden with treasure, This redoubtable fellow
"singed the King of Spain's beard" by plundering ports in the West Indies,
scuttling Spanish ships, and carrying off tons of unminted doubloons and
179
pieces-of-eight. Drake incidentally was the first Englishman to circum-
navigate the globe. Martin Frobisher sought to find a northwest passage
to India in 1576 by sailing around the northern rim of the North American
continent, but the great masses of ice blocked his way. On a second trip
he brought home a cargo of cheap pyrite, thinking it was gold. On a
third expedition he built a stone fort in Greenland, which was soon
abandoned. Another navigator, John Davys, tried to find a northern route
to India, but had to turn back when he had gone as far as the strait, off
Canada, which bears his name.
As yet no real attempts were made to establish permanent colonies.
It remained for Sir Humphrey Gilbert and his half-brother Sir Walter
Raleigh to lay the foundation stones of English colonization in America.
Raleigh is one of the brightest stars in the imposing galaxy of sixteenth-
century Englishmen, a compeer of the whole company and the nonpareil,
if versatility be taken as the criterion, of any single one of them. He can
be placed with the discoverers; he can shine with the courtiers; he holds
his own as a soldier; he is worthy of a nook in that "nest of singing birds,"
which enhanced the glory of England's literary renaissance; and withal,
he is such a man, such a gentleman, as to cause us to doff our hats to
him down through the centuries with pleasure.
The sixteenth century brought decades of internal peace to England
after the ugly War of the Roses. And peace brought prosperity to the
rising group of middle-class merchants. Elizabeth, reigning in the second
half of that century, seemed to transmit to her people a more heightened
and enlightened visibility clearing up the bad headaches occasioned by
the dictatorial littlenesses of Henry VIII and his daughter Mary. It is in
this latter period, when England burst the bonds of her insularity, that
Raleigh finds a place among such universal figures as Sidney, Spenser,
Marlowe, Bacon, Ben Jonson, and Shakespeare.
Bom in 1552 at Budleigh-Salterton on the south coast of Devonshire,
Walter Raleigh was the youngest son of Walter Raleigh, a country squire,
and his wife Katherine, daughter of Sir Philip Champernoun. It so hap-
pened that Squire Raleigh had entered into two previous marriages, to
which three sons had been born, but of this brood we hear little. Mistress
Raleigh had likewise married before, and was the mother of three sons,
John, Humphrey, and Adrian Gilbert, all of whom had distinguished
careers. Carew, Walter, and Margaret were the three children born of
this last marriage.
Young Walter grew up amid pleasant rural surroundings within sound
of the sea, and he drank in eagerly the tales of seafaring ships told him
by old seadogs, many of them blood-relations through the Champernouns,
Gilberts, Carews, and Raleighs, of whom there was no better stock in all
Devonshire. His education was supervised by his mother, a "woman of
noble wit, and of good and godly opinions." His father, more of the active,
180
out-of-door type, taught the boy how to ride expertly in the chase after
the fox and the deer, and many was the time they went galloping over
the hills, accompanied by the music of bellowing hounds. He was a hand-
some lad, with bright brown eyes and fair complexion, tall, graceful, and
lithe of limb. He held himself proudly erect, with such an aristocratic
poise that "ostentation became him, which, on a meaner man, would have
passed into vulgarity." His parents were strict, church-going people, and
from them he imbibed that straightforward faith-scorning falsity, mean-
ness, and vice that stuck with him to the end of his days.
At sixteen he entered Oriel College, Oxford, where he became the
"ornament of the juniors, and was worthily esteemed a proficient in Oratory
and Philosophy." S. F. Bacon, Baron of Ferulam, one of the many friends
he made at the university, recalled that a fellow-student, an expert in
Archery, once approached Raleigh with the lament that a big bully had
roundly abused him, and he knew of no way in which he could square
off matters with the bruiser. "Why, challenge him," spoke up Raleigh,
"to a shooting match." The incident, trivial enough in itself, does show
the youthful Raleigh's quick powers of simple deduction: If you can't
beat a fellow with his own weapons, use other means at which you are
more adept than he.
Only two terms were spent at Oxford, and Raleigh was off to France
in a company of volunteers raised by his cousin, Henry Champernoun, to
help the Huguenots in the desperate defense of their religious rights. Little
is known of his adventures in that country, although he spent five or six
years there. Then, for a short while he soldiered in the Netherlands before
he returned to England, where we have no definite knowledge of his
whereabouts until he turned up at Court. It is possible that he spent some
of this time at his Devonshire home, to be near his mother in her declin-
ing years, for he was devotedly fond of her. A contemporary relates a
gossipy little tale about this period of his life: "In his youthful time was
one Charles Chester, that often kept company in his acquaintance; he was
a bold, impertinent fellow, and they could never be at quiet for him; a
perpetual talker and made a noise like a drumme in a roome. So one
time at a taverne Sir W. R. beates him and seales up his mouthe (i.e. his
upper and neather beard ) with hard wax." This same contemporary must
have admired this strong-arm bit of daring, for he comments crisply that
Raleigh was no slug.
In June, 1578, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, after years of higgling over plans to
find the northwest passage, obtained a royal charter "to discover, finde,
searche out and view such remote heathen and barbarous landes, countries
and territories, not actually possessed of any Christian prince or people, as to
him his heires and assignes and to every or anie of them shall seem good."
The idea of planting an English colony in the New World suited Raleigh
exactly, and he participated enthusiastically in the preparations for the
181
voyage. In September the eleven ships set sail, on one of which, the
Falcon, Raleigh was in command. All kinds of trouble seemed to spring up.
The crew of one ship mutinied, and turned the course of their vessel home-
ward An autumnal storm drove the other ten ships right into the path of
a Spanish squadron; a fight occurred, and the English ships were too bat-
tered to go any farther on their ventures. The enterprise was given up.
The American dream had to lie dormant for a while, for Raleigh was
now commissioned a captain in Ireland, where a rebellion had broken
out. He did not relish the idea of squelching freedom anywhere, saying,
"I disdain it as much as to keep sheep." Of his exploits in Ireland we
hear sufficient to know that he was brave, chivalrous, and diplomatic.
Twice he pulled from a bog a certain Henry Moyle, who, unhorsed, was
holding twenty men at bay with a pistol in one hand and a cane in the
other. On another occasion he seized the castle of Lord Roche through
a ruse and aided by only six musketeers. So persuasive was he that he
won the disaffected lord, seated at the banquet table in his own castle,
over to be a staunch supporter of the Queen.
Upon his return from Ireland he was just as persuasive in winning the
Queens favor. The story goes that Elizabeth was figuratively swept off
her feet by his chivalrous manners, and once "Her Majesty, meeting with
a plashy place, made some scruple to go on; when Raleigh, dressed in the
gay and genteel habit of those times, presently cast off and spread his
new plush cloak on the ground, whereupon the Queen trod gently over,
rewarding him afterwards with many suits for his so free and seasonable
tender of so fair a footcloth." Not long afterwards, in the Queen's presence
chamber, he etched this line with a diamond ring on the windowpane:
"Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall." The Queen graciously smiling
completed the couplet: "If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all."
Elizabeth knighted Raleigh in 1584 and heaped riches and titles upon
him. She gave him the confiscated estates of Lord Desmond in Ireland
and Anthony Babington in England, and the emoluments accruing from
many commercial concerns in London. Such unlimited beneficences natu-
rally aroused envy, speculation, and idle gossip among other courtiers,
some of whom, winning no such favors after much striving, became back-
biting enemies to this man who had risen out of comparatively humble
circumstances to the pinnacle of good fortune.
Meanwhile, Raleigh was putting his newly-acquired wealth to good
use. He could now consummate his ambitions for planting colonies in the
New World. He fitted out an expedition under his half-brother, Sir Hum-
phrey Gilbert, to establish a settlement in Newfoundland. Acquiescing in
the Queen's wishes, Raleigh remained in England. Sir Humphrey reached
Newfoundland, but the settlers, disliking intensely such frigid weather in
a wild, unknown region, sailed home with the returning fleet. On the
way Sir Humphrey's ship was lost between the Azores and England.
182
Nothing daunted by this grievous misfortune, Raleigh outfitted two
more ships under Philip Amadas and Arthur Barlow to make an exploratory
voyage farther South. The reports which his deputies brought back this
time were far more satisfactory. Skirting the coast from Florida north to
Virginia, they found the climate pleasant and the land so rich of vegeta-
tion that they felt as if they were "in the midst of some delicate garden,
abounding with all kinds of odoriferous flowers/' And the natives, two
of whom had returned with them, were affably disposed, having lived all
their lives "after the manner of the golden age." This land, 'luxuriant to
the water's edge," was henceforth to be known as Virginia in honor of
Elizabeth, the virgin queen, and Raleigh assumed the title of its governor.
He immediately equipped a squadron of seven vessels and sent it forth,
with a hundred and eight colonists under the command of Sir Richard
Grenville, who, being more of a freebooter than a colonizer, waylaid two
Spanish vessels and extracted good ransoms from the captured captains,
sacked and burned an Indian town, literally dropped ashore the colonists,
in charge of Ralph Lane, on the island of Roanoke, off the coast of North
Carolina, and sailed back to England to exhibit proudly his chests bulging
with looted treasure.
Lane, left to his own devices, explored the countryside, looking for
gold mines, good harbors, and possibly some passage leading through to
the Pacific Ocean. His men learned from the Indians the use of tobacco,
potatoes, and corn. "It is the goodliest soil under the cope of heaven, the
most pleasing territory of the world," wrote Lane. "The climate is so
wholesome that we have not been sick since we touched the land. If
Virginia had but horses and kine and were inhabited with English, no
realm of Christendom were comparable to it." The settlers grew impatient,
however, waiting for the supplies that were not forthcoming. When Sir
Francis Drake put into port, freighted with spoils of his successful attacks
on St. Augustine and towns in the West Indies, the colonists joyfully
boarded his ships and departed with him for home. Grenville shortly
afterwards arrived and found the island of Roanoke deserted. Unwilling
to abandon English rights to the land, he left fifteen men, with a good
supply of food, on the island.
Not to be discouraged, Raleigh elaborated more plans to put the colony
on a firmer footing. In 1587 he organized a company of one hundred fifty
settlers and sent them out with instructions to build the fortified "City of
Raleigh." These colonists, in charge of John White and an able staff of
assistants, found no trace of the fifteen men left by Grenville. The palisades
of the fort had been destroyed but the houses were undamaged. Melon
vines were already clambering up the walls of the cabins, and deer stalked
in and out of the open doors and windows cropping the melons. From
Manteo, one of the two Indians previously taken to England but now
living in the native village of Croatan, it was learned that the fifteen
missing men had been massacred.
183
On the eighteenth of August, 1587, a granddaughter was born to Gov-
ernor White, and Because this child was the first Christian born in Vir-
ginia, she was named Virginia." Not long after this event the governor took
ship for England to replenish the supplies of needed food and goods. His
return was delayed by the feverish preparations then taking place in the
homeland to ward off an impending Spanish invasion. White wasted preci-
ous time begging in all quarters for help, but in vain. Only Raleigh gave
heed, though up to his neck in grave matters concerning the defense of his
native soil. He secretly bought the provisions and supplied the money that
White was sorely crying for. Even then the voyage was held up until the
vaunted Spanish Armada had gone down to an ignominious defeat.
Governor White's homecoming to Roanoke was as rueful as that of
the Spaniards to their native land, even yet more tragic. The Spaniards
did find the solace of family and friends surviving. The governor found
his colony uprooted, his colonists vanished, and no key to unlock the doors
of his bafflement in regard to their mysterious taking-off. It was a sad
journey's end indeed.
\Vhat had happened to his daughter Eleanor and the tiny baby, Vir-
ginia Dare, the first English child born on American soil? Who had
despoiled the five chests of his belongings, which he had so carefully
buried? Several bars of iron, two pigs of lead, and a few garden imple-
ments lay strewn about in the weeds and grass. On a tree, five feet from
the ground, the bark had been stripped off and the letters C R O carved
in capitals. This certainly was meant to be CROATAN, the friendly Indian
village presided over by Manteo. But it solved nothing. The fate of the
colonists to this day is not definitely known. Did they meet their end
through Indians, Spaniards, animals, sickness, or departure into the wilds?
There are many unraveled threads in the loom of history.
Raleigh was dismayed by his successive failures. He had lost upwards
of forty thousand pounds in the five attempts to plant a permanent colony
in Virginia. He busied himself with other experimental concerns. He
introduced the potato as a staple crop on his estates in Ireland; likewise,
tobacco was no less successful. He gave employment to a hundred and
fifty men in a factory making staves for barrels, winecasks, and hogsheads.
He engaged in commercial ventures abroad. Having met Edmund Spenser
in Ireland and read his Faerie Queene, Raleigh arranged for a great fanfare
of broadside commendations from notable patrons long before the publica-
tion of this allegorical poem, in reality a magnificat to the Queen. Raleigh,
the English counterpart of the French Cyrano de Bergerac, also knew
how to pipe gallant love ditties. He piped them not only to the Queen,
but likewise to the Queen's goddaughter, Elizabeth Throckmorton. When
Raleigh secretly married this young woman, the Queen waxed extremely
wroth, and banished the couple for a while to the Tower. She forgave
them, however, and Raleigh was soon off with a fleet of vessels seeking
184
a gold mine in Guiana. He brought back no gold, but he did secure a
foothold for England that she has held ever since in this northern part
of South America.
With the death of the Queen in 1603 Raleigh's star began rapidly to
wane. With the ascent of the pusillanimous James to the throne, Raleigh's
fate was sealed by a sequence of misfortunes. The King, who harbored
an innate dislike for anyone who shared the former queen's confidence,
was determined to humble this proud favorite. At their very first meeting
on the English border, where Raleigh had gone with the welcoming com-
mittee, James was icily chilled when Sir Walter refused to laugh at this
puerile pun: "Rawly! Rawly! True enough. For I think of thee very
rawly, man."
Before the year was over, Raleigh was hauled into court for treason,
accused of accepting Spanish gold in a plot to overthrow James and put
Arabella Stuart on the throne. Never was there a greater travesty of
justice. The details on the trial are disgusting. The Lord Chief (In)
Justice addressed Raleigh only as a "viper." His guilt was preordained.
Twelve years he spent in prison, but they were no idle interval. He
experimented with chemicals, inquired into the nature of drugs for reduc-
ing fever, discovered how to convert salt water into fresh, and devised
ways for best curing tobacco grown in Britain. His History of the World
won him a host of new friends, as well as a popularity so widely favorable
that his Most Unmajesic Majesty was somewhat nonplussed, if not a little
frightened at this intelligent exhibition of the public temper. The captive
did not lack for visitors. His wife and two sons were constantly at his
side. The Queen and the Prince of Wales were his devoted admirers.
"Who but my father would keep such a bird in a cage?" once exclaimed
the young prince.
Raleigh left his prison in 1616 to lead another expedition in search
of the much-talked-of gold mines in Guiana. Since much of his wealth
had been forfeited through his imprisonment, he had to appeal to others
for financial support. Contributions poured in, The great man, now
sixty-five, was deeply moved by the affection and implicit faith shown
him by all classes of the people. But the king premeditated misqhief to
the expedition. The Spaniards, duly, apprised of Raleigh's coming by
letters from King James himself, awaited in force and crippled the Eng-
lish fleet.
Raleigh was condemned even before he returned to London. James
had solemnly promised the Spanish ambassador that Raleigh's head would
roll. The flimsy charge of treacherous action against Spain was brought
up this, unbelievably enough, from the craven king who had commissioned
the voyage! The dying queen was only one of the many who pled vainly
for the life of the hero. "This is a sharp medicine, but it is a cure for all
diseases," said Raleigh, as he stood on the block and fingered the edge
185
of the axe that was to take his life. He died as bravely as he had lived.
"England had not such another head to cut off/' muttered a witness to the
execution. The man who had the vision of planting a greater England
in America was mourned by a sorrowing nation that looked upon him
as the last of the Elizabethan titansas a man who was "every inch a king."
At Budleigh-Salterton in the center aisle of the village church there
is a quaintly-lettered slab under which lies buried Mistress Katharine
Raleigh, Sir Walters mother. An old legend has it that the head of the
great hero, after the decapitation, was whisked away and brought here to
rest in his mother's arms. At least it inspired Miss Mulock to write:
His tale is told and ended, the little Devon boy,
The courtier-youth, gay sailing adown the stream of joy;
The twelve years captive, breasting hard fortune like a rock
The old man calmly laying his head upon the block.
And there you may believe it or believe it not,
Still, the very legend sanctifies the spot-
Some kind hand, nobly fearless, did play Fate's mis-played part,
And placed the tired head, child-like, upon the mother's heart.
The handle of the Sir Walter Raleigh spoon is distinctive. The bowl
runs two inches into the shaft and forms a shelving pedestal with armorial
bearings directly under the cornice on which Sir Walter stands in the
resplendent regalia of an Elizabethan cavalier, his arms crossed over his
chest. The reverse side of handle pictures the feathered cap, flaring ruff,
and the graceful folds of the slack cape in fine detail. On the cornice of
the pedestal here we read "Official," and under it, "Pat. Applied For."
The scene in the bowl shows a scene at the Jamestown Exposition in
1907 the U. S. Government pier, with a fleet of small river craft and
steamers sailing around in the waters below the pier. Two quadrilateral
towers, slender but stately, rise at either end of a bridge. In the back-
ground a vast array of buildings, erected by the various states, offers a
panorama of steepled flags and pennons. Two balloons are poised midway
between the tall towers.
It is well they saw fit, on a spoon, to honor Sir Walter Raleigh at the
Jamestown Exposition, for, through his many endeavors, the spadework
was done that finally led to the successful colonization of Virginia, begin-
ning with Jamestown.
The length of this spoon is 5V4 inches.
No. 39 HISTORIC ST. PAUL
No. 144 MINNESOTA PIONEER
There was never any Indian settlement on the land now embraced by
the city of St. Paul, although the site was often used as a camping station
186
by the Assenipoil tribe on their hunting expeditions. French-Canadian
fur dealers, as soon as they entered this region near the source of the
Mississippi, quickly saw the advantages of the site for a trading mart and
erected a fort near here, in 1688, at the Falls of St. Anthony. A few
British traders, likewise anxious to derive profits from the plenitude of
peltries, drifted in occasionally to strike up bargains with the Indians.
But neither the French nor the English struck taproots in the area, since
the Spaniards held control, through somewhat tenuous claims, of all the
land west of the Mississippi.
Shortly after the French were dispossessed of Canada by the British,
a New Englander, Jonathan Carver, wandered through this western terri-
tory and subsequently published an account of his "Travels," a book which
became immensely popular reading in London. Carver had a very lively
imagination, and described a cave of huge proportions located in what
is now the eastern section of St. Paul. Within the cave was a large lake
extending to an "unsearchable distance," and Carver proceeds to say:
"I threw a small pebble towards the interior part of it with my utmost
strength; I could hear that it fell into the water, and notwithstanding it
was of so small a size, it caused an astonishing and horrible noise that
reverberated through all those gloomy regions/' Carver roamed about,
during the winter of 1766-67, with the Sioux Indians through the northern
part of Minnesota, and in the spring he once again entered the cave in
the company of the Sioux warriors who had come to bury their dead there.
He reports this lament pronounced over the body of one of their deceased
comrades: "You still sit among us, brother; your person retains its usual
remembrance, and continues similar to ours, without any visible deficiency
except that it has lost the power of action. But whither is that breath
flown which a few hours ago sent up smoke to the Great Spirit? Why
are those feet motionless that a short time ago were fleeter than the deer
on yonder mountains? Why useless hang those arms that could climb the
tallest tree or draw the toughest bow? Alas! every part of that frame
which we lately beheld with admiration and wonder is now become in-
animate. We will not, however, bemoan thee as if thou wert forever lost
to us, or that thy name would be buried in oblivion; thy soul yet lives
in the great country of spirits with those who are gone before thee, and
though we are left behind to perpetuate thy fame we shall one day join
thee, actuated by the respect we bore thee while living, we come now
to tender to thee the last act of kindness it is in our power to bestow that
thy body might not lie neglected on the plain and become a prey to the
beasts of the field; we will take care to lay it with those of thy predecessors
who are gone before thee, hoping at the same time that thy spirit will
feed with their spirits, and be ready to receive ours when we also shall
arrive at the great country of souls ."
Whether this epicedium was ever actually given by an Indian dignitary
or purely devised by the romantic Carver, it did possess sufficient merits
187
to inspire the famous German author Schiller to write a poem of twelve
stanzas based on the subject. In a way, Schiller was well rewarded for
his inspiration, for many years later the citizens of St. Paul erected a
statue in his honor in one of their parks.
The history of St. Paul as a town began in 1820 with the establishment
of a United States garrison at Camp Cold Water near the junction of the
Minnesota River with the Mississippi. Lewis Cass, governor of Michigan
and the whole northwest territory, paid the encampment an unexpected
visit late in July, and some two hundred Sioux Indians, who happened
to be in the neighborhood, took advantage of the occasion to present their
green corn dance before the governor. General Andrews describes this
tribal ceremony thus: "Large iron kettles filled with green corn cut from
the cob were suspended over a fire. The Indians, both men and women,
were seated in a large circle around them, who sang a slow chant, with
solemn faces, accompanied by drums and rattles. When the music ceased,
there were mysterious ejaculations, and then a young man and woman,
joining hands, came forward to be received into the green corn society.
After various questions they were admitted. At the termination of the
ceremonies an elderly Indian advanced and ladled the corn out of the
kettle into separate wooden bowls for the families present. As these dishes
were taken, the persons retired from the lodge, keeping their faces toward
the kettles/'
Adventurers, few of whom were of native American stock, were attracted
by the Army camp to build shacks in the vicinity. There was no semblance
of an orderly planning, among these squatters, to set up even a village.
Some of them merely pitched tent on grounds reserved for Indians or
the future military range, and moved as they saw fit, watching always
for chances to prey upon the easy money of the soldiers. They were a
lawless element at most.
The first settler in the locality where St. Paul now stands was a French-
Canadian, Pierre Parrant, better known because of his oafish appearance
as Pig's Eye. Evicted from one place after another for selling whiskey
illegally, Pig's Eye moved a few miles away, entirely out of the clutches
of the military government, and established his groggery this time in that
very cave-hideout visited years before by Jonathan Carver. Here, on the
high bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River, came other people who were
likewise driven off the reservation lands. This locality soon assumed the
name of Pig's Eye. With the gradual accretion of French-Canadians, a
church-a simple log structure-dedicated to St. Paul was built, and the
better element among the people, preferring to call their village aften an
apostle rather than after a bootlegger, named the settlement St. Paul,
which, strangely enough, sounded very much like the name of the Asseni-
poil Indians who in former times frequently camped on this spot. The
incoming settlers, who had little liking for Pig's Eye s rendezvous, induced
188
him to sell out his holdings for ten dollars. Today this land is probably
worth the same integer in millions, since the bluffs containing his cavern
have practically disappeared to make way for the many railroads, which
eventually made the city a great center for that means of communication.
After St. Paul became the territorial capital in 1849, it grew rapidly.
Contrary to the opinion held by strangers, it is not across the river from
its twin, Minneapolis. Both cities are on both sides of the Mississippi
River, which at this point still has 1,600 miles to flow before it disembogues
into the Gulf of Mexico.
There has always been a spirited rivalry between the twin cities. In
1857 the territorial legislature aimed to change the capital from St. Paul
to St. Peter, in Nicollet County. On the day set for the enactment of the
bill which would make the change legally effective, Joe Rolette, the
chairman of the committee on Enrolled Bills, did not appear. For five
days the legislators waited, while the Minneapolis lawmakers scouted the
premises of every building in St. Paul, rope in hand, declaring they would
bring Joe Rolette back to the Council halls "dead or alive/' At the end
of the fifth day, Mr. Rolette was released from his confinement "for an
unknown ailment" in an isolated hospital outside of town. His doctor
and nurses all male, and heavily armed deemed his health sufficiently
improved for him to go about freely without more personal attention. The
legislature had then adjourned.
Many soldiers, as soon as they were mustered out of the Civil War
ranks, came here from New England and elsewhere in the East. Irish
and German immigrants poured in like a flood after the famine and
revolutionary years of 1845-50. In contrast to Minneapolis, St. Paul re-
ceived only a trickle of Scandinavians.
The people of St. Paul are noted for their love of music, art and sport.
Orchestral and choral organizations have always been well supported.
In various parts of the city stand statues of Nathan Hale, Henrik Ibsen,
Friedrich Schiller and St. Francis of Assisi. The Peace Memorial com-
memorates the dead of the First World War.
The two main festive events of the year are the Winter Carnival and
the Festival of Nations. The Carnival, which takes place in February,
capitalizes on the inevitable abundance of snow. It is a week of good-
natured merriment, and thousands of colorful costumes are worn by
people at all times of the day, both at work and at play. An ice palace,
presided over by Boreas Rex, King of the Snows, and his Queen, is an
impressive place compounded of color and magic, until King Vulcan and
his fiery cohorts scale its bastions on the last night of the festivities and
overthrow this world of ice.
Assuming greater importance in recent years is the Festival of Nations,
nurtured by the International Institute of St. Paul for the promotion of
good will among the many nationalities from which the city's population
is derived. Costumes characteristic of the old country are worn, old
189
familiar foods are served, and quaint foreign customs, so often looked
down upon in many places, are here distinctly encouraged
The Historic St. Paul spoon, a Paye and Baker product, displays, incised
in the bowl, a good example of the city's architecture, the State Capitol.
Today this edifice has a familiar look, being more or less typical of other
state capitols we have often seen. When it was built in 1898, however
it was entirely original. Cass Gilbert, the architect, drew his designs from
Italian Renaissance models and included such features as the columned
dome frontal arcade, central rotunda, lunette, and pendentive murals. A
score of capitol buildings in other states are virtual replicas of this one.
On the handle are ears of Indian corn in orderly arrangement. Three
arrows are crossed to form four acute and two obtuse angles. Other fea-
tures, all Indian, are a canoe, a log campfire from which smoke arises, two
wigwams, and an Indian adorned with shell necklace, metal earrings' and
a plumy headdress of feathers. On the reverse side are leaves and' ears
of corn also. Length, 5% inches.
The Minnesota Pioneer spoon might well be picturing, on the finial
a typical settler of frontier days. The shoulder-length hair, steer-horn
mustache, and flapping chapeau would seem to indicate a breezy, inde-
pendent character of the backwoods type. The face stands out in unusually
high relief as the caput-finial atop the slender, auger-like shaft. In the
bowl appears the xMinnesota State Capitol building. Made by the Baker-
Manchester Mfg. Co., this spoon measures 5V 4 inches in length.
No. 40 SERGEANT JASPER
In some inexplicable way our wars have bequeathed to us an imposing
array of "little-folk" heroes who, washed up out of the common mass!
have become in many instances more near and dear to our hearts than
have their superiors, the stand-offish statesmen and generals. There are
sokhers like Ahn Seeger, Joyce Kilmer and John McCrae, prematurely
cut off m battle, who have become a precious historical vintage to us
feough the legacy of their spirited lives. There is Little Giffen, who has
been known and loved by thousands of school children ever since a country
dcxrtor m Georgja made him, the unknown soldier of the Civil War the
subject of a pulsating poem a few years after the war was over
% Sin1 \ act f darin S or 'elf-sacrifice has catapulted a name
P t T h 7-als. That happened in the case of Paul
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Kelly. Time wings their fame to all posterity
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feat that he performed came about chiefly as the fulfillment of a vow or
promise that had been made to a member of the gentler sex.
Born in the pine-hills country of South Carolina, of Scotch-Irish pioneer
stock, he lost his mother before he had emerged from childhood. From
that time on his father left him to fend largely for himself. There were days
on end when he would have perished from starvation if he had not learned
how to handle a gun expertly enough to replenish the family larder.
Much of his boyhood was spent tramping alone through the forest uplands,
clad in buckskin, a muzzle-loader in his hands. He could drive a nail,
snuff a candle, or bark a squirrel as unerringly as any. He did not attend
school, simply because there was none near or far for him to attend. He
did learn, however, how to box and wrestle, and his powerful frame
compelled the worst rowdy to act circumspectly in his presence.
At the outbreak of the Revolution he volunteered immediately for
service in the partisan or patriot forces, and in September, 1775, he was
assigned to regular duty with a company that was being drilled at Fort
Johnson. He chafed under military restrictions and yearned for the old
free, adventurous life of the forests. Yet, to take up the slack time on his
hands, he learned from one of his comrades how to scrawl his name and
spell out a few words feebly on paper.
In the spring of 1776 he was transferred to a camp at Corchester,
South Carolina. Shortly afterwards he was sent to Sullivan's Island, off
Charleston Harbor, to aid in the construction of a fort improvised out of
rough palmetto logs and buttressed with sand bags, in a hurried effort
to stave off an impending attack of the British fleet under Sir Peter Parker.
During the weeks of his sojourn at Fort Sullivan (later, Fort Moultrie)
he found time to make the acquaintance of an attractive servant-girl in
one of the taverns in Charleston. She was as fully devoted to the American
cause as he, and during one of his visits he gallantly promised this sixteen-
year-old girl who was waiting upon him that he would never allow the
enemy's flag to fly over the city in which she resided.
The British fleet of ten vessels, sailing from Halifax, bore on board a
large number of land troops, commanded by General Clinton, prepared
to garrison the city as soon as it was taken. Major-General Charles Lee,
in charge of the American operations, considered resistance futile and
would have allowed the enemy to disembark peacefully without the dis-
charge of a single gun. Colonel Moultrie, under whom Jasper served,
resolutely opposed surrender, and steadfastly ignored Lee's orders to beat
a hasty retreat. His dauntless courage whipped up a frenzied enthusiasm
in the men under him to fight without any show of compromise.
Sir Peter Parker began his bombardment of the palmetto fortressvearly
on the morning of the 28th of June, 1776. The batteries of Colonel Moultrie
returned the fire, and for ten hours, all through the hot summer day, the
roar of the heavy guns resounded, while the citizens of Charleston waited
with bated breath for the fateful outcome of the battle.
193
At one of the most critical periods of the furious assault, a cannonball
shattered the flagstaff of the fort, and the white crescent flag of South
Carolina fell into the moat outside the ramparts. A cheer went up from
the British squadron, believing the ensign had been hauled down and a
white flag would be hoisted as a token of surrender.
"Colonel," cried the sharp-eyed Jasper to his commander, "don't let us
fight without a flag!"
"What can be done?" inquired Colonel Moultrie. "The staff is cut
in splinters."
Jasper shook his head with a determined nod of dissent and replied,
"Then, 111 tie it to a sword's point and plant it on the merlon of the
ramparts." And without more ado, he leapt through an embrasure, slid
down into the ditch, grasped the fallen colors, and, regardless of the
shot and shell pounding the bastion around him, scrambled deftly as a
squirrel up and over the parapet. Mounting the banner on top of the
merlon, he held it there resolutely till a new staff could be provided.
By sunset the cannonading was over. What was left of the British
fleet limped out of the harbor. Their flagship was lapping water through
a dozen holes in her sides. One vessel lying helplessly grounded on her
starboard was abandoned after being set afire. It should be mentioned
that Sir Peter Parker's pants had caught fire during the bombardment
and he was badly burnt. The loss to the enemy in killed and wounded
was two hundred and five; to the defending garrison, thirty-seven.
A few days later Jasper was called into the presence of Governor
Rutledge, who magnanimously unsheathed his own sword and presented
it to the sergeant. At the same time the governor tendered him a lieu-
tenant's commission, but this offer was declined by the modest sergeant,
who explained that his lack of education would embarrass him- before a
platoon. "I ain't fit to keep officers' company," he said.
Then for several years Jasper held a scouting commission, the type
of military work for which he was best suited. His roving disposition
made him restless if he had to stay in one place too long. He served at
various times under Moultrie, Marion, and Lincoln, and his exploits read
like sheerest romance. On three occasions he slipped inside the British
lines in Georgia and brought back trustworthy reports on all the enemy's
present maneuvers and future intentions. He was described as "a perfect
Proteus in the ability to alter his appearance." His cunning and ingenuity
grew apace with his activities.
The second act of daring by which Jasper is known transpired near
a woodland spring not far from Savannah, close to the highway leading
from Augusta. The previous day the distracted mother of five children had
appealed to the sergeant to rescue her husband, who was being led, hand-
cuffed with several other Americans, to a British prison in Savannah. The
wife wept copiously when she stated her fears for the impending fate of
194
her husband, who would surely be executed because, after a previous
capture, he had taken the oath of allegiance to the Crown, then straightway
deserted, and now had been captured again. The sergeant's heart was
touched by the woman's sorrow, and he vowed that, come what may, her
husband would be liberated before the inevitable happened.
With Sergeant James Newton, his favorite scouting companion, he
hastened along the hot dusty highway, waiting for the first opportunity that
presented itself to free all the prisoners. Knowing the countryside thorough-
ly, they concocted a plan to trap the escorting party at the aforementioned
spring which has ever since been called Jasper's Spring. To make sure
that their plans would not miss fire, they enlisted the aid of a pretty girl to
turn the escort aside and have them tarry at the spring for a while. The
ruse worked.
The unsuspecting guard of ten men were happily drawn aside from
their march. Stacking their muskets around a tree and leaving only two
of their number to keep watch over the prisoners, they hastened to slake
their thirst and refill their empty canteens with the cool refreshing water
bubbling out of the large spring basin. In a trice Jasper and Newton
sprang from the underbrush, brought down the sentinels, seized the muskets
and freed the prisoners. The whole British escort, bereft of their firearms,
were helpless. They surrendered without a struggle, and were clamped
into the handcuffs still pulsing with the warmth of their late prisoners.
Then, in reversed positions of command, they all marched back along
the road in the direction from which they had started, joined by a jubilant
group of wives, children, and well-wishers of the liberated patriots. The
next morning they reached the camp of the American army at Purysburgh.
Before departing from Charleston, Jasper's regiment had been presented
with a finely embroidered stand of colors by Mrs. Susanna Elliott, a staunch
supporter of the American cause. In accepting this hand-wrought gift of
honor in behalf of his comrades, the sergeant chivalrously gave her the
following pledge: "The colors you have presented to my regiment, the
Second South Carolina, 111 keep from dishonor with my life's blood." That
pledge was consummated to the letter at the siege of Savannah.
Preparations were secretly under way for several months to recapture
Savannah from the British by a strong concerted action on the part of the
Americans by land and the French by sea. In September, 1779, a squadron
of twenty vessels, under the command of Count d' Estaing, appeared off
the Georgia coast. Even then the British leader, General Prevost, ill pre-
pared as his troops were to withstand a siege, did not suspect that
Savannah would be the target for this naval maneuvering. The Americans
under General Lincoln were mustering all the forces available to help
storm the city from the shoreward side. Unfortunately the Allies were
blinded by over-confidence and delayed action, hoping for a negotiated
surrender. The British within the city took advantage of an armistice to
195
strengthen the batteries along the river and to build up the Springhill
redoubt blocking any approach from Musgrove creek and the Augusta
highway. These feverish preparations led D'Estaing to switch from a
concerted assault to a constricting siege. For two weeks the cannonading
poured shot and shell into the fortifications; people inside the town crouched
in terror in their cellars. The besiegers tightened their vise-like grip on
the beleaguered city by an outflanking movement. The morning of Oc-
tober the ninth at the break of day, the redoubts and batteries were to be
stormed in a fire-raking onslaught. During the night, however, an informer
carried details of the impending action to the British. Dawn found them
ready for the main concentrated attacks. At the Springhill redoubt the
heaviest fighting took place, and the carnage was frightful. Pulaski, leading
the charge on his black stallion, was hit by a grapeshot and fell, bleeding
profusely, from his mount.
Four times was the attempt made to hoist the colors of the Second
South Carolina regiment aloft the ramparts of the Springhill redoubt.
The last time Sergeant Jasper seized the flag from the falling hands of
Lieutenant Gray and planted it once more on the parapet. The enemy's
fire was too devastating for such an exposed position. The Americans
were thrown back, Jasper bearing the standard with him. He was struck
in the side, and fell dying, crumpled in the flag which was reddened by the
flow of his life blood. The American casualties amounted to eight hundred
and fifty men, the bloodiest engagement of the whole Revolutionary War
for our forces.
Sergeant Jasper lies buried in an unknown grave, but his memory is
prepetuated by the Jasper Spring monument in Savannah, unveiled in a
three-day celebration, beginning February 22, 1888, with President Cleve-
land attending; by the "J as P er Battery," one of the redoubts at Fort
Moultrie, in Charleston harbor; and by a county and town in Georgia and
also a town in Florida named in his honor. Colonel Moultrie, later a
general, and twice governor of South Carolina, esteemed him highly, saying
that the unlettered hero was a **brave, active, stout, enterprising man, and
a very great patriot."
The Sergeant Jasper spoon pictures Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor,
where the first blows of the Civil War were struck, in a gold-washed bowl.
Running i&to the handle-drop are two scrolls with a swag-like appendage.
The nam of Jasper in a flourishing script extends perpendicularly through
the shaft, The sergeant occupies both nave and caput; standing aloft on
a parapet, h$ fcolds the flag in his left hand, and has his right arm upflung
in a gesture of triumph. The design of the handle is typically Colonial,
with a broken pediment or bonnet top.
On the reverse side appears the name of Charleston in the same type
of flourishing script as on the front. Patented in 1891 by Dominick and
Haff for James 4)) an anc ^ Company. Length, 6 inches.
196
No. 41 GEORGE PRENTICE
Of the thousands who constantly pass by the tall, erect figure of Lincoln
on the lawn of the Main Public Library in Louisville, Kentucky, there
could hardly be one who is not acquainted to some extent with the story
of the Great Emancipator. But among those same hurrying pedestrians,
how many might there be who know aught of the meditative figure who
sits looking down from his pedestal before the main entrance of the
library? The single word "Prentice" at the base of the Carrara-hewn statue
suggests no legend.
It is true that some of the more historical-minded might know that
George Dennison Prentice was the founder, and long the editor, of the
Louisville Journal, predecessor of the famous present-day Courier- Journal
Fewer yet would know him as the man whose political support elected
hundreds to office; whose editorial stand did more than anything else to
save Kentucky for the Union in the Civil War; and whose collected poems
after his death ran to a dozen editions. The merit of Prentice's work may
be gathered from this opinion expressed by a New York reporter in ante-
bellum years: "Louisville is situated^ on the south bank of the Ohio River,
at the falls, but it is significant for nothing, except as the place where the
Louisville Journal is published." But how few people today know any-
thing of the man who promoted that noted journal. So, let us take a per-
sonal look at this transplanted Yankee who claims a statue close to that
of the world-famous Abe.
Mr. Prentice was once conversing with Fortunatus Cosby, one of his
reporters, when there entered an unkempt human derelict, a bilious back-
biter, who, a few years previous, had set afloat some vilifying rumors
concerning the editor. Mr. Cosby left the room during this interview,
and when the latter returned, he inquired what business could have brought
in such a washed-up specimen of humanity.
"That was my old friend, Thomas Jefferson ," said Mr. Prentice.
{ 'He told me he was depressed financially, and needed two dollars and
a half to enable him to visit his sick mother."
"And I suppose," continued Mr. Cosby cynically, "you were silly
enough to fall for that bait and hand him the money?"
Mr. Prentice hesitated for a moment as if a cloud had crossed his vision.
Then he answered simply: "No. I recollected that I had a mother, and
asked myself the question, what she would have thought of me, had I
appeared before her in such woe-begone apparel. So I gave him twenty-
five dollars, and told him to go and see his mother in the dress of a
gentleman."
One of Mr. Prentice's great virtues was his charitableness. He was
never able to say "No" to any hard-luck plea calling for financial help.
197
This farm boy turned editor was born in Connecticut in 1802. His
mother taught him to read when he was hardly out of the cradle. At
the a^e of four, during an eclipse that seemingly threatened to end creation,
lie proceeded to read some reassuring passages from the Bible to the
other members of his family. His precocity was amazing.
His early education was irregular. From a Presbyterian minister acting
as tutor he learned to read Latin and Greek. In six months he had
familiarized himself with Cicero, Sallust, Horace, Virgil, Xenophon, the
N'ew Testament, and the first six books of the Iliad all in the original,
mind you. At a single recitation he translated the whole twelfth book
of the AEneid. His teacher tried to keep him within the groove of his
regular assignments. But remonstrance was useless: he flipped hand-
springs over the other students. He memorized all the rules in an English
grammar in five days.
For two winter terms he taught in a rural school, and saved enough
to defray most of his subsequent expenses at Brown University. In three
years he had a degree in law. But he soon gravitated toward a journalistic
career. His influence made itself felt immediately when he became editor
of the Xeiv England Review, and when the Whig party nominated six
Congressional candidates whom he did not like, he nominated and sup-
ported through the columns of his paper six men whom he thought to be
more capable, and in a hotly-conteste$L^ampaign bagged victory for his
candidates. vr *
In 1&30 he made a journey to Kentucky to secure material for a biog-
raphy of Henry Clay, leaving John Greenleaf Whittier as his successor
in the editor's chair of the New England Review. Once in Kentucky he
was induced to stay and found a daily in Louisville to oppose the Public
Advertiser, a staunch prop of Old Hickory. The Louisville Journal soon
became the ablest exponent of WhiV principles in the nation, certainly
in the South and to the west of Nfew England.
Mr. Prentice's editorials were freighted with sharply incised epigrams,
flashes of satire, and quixotic witticisms. They were quoted everywhere,'
even in the European newspapers. They were discussed, imitated, and
admired. Let us scan through a few of them:
^Messrs. Bell and Topp, of the N. C. Gazette, say that 'Prentices are
made to serve masters/ Well, Bells were made to be hung, and Topps
to be whipped."
"Men are deserters in adversity; when the sun sets, and all is dark
our very shadows refuse to follow us."
TU H d WaS r bbed near Corint h> Alabama, on the 13th inst.
The Corinth paper says that the name of the highwayman is unknown.
But there is no doubt that he was Robbin Hood."
.
T xc L Ve ' f Alabama > was recentl y ^st during a passage from
Texas to Mexaco. We had supposed that no Love would ever be lost
between those countries."
198
"The man who lives only for this world is a fool here, and there is
danger that he will be (we speak it not profanely) a d--d fool hereafter."
"When a young man complains that a young lady has no heart, it's
pretty certain that she has his/'
For a while in the fifties Mr. Prentice gave support to the short-lived
American or Know-Nothing party, which was opposed to the unrestricted
immigration laws allowing a flood of foreigners to pour into the country
in such unlimited numbers, but after the discreditable "Bloody Monday'*
riots on election day in 1855, he washed his hands of the party in a strong
condemnation of its tactics.
Although he had become a part and parcel of the South, Mr. Prentice
vehemently opposed the secession movement. He backed Bell and Everett,
of the Constitutional Union party, in 1860, but after the election, when
the die was cast, he threw his support behind the Union cause in the war
that followed. For his stand he was taunted and derided, losing both
friends and substantial offers of emolument. President Lincoln considered
Prentice the unwavering rudder holding the Border states in line. On one
occasion a special dinner was given in Washington to honor the Louisville
editor.
But sadness dogged his latter days. His two sons, Courtland and
Clarence, joined the Confederate forces. Courtland, the older and favorite
son, was killed in a skirmish three weeks after he left home. "I feel very,
very desolate,'' wrote the grieving father. "The wind of death has swept
over my life and left it a desert, but in my sadness I will try to do my
duty as I see it." In 1868 Mrs. Prentice died. In the same year he handed
over the active editorship of the Journal (soon consolidated with other
papers to form the Courier- Journal) to Henry Watterson, a man destined
to become equally as influential as Prentice ever was in the political affairs
of Kentucky and the South.
During the severe Christmas weather of 1869, when he drove to the
country home of his son Clarence, he caught a bad cold that developed
into pneumonia. He died early in 1870, in an upper room at his son's
house, at a moment when the angry flood-waters of the Ohio were licking
their way across the lower floor beneath him,
We may very aptly repeat, almost as a dirge over this man who was
such a power in his day but now well nigh forgotten, a few lines from
"The Closing Year," his finest poem-
Remorseless Time!
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe!~What power
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt
His iron heart to pity? On, still on
He presses, and forever. The proud bird,
The condor of the Andes, that can soar
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave
The fury of the northern hurricane
199
And bathe his plumage in the thunder s home,
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down
To rest upon his mountain crag but Time
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness,
And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind
His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep
O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast
Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink,
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles
Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back
To their mysterious caverns; mountains rear
To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow
Their tall heads to the plain; new empires rise,
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries,
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche,
Startling the nations; and the very stars,
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God,
Glitter a while in their eternal depths,
And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train,
Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away,
To darkle in the trackless void: yet Time,
Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career,
Dark, stern, all-piti 
