Francis Parkman

Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive

in 2007 witii funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

littp://www.arcliive.org/details/francisparl<manOOsedguoft

^p |)cttrp ^. §>clifftoicli

FRANCIS PARKMAN. i6mo, fi.io tut.
Postage, lo cents. In American Men of
Letters Series.

ESSAYS ON GREAT WRITERS. Crown
8vo, gilt top, ^1.50 net. Postage, 13 cents.

SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN. Small i6mo,
65 cents net. Postage, 6 cents. In River-
side Biographical Series.

^metican ^m of %mtt^

FRANCIS PARKMAN

7tci<^

<s<^</

American jmen of %tttet^

FRANCIS PARKMAN

BT

HENRY DWIGHT SEDGWICK

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

^1)t Siitierjjitie pxt0^, Catnliritige

1004

/7s

'S

PJ17

COPYRIGHT 1904 BY HENRY DWIGHT SEDGWICK
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published May, iqo4

TO

S. M. S.

Qual vuol gentil donna parere,
Vada con lei.

PREFACE

The life of a scholar is almost of necessity un-
eventful, and his accomplished work speaks for
itself; therefore the biographer must deal in
the main with the scholar's labors of acquisition
and preparation. Journals kept on two summer
vacations, and on a trip to Europe, and several
erratic and scrappy notebooks, show Parkman's
methods of examining historic places and of col-
lecting historical materials. These, together with
the " Oregon Trail," his own brief narrative of
his life, and an irregular correspondence, consti-
tute the autobiographical records of his life.

My thanks are due to Miss Parkman, the his-
torian's sister, for putting those records at my
disposal ; to Mr. Charles Haight Farnham, the
author of the " Life of Francis Parkman," for
his generous permission to make what use I
might wish of his biography — and but for his
labors my own would have been fourfold greater;
to Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., for their per-

viii PREFACE

mission to quote from that " Life " and from
Parkman's published works; to the late Abb6
H. K. Casgrain, for leave to use his unpublished
" Correspondence for twenty-eight years with
Mr. Parkman ; " to The Westborough Histor-
ical Society, for leave to make extracts from
the " Diary of Rev. Ebenezer Parkman," and to
those ladies and gentlemen who have kindly
allowed me to print letters written to Parkman.
I am also indebted to the monographs of Mr.
Edward Wheelwright, the Eev. O. B. Frothing-
ham, Mr. John Fiske, and Mr. Barrett Wendell.

H. D. Sedgwick.

New Yobk, April, 1904.

CONTENTS

CRAPTEB Pica

I. AuHlKVKMBirr 1

n. Ancestry 12

in. Boyhood 20

IV". College . . ... . . . 27

v. Explorations 32

VI. The MarQalloway ..... 45

Vn. Travels 56

VIII. Europe 69

IX. In Sicily 80

X. Naples and Rome 90

XI. From Florence to Edinburgh . . . 105

XII. A Make-believe Law Studbht . . 116

Xin. Preparation for Pontiac .... 133

XIV. Off on the Oregon Trail . . . 148

XV. The Ogillallah 160

XVI. A Rough Journey 168

XVII. Life in an Indian Village .... 181
XVin. Under Dr. Elliott's Cake ... 193

XIX. Ill Health, 1848-1850 205

XX. Life and Literature, 1850-1856 . . 217
XXL 1858-1865 ........ 229

XXn. History and Fame 246

X CONTENTS

XXrH. Canada and Canadian Friends . . . 263

XXIV. Latbb Life 282

XXV. Chabactbr and Opinions .... 304
XXVI. A MoBB Intimate Chapteb . . . 316

APPENDIX
Autobiogbapbical Letteb of 1886 . . . 327
Poem bt Out eb Wendell Holmes .... 339

INDEX 341

FRANCIS PARKMAN

FRANCIS PARKMAN

CHAPTER I

ACHIEVEMENT

There is a fine passage in Bunyan which de-
scribes the fighting courage of the Puritan
type : —

Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-f or-
Truth, " Thou hast worthily behaved thyself ; let
me see thy sword." So he showed it to him.

When he had taken it in his hand, and
looked thereon a while, he said, " Ha ! it is a
right Jerusalem blade."

Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of
these blades, with a hand to wield it and skill to
use it, and he may venture upon an angel with
it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but
tell how to lay on. Its edge will never blunt.

Great-heart. But you fought a great while.
I wonder you was not weary.

Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave
to my hand ; and then they were joined together
as if a sword grew out of my arm, and when the
blood ran through my fingers, then I fought with
most courage.

2 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Great-heart. Thou hast done well. . . .

Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him (for he
loved one greatly that he found to be a man of
his hands).

Parkman was such another Valiant-for-Truth,
and with the right Jerusalem blade of character
fought his victorious way. Silent in pain, patient
in accomplishment, modest in victory, gentle in
bearing, and yet determined to grimness, he
proved himself lawful heir of the best Puritan
traits. The name Puritan he disliked, but how-
ever much he might wish he could not escape
his moral ancestry. He inherited not the acci-
dental beliefs of the Puritans, but their attitude
toward life, their disposition and inherent bent.
" Not happiness but achievement " was his watch-
word. Cut off by race and temperament from
those light, sunny, skeptical, feminine moods
that belong to other bloods, his nature was con-
centrated in the pith of his race. With head
erect, jaw fixed, shoulders square, he was the
image of New England's best. He had New
England's difficulty of seK-expression, he was
not without traces of her inflexibility of mind,
and he was endowed, more than the measure of
his race, with a proud, shy tenderness.

Nature would have made a soldier of him, but
in Fortune's hugger-mugger allotment of parts,
it fell to him to grasp the pen instead of the

ACHIEVEMENT 3

sword; his name is not written upon fort and
battlefield, but it is inseparably united with the
story of the first great epoch in the history of
North America.

In the field of history Parkman's name stands
as high, perhaps higher, than that of any other
American. John Fiske, a student of the histo-
rians of Europe and America, says : " Into the
making of a historian there should enter some-
thing of the philosopher, something of the natu-
ralist, something of the poet. In Parkman this
rare union of qualities was realized in a greater
degree than in any other American historian.
Indeed, I doubt if the nineteenth century can
show in any part of the world another historian
quite his equal in respect to such a union. . . .
It is only the historian who is also philosopher
and artist that can thus deal in block with the
great and complex life of a whole society. The
requisite combination is realized only in certain
rare and high types of mind, and there has been
no more brilliant illustration of it than Park-
man's volumes afford." And he adds, speaking
of Parkman's whole history : " Strong in its
individuality, like to nothing else, it clearly
belongs, I think, among the world's few master-
pieces of the highest rank, along with the works
of Herodotus, Thucydides, and Gibbon."

A writer in the " Spectator," reviewing an Eng-

4 FRANCIS PARKMAN

lish edition of Parkman's works, says : " Fran-
cis Parkman long since won an honorable place
among the classic historians of the world, and it
is with the greatest cordiality that we welcome
the present reprint of his works. Now, at last,
we have a library edition which we may put by
the side of Gibbon and Michelet, of Livy and
Taine. For Francis Parkman need not fear the
most august society ; he has the true genius of
history in him, — the genius which knows how
to wed accuracy with romance." Goldwin Smith
compares him with Tacitus. Professor Albert
Bushnell Hart says : " Francis Parkman is the
greatest of all the writers who have ever made
America their theme or have written as American
scholars, and his greatness depends upon three
qualities rarely brought together in one man ;
he was a matchless investigator, a man of the
most unflinching tenacity, and somehow he knew
how to write so that men loved to read him."

These are enthusiastic praises, and Mr. Fiske,
who had a warm heart and a fine capacity for
friendship, might be thought to have spoken
from a May morning mood, the English reviewer
might be deemed over-grateful to Parkman after
reviewing other historians, Goldwin Smith en-
thusiastic from love of Canada, Professor Hart
from love of Harvard ; but such conjectures fail,
for these men make but the mouthpiece of the

ACHIEVEMENT 5

common voice. The boy who in the course of
nature reads Parkman after Cooper and the Wa-
verley novels finishes "Pontiac" or "Montcalm
and Wolfe" with a "By Jove, that's bully!"
The temperate person of uncertain age says,
" What an admirable piece of work I how true,
how just! would that our fiction had half the
charm of such history ! " The student rejoices in
the accuracy, the impartiality, the wise correct-
ness of this history.

It is for scholars, however, to decide whether
Parkman is as great as Thucydides and Gibbon ;
the very suggestipn is more than enough honor
for any other historian ; it is for readers to de-
termine if his books are as agreeable as Michelet
or Livy ; the biographer can but show whether
the historian has been loyal to his task, —
whether he has studied, explored, reconnoitred
in all those places where he might ferret out
knowledge of his subject; for in such loyalty
lies not only the historian's honor, but also what
benefit men may derive from history.

In considering the merits of a historian, heed
must be paid to the subject of the history, the
theme must be looked at; a little man minces
up to a little subject, a strong man strides up
to a great subject. No story of Martha's Vine-
yard, of Dorking, or Tarascon could deserve the
title of a great history. Parkman chose worthily,

6 FRANCIS PARKMAN

sagaciously seeing clearly where other men had
only peered. His subject is universally acknow-
ledged to be a great subject. It is the history of
Canada, it is the history of the United States as
well. The events which he recounts are the great
prologue to the drama of the American Revo-
lution ; they are the slow factors which begot
sentiments of mutual dependence among bicker-
ing colonies, and finally, forcing them to confed-
erate, enabled them to break the ties that held
them to Great Britain and to found a new nation.
Incidentally, as a story of two nations of differ-
ent stocks, Parkman's history involves the con-
trast between two political systems, — one where
a single man holds the power of the state, the
other where the general body of citizens possess
it ; likewise it involves the contrast between two
great religious systems, Roman Catholicism and
Teutonic Protestantism. The English-French con-
flict was the struggle between two sets of ideas
— one derived from Rome, the other from Ger-
many— for domination on the continent of North
America. In Europe those discordant ideas had
set up their respective boundaries ; in the New
World they fought not for boundaries, but for
all or nothing. The importance of this struggle
Parkman was perhaps the first fully to realize.
So great a theme imposed a grave duty.

Parkman's self-training and self-education, in

ACHIEVEMENT 7

order to fulfill this duty, make the most interest-
ing part of his life. To be sure, as a historian
of past time, he had in some respects unrivaled
opportunities. When Froude described Eliza-
bethan buccaneers and Freeman the Normans of
the Conquest, they were constrained to use that
constructive sense which out of manuscripts,
stones, and bones must create living men ; but
Parkman was able to live in the past, as it were,
to use eyes and ears instead of his imagination.
Indians, French Canadians, and American fron-
tiersmen are his dramatis personce. Fortunately
for him, Indians 'are singularly persistent in an-
cestral ways, singularly incapable of adaptation
to altered modes of life. What the Iroquois and
the Algonkins of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries were, such were the Snakes and the
Dakotas of 1846. Likewise the French Cana-
dian, in less degree, is rigid and obstinate ; the
habitant follows his father's footsteps with the
fidelity of instinct, what he learned to do as a
boy he does as a man, and unless he emigrate,
he remains the same from generation to genera-
tion. Were it not for assaults from the outer
world, his gun, his plough, his boat would re-
main as they were in Frontenac's time ; so would
his gayety and his politeness. In 1842 the fron-
tiersman, also, on the borders of Vermont and
Maine, was not greatly changed from his pre-

8 FRANCIS PARKMAN

decessors of a century before. Those were still
the days before the great Irish immigration ;
the frontiersmen whom Parkman met in his
undergraduate days were Yankees, handling
gun and axe very much as their forefathers
had done, theological, independent, lanky, ready,
rough, unmannerly. So, too, in the days of Park-
man's roamings, the woods on the borders of
Lake George and of Lake Champlain, the for-
ests of pine, spruce, oak, and maple, between
the White Mountains and the St. Lawrence,
had not changed since the French and Indian
wars. Here fortune favored him. Paris of the
second empire was not like the Paris of Henri
IV, London of Queen Victoria was not the
London of Charles II ; but in Parkman's boy-
hood great tracts of the American forest were
changed only in so far as old trees had fallen to
decay and young shoots had grown up to take
their places.

All these dramatis personcs — the Indian, the
Canadian, the frontiersman, the forest — could
be studied in the life, and in these respects Park-
man had great advantages over other historians.
These advantages he used to the full, and this
little book will, in great measure, consist merely
of Parkman's own accounts of these studies
afield. But the peculiar praise due to Park-
man is that he determined, while still a lad, not

ACHIEVEMENT 9

merely to write a history of the French and
English war, but to be thorough in his prepara-
tion. Thoroughness ordinarily means alcoves,
green shades, spectacles ; with Parkman it meant
not merely such " emasculate scholarship," but
also hardening the muscles, aiming the rifle,
riding bareback, in order to qualify the student
to undertake his outdoor studies.

Fully aware of the greatness of his under-
taking, ready and eager to submit to whatever
schooling should best educate him, Parkman
judged that history should be written with a
view to being re9,d. However accurate, however
profound it be, if it remain on the shelf, whether
of the bookshop or public library, it is a failure.

Parkman, too, was deeply impressed with the
beauty, the color, the romance of our North
American history ; he believed that beauty, color,
romance are not mere trappings and holiday
decorations of history, but integral parts, and
that to omit them is to be false to fact. To some
men this world, both present and past, looks dry,
dull, autumnal ; to Parkman it blossomed with
the bloom of spring, and he knew that, in order
to gather and preserve that beauty in little black
printed letters, art was necessary, and that art
means training. Therefore he set himself to
work to become a master of art in prose, just as
he worked to become a master of art with his

10 FRANCIS PARKMAN

rifle. His diaries are sketches and studies in
narrative, his reading aimed at the same end ;
until after long years by this patient labor he
was able to produce those " glorious " and " shin-
ing " pages which, not for Mr. John Fiske alone,
fill " the most brilliant and fascinating books
that have been written since the days of Herodo-
tus."

By these means, by the simple method of faith-
ful fulfillment of his duty, Parkman accom-
plished his great task. " The path of duty was
the path of glory," and to those who are pri-
marily concerned with history and literature, the
process of his preparation will be the most inter-
esting period of his life ; but to those who prefer
manhood to history, and fortitude to fame, who
are zealous for American character, to them the
most brilliant parts of Parkman's story are the
periods of enforced idleness. In boyhood he had
some physical weakness, and throughout his life
from undergraduate days till his death, there
is one long record of physical ills, pausing but
continuing again inexorable, of lameness that
forbade walking, of almost complete blindness
that forbade seeing, of insomnia that banished
sleep, of pain that stopped the impatient brain.

Intense of purpose, impetuous in pursuit, in-
tolerant of idleness, effeminacy, and indifference,
emphatic in belief, dependent on himself alone.

ACHIEVEMENT 11

pleasant to his acquaintance, beloved by his
friends, he fought his way through fifty years of
achievement, a worthy comrade to those great
figures in his histories whom he has lifted to
fame and honor.

CHAPTER II

ANCESTRY

Indomitable resolution was the chief trait in
Francis Parkman. It may be somewhat fanciful
to trace a single trait up the male line through
eight generations, but in Parkman's case there
is satisfaction in finding that this ascent takes us
to Devonshire, the breeding place of indomitable
spirit. Parkman's last English ancestor was Wil-
liam Parkman of Sidmouth, Devon, of whom we
know little, yet at least that he was born and
bred in Elizabethan England, in the same shire
that begot Raleigh, Drake, Gilbert, Hawkins,
and other freebooting buccaneers, and that he
was entitled to a birthright of will and courage.
William's son Elias emigrated to Massachusetts
Bay prior to 1633; there he married, and be-
got a line of descendants, over whom — worthy
people with Old Testament names — we may
lightly skip to the fourth generation from the
Devonshire ancestor. In that generation the
twelfth child, Ebenezer, is well known by reason
of a journal which he kept for many years. He
graduated at Harvard College in 1721, at the

ANCESTRY 13

age of eighteen, and three years later was elected
town minister of Westborough, Massachusetts.
He continued his ministry in this little town for
fifty-eight years, until his death. His published
journal begins abruptly on February 13, 1737,
about two years after his first wife's death. The
minister's second attempt at wooing is recorded
thus : —

Feb. 17. Capt Foot & Sister Elizabeth & M'T
Mary Tilestone took a ride with me in a double
slay at evening to Capt. Robert Sharp's at Brook-
line, & Br*" Elias came to us upon my horse, after
supper there. At 10 o'clock they returned in y*
slay but I tarried. N. B. The discovery of my
Inclinations to Capt Sharp & to Mm. By y^*'
urgent Persuasions I tarried and lodged there.
N. B. Ml^ Susannah Sharp. [Mistress Susan-
nah was twenty-one years old.] . . .

March 3*^. Towards night I rode over to Rox-
bury. N. B. I proceeded to Capt Sharp's. By
Capt Sharp's strong Solicitation I tarried all
night. N. B. Mrs Susan not very willing to
think of going so far in y® Country as West-
borough, &c &c &c. . . .

March 4. I returned P. M. from Town & went
again to Capt Sharp's. N. B. Capt Sharp &
Mm. gone to the Funeral of a Relation at Rox-
bury. I tarried whilst the Capt and his spouse
came home. Arguments which be fruitless with
Mrs Susan. I returned to Father Champney's
between 8 and 9 in y" Evening.

[This rebuff was received philosophically.]

14 FRANCIS PARKMAN

March. 18. Eye at D'. Gott's. Ml» Gott had
been very ill, but is recovering. Mrs Hannah
Brech with her^ but I spent my time with y®
men. [Mistress Hannah was twenty-one years
old and was a younger sister of Mrs. Gott.] . . .

March. 19. A. M. To Dr. Gott's, but a short
space with Mrs Hannah. At my Request, she
Lad (she assured me) burnt my Letters, Poems,
etc . . .

March 25. I rode to MarP [Marlborough].
Spent ye afternoon at D"" Gott's — was at ye
Coll.'s, [certain friends] but returned to Dr's.
M^ Hovey there with a Bass Viol. N. B. Ml*
H — '■ — h B k at ye Dr's still. Our conversa-
tion of a piece with what it used to be. I mark
her admirable Conduct, her Prudence and wis-
dom, her good manners and her distinguishing
B,espectfulness to me w" [which] accompany her
Denyals. After it grew late in y® Even'g, I
rode home to Westb., through the Dark and the
Dirt but cheerfully and comfortably (compara-
tively). ...

April. 1. At Eve, I was at Dr. Gotts, Mrs

H h was thought to be gone up to Mr

Week's or Capt Williams, with design to lodge
there, but she returned to ye Doctor's. And she
gave me her Company till it was very late. Her
Conversation was very Friendly, and with divers
expressions of Singular and Peculiar Regard.

Memoranda ^ Oscul : But she cannot yield to
being a step mother. — I lodged there, and witb
g^ Satisfaction & Composure. ^

The two were married in September and lived
very contentedly, yet an entry on the anniversary

ANCESTRY 15

of his ^st wife's death, forty-three years after-
wards, betcays the fact that she was his real
love.

The records of this diary, brief and matter-of-
fact as they are, bring a vivid picture of the sim-
ple, frugal country life of the time. The minis-
ter's salary was eked out, or perhaps wholly paid,
by the labor and the gifts of his congregation.
For instance, in October, the month after his
marriage, occur the entries : —

6. Young men came to gather my corn. Set
y™ to work. . . .

About 18 or 20 hands husked out all my
Corn. N. B. in my absence Winter Apples
gathered in. . . .

7. M^ John Pratt brought home my cyder which
he had made. . . .

12. M' Lock came & carried in Corn. . . .

13. At evening Br' Hicks helped in more
Corn. . . .

14. Jon° Rogers got in Pumpkins, & ye re-
mainder of y® Corn. . . .

15. Noah How helped in with Turnips & some
of y® Potatoes. . . .

In this Westborough minister we have a typi-
cal instance of the moral and intellectual life of
New England in that awkward age of transition
preceding the Revolutionary War, during which
Massachusetts and its fellow settlements were
passing from boyhood to manhood. Here were

16 FRANCIS PARKMAN

still the narrow horizon, the scant intellectual
resources, and the tough conservatism of Puritan
days, but also that rigid sentiment of duty and
that desire to do well and to make the most of
granted opportunities, which have made New
England what she has been. Francis Parkman
and his great-grandfather, with the differences
appropriate to their generations, held in com-
mon this belief, that life is man's opportunity to
try his mettle, to measure himself against adverse
forces, and to determine whether he or they be
the stronger and more resolute. The minister's
intellectual life was limited, but not willfully lim-
ited. He endeavored to acquaint himself with
a wider range of thought than ordinarily found
its way into Westborough. On the 13th of July,
1779, is this entry : —

M"" Adams has brought home to me at length
Sir W™ Temple. He has led me also into an Ex-
change of a number of Books viz. For Voetius 3
vols, I have D! Stanhope's Thomas a Kempis D'
Calamy, of Vows : Horneck's crucified Jesus, &
D' Goodman's Old Religion. For Mons' Boi-
leau's 2*^ vol and Mat Prior's Works 2 vols, I
have D' Hammond's Annotations in large Folio.
For the Lay Monastery, I have Herman Pru-
dence, & Three Select Pieces of M' Thos. Shep-
herd. For Comin's Real Christian, unbound, I
gave him at his proposal a Pound of Sugar. He
presented me a Pamphlet, D' Gibson on y® Sin-
fulness of Neglecting and profaning the Lord's

ANCESTRY 17

Day. N. B. I returned him Drexilius on Eter-
nity.

The Rev. Ebenezer Parkraan died in his eighti-
eth year. His successor in our story is Samuel
Parkman, his son, a prosperous merchant and
prominent citizen of Boston. He began life a poor
boy — his father's purse was too light to pay col-
lege fees ; " he did his own lugging," as he said
in his opulent age, and when he came to die left
a large property, a portion of which enabled our
historian to devote his life to a non-money-getting
pursuit.

Several of Samuel's brothers displayed their
New England spirit: William, at the age of
seventeen, served in a Massachusetts regiment
during the French war, keeping a diary, — a
family trait ; Breck, a minute-man, marched
from Westborough to Lexington on the 19th of
April, 1775 ; a third brother also served in the
Continental Army.

Samuel's son Francis, father of the historian,
was born in 1788, and graduated at Harvard
College in 1807. Destined for the pulpit, he stud-
ied theology under William Ellery Channing,
and, in obedience to the moral law which then
prevailed in Boston, became a Unitarian. He
took to his grandfather's calling, and in 1813
was ordained pastor of the New North Church,
where he remained throughout his active life, and

18 FRANCIS PARKMAN

until his son Francis had grown to manhood.
He was a kind, benevolent man, esteemed an elo-
quent preacher with " a special gift in prayer,"
and took a prominent place among his fellow
clergy. For thirty years he was one of the
overseers of Harvard College, and presented a
sum of money towards the endowment of the
Parkman Professorship of Theology. His con-
versation was well spiced with wit and humor ;
anecdotes of his high spirits in talk are still
remembered. He possessed a tenacious conserva-
tism, and yet in spite of this their common trait,
he was very unlike his more serious son, and
did not sympathize with his literary ambition.
Notwithstanding their differences and fundamen-
tal lack of sympathy, he was a good father, and
did his duty as he saw it towards his son. To
him a noble eulogy has been paid, " he was par-
ticularly kind to the unattractive." His house
was open and hospitable, and many guests of
note in their day were entertained there. Happy
memories long lingered on of "that blessed 5
Bowdoin Square house arid its radiant inmates
. . . that spacious, hospitable mansion graced
by a household into which it was an unspeakable
privilege for a child to have been bom."

Francis Parkman resembled his mother more
than his father. She was a tender, loving, duti-
ful, unselfish woman, a great favorite in the large

ANCESTRY 19

family circle, whose interest in life did not often
travel beyond the threshold of her home ; she,
too, was of Puritan stock, having descended
from the Cottons, and was endowed with charac-
ter, reserve, simplicity, and a certain shrewd
humor. Frank was like her in many ways, and
the older he grew the more the expression of his
face became like hers.

Their children were Francis, Caroline, Mary,
Eliza, and John Eliot ; Mr. Parkman had also
an older child, Sarah, by an earlier marriage.

CHAPTER III

BOYHOOD

Francis Pabkman, the historian, was born
September 16, 1823, in a house on a little street
which runs across the northern slope of Beacon
Hill, then known as Somerset Place, now AUston
Street. The Rev. Mr. Parkman lived there until
Frank was six or seven years old, when he moved
to a larger house. No. 1 Green Street. Town life
was not suited to the boy ; his health was deli-
cate, and his woodland nature, unsatisfied with
the resources of his father's yard, rebelled against
the cramping streets and alleys of the city. He
went to Medford to live with his mother's father,
Mr. Nathaniel Hall, who, having retired from
business, kept a farm about a mile from the vil-
lage. Frank, as day-scholar, attended a boarding-
school for boys and girls kept by Mr. John
Angier, a graduate of Harvard College. Others
liked the school but Frank did not, and since with
boys as well as with men learning waits upon
liking, he learned little ; but he was constant in
his attendance at another school, adapted to his
disposition and well equipped to teach him the

BOYHOOD 21

beginnings of that knowledge which was to make
him famous, — the school of the woods. At the
distance of a few rods from Mr. Hall's farm lay
the Middlesex Fells, a capital wilderness. This
tract of six or seven square miles, of rocky,
barren soil, retained no marks of certain ancient
and vain attempts at cultivation except some old
apple-trees and tumble-down stone walls. It had
ponds, — one, half a mile across ; a hill hundreds
of feet high ; heaths, glens, dales, crags ; thickets
full of trees too big to clasp, jungles of under-
brush ; rotten stumps to be smashed by a battle-
axe ; thick moss-to drive a spear into ; mud to
smear new clothes from head to foot ; glorious
varieties of dirt, and all the riches of a wilder-
ness. In this great school and playground the
boy spent all the time he could save from Mr.
Angier, gathering birds' eggs, setting traps for
squirrels and woodchucks, catching snakes, or
creeping on his belly with bow and arrow to
get a shot at a robin, which, in spite of the
utmost ingenuity of approach, by some chance,
miraculous in the hunter's eyes, almost always
succeeded in flying away unharmed. These days
of rambling through this trackless forest were
among the happiest of his life ; he always liked
to look back upon them. No doubt they owe a
part of their joyous colors to the black back-
ground of Mr. Angler's school. In spite of a

22 FRANCIS PARKMAN

pure and honest purpose of play, the roamings
in Middlesex Fells provided Frank with some
knowledge ; here he began to make a collection
of minerals, which gradually grew until in course
of time it became worthy to be presented to the
Harvard Natural History Society ; here he
hacked, picked, and plucked trees and flowers
till he found to his surprise that he had learned
a little botany ; here he acquired a love of plants
which in later days, when, ill health chained him
to a garden chair, opened to him the vegetable
kingdom ; here he picked up, by tail and hind
legs, newts, frogs, polly wogs ; and made close
acquaintance with all kinds of little living crea-
tures.

Now things there are that, upon him who sees,
A strong vocation lay ; and strains there are
That whoso hears shall hear for evermore.

So, in these early days, one may discover the
bent of Parkman's mind towards the forest ; here,
to quote his words, " he became enamoured of the
woods," and plainly showed that inclination to-
wards outdoor schooling and self -instruction in
nature to which he gave loose rein in college.

After four years at Medford Frank went back
to Boston to live with his parents. In spite of
active life in the country, his body was not ro-
bust, and perhaps physical inability to join in
athletic games was the cause that turned the

BOYHOOD 23

boy's attention to the indoor diversion of chem-
istry. There was a shed at the rear of the house
which his father converted into a laboratory, and
here Frank shut himself up too steadily for the
good of his health, and devoted himself to chem-
ical experiments. In his fragmentary autobio-
graphy he says that he accomplished nothing
beyond poisoning himself with noxious gases and
scorching his skin with explosions ; but probably
he did well enough, his years considered, for his
masterful disposition always determined to have
the upper hand in a grapple with any study to
which he turnedv He impressed his comrades
with respect for his skill, and succeeded in mak-
ing an electrical machine with which he admin-
istered shocks to sundry rash boys and girls. He
also entertained himself and his friends with
lectures, duly announced by printed bills.

In the autobiography an extreme seriousness,
begotten in great part by long illness, seems to
have cast a shadow backward over his youth, or
at least to have left the man somewhat oblivious,
or careless, of the lightheartedness of his boy-
hood, which, in fact, had its fair share of gayety.
The records of his childhood indicate jollity and
happiness ; and he would have been most ready
to acknowledge this and render thanks, but in
his little memoir his mind was fixed upon the
lessons which others might learn from his life.

24 FRANCIS PARKMAN

and therefore he passed by those details which
in that view were irrelevant. For instance, at
the age of thirteen, Frank and his companions
turned the loft of a barn behind the house into
a theatre. They were the scene-painters, cos-
tumers, and in part, perhaps, playwrights, as
well as the company of players. Sometimes, in
moments of greater ambition, they borrowed
costumes from a theatre. Here is a copy of a
play-bill, printed by one of the company : —

STAR THEATRE.

On Wednesday, Feb. 22, will be presented for the
first time in this Theatre, (with new scenery, &c.,) the
celebrated play of

MY FELLOW CLERK!
Mr. Hooker ------ F. Minot

Tactic ------ Wm. Marston

Victim - - - - - - -Q. A. Shaw

Fag - - - -- - - F. Parkman

Mr. Knitbrow - - - - - C. Dexter

Bailiff P. Dexter

AFTER WHICH

A COMIC SONGII
By Mr. Marston.

To conclude with some interesting experiments in
Chemistry by Mr. Parkman, being his first appearance
as a Chemist.

O;;^^ Doors open at 1-4 before 3. Curtain rises at
1-4 after 3.

BOYHOOD 25

The company gave performances on Wednes-
day and Saturday afternoons, and acted before
their public for a year or two. Frank commonly
played women's parts, and trailed calico skirts
across the boards with great effect.

About the year 1837 the Rev. Francis Park-
man left Green Street, and moved his family
into the "hospitable house," No. 5 Bowdoin
Square, which his father, Samuel Parkman the
merchant, had built. This was a large, hand-
some house, in the colonial style, adorned with
pilasters, which rose in dignity from the first
story to the roof, with a round porch held up
by Doric pillars ; there was a grass plot in front,
and a general appearance of prosperity. In the
rear was a large paved court, and beyond that
a garden sloping away in terraces, where pear-
trees did their best to reconcile boyhood to the
abstinences of town life. The house and its
yard were characteristic of Boston, displaying
the urban pleasures of retired leisure, full of
unostentatious ease ; it marked the change which
had come over the commonwealth since the
days when her clerical aristocracy dwelt in little
wooden houses like that of the Rev. Ebenezer
Parkman at Westborough.

Frank went to school under Mr. Gideon
Thayer, and seems to have studied with dili-
gence Latin, Greek, English, and the rudiments

26 FRANCIS PARKMAN

of science. He himself wrote long afterward
concerning his experience at this school : —

When fourteen or fifteen years old I had the
good luck to be under the direction of Mr. Wil-
liam Russell, a teacher of excellent literary tastes
and acquirements. It was his constant care to
teach the boys of his class to write good and
easy English. One of his methods was to give
us lists of words to which we were required to
furnish as many synonyms as possible, distin-
guishing their various shades of meaning. He
also encouraged us to write translations, in prose
and verse, from Virgil and Homer, insisting on
idiomatic English, and criticising in his gentle
way anything flowery and bombastic. At this
time I read a good deal of poetry, and much
of it remains verbatim in my memory. As it in-
cluded Milton and other classics, I am confident
that it has been of service to me in the matter of
style.

He had a boyish fancy for poetry, and put
into verse the scenes of the Tournament at
Ashby-de-la-Zouch in "Ivanhoe," which he and
other boys declaimed with the dauntless declama-
tion of boyhood. Perhaps the curious may here
discover a touch of that fondness for rhetoric —
the heart of the boy lasting on into manhood —
that willingness to express with purple and gold
the exaltation of a high mood which stayed with
him always.

CHAPTER IV

COLLEGE

Frank entered the class of 1844 at the age of
seventeen. Harvard College in those days was
as different from the University of to-day as the
rivulet from the river. There were sixty or sev-
enty students in the freshman class; most of
them about sixteen years old. Frank must have
been one of the older boys. The instruction was
scarcely more advanced than in a good school
to-day. President Quincy was not the executive
head of a great corporation ; he was the shepherd
of his flock, the father of his children. The
yard served as a garden for Holworthy, Massa-
chusetts, HoUis, Stoughton, University, the Law
School, and the Chapel. Football was played
for fun or some such old-fashioned reason on
the Delta, by all the boys who cared to take off
their coats and kick. There were no boat-races
except such as random students rowed, in an-
tique craft, against each other ; so that a lad,
like Frank, bent upon gaining muscular strength,
was obliged to divide his times for exercise be-

28 FRANCIS PARKMAN

tween walking, riding, and dumb-bells. In social
matters numbers were too few to permit the
sections and subsections which now divide un-
dergraduates into all the genera and species
between the grinds, with nose to book, and the
groups of young Pendennises — lilies of the field
— who adorn Randolph and Claverly. But the
college, both as a place of study and as an under-
graduate world, by its very incompleteness, proba-
bly served Frank's purposes as well as the present
university would have done. In like manner as
when a boy at Medford he had learned more
from his own lessons in the Middlesex Fells than
in Mr. Angler's class-room, so in Cambridge he
continued to be his own teacher, and pursued a
system that, if it had been followed in moder-
ation, would have well fitted him to do his life's
work. In his freshman year that life's work
was haunting the background of his mind, not
as yet in the definite form which it took a little
later, but rather as a strong attraction which
drew him towards the forest, and persuaded him
that the way to woo her with success was to ac-
quire strength of limb and understanding of
woodcraft.

There was a holiday side to his undergraduate
life ; but usually Frank was going about his own
business in his impetuous Devon fashion ; he
tried to craTfi endurance by long walks taken at

COLLEGE 29

a pace far too rapid to make his companionship
comfortable, and spent long hours into the night
reading English classics and all sorts of books
concerning American Indians. He avoided all
interests and occupations that did not feed the
sacred flame of his forest love.

Prior to this time Frank had nursed a whim
for poetry, and had entertained a notion that he
might become a poet or a devotee of literature,
half poet, half man-of-letters, for he was fond of
poetry and had a knack for rhyming. Traces of
this taste lasted up to the year after graduation,
when he published in " The Knickerbocker " a
poem of several hundred verses called " The New
Hampshire Ranger." But the whim for poetry,
like the caprice for chemistry, was quickly van-
quished by the real interest of his life ; and
before the end of his freshman year all thought
of poetry as a serious pursuit had passed out of
his head.

The real business of the year began with the
summer vacation, when he took his gun and
fishing-rod, and, in the company of his class-
mate, Daniel Denison Slade, a tall and athletic
young man, set forth on what might be called a
field course in American history. In his autobi-
ography Parkman says, with happy recollection :
" For the student there is, in its season, no bet-
ter place than the saddle, and no better com-

30 FRANCIS PARKMAN

panion than the rifle or the oar." He kept a full
diary, from which lack of space forbids quota-
tion. The two went on foot, with an occasional
" lift," to the White Mountains and adjacent re-
gions, and Parkman enjoyed himself immensely.
This year was the determining period of his life,
for in it he resolved to devote himself to the task
of writing the story of French colonization and
empire in North America, which he at last com-
pletely accomplished after, as has been aptly said,
" a half century of conflict."

We need not suppose that Frank sat in Mas-
sachusetts Hall, like Gibbon on the steps of the
Capitol, and at a definite hour made up his mind
to write a history ; but in his sophomore year
" the plan was in its most essential features
formed," and the designer immediately set to
work to carry out his plan : —

Before the end of the sophomore year my
various schemes had crystallized into a plan of
writing a story of what was then known as
the " Old French War," — that is, the war that
ended in the conquest of Canada, — for here, as
it seemed to me, the forest drama was more stir-
ring and the forest stage more thronged with
appropriate actors than in any other passage of
our history. It was not till some years later that
I enlarged the plan to include the whole course
of the American conflict between France and
England, or, in other words, the history of the

COLLEGE 31

American forest ; for this was the light in which I
regarded it. My theme fascinated me, and I was
haunted with wilderness images day and night.

There are few records, if there are any, of so
large a purpose, conceived so young, and with
such constancy executed ; and when we consider
the pain, the attacks of almost complete blind-
ness, the physical infirmities that barred his
way, we may excuse those who in an outburst
of American enthusiasm challenge the world to
show such another hero in the world of letters
since the death of Cervantes.

Frank took his share in the ordinary college
life of young gentlemen ; he was a member of
the " Institute of 1770," of the " Hasty Pud-
ding," of a little and very intimate group called
the Ch it-Chat Club, whenever the mysterious
letters C. C. were allowed to assume all their
significance. He was a fair student, too, taking
certain minor academical honors. At his com-
mons he got the ironical nickname, "The Lo-
quacious ; " he was never that, though all life
long he enjoyed talking with his friends. He was
good company, vigorous even fiery in argument,
entertaining, an excellent story-teller, of lively
imagination and well provisioned memory, and
on the whole was much more sought than seek-
ing. Boy and man, he was a modest, unassum-
ing, resolute, high-minded gentleman. •

CHAPTER V

EXPLOEATIONS

The college term ended in July, and Frank lost
no time in setting out upon his summer excursion
in company with his friend, Henry Orne White :

July 15th, '42. Albany. Left Boston this
morning at half -past six, for this place, where I
am now happily arrived, it being the longest
day's journey I ever made. For all that, I would
rather have come thirty miles by stage than the
whole distance by railroad, for of all methods of
progressing, that by steam is incomparably the
most disgusting. . . .

July 16th. Caldwell. This morning we left
Albany — which I devoutly hope I may never
see again — in the cars, for Saratoga. . . . After
passing the inclined plane and riding a couple
of hours, we reached the valley of the Mohawk
and Schenectady. I was prepared for something
filthy in the last mentioned venerable town, but
for nothing quite so disgusting as the reality.
Canal docks, full of stinking water, superannu-
ated rotten canal-boats, and dirty children and
pigs paddling about formed the foreground of
the delicious picture, while in the rear was a
mass oi tumbling houses and sheds, bursting

EXPLORATIONS 33

open in all directions, green with antiquity,
dampness, and lack of paint. Each house had
its peculiar dunghill, with the group of reposing
hogs. In short, London itself could exhibit no-
thing much nastier. . . . Finally reached Sara-
toga, having traveled latterly at the astonishing
rate of about seven miles an hour, " Caldwell
stage ready." We got our baggage on board, and
I found time to enter one or two of the huge
hotels. After perambulating the entries filled
with sleek waiters and sneaking fops, dashing
through the columned porticoes and inclosures,
drinking some of the water and spitting it out
again in high disgust, I sprang onto the stage,
cursing Saratoga and all New York. . . .

Dined at the tavern, and rode on. Country
dreary as before ; the driver one of the best of
his genus I ever met. He regaled me as we rode
on with stories of his adventures with deer,
skunks, and passengers. A mountain heaved up
against the sky some distance before us, with
a number of small hills stretching away on each
hand, all wood-crowned to the top. . . . But as
we drew near, the mountain in front assumed a
wilder and a loftier aspect. Crags started from
its woody sides and leaned over a deep valley
below. " What mountain is that ? " " That 'ere
is French Mounting," — the scene of one of the
most desperate and memorable battles in the old
French War. As we passed down the valley,
the mountain rose above the forest half a mile
on our right, while a hill on the left, close to the
road, formed the other side. The trees flanked
the road on both sides. In a little opening in

34 FRANCIS PARKMAN

the woods, a cavity in the ground with a pile of
stones at each end marked the spot where was
buried that accomplished warrior and gentleman,
Colonel Williams, whose bones, however, have
since been removed. Farther on is the rock on
the right where he was shot, having mounted it
on the look-out — an event which decided the
day ; the Indians and English broke and fled at
once. Still farther on is the scene of the third
tragedy of that day, when the victorious French,
having been in their turn, by a piece of good
luck, beaten by the valorous Johnson at his in-
trenchment by the lake, were met at this place
on their retreat by McGinnis, and almost cut to
pieces. Bloody Pond, a little slimy dark sheet
of stagnant water, covered with weeds and pond-
lilies and shadowed by the gloomy forest around
it, is the place where hundreds of dead bodies
were flung after the battle, and where the bones
still lie. A few miles farther, and Lake George
lay before us, the mountains and water confused
and indistinct in the mist. We rode into Cald-
well, took supper — a boat — and then a bed.

July 17th. Caldwell. The tavern is full of
fashionable New Yorkers — all of a piece.
Henry and myself both look like the Old Nick,
and are evidently looked upon in a manner cor-
responding. I went this morning to see William
Henry. The old fort is much larger than I had
thought ; the earthen mounds cover many acres.
It stood on the southwest extremity of the lake,
close by the water. The enterprising genius of
the inhabitants has made a road directly through
the ruins, and turned bastion, moat, and glacis

EXPLORATIONS 35

into a flourishing cornfield, so that the spot so
celebrated in our colonial history is now scarcely
to be distinguished. Large trees are growing
on the untouched parts, especially on the em-
bankment along the lake shore. In the rear, a
hundred or two yards distant, is a gloomy wood
of pines, where the lines of Montcalm can
easily be traced. A little behind these lines is
the burying place of the French who fell during
that memorable siege. The marks of a thousand
graves can be seen among the trees, which of
course have sprung up since. . . . One of Mont-
calm's lines ran northwest of the tavern toward
the mountains. Two or three years ago in dig-
ging for some purpose, a great quantity of deer,
bear, and moose bones were found here, with
arrows and hatchets, which the tavern keeper
thinks mark the place of some Indian feast.
The spikes and timbers of sunken vessels may
be seen in strong sunlight, when the water is
still, at the bottom of the lake, along the southern
beach. Abercrombie sunk his boats here. There
are remains of batteries on French Mt., and the
mountain north of it, I suppose to command
the road from Ft. Edward. This evening visited
the French graves. I write this at camp, July
18th. Just turned over my ink bottle and spilt
all the ink.

July 18th. Camp at Diamond Island. Set out
this morning in an excellent boat, hired at Cald-
well. . . . We landed occasionally, and fished
as we went along. About ten o'clock stretched
across Middle Bay and got bread, pork, and
potatoes at a farmhouse, with which and our fish

36 FRANCIS PARKMAN

we regaled ourselves at a place half way down
the Bay. Here 1 wrote my journal for yesterday ;
we slept an hour or two on the ground, bathed,
and read Goldsmith, which Henry brought in his
knapsack. At three we proceeded to explore the
bay to its bottom, returned, made for Diamond
Island, which is now uninhabited, prepared our
camp and went to sleep.

July 19th. I woke this morning about as weak
and spiritless as well could be. All enterprise and
activity was fairly gone ; how I cannot tell, but
I cursed the weather as the most probable cause.
Such has been the case with me, to a greater
or less degree, for the last three or four weeks.
Rowed to-day along the eastern shore. . . . But
everything was obscured with mist. When the
wind became less violent we rowed to an island
in the middle, where we are now encamped.

Wednesday, July 20th. Entered the narrows
this morning, and rowed among all the islands
and along all the shores. . . . We passed under
Black Mt., whose precipices and shaggy woods
wore a very savage and impressive aspect in that
peculiar weather, and kept down the lake seven
miles to Sabbath Day Pt. High and steep moun-
tains flanked the lake the whole way. In front,
at some distance they seemed to slope gradually
away, and a low green point, with an ancient
dingy house upon it, closed the perspective. This
was Sabbath Day Pt., the famous landing place
of many a huge army. . . . We ran our boat on
the beach of Sabbath Day Pt. and asked lodg-
ing at the house. An old woman, after a multi-
tude of guesses and calculations, guessed as how

EXPLORATIONS 37

she could accommodate us with a supper and a
bed, though she could n't say nohow how we
should like it, seeing as how she warn't used to
visitors. The house was an old, rickety, dingy
shingle palace, with a potato garden in front,
hogs perambulating the outhouses, and a group
of old men and women engaged in earnest con-
versation in the tumble-down portico. The chief
figure was an old gray-haired man, tall and spare
as a skeleton, who was giving some advice to a
chubby old lady about her corns.

" Well now," said the old lady, " I declare
they hurt me mighty bad."

" I '11 give you something to cure them right
off." . ^

" What is it ? I hope it ain't snails. I always
hated snails since I was a baby, but I 've heerd
say they are better for corns nor anything else
at all," etc., etc.

The old man was a revolutionary pensioner.
Captain Patchin by name, and stout-hearted,
hale, and clever by nature. . . .

Thursday, 21st. Fished for bass. . . . We
caught fish enough, landed, and with Myrtle
Bailey, one of the young Brobdignagians, a sim-
ple, good-natured, strong-handed, grinning son
of the plough, set out on a rattlesnake hunt on
the mountain back of the Point. . . . We soon
reached a still higher point, which commanded
the noblest view of the lake I had yet seen.
There would be no finer place for gentlemen's
seats than this ; but now, for the most part, it is
occupied by a race of boors about as uncouth,
mean, and stupid as the hogs they seem chiefly to

38 FRANCIS PARKMAN

delight in. The captain's household is an excep-
tion. . . . Afternoon : Fished again. Evening; :
Fished again, and caught a very large bass — all
in company of Myrtle, whose luck not satisfying
him, he cursed the " darned cussed fish " in most
fervent style.

Friday, 22nd. Left old Patchin's this morn-
ing. . . . We broke an oar when within about
half a mile, and paddled to shore with great dif-
ficulty through a considerable surf which was
dashing against the beach like the waves of the
ocean. We found the post-office a neat little
tavern kept by one Garfield, entitled the Judge.
He referred us to a carpenter, who promised to
make an oar forthwith, and worked six hours
upon it, an interval which I spent chiefly in
wandering through the country. . . . Returned
to Garfield's, and found there Mr. Gibbs with
his wife the " vocalist." Presently the man ap-
peared with the oar finished. White undertook
to pay him with a Naumkeag Bank bill — the
only bills he had. " Don't know nothing about
that money : wait till Garfield comes and he '11
tell whether it 's genuine or not." " There 's the
paper," said I ; " look and see." He looked — all
was right. " Well, are you satisfied ? " " How
do I know but what that ere bill is counterfeit.
It has a sort of counterfeit look about it to my
eyes. Deacon, what do you say to it? " The
deacon put on his spectacles, held the bill to the
light, turned it this way and that, tasted of it,
and finally pronounced that according to his cal-
culation it was good. But the carpenter was not
contented. " 'Bijah, you 're a judge of bills ;

EXPLORATIONS 39

what do you think?" 'Bijah, altera long exam-
ination, gave as his opinion that it was counter-
feit. All parties were beginning to wax wroth,
when the judge entered and decided that the bill
was good.

We pushed from the beach and steered down
the lake, passed some islands, and beheld in
front of us two grim mountains, standing guard
over a narrow strait of dark water between. . . .
One of these mountains was the noted Kogers
Slide, the other, almost as famous, Anthony's
Nose, Jr. Both had witnessed, in their day, the
passage of twenty vast armies in the strait be-
tween ; and there was not an echo on either but
had answered to ihe crack of rifles and screams
of dying men. We skirted the base of the Nose

— for which sentimental designation I could find
no manner of reason — till we arrived opposite
the perpendicular front of his savage neighbor.
About a mile of water was between. We ran the
boat ashore on a shelving rock, and looked for a
camping place among the precipices. We found,
to our surprise, at the side of a steep rock, amid
a growth of cedars and hemlocks, a little inclos-
ure of logs, like a diminutive log cabin without
a roof. We made beds in it of hemlock boughs

— there was just space enough — brought up
our baggage and guns, ate what supper we had,
and essayed to go asleep. But we might as
well have slept under a shower-bath of melted
iron. In that deep sheltered spot, bugs, mos-
quitoes, and " no-see-ems " swarmed innumera-
ble. . . . This morning was the most toilsome
we have passed. The wind was dead against us ;

40 FRANCIS PARKMAN

the waves ran with a violence I had never seen
before except on the ocean. It required the
full force of both arms to hold the boat on her
course. If we slackened our efforts for a single
moment, she would spin round and drive back-
wards. We had about twelve miles to row under
these agreeable auspices.

"Well," said White, "you call this fun, do
you? To be eaten by bugs all night and work
against head winds all day is n't according to my
taste, whatever you may think of it."

"Are you going to back out? " said I.

" Back out, yes ; when I get into a bad scrape,
I back out of it as quick as I can," and so he
went on with marvelous volubility to recount his
grievances. Lake George he called a " scrubby
looking place," — said there was no fishing in it
— he hated camping, and would have no more of
it, — he would n't live so for another week to save
his life, etc., etc. Verily, what is one man's meat
is another man's poison. What troubles me
more than his treachery to our plans is his want
of cash, which will make it absolutely necessary
to abandon our plan of descending through
Maine. His scruples I trust to overcome in time.

We reached Patchin's at last, and were wel-
comed by the noble old veteran as cordially as if
we were his children. We dined, and sat in his
portico, listening to his stories. He is eighty-
six. . . .

We consigned our boat to the captain, to be
carried back to Caldwell, and got on a stage we
found at the wharf, which carried us to the village
of Ty. [Ticonderoga], It is a despicable manu-

EXPLORATIONS 41

facturing place, straggling and irregular, — mills,
houses, and heaps of lumber, — situated in abroad
valley with the outlet of Lake George running
through the middle, a succession of fierce rapids,
with each its saw-mill. I bespoke me here a pair
of breeches of a paddy tailor who asked me if I
did not work on board the steamboat, a question
which aggravated me not a little. I asked a
fellow the way to the fort. " Well," said he,
" I 've heerd of such a place, seems to me, but I
never seen it, and could n't tell ye where it be."
" You must be an idiot," thought I ; but I found
his case by no means singular. At last I got the
direction, and walked about two miles before I
saw the remains of a high earthen parapet with
a ditch running through a piece of woods for a
great distance. This, I suppose, was the place
where the French beat off Abercrombie's army.
Farther on, in a great plain scantily covered
with wood, were breastworks and ditches in
abundance running in all directions, which I
took for the work of Amherst's besieging army.
Still farther were two or three square redoubts.
At length, mounting a little hill, a cluster of
gray ruined walls, like an old chateau, with
mounds of earth and heaps of stone about them,
appeared crowning an eminence in front. When
I reached them, I was astonished at the extent
of the ruins. Thousands of men might have en-
camped in the area. All around were ditches, of
such depth that it would be death to jump down,
with walls of masonry sixty feet high. Ty stands
on a promontory, with Champlain on one side
and the outlet of Lake George on the other ; his

42 FRANCIS PARKMAN

cannon commanded the passage completely. At
the very extremity is the oldest part of the for-
tress, a huge mass of masonry, with walls sinking
sheer down to the two lakes. All kinds of weeds
and vines are clambering over them. The sense-
less blockheads in the neighborhood have stolen
tons upon tons of the stone to build their walls
and houses of, — may they meet their reward.

Wednesday, 27th. In Yankee land again,
thank heaven. Left Ty this noon — after going
over the ruins again — in one of the great Cham-
plain steamboats, and reached Burlington at
night. Visited the college. It was term time
and the students were lounging about the ugly
buildings or making abortive attempts at revelry
in their rooms. The air was full of their diaboli-
cal attempts at song. We decided that they were
all green, and went back, drawing comparisons
by the way between the University of Vermont
and old Harvard.

Thursday, 28th. Left Burlington this morn-
ing, knapsack on back, for Canada. . . . We
followed the road through a deep wood, and
when we emerged from it the village of Cam-
bridge lay before us, twenty-five miles from
Burlington. We stopped here for the night.

Friday, 29th. From Cambridge we walked on
to Johnson. ... At Johnson we took the stage
for Stanstead, in Canada. The " stage " was a
broken down carryall, into which six passen-
gers with luggage were stowed, and the thing
set in motion — under the auspicious influences
of two sick horses — over a road of diabolical
roughness.

EXPLORATIONS 43

Saturday, July 30th. Stanstead, Canada. Re-
sumed our journey this morning in the same
" stage." . . . The place is large, with several
handsome churches. There was nothing in par-
ticular to distinguish it from a flourishing Yan-
kee town till we pulled up at the tavern, where
were two or three British soldiers, in their un-
dress, standing on the porch. There were thir-
teen of them, with a cornet, quartered at the
house, as there now are in all the border villages.
They were good-looking fellows, civil enough ;
natives of the provinces. They were gathered
round a fire in the barroom, smoking and tell-
ing stories, or else indulging in a little black-
guardism and knocking one another about the
room. They invited us to drink with them, and
the liquor being mead — the house being tem-
perance — we consented. They have just clubbed
to buy a barrel of cider.

Sunday, July 31st. Last night we were kept
awake by the din of bugles and drums with which
the soldiers were regaling themselves in the entry,
singing and dancing meanwhile. This morning
rainy and dismal. Soldiers and all gathered
round the stove in the barroom. Their conver-
sation was about as decent and their jokes as
good as those of a convocation of Harvard stu-
dents. . . .

We set out on foot for Canaan, which pro-
mised land some told us was twenty miles distant,
while others reckoned it thirty. The road for a
few miles was good, but we were soon compelled
to leave it and take a path through the woods.
A beautiful river — smooth and rapid — ran

44 FRANCIS PARKMAN

across the road under a bridge of logs, between
forest-covered banks. Not far from Stanstead
we had crossed a furious stream, answering to
the sentimental designation of the Nigger River.
We had walked but a few miles when the clouds
settled on the hills and it began to rain. We
went to a log cabin for shelter. The " old man "
was frank and hospitable like all his genus I
ever met, and the " old woman " — a damsel of
twenty-two, who sat combing her hair in the cor-
ner — extremely sprightly and talkative. She
seemed somewhat moved at heart by the doc-
trines of Miller, whose apostles are at work all
along the Vermont frontier. We abused that
holy man to our content, and, the rain ceasing,
left the cabin. Soon after leaving this place we
entered the aforementioned path through the
woods. Now and then there would be a clearing
with its charred stumps, its boundary of frown-
ing wood, and its log cabin, but for the most
part the forest was in its original state. The
average depth of the mud in the path was one
foot. . . . The day was showery, with occasional
glimpses of the sun ; so that we were alternately
wet and dry. . . . Thence passing various dwell-
ings, and holding various colloquies with the in-
mates, we reached Canaan, and a good tavern.
The landlord has quartered [us] in his hall —
large as a barn. Canaan is a microscopic village,
the houses scattered through a valley among
low mountains, all covered with forest. We saw
here the Connecticut for the first time — rapid
and full of rocks and foam. We follow its
banks to-morrow.

CHAPTER VI

THE MARGALLOWAY

Tuesday (2d). Weather still cold and bluster-
ing. Thick clouds all over the sky. Set out after
breakfast for the Connecticut Lake, twenty
miles distant. . . . White seems to have lost his
apathy and is now quite ready to proceed. Re-
ports .of the Margalloway trout have inflamed
him. The road was still hilly, narrow, and great
part of the way flanked by woods. The valley
of the river looked, as it always does, rich and
fertile, but the hills and mountains around pre-
sented one broad unbroken expanse of forest,
made the more sombre by the deep shadows of
the clouds. In the afternoon we reached a hill-
top and a vast panorama of mountains and for-
ests lay before us. A glistening spot of water,
some miles to the north, girt with mountains
which sloped down to it from all sides with a
smooth and gradual descent, was Lake Connecti-
cut. As far as we could see, one mountain of
peciiliar form rose above the rest which we af-
terward learned was the Camel's Hump. Passing
a river with rapids and a saw-mill, at the end
of the day we reached the lake, where are two
houses. Barns' and Abbot's. There are steep
rapids at the outlet, with a mill, of course. We

46 FRANCIS PARKMAN

went to Abbot's house, and asked for lodging
and a supper. . . . Abbot says that one of his
relations, Kenfield by name, fought at William
Henry, and, at the massacre, seeing an Indian
about to strip a fallen officer, caught him, raised
him in his arms, and dashed him to the ground
with such violence as to make him senseless.
Our host greatly, exults in the bodily strength
for which his family have been eminent — he
himself noway dishonors his race in that respect.
Wednesday (3d). . . . We lived in backwoods
style to-day — sugarless tea for dinner — water
drunk from s^ mug common to all the company,
etc. We liked it — I did, at least. Abbot sat
cobbling his shoe against his projected expedition
towards evening, but as I came up he turned
round and remarked that he was not a disciple
of St. Crispin but only an occasional follower.
As I was marveling at this unexpected display
of erudition, his wife thrust her head from the
door, and exclaimed, " Here, supper 's ready.
Where 's that other man gone to ? " We ac-
cepted the elegant invitation and walked in,
where Abbot astonished us still more by com-
paring the democrat levelers to Procrustes, who
wished to reduce all men to the same dimensions
by his iron bedstead. All this was while he was
squatting on his home-made chair, one leg cocked
into the air, shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows,
bushy hair straggling over his eyes, and eating
meanwhile as if his life depended on his efforts.
I have since found that he has read a vast amount
of history, ancient and modern, and various other
things — all fact, however, for fiction, he says, he

THE MARGALLOWAY 47

cannot bear. When twenty-five — he is now
thii-ty-six — he defended himself against a good
lawyer in a court, and won his case, his opponent
confessing himself outmatched by Abbot's gen-
eral knowledge and quick memory.

Thursday (4th). Started this morning to
strike the Little Margalloway. We proceeded
first towards the north, with a path for the first
few miles. It soon failed us, and we had to force
our way through tangled woods. . . . White had
hurt his foot the day before and constantly lagged
behind, so that we had to wait for him, every
minute the prey of torturing flies. At length
the ascent of the first mountain made the way
still more laborious. When at length we reached
the top we could see nothing on account of the
thick growth of trees. We passed through a
singular piece of boggy ground, of an oblong
shape, inclosed in a fringe of cedars rising one
above the other, all hung with tassels of white
moss. There was another place, partially open,
near the summit. As we passed it, a large buck
sprang from the ground, and leaped with long
bounds down the mountain, before my rifle was
at my shoulder. We heard him crashing the
boughs far below. In this spot were several
springs of cold water, in broad cup-shaped hol-
lows in the ground, which had probably attracted
the deer. We went down the mountain and
found a little stream flowing through the valley
at the bottom. Both Abbot and myself were for
proceeding, but White said he could not go on
on account of his foot ; so we found a convenient
spot and encamped. It was by the stream, flow-

48 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ing half concealed beneath brushwood and fallen
trees, in a thick growth of firs, spruces, and
birches. We made a fire, and proceeded to cook
our supper. We had brought with us seven
pounds of Jbread, six and a half of rice, and a
quantity of butter. We had beside about an
ounce of tea, and salt, of course.

We made our fire in the middle of the grove,
cut spruce boughs for a bed, lay down on our
blankets, and with our knives speedily made way
with a mess of rice placed on a broad piece of
birch bark amongst us. Then we heaped new
wood on the fire, and lay down again, cooled by
a gentle rain which just now began to fall. The
fire blazed up a column of bright flame, and
flung its light deep into the recesses of the woods.
In the morning we breakfasted on rice, bread,
and tea without sugar and cream, and then —
Friday — prepared to resume our course. . . .
After journeying many hours in this painful
style, we heard the plunging of waters in a
valley below us, and joyfully turned towards
the sound. We had struck a branch of the Little
Margalloway. White's lameness seemed mys-
teriously to leave him ; he seized his fishing
tackle and rushed up and down the rocks, pull-
ing a trout from every deep hole and the foot of
every waterfall. I soon followed his example.
Abbot built a fire by the bank and cooked our
fish. We made a plentiful dinner, and then
began to follow downward the course of the
stream. . . .

Saturday, Aug. 5th. The morning opened with
a grand council. How were we to get down the

THE MARGALLOWAY 49

river? Abbot could make a raft, thought he
could make a spruce canoe, and was cei'tain that
he could make a log one. I told him to make
a log one. We roused White from the spruce
boughs where he persisted in snoring, in spite
of our momentous discussion, and then prepared
and ate our breakfast. White went to fishing.
Abbot shouldered his axe and he and I went off
together for a suitable pine-tree to make our
canoe of. He found one to his satisfaction on
the other side of the stream, some distance down.
I built him a fire to " smudge " the flies, waded
back across the stream, and as I ascended the
farther bank heard the thundering crash of the
falling pine behind me, bellowing over the wil-
derness, and rolling in echoes far up the moun-
tains. ... As I went back to camp, I found
; that Abbot was not at work on his canoe. While
I was marveling at this I stumbled upon a half
finished spruce canoe, which Abbot had set about
making, having found the pine-tree, which he
had cut down for his log boat, rotten. I was not
much pleased at this change of plan ; neverthe-
less, as the thing was begun I lent him assistance
as I could, so that by nightfall we had finished
something which had the semblance of a canoe,
but, owing chiefly to haste and want of tools,
had such a precarious and doubtful aspect that
White christened it the Forlorn Hope. We put
it into the water. It leaked. We took it out and
stuffed the seams with pounded spruce bark,
chewed spruce gum, and bits of cloth. It still
leaked, but we hoped it would do, with diligent
baling ; so, fastening it to the bank, we cooked

50 FRANCIS PARKMAN

our supper, rolled ourselves in our blankets, and
went to sleep before the fire.

Sunday, Aug. 6th. We were obliged perforce
to adopt the sailor's maxim, "No Sunday off
soundings," for our provisions were in a fair
way of failing, and starvation in the wilderness
is not a pleasant prospect to look forward to.
. . . After breakfast we packed our luggage,
and proceeded to make the dubious experiment
of the canoe. All were embarked ; White in the
middle to bale, Abbot at the stern, I in the prow.
" Push off ! " the canoe glided with a quiet and
gentle motion down the swift stream, between
the tall walls of forest on each side, but soon the
ripple and tumbling of a rapid appeared in front
and the hour of trial came. She quivered and
shook as she entered the disturbed waters ; at
last there was a little grating sound. She had
struck upon the stones at the bottom, but the
peril was past ; the water grew smooth and deep
again, and again we floated quietly and prosper-
ously down in the shadows of the woods. At
last another rapid came. She entered it, grated
heavily over the stones, and struck hard against
a large one before her. The water spouted in
like a stream from a pump. It would not do.
The experiment was an utter failure. We left
Abbot with the canoe to conduct that and the
baggage as he could down to the basin, and
waded to shore ourselves to walk there through
the woods. We had not gone quarter of a
mile when " Hello, here," came from the river.
" What 's the matter now ? " shouted we in re-
turn. " The canoe 's burst all to pieces ! " Sure

THE MARGALLOWAY 51

enough, we found it so. Abbot stood in the mid-
dle of a rapid, up to the knees, holding our bag-
gage aloft to keep it dry, while the miserable
remnant of the demolished vessel was leisurely
taking its way down the current. We pushed
through the woods towards the basin, deliberat-
ing what to do next. Abbot was sure he could
make a raft which would carry us down to the
settlements, and yet draw so little water as to
pass the " rips " in safety. The navigation would
indeed be slow with such a machine, but it could
be made in an hour or two, and this would more
than counterbalance the want of speed. The river
was high ; the plan seemed eligible, and we pro-
ceeded to execute it. Meanwhile it began to
rain furiously. We walked into the water to our
waists and held the timbers in place while Abbot
withed them together. Jerome's camp was de-
molished to furnish materials, his setting-poles
and birch-bark vessels appropriated to our use.
After about two hours of aquatic exertion, dur-
ing which we were wet equally by the rain above
and the river beneath, the raft was finished.
Owing to the badness of the timber it drew
twice as much water as we expected. We pushed
from shore in a deluge of rain. Like its luckless
predecessor, the raft passed the first rapid in
safety, only venting a groan or two as its logs
encountered the stones beneath. These rapids
in the main river were of course much deeper
than those of the Little Margalloway, above the
basin, where the canoe had met its fate. When
it came on the second rapid, the machine seemed
to shiver in direful expectancy of its approach-

52 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ing destruction. Presently it grunted loud and
dolefully. We set our poles and pushed it into
the deepest part. For a while it bumped and
hlundered downward ; at length there was a
heavy shock, a crash, a boiling and rushing of
many waters. The river spouted up between the
logs. We were fixed irrecoverably aground. The
water coursed savagely by us, and broke over
the end of the raft, but it could not be moved.
The result of this second experiment was more
dismal than of the first. We were in the middle
of the river; the trees on both shores loomed
gloomily through rain and mist, and a volume
of boiling and roaring waves rolled between.
However, there being no remedy, we walked in,
and, by dint of considerable struggling, waded
safe to the western bank, where I directed Abbot
to try no more experiments but to work on a
log canoe till he had finished it. He accordingly
felled another tree, while we were, with great
difficulty on account of the rain, building a fire.
Abbot worked with great perseverance and skill.
Before night, his canoe was nearly hewed out.
We plied him with tea to keep his spirits up,
relieved him of the cooking and all his other
duties, so that his task was accomplished in what
seemed an incredibly short time. That afternoon
I went back to the basin to get fish for the pub-
lic benefit. At night the rain, which had ceased
for a while, began to pour afresh. We put up
White's blanket, which was wet, for a tent, and
spreading mine on the ground beneath, made a
great fire before it, ate our supper, and lay down.
As soon as we were quiet, the continual drop-

THE MARGALLOWAY 63

ping and splashing of rain through the forest
had a sound singularly melancholy and impres-
sive. White dropped asleep, after his established
custom on all occasions, but Abbot and myself,
both of us wet to the skin, chose to lie and talk
before the fire till past midnight. Our guide is
a remarkably intelligent fellow, has astonishing
information for one of his condition, is resolute
and as independent as the wind. Unluckily, he
is rather too conscious of his superiority in these
respects, and likes too well to talk of his own
achievements. He is coarse and matter-of-fact
to a hopeless extremity, self-willed, and self-
confident as the devil ; if any one would get
respect or attention from him, he must meet
him on his own ground in this matter. He is
very talkative. I learned more, from his con-
versation, about the manners and customs of the
semi-barbarians he lives among, than I could
have done from a month's living among them.
That night in the rain, leagues from the dwell-
ings of men, was a very pleasant one. We slept
a few hours towards day, and rose before it was
fairly light, he to finish the canoe, we to pre-
pare breakfast. We launched the boat soon
after, embarked, and paddled down stream. . . .
At length we saw, on the left bank, a camp
built of logs for the use of " loggers." We went
ashore. The place was dry, the roof being slant
and thatched waterproof, with a hole at one side
to let out the smoke of the fire, . . . Fortunately,
I had secured my matches in a tin case, and this
in my waterproof knapsack, so that we were
able to build a fire with the aid of some dry

64 FRANCIS PARKMAN

birch bark we found in the hut. . . . Hanging
our superfluous clothing to dry, we laid down in
the rest and slept comfortably all night.

Tuesday, Aug. 8th. [After a hard paddle and
a long tramp they reached Brag's.]

Wednesday, Aug. 9th. Left Brag's this morn-
ing to walk to Colebrook. I had to carry about
thirty pounds weight, including my blanket, which
having covered White's shoulders through all the
atorms of yesterday, had become saturated with
moisture, and was about as heavy when rolled
up as a log of hard wood. Abbot carried his for
him. The day was overcast and showery. When
we had got about six miles, we overtook an old
fellow in a wagon, who was jolting along over
stones, logs, gullies, and all other impediments,
towards Colebrook. White got in with him and
rode the rest of the way. Abbot and I going on
together, first committing the baggage to his
care, except my knapsack, which I chose to keep
with me. . . .

Thursday, Aug. 10th. Stayed at Colebrook to-
day, for want of means to get off. In the villain-
ous little hole of a tavern there, there is never
anything stirring to break the dismal monotony.
Every day is a Sunday. ...

Friday, Aug. 11th. The stage came by this
morning from Canaan. It is called a stage, but
is in reality a milk-cart. We got in. At noon we
reached Lancaster, where White stopped, being
reduced to his last quarter of a dollar, to see his
uncle and borrow the needful of him. I kept on
to Littleton, where I now am.

Saturday, Aug. 12th. Started for home by way

THE MARGALLOWAY 55

of Plymouth. . . . With an accommodating driver
and a pleasant party of ladies and gentlemen —
one of the former exceedingly handsome, roman-
tic, and spirited — we rode on towards Plymouth,
and got there late at night. There was a gen-
eral on board, — a man of exalted character and
vast political influence which he exercised on the
righteous side of radical democracy, fiercely main-
taining that ninepence was better than a million
dollars, insomuch that the possessor of the first
is invariably a good man and contented with his
lot, while the owner of the last is always a grasp-
ing, avaricious child of the devil. When the gen-
eral alighted at his own tavern he saluted the
first loafer who met him at the door as " Major,"
the next but one was " Colonel," while our driver
answered to the title of "Captain."

Not long after his return home the autumn
term of his junior year began.

CHAPTER VII

TRAVELS

In the winter of his junior year Frank made a
visit to the village of Keene, New Hampshire,
where his classmates lived — George S. Hale,
destined to an honorable position at the Boston
bar, and Horatio J. Perry, subsequently first
secretary to our legation at Madrid. Here he
followed deer-tracks, which lent a great interest
to the snow-covered ground even without sight
or smell of buck or doe, and here he forgot the
ill success of the chase in the company of some
attractive girls, of whom his friends often make
mysterious mention in their invitations to him,
— " There are some here who would not be dis-
pleased at your coming."

It is not to be wondered that girls liked him.
He was a tall lad, near six feet, of strong build,
straight legs, and soldierly carriage. His face
was brave, open, and sunny, full of trustfulness
and manhood, his brow broad and intelligent,
his thick brown hair, parted at the side, curled
a little where it was brushed back over the ears ;
his nose was masculine but delicate, his mouth

TRAVELS 57

good, and his chin the emblem of fortitude.
The garb of the period became him, — the
swallow-tail coat with big round buttons, rolling
away to show the white waistcoat and shirt-
front, a bandanna or plaid cravat swathed round
the neck, reminiscent of the stock, and knotted
sparklshly under the chin. Boyish convictions,
flashes of vehemence, good humor, and good
manners, made his conversation acceptable, even
to persons who were indifferent to the " flourish
set on youth."

The most important and the most unfortunate
event of his junior year, however, was not the
society of young women but the building of the
first gymnasium at Harvard. Frank set to work
with his usual " pernicious intensity," in order
to cram into six months the swelling muscles
that should have been acquired in as many years,
and strained himself ; and, in consequence of
this strain, or perhaps from general ill-health,
that summer he forebore a journey into the
woods and contented himself with a tour by
Lake George, Montreal, Quebec, and the White
Mountains in search of historical information.
His little pocket diary shows his methods : —

Giles F. Yates, Esq., Schnectady.

" The best of Am. Antiquarians " — that is,
with an extensive knowledge of the colonial hist,
of N. Y.

58 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Rev. Mr. Williams, Schenectady.

Kerney — Clergyman, Clermont, Columbia
County, N. Y. A grand-nephew of Sir W.
Johnson.

The Germans of the Mohawk know much of
Sir William and family.

The gent, who told me the preceding told me
also what follows. He was a man of most ex-
tensive and minute information on similar topics.
His ancestor's house, together with one other,
were all that escaped the Schnectady burning
[Count Frontenac, etc., pp. 212, etc.] — for this
reason. His ancestor, an old Dutchman, saved
a Jesuit priest whom the Mohawks were about
to burn at their " burning place " near Schenec-
tady. The priest was secretly packed in a hogs-
head, boated down to Albany, and thence sent
home to Canada. The old man accounted to the
Mohawks for his escape by the priest's omni-
potent art magic. This priest accompanied the
war party and protected the house.

The grandf ather-in-law of this gent, was saved
when at the stake by Grant. He made the ma-
sonic sign, Grant was a Mason and so interfered.

Lake George. On a little hill by a pine-tree,
near Ft. George, I saw a flat rough stone with
an inscription as follows : " 1776. Here lies
Stephen Hedges," and more unreadable. Close
by, on a fresh ploughed [field] a boy with me
found a buckshot and a coin about the size of a
60 ct. piece. I myself picked up a musket ball
and a copper coin.

TRAVELS 69

Montreal — Friday. Visited the nunnery of
the Soeurs Grises, Hospital for invalids, School
for children. Patients hideous to look upon —
nuns worse. Building of the same rough gray
stone generally used here. . . . Two regiments
are in town — 71st Highlanders and the 89. A
part of the 43rd are on the island a short way
off. . . .

" Hope Gate." Quebec is defended some-
thing in this manner : [Here follows a diagram
lettered] G — gate, B blockhouse, stone below,
with loops for musketry — wood above, and
portholes for two cannon commanding the street
S, which is a precipiece on one side, a a a loops
all along the wall, c two more guns on the wall,
also commanding the street. . . .

" Emily Montague," a novel to be read forth-
with. Butler — Jesuits.

[The traveler then went to Crawford's, and
to Franconia Notch.]

M. S. Wars of Canada — C. F. Hoffman knows.

Hoffman's " Wild Scenes in Forest and Prai-
rie," " Winter in the West," etc.

From Senter Harbor to Fryeburg, spent Sun-
day and visited the Pond. Paugus's gun, so
called, is shown at the Academy. [Half Century
of Conflict, vol. i. p. 258.]. . . Stayed a day
or two and rode on to Ethan's to spend the
night. Mrs. C. soon produced her history of her

60 FRANCIS PARKMAN

husband's adventures, etc. — a manuscript which
she means to publish. . . .

" Captivity of Mrs. Johnson," Windsor, Vt.,
1807.

A book worth getting, " Frontier Life in '44,"
etc. . . .

Robert Southey had in his possession the
whole of Wolfe's correspondence.

Went over to see the Indians. . . . Saw
Francois and others, — some squaws extremely
good-looking with their clubbed hair [?] and
red leggings. . . . The Indians use the genuine
wampum. . . . There are a number of loggers
in their red shirts seated in the bar ; some of
them have been to see "the Lord's Supper."
One expressed his disapprobation of the charac-
ter of the exhibition as follows : " G — d d — n it,
I should like to take that fellow by the nape of
the neck, and pitch him into the road. He 's no
right to serve that 'ere up for a show in that
way."

Bought some wampum of F.'s squaw which he
says he bought from the Caughnawagas near
Montreal 25 years ago. It is, however, some-
times made by the whites in Canada.

Frank picked up some bloody yarns from the
Indians, and discontinued his diary. The last
entry is, " Saturday night, had no supper."

That summer there was another visit to Keene,
and the plan at least of a visit to his classmate
Snow at Fitchburg ; the visit had to be deferred
on account of the illness of Snow's father.

TRAVELS 61

SNOW TO FRANK.

FiTCHBURG, Tuesday [1843].

My dear Frank, — ... A hard thing it is
for me, my friend, to have your visit delayed
even for a week. I had famous anticipations of
the glorious times I should have with you. And
mother had no less agreeably anticipated your
visit, and had baked twenty most unexception-
able mince pies, each one of which I should ven-
ture to pit against that famous one of your sis-
ter's, nice as it was. However, they will keep till
you come back. — Now I stipulate most firmly
that you make me the visit when you have finished
your sojourn in the enchanted land [Keene], and
if you don't, I shall have terrible suspicions that
" your gorge has risen " at the delay. I also
stipulate you use your influence to get Hale
to accompany you, and I will entertain both as
far as my capabilities will admit.

Yrs in great haste,

Chas. a. B. Snow.

Thus passed winter and summer in that happy
time when a buckshot on a historic field, yes-
terday's rabbit-tracks in the soft fallen snow,
twenty unexceptionable mince pies, and the ran-
dom glance from a pair of eyes, indifferent black,
will convert much poorer material than a New
England village into an enchanted land. The
holidays passed, as holidays will, hopping, skip-
ping, jumping ; but when college opened its lec-
ture rooms, Frank found himself not well enough

62 FRANCIS PARKMAN

to take up college life, and it was decided to
send him to Europe. He started on a dull No-
vember day; he was not well, the ship was a
little craft, his fond mother and his little sisters
were very unhappy to part with him, so there
was very little cheer that day, but Frank was
not daunted, and went off, no doubt, with boyish
smiles on his face and boyish tears in his heart.
He kept a long diary, — for he would not inter-
mit his training in rhetoric, — from which I take
the following pages : —

Bakqub Nautilus, November 16th, '43.
(Devil of a sea — cabin dark as Hades.)

Got under weigh from Central Wharf about
10 A. M. of Sunday, Dec. 12th [November 12]
— fine weather, and a noble west wind. . . .
Before long we were pitched up and down on an
execrable swell — the fruit of yesterday's east
wind. The barque tossed about like a cork,
snorted, spouted the spray all over her deck,
and went rushing along like mad in a great
caldron of foam she raised about her. At the
same time it grew cloudy, and the wind became
stronger. The sea rose and fell in great masses,
green as grass, the wind driving the spray in
clouds from their white tops. As I came from
the cabin, I beheld to my great admiration a
huge wall of water piled up in front, into which
the vessel was apparently driving her bows ; a
moment more, and the case was reversed — her
bowsprit and half her length rose straight from

TRAVELS 63

the waters and stood relieved against the sky.
In consequence of which state of things I, like a
true greenhorn, grew seasick by the time we
were fairly out of sight of land. Accordingly I
got into my berth as soon as it was dark, and
stayed there twelve hours.

When I came on deck in the morning, the
weather had changed nowise for the better. I
wrapped myself in my cloak, and sprawling on
the poop-deck read the " Bible in Spain." A
schooner, with only topsails set, went scouring
past us, before the wind, homeward bound —
also, in the afternoon, a brig, tossing so that her
keel was almost visible. A troop of porpoises
went tumbling about us, and I ransacked the
vessel in vain for a musket to get a shot at them.

The next morning opened under direful aus-
pices. I came on deck, disconsolate with sea-
sickness, when I was straightway saluted by
about two hogsheads of water which came dash-
ing over the gunnel, accommodating me with a
most unwelcome morning shower-bath. ... I
spent most of the morning in my berth, reason-
ably miserable with seasickness — cogitating,
meanwhile, on things human and divine, past,
present, and to come. When dinner-time came,
I heard the captain's invitation to dinner, and
staggered to the cabin door, determined to accept
it, in spite of fate, when lo ! the ship gave a
lurch, the plates and the rack which should have
secured them slid together from the table, in a
general ruin, to the floor. . . . We have a sin-
gular company on board — the three officers, "the
passenger," the steward, and six men, viz. : a

64 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Yankee, a Portuguese, a Dane, an Englishman, a
Prussian, and an old gray-haired Dutchman, the
best sailor in the ship. Of the officers, the cap-
'tain is a sensible gentlemanly man ; the mate has
rather more individuality, being, as to his outer
man, excessively tall, narrow-shouldered, spindle-
shanked, and Ian tern- jawed, with a complexion
like dirty parchment. Mr. Jonathan Snow is
from Cape Cod, a man of the sea from his youth
up. When I first came on board he was evidently
inclined to regard me with some dislike, as being
rich(V) He constantly sighs forth a wish that he
had five thousand dollars " then ketch me going
to sea again, that 's all." He is rather given to
polemic controversies, of which I have held sev-
eral with him, on the tenets of sophists, Unita-
rians, Universalists, Christians, etc., etc. Of
course, he imagines that men of his rank in life
labor under all sorts of oppressions and injustice
at the hands of the rich. Harvard College he
regards with peculiar jealousy, as a nurse of aris-
tocracy. " Ah ! riches carry the day there, I
guess, ft's a hard thing to see merit crushed
down, just for want of a thousand dollars."

Mr. Hansen, second mate, is the stoutest man
on board, and has seen most service, but being,
as Mr. Snow remarks, a man of no education, he
has not risen very high in the service. He ac-
companied Wyeth's trapping party to the Rocky
Mts., where he was more than once nearly starved
and within a hair's breadth of being shot. He
jjpeaks with great contempt of Indians, but not
with quite so much virulence as I have known
from some others of his stamp. He plumes him-

TRAVELS 65

self on having killed two or three. " Oh, damn
it, I 'd shoot an Indian quicker than I 'd shoot a
dog." He is now seated at supper, amusing me
and himself with some such discourse as fol-
lows : —

" I 've lost all my appetite, — and got a horse's.
Here, steward, you nigger, where be yer — fetch
along that beef-steak. What do you call this
here ? Well, never mind what it be ; it goes down
damned well, anyhow." Here he sat stuffing a
minute or two in silence, with his grizzly whis-
kers close to the table, rolling his eyes, and puffing
out his ruddy cheeks. At last pausing, and lay-
ing down his knife a moment !

" I 've knowed the time when I could have ate
a Blackfoot Indian, bones and all, and could n't
get a mouthful, noway you could fix it." Then
resuming his labors — "I tell you what, this
here agrees with me. It 's better than doctor stuff.
Some folks are always running after the doctors,
and getting sick. Eat! that's the way I -do.
Well, doctoring is a good thing, just like religion
— to them that likes it ; but damn the doctors
for all me ; I shan't die," etc., etc.

By treating Mr. Hansen with brandy and
water, I have got on very good terms with him,
and made him very communicative on the sub-
ject of his Oregon experiences. Would that we
had a consumptive minister, with his notions of
peace, philanthropy. Christian forgiveness, and
so forth, on board with us ! It would be sport of
the first water to set Mr. Hansen talking at him,
and see with what grace the holy man would lis-
ten to his backwoods ideas of retributive justice

66 FRANCIS PARKMAN

and a proper organization of society. "Shoot
him over, and that damn quick, too," is Mr.
Hansen's penalty for all serious offenses. . . .
As soon as it was daybreak I went on deck.
Two or three sails were set, the vessel scouring
along, leaning over so that her lee gunnel scooped
up the water ; the water in a foam, and clouds
of spray flying over us, frequently as high as the
main yard. The spray was driven with such force
that it pricked the cheek like needles. I stayed
on deck two or three hours ; when, being thor-
oughly salted, I went down, changed my clothes,
and read Don Quixote till Mr. Snow appeared at
the door with, " You 're the man that wants to
see a gale of wind, are ye ? Now 's your chance ;
only just come up on deck." Accordingly I went.
The wind was yelling and howling in the rig-
ging in a fashion that reminded me of a storm
in a Canada forest. The ship was hove to. One
small rag of a topsail set to keep her steady —
all the rest was bare poles and black wet cord-
age. I got hold of a rope by the mizzen mast,
and looked about on a scene that it would be
perfect folly to attempt to describe — though
nothing more, I suppose, than an ordinary gale
of wind. . . .

Friday. As yesterday was Thanksgiving, I
may as well record how we fared. Our breakfast
was utterly demolished by the same catastrophe
that overtook a former repast, that, namely, of
being dashed in ruins upon the floor by an ill-
timed lurch of the ship. We dined on a lump
of ham, Cuffee being unable to purvey a more
sumptuous banquet, because the seas put out the

TRAVELS 67

fire in his galley as fast as he kindled It. As for
our supper, it was of bread, pork, and onions.
Not that this is a fair sample of our bills of fare,
which are usually quite as luxurious as any rea-
sonable man need desire. . . .

Wednesday, Dec. 6th. We have been tor-
mented for ten days past with a series of accursed
head winds. Here we are, within thirty-six hours'
sail of Gibraltar, standing alternately north
and south, with no prospect of seeing land for
many days. The captain is half mad, and walks
about swearing to himself in an undertone. Mr.
Snow's philosophy has given way — and I never
had any. Hansen alone is perfectly indifferent.
He sits on deck.whistling and talking over his
work, without troubling himself about our where-
abouts, or caring whether we are in the North
Sea or at Cape Horn.

Thursday, Dec. 7th.

" Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion ;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean."

This has been our enviable position to-day. A
dead calm — a stupid flapping of sails and creak-
ing of masts.

Saturday. Again a calm ! The captain's signs
and portents have come to nought. A turtle
came up at the ship's side to sleep on the quiet
surface, but prudently sunk back to the depths
just as Mr. Hansen was lowering me by a rope
to take him prisoner. A few bonitos splashed
about the bow, some " rudder fish " played along-
side ; and a pair of "garfish" glided about in

68 FRANCIS PARKMAN

defiance of all attempts to capture them. Before
noon a breeze — a favorable one — sprang up !
It bore us on a hundred miles farther, but now
has subsided into the old trebly accursed calm.

Tuesday. A light wind to-day but dead ahead.
More porpoises and more fruitless attempts at
harpooning, on the part of Mr. Snow. I am
rapidly growing insane. My chief resource is the
conversation of Mr. Hansen, who has humor, vol-
ubility, much good feeling, and too much coarse
rough manhood in his nature to be often offen-
sive in his speeqh. Moreover, one man may say
a thing with a very good grace that would be
insufferable from the mouth of another. Witti-
cisms and stories which, uttered by Snow, would
make me turn my back on the fellow with con-
tempt and disgust, sound well enough in the
frank and bold accents of Hansen.

Evening. We have beat up against the wind
into full view of the Spanish coast. Right and
left, from Trafalgar far beyond Cadiz, the line
of rugged and steep bluffs reaches, with here and
there a tower just visible with the glass. But
about noon our evil genius becalmed us again !

Thirty days from Boston. Old Worthington
promised that I should see Gibraltar in eighteen,
but he is a deacon.

CHAPTER VIII

EUROPE

Wednesday evening. We have not yet reached
Tarifa. Dozens of vessels come past us from
Gibraltar, some of them of a most outlandish
aspect to my eye.

Thursday. More delay and vexation. The
captain has not slept for two nights, and is half
worn out by fatigue and anxiety. For myself, I
was so exasperated by our continued ill fortune
that I could not stay below. We passed Tarifa
light about midnight — then were driven back
four miles by a rain squall. But by nine in the
morning we had fairly entered Gibraltar Bay !

[Gibraltar.] Saturday. Yesterday I came
ashore in the barque's boat, landed, got passport
signed and established myself at the "King's
Arms."

I dined at the consul's and spent the day in
exploring this singular city — the world in epit-
ome. More of it in future. This morning I set
out, in company with a midshipman, the son of
Captain Newton of the Missouri, to ride round
the Bay to the Spanish town of Algeciras.

Sunday. . . . Sunday is the day to see the
motley population of Gibraltar at one glance.
Just without the walls is a parade large enough

70 FRANCIS PARKMAN

to hold the six regiments stationed here. This
evening, according to custom, everybody was
thronging up there. I established myself at the
foot of a bronze statue of the defender of Gi-
braltar — I forget his name. General Eliot —
but there he stands towering above the trees and
aloes at the summit of a hill above the parade,
with the emblematic key in his hand, and with
a huge cannon and a mortar on each side of
him. Here I had a specimen of every nation on
earth, it seemed, around me. A dozen Moors
with white turbans and slippered feet lolled one
side ; Jews by couples in their gaberdines ; the
Spanish gentleman in his black cloak and som-
brero — the Spanish laborer with his red cap
hanging on one side of his head — the Spanish
blackguard in bespangled tights and embroi-
dered jacket. On benches among the trees of-
ficers and soldiers carried on successful love
suits ; on the parade below English captains were
showing forth good horsemanship to the best
advantage. The red coats of soldiers appeared
everywhere among the trees and in the crowd
below. There were women in cloaks of red and
black, ladies with the mantilla and followed by
the duenna, — no needless precaution, — and ten
thousand more, soldier and civilian, bond and
free, man and woman and child. Not the least
singular of the group were the little black slaves
belonging to the Moors, who were arrayed in a
very splendid and outlandish attire, following
after their masters like dogs. Bands were
stationed on the parade and around a summer-
house among the trees. The evening gun dis-

EUROPE 71

solved the pageant — God save the Queen rose
on the air ; then the crowd poured through the
gates into the town.

I went to a diminutive theatre in the evening,
to see a play performed by the privates of an
artillery company. . . .

A " rock scorpion " carried me off to the fri-
gates in the harbor, English and American. The
reptile in question was a mixture of Genoese and
French blood — spoke both languages fluently,
besides English and half a score of others. . . .

Sunday, Dec. — . Got tired of Gibraltar —
heard of a government steamer about to sail for
Malta — embarked on her, abandoning my pre-
vious design of penetrating Spain immediately.
... I was prepared for no very agreeable pas-
sage, knowing the hauteur approaching to inso-
lence of a certain class of English naval officers,
and was surprised as well as gratified by the
polite attentions of Lt. Spark, the commander
of the boat, with whom I spent about half the
night in conversation. Unfortunately I am the
only passenger. Lt. Spark seems resolved that
my voyage shall be agreeable notwithstanding —
certainly, he spares no pains for my accommo-
dation, opening his library to me, producing an
endless variety of wines, doing all he can, in
short, to promote ray enjoyment.

We have passed Cape de Got and the Sierra
Nevada, which looks down on the city of Gra-
nada. The coast of Barbary is now in full sight.
To-day the old man mustered his sailors and
marines in the cabin — a large and elegant one
— and read the service of the Church, not for-

72 FRANCIS PARKMAN

getting a special prayer for the British Navy,
and the success of the British arms. He knew
Sir John Moore, Sir P. Parker, and other he-
roes of those days, has shaken hands with
Blucher, has fought the French by sea and land.
Beside his manifold experiences in active life,
he has been a great reader, not only of English
works but of all the eminent American authors.
. . . Here in this old world I seem, thank
Heaven, to be carried about half a century back-
wards in time. As far as religion is concerned,
there are the ceremonies of the Catholic church
and the English litany, with rough soldiers and
sailors making the responses. A becoming hor-
ror of dissenters, especially Unitarians, prevails
everywhere. No one cants here of the temper-
ance reform, or of systems of diet — eat, drink,
and be merry is the motto everywhere, and a
stronger and hardier race of men than those
round me now never laughed at the doctors.
Above all, there is no canting of peace. A whole-
some system of coercion is manifest in all direc-
tions— thirty-two pounders looking over the
bows, piles of balls on deck, muskets and cut-
lasses hung up below, the red jackets of marines,
and the honest prayer that success should crown
all these warlike preparations, yesterday re-
sponded to by fifty voices. There was none of
the new-fangled suspicion that such belligerent
petition might be averse to the spirit of a reli-
gion that inculcates peace as its foundation.
And I firmly believe that there was as much
hearty faith and worship in many of those men
as in any feeble consumptive wretch at home,

EUROPE 73

who, when smitten on one cheek, literally turns
the other likewise, instead of manfully kicking
the offender into the gutter.

Thursday. After a passage of about five days
we reached Malta.

Friday. Late last evening I made an attempt
to see the Church of St. John. It was closed.
My servant pommeled the oaken door in vain.
He then proceeded to sundry coffee-houses in
the neighborhood, hoping to find the man who
had the doors in charge. Three or four Maltese,
all jabbering their bastard Arabic, soon aided
in the search. At length the great bell began
to roar from the church tower, an unequivocal
evidence that soinebody was there. " Gulielmo,
Gulielmo ! " roared my troop of assistants. After
a lapse of five minutes Gulielmo descended and
issued from a portal among the columns at one
side, summoning me in. . . . [Here he describes
the church.] Leaving reluctantly the church
where so many brave men had kneeled to God
for his blessing on their matchless enterprises,
I got into a boat, and was put on board the Nea-
politan steamer Francesco Primo, bound for
Messina, where I lay an hour or two on deck,
listening to the distant music of the English
drums and trumpets.

As I lounged about the deck in the morning,
utterly unable to hold any intercourse with any
one on board except by signs, a sleek-looking fel-
low came up and accosted me in English. We soon
got deep into conversation. My new acquaint-
ance proved to be Giuseppe Jackson, a Sicilian
with an English grandfather, who had been a

74 FRANCIS PARKMAN

cook at the Albion, and at Murdoch's tavern,
had frequently been to Fresh Pond, knew some
of the Cambridge students, and was now on his
way to Mr. Marston's in Palermo. I was right
glad to see him, cook though he was. He made
me a very good interpreter. In the course of our
conversation he made some remark about " the
Pope, that fool."

" What," said I, " do you speak so of the Pope.
Are you not a Roman Catholic ? "

" Ah ! I was till I live in America. I was all
in the dark — you understand what I say — till
I come there. Then my eyes open ; I say, dat
for the Pope, and his old red cap. Ah ! once I
was afraid to think of him."

" You are no longer a Catholic ; what religion
do you believe in now ? "

" Oh, no religion in particular."

I congratulated him on so happy a conversion
from the error of his ways.

At breakfast — a Mediterranean breakfast of
eggs, fruit, and nuts — an old man, of severe
countenance and tremendous mustache, sat op-
posite me. We made various attempts at conver-
sation ; as neither understood the other, we had
to be satisfied with reiterated bowings, and mu-
tual attentions of various kinds, in which the
old man showed himself exceedingly apt and
polite. I afterwards found that he was no less a
personage than il Principe Statelli, a general of
the Sicilian army — but Sicilian " Principes "
are apt to be humbugs.

Mount JEtna is smoking vigorously in front
of us. We are skirting the shore of Sicily.

EUROPE 75

We stopped at Syracuse. ... In going ashore,
a little square-built English-looking man, making
a low congee, presented me with a bundle of
papers, which proved to be certificates of his
qualifications as a guide to the curiosities of the
place. Accordingly Jack Robinson — for such
was his name — and I got into a kind of ferry-
boat and landed on the other side of the bay.
[His guide took him to the Ear of Dionysius
and other places of interest.]

Jack insisting on showing me his certificates
of service in the American Navy, and I, being
desirous of seeing how the Syracusans lived,
went home with him, and enjoyed the exhibition
of his numerous , progeny, who were all piled
together in bed. This done we took boat and
went off to the steamer. Jack was so well satis-
fied with the dollar and a half I gave him for his
day's services that he must needs salute me after
the Sicilian style with a kiss on the cheek, which
I submitted to. He then departed, kissing his
hand as his head disappeared over the ship's
side. The stubborn English temper was well
nigh melted away with his long sojourn among
the Gentiles. He had been pressed in early
youth into the navy — had served both England
and America (though the latter, I believe, in the
capacity of a washerman). As far as I could
see. Jack was an honest man, an exceedingly
rara avis in these quarters.

Arriving at Messina' in the morning, my ac-
quaintance the cook — an experienced traveler
— was of the greatest service to me. Indeed,
without his assistance my inexperience and igno-

76 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ranee of the language would have put me to seri-
ous embarrassment. He showed me how to treat
a Sicilian landlord, and to bribe a custom-house
officer. I am indebted to him for very excellent
accommodations at a very reasonable price.

Messina, Sunday. I took my station outside
one of the gates in the rear of the city, to look
at the scum of humanity that came pouring out.
All was filth, and age, and ruin, — the walls,
the tall gateway with its images and inscriptions,
the hovels at the top of the wall and in the an-
cient suburb, all seemed crumbling to decay. The
orange and lemon groves in the ditch of the for-
tification were dingy and dirty, but away in the
distance appeared the summits of the mountains,
almost as wild and beautiful as our mountains of
New England. I thought of them, and, in the
revival of old feelings, half wished myself at
home. I soon forgot, however, all but what was
before my eyes, in watching the motley array
that passed by me. Men and women literally
hung with rags, half hid in dirt, hideous with
every imaginable species of deformity, and bear-
ing on their persons a population as numerous
as that of Messina itself, — these formed the bulk
of the throng. ''Priests with their black broad-
brimmed hats and their long robes, — fat and
good-looking men, — were the next numerous
class. They draw life and sustenance from these
dregs of humanity, just as tall pigweed flour-
ishes on a dunghill. Then there were mustachioed
soldiers, very different from the stately and se-
date soldier of England. There were men bear-
ing holy pictures and images ; ladies in swarms,

EUROPE 77

whose profession was stamped on their faces ;
musicians, with a troop of vagabonds in their
rear. All around the gateway were the tables
of butchers, fruiterers, confectioners, money-
changers, boot-blackers, and a throng of dirty
men, women, and children. Shouts, yells, and
a universal hubbub.

Tuesday, Jan. 2nd. This morning I set out on
an expedition to see a little of the country, in
company with a Spanish gentleman, Don Mateo
Lopez, who speaks good English. We hired a
carriage together, and got outside the gates by
eleven, after some trouble in procuring pass-
ports. At night we reached a little fishing town
called Giardini, not far from ^tna. The weather
was beautiful, the atmosphere clear and soft.
As for the scenery on the road, it was noble be-
yond expression. For myself, I never imagined
that so much pleasure could be conveyed through
the eye. The road was a succession of beautiful
scenes, — of mountains and valleys on one side
and the sea on the other ; but as to the people,
they are a gang of ragamuffins. . . . These dis-
gusting holes of villages only added zest to the
pleasure of the scenery, — a pleasure not inferior
and not unlike that of looking upon the face of
a beautiful woman. In many respects our own
scenery is far beyond it ; but I cannot say that
I have ever looked with more delight on any of
our New England mountains and streams than
upon these of Sicily. The novelty of the sight,
and the ruined fortresses on the highest crags,
add much to the effect. . . .

I went to the museum of Prince Boscari, a

78 FRANCIS PARKMAN

valuable collection of antiquities, etc. In the
midst of a hall, surrounded by precious frag-
ments of statues and broken pottery, lay the
skeleton of a Chippeway birch canoe. I wel-
comed it as a countryman and an old friend.

I bought some specimens of lava and amber of
a couple of rascals who asked twice their value,
and abated it at once when I refused to buy.

I went to see an opera of Bellini — a native,
I have heard, of Catania. . . . Lopez had a
friend waiting for him here — a light-hearted
and lively young Spaniard whose youthful ec-
centricities sat as easily and gracefully upon
him as awkwardly upon old Mateo. When we
set out on our return, il mio amico, as Lopez
called him, was rattling away incessantly, and
imitating every dog, hog, or jackass we met.

We had a sort of caleche. Besides the driver,
a small boy ran along by our side, or clung be-
hind, ready to do what offices might be required
of him. A still smaller one was stowed away in
a net, slung between the wheels where he kept
a constant eye on the baggage. The larger one
employed himself in tying knots in the horses'
tails as he ran along — or he would dart along
the road before us, clamber on a wall, and sit
till we came by, when he would spring down
with a shout and run on again. . . .

The women of this country are not handsome.
You see groups of them about the stone door-
ways spinning twine, with their hair drawn back
in the fashion represented in the portraits of our
grandmothers.

We stopped at night at Giardini. The " pa-

EUROPE 79

drone " showed us with great complacency the
register of his house, which, he said, contained
the recommendations of the guests who had
honored him with their company. One man's
" recommendation " warned all travelers that
the padrone's beds were full of fleas ; another's
that nothing in the house was fit to eat, etc. The
importunate padrone could not read English. . . .

CHAPTER IX

IN SICILY

The Church of the Benedictines is the noblest
edifice I have seen. This and others not unlike
it have impressed me with new ideas of the
Catholic religion. Not exactly, for I reverenced
it before as the religion of generations of brave
and great men, but now I honor it for itself.
They are mistaken who sneer at its ceremonies
as a mere mechanical force ; they have a power-
ful and salutary effect on the mind. Those who
have witnessed the services in this Benedictine
church, and deny what I say, must either be
singularly stupid and insensible by nature, or
rendered so by prejudice.

Saturday. I recall what I said of the beauty
of the Sicilian women — so far, at least, as con-
cerns those of high rank. This is a holyday.
They are all abroad, in carriages and on foot.
One passed me in the church of the Capuchin
convent, with the black eye, the warm rich cheek,
and the bright glance that belong to southern
climates. They are beautiful beyond all else.

Sunday. Took leave of the hospitable family
of Consul Payson with much regret, and went
off to the steamer Palermo, bound for Palermo.
I found her completely surrounded by boats,

IN SICILY 81

wedged close together ; friends were kissing their
adieus, and boatmen cursing. The delicacy of
sentiment expressed in the Italian national oath
is admirable — they rival the Spaniards in that
matter, — " Arcades ambo ; id est, blackguards
both." At length visitors were warned off, the
boats dispersed, scattering from a common centre,
in all directions ; a man screamed the names of
the passengers, by way of roll-call ; and among
the rest the illustrious one of Signore Park-a-
man ; and we got under weigh. It was late at
night. We passed the long array of bright
lights from the fine buildings along the quay
of Messina, — could just discern the mountains
behind the town, indistinct in the darkness, like
thunder-clouds, — left a long train of phosphoric
light behind us, as we steered down between
Scylla and Charybdis, and in half an hour were
fairly out on the Sicilian Sea. The ghost of de-
parted perils still lingers about the scene of
Ulysses' submarine adventures ; an apology for
a whirlpool on one side — still bearing the name
of Scylla — and an insignificant shoal on the
other. I thought as we passed, and the moon
made a long stream of light on the water, that it
would be an adventure worth encountering, to
be cast away in that place, — but my unwonted
classical humo? was of very short duration ; for,
going below, I found a cabin full of seasick
wretches, which attractive spectacle banished all
recollection of Virgil and Homer. I was doomed
to lie all night a witness to their evolutions ; a
situation not many degrees more desirable than
being yourself a sufferer. . . .

82 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Wednesday. I have just arranged an expedi-
tion to Girgenti, at the southern point of the
island. Traveling in Sicily is no joke, especially
at this season. I engaged a man named Luigi to
furnish three mules, supplies of provisions, cook-
ing apparatus, an attendant, and thus to pilot
me round the island, paying himself all tavern
reckonings and btiona manos. For this I am to
give him four dollars a day. I thus avoid all
hazard of being imposed upon, or robbed, for
I shall have scarce any money with me. Luigi
is perfectly familiar with the island ; has, more-
over, the reputation of an honest man, notwith-
standing which I follow Mr. Marston's advice in
making him sign a written agreement. I have
laid it down as an inviolable rule to look on
everybody here as a rascal of the first water, till
he has shown himself by undeniable evidence to
be an honest man.

Giuseppe has been with me as a servant of
late. The chief fault with him was his continu-
ally stopping to kiss some of his acquaintances
in the street. He seems to know everybody, un-
derstands perfectly how to cheat everybody, has
astonishing promptness and readiness for all
kinds of service. " It is 'trange. Mister Park-a-
man," he modestly remarked the other day, "that
I cannot go nowhere, but what all the people
seem to like-a me, and be good friends with me."
He is vain as a turkey-cock — dresses infinitely
better than I ever did. He is a great coward,
trembling continually with fear of robbers in all
our rides. The Sicilian robbers, by the way, are
a great humbug. When I engaged Giuseppe I

IN SICILY 83

offered him half a dollar a day for wages. " No,
Mist'r Park-a-man, I no take-a wages at all.
When you go away, you make-a me a present,
just as much as you like ; then I feel more bet-
ter." So I told him I would make-a him a pre-
sent of half a dollar a day ; which I did, a mode
of remuneration more suited to Giuseppe's self-
importance.

Thursday, Jan. 18th. All this morning Luigi
Rannesi was in a fever-heat of preparation. I
told him to be ready at two ; he came to me at
twelve announcing that all was ready ; that he
had engaged mules at Marineo, and that the
carriage was at the door to take us there. I was
not prepared for such promptitude. After some
delay, I got ready too, and we set out. Luigi, a
diminutive Sicilian with a thin brown face and
an air of alertness about every inch of him, began
to jabber Italian with such volubility that I could
not understand a word. He must needs exhibit
every article of the provisions he had got ready
for the journey, extolling the qualities of each, —
and they deserved all his praises, — and always
ended by pounding himself on the breast, rolling
up his eyes, and exclaiming, " Do you think
Luigi loves money ? No! Luigi loves honor!"
and then launching forth into interminable eulo-
gies of the country we were going to see, and the
adventures we should meet there. We stopped
at night at Marineo, where Luigi provided a
most sumptuous dinner ; talked and gesticulated,
half frenzied because he found I could not under-
stand half he said ; then seized my hand, which
he dutifully kissed, and left me to my medita-

84 FRANCIS PARKMAN

tions. He reappeared, however, bringing a de-
canter of wine, and a large book of antiquities
which he had brought for me to read. All this
was at his own expense. The terms of his bar-
gain bound him to nothing else than to keep me
alive on the road.

(Castel Termini.) Luigi is a great antiqua-
rian. He rakes up ancient money at every vil-
lage as he goes along. His antiquarian skill is
a passport to introduce him anywhere ; to the
nobles and princes, who are not always, however,
such dignified personages as would appear from
their titles. I went with him to-night to the
house of a judge, who produced a bottle of
rosolio and showed me a grotto in his garden
which he had stuck all over with specimens of
the Sicily minerals. I then went with him to a
" conversazione," where some dozen people were
playing cards. They looked at the " signore
Americano," as the judge introduced me to them,
with great curiosity, and at last left their game
and clustered round me, very curious to know
something of the place I came from. I talked to
them for some time in a most original style of
Italian ; but getting tired of being lionized in
such a manner, I bade them good-night and went
back to the albergo.

I went to visit the famous sulphur works not
far from these places. In the shaft I entered
the rock was solid sulphur — scarce any mixture
of foreign ingredients. As we rode away, a noble
prospect of volcanic mountains lay off on our
right. Soon after the mule-track became a good
road. A carriage from Caltanisetta passed us,

IN SICILY 85

belonging to some English travelers who had
made a wide detour for the sake of a road. We
saw at last the battlements and church spires of
Girgenti, crowning a high hill before us, and had
occasional glimpses of the sea through the valleys.
Approaching the hill, we found a deep and shad-
owed valley intervening. Luigi left the road and
descended into it by a wretched mule-track.
Flocks of goats passed on the road above us,
mules and asses loaded with their panniers came
down from the city. One of his fits of enthusi-
asm had taken possession of Luigi. He began
to lash his mule and drive him along over sand
and rocks at such a rate that I thought him mad,*
till he told me that it was necessary to get to
Girgenti before the Englishmen. " Corragio !
my brave mule ! Corragio, signore," he shouted,
" we shall be the victors ! " At that he drove
full speed up the steep hill toward the gate.
Nothing would stop him. He leaped over ditches,
scrambled through mud and stones, shouting
" Corragio " at the top of his lungs. At last
an insuperable gully brought him up short. He
clapped his hand to his forehead, exclaiming,
" Santissima Maria ! " in a tone of wrath and
despair, then recovered his spirits and dashed off
in another direction. We succeeded. When we
got to the top the carriage was quarter of a mile
off, and Luigi shouted " Vittoria ! " aS he rode
into the gate, as much elated as if he had accom-
plished some great achievement. It was a festa
day. All the people in the crowded streets and
in the little square wore white caps. They were
a hardy and athletic race — their faces, their

86 FRANCIS PARKMAN

short strong necks, their broad and prominent
chests, were all burnt to a dark ruddy brown.

(Girgenti.) Luigi brings me pockets full of
ancient money and seems greatly astonished at
-my indifference. As for himself he is rabid. He
dodges into every house and shop, inquiring for
" antica moneta," stops contadini at work with
the same question ; he has scraped together an
enormous bagful for which he pays scarce any-
thing, perfectly familiar as he is with its true
value, and with the "costumi del paese," as he
says, the customs of the country. His enthusi-
asm embraces every object, far and wide. He
raves of love on the road — tells how he eloped
with his wife — sings love songs, then falls into
the martial vein, shouts " Corragio," defies the
wind, rain, and torrents. He enters into all my
plans with the most fervid zeal, leaving me
nothing to do. Every night he comes upstairs
bringing all kinds of dresses and utensils of the
people for me to look at. Sometimes he comes
in with a handful of old coins, telling me with a
chuckle that he had bought them for " pochis-
simo," kissing them repeatedly in the exultation
of a good bargain. I have lived most sumptu-
ously ever since I have been with him. He puts
the whole inn into a ferment, rakes the town to
find the best of everything, and waits on table
with an eulogium of every dish. " Ah ! signore,"
he repeats, " do you think Luigi loves money ?
No, Luigi loves honor." He has something to
give to every beggar he meets. In short, the
fellow is a jewel, and shall be my particular
friend henceforward.

IN SICILY 87

At the English consul's I met a blind trav-
eler, a Mr. Holeman, who has been over Siberia,
New Holland, and other remote regions, for the
most part alone, and written seven volumes of
his travels. Traveling, he told me, was a passion
with him. He could not sit at home. I walked
home with him through the streets, admiring his
indomitable energy. I saw him the next morn-
ing sitting on his mule, with the guide he had
hired, — his strong frame, his manly English
face, his gray beard and mustaches, and his
sightless eyeballs gave him a noble appearance,
in the crowd of wondering Sicilians about him.

From Girgenti our course lay westward to a
village called Mont' Allegro. . . .

Luigi came up in the evening to hold " un
discorso " with me, according to his custom. He
was in his usual state of excitement. He takes
a glass of wine in his hand, " Viva 1' onore, sig-
norino mio ! " rolling up his eyes and flourishing
his hands, " viva Bacco ; viva Dio ; viva il con-
solo Americano ! " and so on, the finale being a
seizure and kissing of my hand ; after which he
inquires if I shall want him, looks about to see
that all is right, kisses my hand again, and goes
off.

One of Luigi's dignified acquaintances in this
place was the Marchese Giacomo, a nobleman of
great wealth and a determined virtuoso. Luigi
called on him with an offering of coins, and re-
turned with an invitation to his " signore " to
visit the Marchese and see his pictures. He had
a most admirable picture-gallery — among the
rest was an original of Guido. He kindly in-

88 FRANCIS PARKMAN

vited me to dine with him, but Luigi's care had
supplied me a plentiful meal already. So much
for one specimen of a Sicilian nobleman. I saw
one or two more of nearly the same stamp at a
conversazione. The next morning I found Luigi
at the albergo, sitting over a bottle of wine with
a large, fat, sleepy-looking man, in rather a
dingy coat, whom on my entering he slapped on
the shoulder, " Ecco, signore, mio amieo il ba-
rone ; un brav' uomo," etc., running on with a long
string of praises of his friend the baron, at which
this extraordinary specimen of a noble kept
shaking his large head in modest denial. . . .

The way was enlivened by the edifying sin-
gularities of the muleteer Michele, who walked
along talking without intermission for an hour
together, though no one listened or replied. He
interrupted his discourse only to belabor his
mule and curse him in Sicilian. When we came
to a steep place, he would take a firm hold of
the beast's tail with one hand, while he bela-
bored him with a rope's end that he held in the
other, and thus they would , scramble up to-
gether. Where the mud was more than a foot
deep Michele would place both hands on the
mule's rump and vault, with a sort of grunt,
upon his back : wriggle himself about for a while
to find a comfortable seat, and then burst forth
with some holy canticle in praise of a saint.

Just after leaving the ruins of Selinuntum
we were struggling along in the mud of a lane
between rows of cork-trees and aloes, when Mi-
chele suddenly set up a yowling like a tom-cat,
— stopped in the midst of a note to expostulate

IN SICILY 89

with his mule, — and then proceeded in a more
dismal tone than before. Luigi clapped his hands
and shouted, " Bravo ! compare Michele, belli-
sima ! " at which the gratified Michele redoubled
his exertions, and squalled at the top of his
throat, putting his hand to the side of his mouth
to increase the volume of sound. A young con-
tadino who was wading along on an ass at a little
distance behind was seized with a fit of emula-
tion, and set up a counter howl to one of the airs
peculiar to the contadini. I cried bravo to this
new vocalist, while Luigi cried bella and bellis-
sima to the exertions of Michele. Michele jogged
along on his mule, the tassel of his woolen cap
flapping ; while Luigi twisted himself in his sad-
dle to see how I relished the entertainment, re-
marking with a grin, " Canta Michele," Michele
is singing.

Marsala, as everybody knows, is famous for
its wine. For travelers there is little to see. . . .

CHAPTER X

NAPLES AND ROME

I HAVE seen my last of Sicily. I bade adieu to
Luigi, who insisted on my receiving a number
of valuable ancient coins, and would have given
me an hundred if I had let him have his own
way — took leave of the Marstons and Gardi-
ners — had my baggage carried on board the
Palermo by three facchini, and followed it my-
self.

The next morning the famous Bay of Naples
looked wretched and dismal enough under the
influences of an easterly storm, through which
Vesuvius was just visible. I went to the Hotel
de Rome, an excellent house, with a restaurant
beneath where you get and pay for precisely
what you want, an arrangement far better than
a table d'hote.

I spent the first day at the Royal Museum,
where I could not determine which I liked best,
the Hercules Farnese or the Venus of Praxi-
teles.

I met, at the house of Mr. Rogers, Mr. Theo-
dore Parker and Mr. Farnam from Philadelphia.
I had already met Mr. Parker at the Hotel de
Rome. Yesterday we went up Vesuvius together.

. . . We got some of the famous Lacrimce

NAPLES AND ROME 91

Christi wine at a house half way down. We
reached Naples at three, where the outskirts of
the town were deserted, with the exception oi a
few miserable old men and women sitting in the
doorways. It was Sunday, the great day of the
carnival. King Ferdinand, however, sets his face
against the carnival, which for several years has
been a mere nothing at Naples. This year, in
consideration of the distress of tradesmen, he-
has consented, much against his inclination, to
make a fool of himself. This was the day ap-
pointed for a grand masked procession, in which
the king and his ministers were to pelt his sub-
jects with sugar-plums, and be pelted in return.
There was a great crowd as we entered the
square upon the Toledo — the main street of
Naples. While we were slowly driving through
it, the head of the procession appeared. First
came a dragon about fifty feet long, with his
back just visible above the throng of heads, as
if he was swimming in the water. He was drawn
by a long train of horses. Five or six masked
noblemen were on his back pelting the crowd
and the people in the galleries of the houses on
each side. Then came a sort of car, full of bears,
cats, and monkeys, all flinging sugar-plums. The
horses of this vehicle were appropriately ridden
by jackasses. Then came a long train of car-
riages, which we joined. The crowd was enor-
mous. The Toledo was one wide river of heads,
the procession slowly moving down on one side
and returning on the other. Along the middle,
a line of dragoons sat motionless, with drawn
swords, on their horses. Mrs. P. was hit on

92 FRANCIS PARKMAN

the nose by a formidable sugar-plum flung by a
vigorous hand from one of the balconies. She
was in great trouble, but there was no such thing
as retreat. We got our full share. Mr. Farnam's
dignity was disturbed. Mr. Parker had a glass
of his spectacles broken. I alone escaped unin-

iured. At length the royal carriage appeared.
Ferdinand — a gigantic man, taller and heavier
than any of his subjects — was flinging sugar-
plums with hearty good-will, like all the rest.
As they passed our carriage the royal family
greeted us with a broadside, which completed
Mrs. Parker's discomposure. They threw genu-
ine sugar-plums — the others were quite uneat-
able. The king wore a black silk dress which
covered him from head to foot. His face was
protected by a wire mask. He carried a brass
machine in his hand to fling sugar-plums with.
His uncle, his mother, his wife, and all his chief
noblemen soon appeared, all protected by masks.
The procession passed several times up and
down the Toledo, with occasional stoppages. One
of these happened when the king's carriage was
not far before us, while directly over against it, on
the other side of the street, was a triumphal car
full of noblemen. Instantly there began a battle.
Ferdinand and the princes sent volley after vol-
ley against their opponents, who returned it with
interest. The crowd set up a roar, and made a
rush for the spoils. There was a genuine battle
for the sugar-plums that fell between the two
carriages, pushing, scrambling, shouting, yelling,
confusion worse confounded, till the dignified
combatants thought proper to separate. . . .

NAPLES AND ROME 93

The remoter and more obscure parts of this
great city are quite as interesting. Here you
may see an endless variety of costumes, of the
women, almost all beautiful and neat. There is
something particularly attractive about these
women, who are seldom, however, handsome,
properly speaking, but there is the devil in their
bright faces and full rounded forms. Each town*
in the environs has its peculiar costume.

On Saturday I left Naples for Rome in the
diligence, with Mr. and Mrs. Parker. . . .

At length we got a glimpse of St. Peter's.
On every side of us were remains of temples,
aqueducts, and tombs ; Mr. Parker became in-
spired, and spouted Cicero and Virgil. Three
young Romans followed us for a mile, running
along in their rags, with their dingy peaked hats
in their hands, constantly exclaiming in a wail-
ing tone, '"'■ Eccelenz^ eccelenz! povero miserabile,
molto di fame / " — Your excellency, your excel-
lency, I am a poor miserable devil, very hungry.

Monday. To-day is one of the great days. Mr.
P. with his lady and myself went in a carriage
to see the " show." The streets were crowded
with maskers of all descriptions, in carriages and
on foot. A blast of trumpets from the end of
the Corso was the signal for all the carriages to
draw up to one side and the crowd to divide, to
make way for a column of the Pope's soldiers.
First came the sappers, with beards and mus-
taches that fell over their chests, shaggy bearskin
caps and leather aprons. Each carried a broad-
axe over his shoulder, and his musket slung at
his back. They were savage and martial-looking

94 FRANCIS PARKMAN

fellows. A long train of soldiers followed, with
a body of cavalry bringing up the rear. So
much for the Pope's summary measures for
preserving order. After this the carnival began
in earnest.

It was not the solemn sugar-plum foolery of
Naples, but foolery entered into with right hearti-
ness and good-will. There were devils of every
description, from the imp of two feet high to a
six foot monster with horns and hoofs and tail,
and a female friend on each arm. There were
harlequins with wooden swords, or with bladders
tied to poles, which they beat over the heads of
all they met ; Pulcinellas, and an endless variety
of nondescripts. Some of the carriages were
triumphal cars gayly ornamented, full of mask-
ers, men and girls, in spangled dresses. Instead
of sugar-plums, they flung flowers at one an-
other. Some of the women wore wire masks or
little vizards, which left the lower part of the
face bare ; many, however, had no covering at
all to their faces. Few had any regular beauty
of features, but there was an expression of heart
and spirit, and a loftiness, beside, which did not
shame their birth. They flung their flowers at
you with the freest and most graceful action
imaginable. To battle with flowers against a
laughing and conscious face — showering your
ammunition thick as the carriage slowly passes
the balcony — then straining your eyes to catch
the last glance of the black-eyed witch and the
last wave of her hand as the crowd closes around
her, — all this is no contemptible amusement.

The inferior class of women walked in the

NAPLES AND ROME 05

street, very prettily dressed in a laced jacket and
a white frock that came an inch below the knee.
Some were disguised as boys, some wore fierce
mustaches, which set off well enough their spirited
faces. Hundreds of men were shouting round the
carriages with flowers for sale. Thus it went on
for hours, till the report of a cannon gave the sig-
nal for clearing the Corso for the horse-race. . . «

So much for my classic " first impressions " of
Rome ! Yesterday was the 22d of February —
the birthday of Washington. The Americans
here must needs get up a dinner, with speeches,
toasts, etc. It was like a visit home. There they
sat, slight, rather pale and thin men, not like
beef-fed and ruddy Englishmen ; very quiet and
apparently timid ; speaking low to the waiters
instead of roaring in the imperative tone of John
Bull. There was not a shadow of that boisterous
and haughty confidence of manner that you see
among Englishmen — in fact most of them seemed
a little green. A General Dix presided and made
a speech about the repudiation ; the consul, Mr.
Green, made another excellent speech, so did Dr.
Howe. Mr. Conrade of Virginia gave us a most
characteristic specimen of American eloquence,
and toasted " Washington and Cincinnatus !
Patrick Henry and Cicero ! "

There are numbers of American artists here,
some of them fine fellows. In fact, it is some con-
solation, after looking at the thin faces, narrow
shoulders, and awkward attitudes of the " Yan-
kees," to remember that in genius, enterprise, and
courage — nay, in bodily strength — they are a
full match for the sneering Englishmen. Would

96 FRANCIS PARKMAN

that they bore themselves more boldly and confi-
dently. But a time will come when they may
meet Europeans on an equal footing.

Feb. 27th. A weary week of lionizing. I would
not give a damn for all the churches and ruins in
Rome — at least, such are my sentiments at pre-
sent. There is unbounded sublimity in the Coli-
seum by moonlight, — that cannot be denied, —
St. Peter's, too, is a miracle in its way ; but I
would give them all for one ride on horseback
among the Apennines.^

A Virginian named St. Ives, lately converted
to Catholicism, has been trying to convert me,
along with some of the Jesuits here. He has
abandoned the attempt in disgust, telling me that
I have not logic enough in me to be convinced of
anything, to which I replied by cursing logic
and logicians.

I have now been three or four weeks in Rome,
have been presented to his Holiness the Pope,
have visited churches, convents, cemeteries, cata-
combs, common sewers, including the Cloaca
Maxima, and ten thousand works of art. This
will I say of Rome, — that a place on every ac-
count more interesting, and which has a more
vivifying and quickening influence on the facul-
ties, could not be found on the face of the earth,
or, at least, I should not wish to go to it if it
could .^ . . .

Rome, Friday. Yesterday I went to the Ca-
puchins for permission to stay there, which was
refused peremptorily ; but the Passionists told
me to come again at night, and they would tell
1 Jjife of Francis Parkman, p. 192.

NAPLES AND ROME 97

me if I could be admitted. I came as directed,
and was shown a room in the middle of the build-
ing, which contains hundreds of chambers con-
nected by long and complicated passages, hung
with pictures of saints and crucifixes. The monk
told me that when the bell rang I must leave
my hat, come out, and join the others, and then,
displaying some lives of the saints and other holy^
works on the table, he left me to my meditations.
The room has a hideous bleeding image of Christ,
a vessel of holy water, and a number of holy
pictures — a bed, a chair and a table. Also, hung
against the wall was a " Notice to persons with-
drawn from the world for spiritual exercises, to
the end that they may derive all possible profit
from their holy seclusion." The " Notice " pro-
hibited going out of the chamber without neces-
sity; prohibited also speaking at any time, or
making any noise whatever, writing also, and
looking out of the window. It enjoined the
saying of three Ave Marias, at least, at night,
also to make your own bed, etc.

The devil! thought I, here is an adventure.
The secret of my getting in so easily was ex-
plained. There were about thirty Italians re-
tired from the world, preparing for the General
Confession, — and even while I was coming to this
conclusion the bell clanged along the passage,
and I went out to join the rest. After climbing
several dark stairs, and descending others, pull-
ing off their skull-caps to the great images of
Christ on the landing places, they got into a
little chapel, and after kneeling to the altar,
seated themselves. The shutters were closed,

98 FRANCIS PARKMAN

and the curtains drawn immediately after ; there
was a prayer with the responses, and then a ser-
mon of an hour and a haK long, in which the
monk kept felicitating himself and his hearers
that they were of the genuine church — little
thinking that there was a black sheep among his
flock. The sermon over, we filed off to our
rooms. In five minutes the bell rang again for
supper, then we marched off to a conversazione
in another part of the building, where the in-
junction of silence was taken off. I told the di-
recting priest that I was a Protestant. He
seemed a little startled at first, then insinuated
a hope that I might be reclaimed from my
damnable heresy, and said that an American
had been there before, who had been converted
— meaning my acquaintance St. Ives. He then
opened a little battery of arguments upon me,
after which he left me saying that a lay brother
would make the rounds to wake us before sunrise.

The lay brother came in fact, but not before
I had been waked by a howling procession of
the Passionists themselves, who passed along
about midnight. There was a mass, another
prayer, and another endless sermon, soon after
which we were summoned to coffee. I observed
several of the Italians looking hard at me as I
drank a glass of water instead of coffee, on ac-
count of my cursed neuralgia. Doubtless they
were thinking within themselves, How that pious
man is mortifying the flesh !

There was an hour's repose allowed, after
which came another sermon in the chapel. This
over, a bell rang for dinner, which was at eleven

NAPLES AND ROME 99

in the morning. The hall was on the lower floor
— very long, high, and dark — with panels of
oak, and ugly pictures on the walls — narrow
oaken tables set all round the sides of the place.
The monks were all there, in their black robes,
with the emblem of their order on the breast.
They had their scowling faces, as well they
might, for their discipline is tremendously strict.'
Before each was placed an earthen bottle of
wine and a piece of bread, on the bare board.
Each drew a cup, a knife, fork, and wooden
spoon from a drawer under the table ; the at-
tendant lay brothers placed a bowl of singular-
looking soup before each, and they eat in lugu-
brious silence. The superior of the order sat at
the upper end of the hall — a large and power-
ful man, who looked sterner, if possible, than his
inferiors. We, who sat at another table, were
differently served — with rice, eggs, fish, and
fruit. No one spoke, but from a pulpit above
a monk read at the top of his lungs from a book
of religious precepts in that peculiar drawling
tone which the Catholics employ in their exer-
cises. There was, apparently, little fructifica-
tion in the minds of his hearers. The monks eat
and scowled ; the laymen eat and smiled at
each other, exchanging looks of meaning, though
not a word passed between them. There were
among them men of every age and of various
conditions, from the field laborer to the gentle-
man of good birth. The meal concluded with a
prayer and the growling responses of the Pas-
sionists, who then filed off through the galleries
to their dens, looking like the living originals of

100 FRANCIS PARKMAN

the black pictures that hang along the white-
washed walls.

A monk has just been here, trying to convert
me, but was not so good a hand at argument, or
sophistry, as the Jesuits. I told him that he
could do nothing with me, but he persisted,
clapping his hand on my knee and exclaiming,
" Ah, Jiglio, you will be a good Catholic, no
doubt." There was a queer sort of joviality about
him. He kept offering me his snuff-box, and
when he thought he had made a good hit in
argument, he would wink at me, with a most
comical expression, as if to say, "you see you
can't come round me with your heresy." He
gave over at the ringing of a bell which sum-
moned us to new readings and lecturings in the
chapel, after which we were turned out into the
garden of the convent, where we lounged along
walks shaded with olives and oleanders. Padre
Lucca, the directing priest, talked over matters
of faith to me. He was an exception to the rest
of the establishment — plump and well-fed, with
a double chin like a bull-frog, and a most con-
tented and good-humored countenance.

After supper to-night some of the Italians
in the conversazione expressed great sympathy
for my miserable state of heresy : one of them,
with true charity, according to his light, said
that he would pray to the Virgin, who could do
all things, to show me the truth. The whole
community assembled to vespers. The dark and
crowded chapel fairly shook with the din of
more than a hundred manly voices chanting the
service.

NAPLES AND ROME 101

There is nothing gloomy and morose in the
religion of these Italians here, no camp-meeting
long faces. They talk and laugh gayly in the in-
tervals allowed them for conversation ; but when
the occasion calls it forth, they speak of religion
with an earnestness, as well as a cheerfulness,
that shows that it has a hold on their hearts.

Saturday. This morning, among the rest, they
went through the Exercise of the Via Crucis,
which consists in moving in a body around the
chapel, where are suspended pictures, fourteen
in number, representing different scenes in the
passion of Christ. Before each of these they
stop, the priest reads the appropriate prayer
and expressions of contrition from the book, re-
peats a Pater Noster, etc., and so they make a
circuit of the whole. I saw the same ceremony,
on a larger scale, in the Coliseum, without know-
ing what it was.

A thin, hollow-eyed father tried to start my
heresy this morning, but was horrified at the
enormity of my disbelief ; and when I told him
that I belonged to a Unitarian family, he rolled
up his bloodshot eyes in their black sockets, and
stretched his skinny neck out of his cowl, like a
turtle basking on a stone in summer. He gave
me a little brass medal of the Virgin with a
kind of prayer written on it. This medal he
begged me to wear round my neck, and to re-
peat two or three Aves now and then. It was
by this means, he said, that Ratisbon the Jew
was converted, not long since ; who, though he
wore the medal and repeated the Aves merely to
get rid of the importunities of a Catholic friend,

102 FRANCIS PARKMAN

yet nevertheless was favored with a miraculous
vision of the Virgin, whereupon he fell on his
knees and was joined to the number of the Faith-
ful. I told the monk that I would wear the medal
if he wished me to, but should not repeat the
Aves ; so I have it now round my neck, greatly
to his satisfaction. [This medal Parkman kept
all his life.] Miracles, say all the Catholics here,
happen frequently nowadays. The other day a
man was raised to life who had just died in con-
sumption, and now is walking the streets in com-
plete health !

These Italians have come to the seclusion of
this convent in order that their minds may not
be distracted by contact with the world, and that
the religious sentiments may gi-ow up unimpeded
and receive all possible nutriment from the con-
stant exercises in which they are engaged. It is
partly, also, with the intention of preparing them
for the General Confession. It is only for a few
days in the year that any are here. Their " ex-
ercises " are characteristic of the Church. The
forms of prayer are all written down : they read,
repeat, and sing. Very little time is allowed them
for private examinations and meditations, and
even in these they are directed by a printed card
hung in each of the rooms, and containing a list
of the subjects on which they ought to examine
themselves, together with a form of contrition to
be repeated by them. The sermons and readings
are full of pictures of Christ's sufferings, exhorta-
tions to virtue, etc., but contain not a syllable of
doctrine. One of the first in the printed list of
questions which the self-examiner is to ask him-

NAPLES AND ROME 103

self is, " Have I ever dared to inquire into the
mysteries of the Faith ? "

Sunday. This is Palm Sunday, the first day of
the famous Settimana Santa, — the Holy Week.
I determined to get out of the convent and see
what was going on. The day and night previous
I had worn the medal, but had no vision of the
Virgin, — at least of Santissima Maria.. Padre
Lucca was unf eignedly sorry to have me go with
unimpaired prospects of damnation. He said he
still had hopes of me; and taking the kindest
leave of me, gave me a book of Catholic devo-
tions, which I shall certainly keep in remem-
brance of a very excellent man. He looked at
the book I had been reading the night before,
and expressed his approbation, — it was a life of
Blessed Paul of the Cross, detailing among other
matters how the apostle hated women with a holy
and religious hatred, justly regarding them as
types of the devil, and fountains of unbounded
evil to the sons of men ; and how, when women
were near, he never raised his eyes from the
ground, but continually repeated Pater Nosters
that the malign influence might be averted.

When I got into the fresh air I felt rather
glad to be free of the gloomy galleries and ceUs,
which, nevertheless, contain so much to be ad-
mired.i ...

I heard it computed that there are forty thou-
sand strangers in Eome, which must, however,
be a great exaggeration. The English are the
most numerous, esteemed, and beloved as usual.

^ Cf. " A Convent at Rome," Harper'' s New Monthly Maga-
zine, Angust, 1890.

104 FRANCIS PARKMAN

One of them, standing in St. Peter's, before the
ceremony yesterday, civilly exclaimed, " How long
does this damned Pope expect us to stand here
waiting for him ! " A priest who spoke English
reminded him that, since he had come to Rome,
it was hoped that he would conform to the usages,
or at least refrain from insulting the feelings of
those around. The Englishman answered by an
insolent stare ; then turning his back, he said,
" The English own Rome ! "

FBANK TO HIS MOTHEB.

Rome, April 5, '44.
Dear Mother, — ... We are in the midst
of the fooleries of Holy Week. To-night the
Pope took a mop, and washed the high altar, in
the presence of some ten thousand people. . . .
I have been spending a few days in a convent of
the monks called Passionists. ... I find that
though I am very well indeed in other respects,
there has not been any great change in the dif-
ficulty that brought me out here. ... I have
resolved to go to Paris and see Dr. Louis, the
head of his profession in the world, and see if he
can do anything for me. ... I have been a per-
fect anchorite here, have given up wine, etc.,
and live at present on 40 cents a day for pro-
visions — so if I do not thrash the enemy at
last, it will not be my fault. . . . Here are four
thousand English in Rome and they are tolerably
hated by the Italians, while we sixty or seventy
Americans seem, I am happy to say, liked and
esteemed everywhere. . . .

Yours, Frank.

CHAPTER XI

FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH

The next day I left Rome for Florence, in the
diligence — and left it with much regret, and
a hope to return. A young American named
Marquand went with me. . . .

I went to the studio of Powers the sculptor, a
noble-looking fellow and a wonderful artist. I
have seen Florence — that is, I have had a glance
at everything there, but one might stay with
pleasure for months. Its peculiar architecture
and its romantic situation make it striking
enough at first sight, but the interest increases,
instead of diminishing. It is impossible to have
seen enough of its splendid picture galleries, gar-
dens, and museums.

On Wednesday I left Florence, unsatisfied,
but unable to stay longer. After all, I shall not
see Granada — at least for some years, thanks
to the cursed injury ttat brought me to Europe ;
for as I find no great improvement, I judge it
best to see what a French doctor can do for me,
instead of running about Spain.

At ten in the evening we left Parma. At five
in the morning we were at Piacenza. Here we
stopped an hour or two. Here again the strik-
ing difference between the towns of northern

106 FRANCIS PARKMAN

and southern Italy was manifested. The people
looked as grave and solemn as the brick fronts
of the palaces and churches. . . .

We crossed the Po, by a wretched bridge of
boats, and entered Lombardy and the domains
of Austria. The black eagle of Austria was
painted above the guard-house, on the farther
bank, where a dozen sullen-looking soldiers loi-
tered about. There was a barrack of them near
the custom-house, where we must stop an hour
and a half to be searched, and to pay the fellows
for doing it. After that we rode all day through
a beautiful and fertile country, passing through
Lodi, the scene of Bonaparte's victory, till at
night we entered Milan, saturated with dust.

As for the city, it is well enough. The people
are different in appearance, in manners, in lan-
guage, and in habits, from the southern Italians.
The women are all out sunning themselves ;
whole flights of them came out of the Cathedral,
with little black veils flung over their heads, and
mass books in their hands. Their faces and fig-
ures are round and rich — of the fiery black eye
of Rome I have seen nothing; their eyes are
blue and soft, and have rather a drowsy meek
expression, and they look excessively modest.

This morning, when the whole city was quiet,
the shops shut in honor of Sunday, the people
issuing from the Cathedral, gentlemen walking
listlessly about, and porters and contadini sitting
idle at the edge of the sidewalks. There was a
group of gentlemen taking their coffee under
awnings in front of each of the caffes on the
piazza before the Cathedral. This vagabond way

FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 107

of breakfasting and seeing the world at the
same time is very agreeable. There is no place
where you can be more independent than in one
of these cities; when you are hungTy there is
always a restaurant and a dinner at a moment's
notice, when you are thirsty there is always a
caffe at hand. If you are sleepy, your room
awaits you, a dozen sneaking waiters are ready,
at your bidding, and glide about like shadows to
do what you may require, in hope of your shil-
ling when you go away. But give me Ethan
Crawford, or even Tom, in place of the whole
race of waiters and gar9ons. I would ask their
pardon for putting them in the same sentence,
if they were here.

A funeral procession filed into the Cathedral,
each priest, layman, woman, and child with an
enormous wax candle in hand. The noble chapel,
at the left extremity of the transept, was hung
with black for the occasion — the coffin was
placed in the midst, and the ceremonies were
performed. The priests seemed not fairly awake.
One fat bull-frog of a fellow would growl out
of his throat his portion of the holy psalmody,
interrupting himself in some interesting conver-
sation with his neighbor, and resuming it again
as soon as the religious office was performed.
Another would gape and yawn in the midst of
his musical performances, another would walk
about looking at the people, or the coffin, or the
kneeling women, singing meanwhile with the
most supreme indifference and content on his
fat countenance. I could imagine the subject of
their conversation, as they walked out in a

108 FRANCIS PARKMAN

double file, leaving the coffin to the care of the
proper officials, after they had grunted a con-
cluding anthem over it. " Well, we 've fixed this
fellow's soi}l for him. It was a nasty job ; but
it 's over now. Come ! won't you take something
to drink ? " [The foregoing quotation and some
others that I shall make to indicate the ginger
and spice of his character, must be read with
the recollection that they are the hasty jottings
of a young man who was writing in his private
notebook, never expecting them to be seen. If
we were to misinterpret these sallies unfairly
even for a moment, we should do injustice to the
reasonableness of his character. Had he spoken
then, his smile would have dispelled any misun-
derstanding.]

I used to like priests, and take my hat off and
make a low bow, half in sport and half in ear-
nest, whenever I met them, but I have got to
despise the fellows. Yet I have met admirable
men among them ; and have always been treated
by them all with the utmost civility and atten-
tion.

I write on the Lake of Como, with three
women, a boy, and four men looking over my
shoulder, but they cannot read English.

I have seen nothing, at home or abroad, more
beautiful than this lake. It reminds me of Lake
George — the same extent, the same figure, the
same crystal purity of waters, the same wild
and beautiful mountains on either side. But the
comparison will not go farther. Here are a hun-
dred palaces and villages scattered along the
water's edge and up the declivities. . . . All

FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 109

here is like a finished picture ; eveu the wildest
rocks seem softened in the air of Italy. Give me
Lake George, and the smell of the pine and
fir!

(Andeer.) I stopped here, and will stay here
several days. Nothing could surpass the utter
savageness of the scenery that you find by tracing
up some of the little streams that pour down*
on all sides to join the Rhine — not a trace of
human hand — it is as wild as the back-forests
at home. The mountains, too, wear the same
aspect.

. . . Here was a change, with a vengeance,
from the Italian beauties of the Lake of Como !
I sat on the rock, fancying myself again in the
American woods with an Indian companion, but
as I rose to go away the hellish beating of my
heart warned me that no more such expeditions
were in store for me — for the present, at least ;
but if I do not sleep by the camp-fire again, it
shall be no fault of mine. ...

(Zurich.) The Germans lighted their pipes
with their flint and steel, and, stretching out
their legs and unbuttoning their coats, disposed
themselves to take their ease. Here was none of
the painful dignity which an Englishman thinks
it incumbent upon him to assume throughout
his travels — no kneepans aching with the strain
of tight strapped pantaloons, no neck half severed
by the remorseless edge of a starched dickey. . . .

The journey to Paris occupies two days. Yes-
terday morning, looking from the window, I saw
an ocean of housetops stretching literally to the
very horizon. We entered the gate, but rode for

110 FRANCIS PARKMAN

nearly an hour through the streets before we
reached the diligence office. Then I went to the
Tuileries, the Palais Royal, the Boulevard des
Italiens, and the Place Vendome. " Let envious
Englishmen sneer as they will," I thought, " this
is the ' Athens of Modern Europe.' "

I had called on my uncle [Mr. Samuel Park-
man], and found him not at home. He called on
me with the same fortune, but left a note direct-
ing me to be at a celebrated cafe at a certain
time, where he was to be distinguished by a
white handkerchief in his hand. I found him
there, and went with him to a ball at the Champs
Ely sees.

Boulogne, May 16th. I have been a fortnight
in Paris, and seen it as well as it can be seen in
a fortnight. Under peculiarly favorable circum-
stances, too ; for it was the great season of balls
and gayeties, and I had a guide, moreover, who
knows Paris from top to bottom, within and
without. . . .

When I got to London, I thought I had been
there before. There, in flesh and blood, was the
whole host of characters that figure in Pickwick.
Every species of cockney was abroad in the dark
and dingy looking streets, all walking with their
heads stuck forward, their noses turned up, their
chin pointing down, their knee-joints shaking,
as they shuffled along with a gait perfectly ludi-
crous, but indescribable. The hackney coachmen
and cabmen, with their peculiar phraseology, the
walking advertisements in the shape of a boy
completely hidden between two placards, and a
hundred others seemed so many incarnations

FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 111

of Dickens' characters. A strange contrast to
Paris ! The cities are no more alike than the
" dining room " of London and the elegant res-
taurant of Paris, the one being a quiet dingy
establishment where each guest is put into a box
and supplied with porter, beef, potatoes, and
plum-pudding. Red-faced old gentlemen of three
hundred weight mix their " brandy go " and read'
the " Times." In Paris the tables are set in ele-
gant galleries and saloons, and among the trees
and flowers of a garden, and here resort coats cut
by the first tailors and bonnets of the latest mode,
whose occupants regale their delicate tastes on
the lightest and most delicious viands. The wait-
ers spring from table to table as noiselessly as
shadows, prompt at the slightest sign ; a lady,
elegantly attired, sits within an arbor to preside
over the whole. Dine at these places, then go to
a London " dining room " — swill porter and de-
vour roast beef !

I went immediately to Catlin's Indian Gallery.
It is in the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly. There was
a crowd around the door ; servants in livery
waiting ; men with handbills of the exhibition
for sale ; cabmen, boys, and pickpockets. I was
rejoicing in Mr. Catlin's success, when the true
point of attraction caught my eye, in the shape
of a full-length portrait of Major Tom Thumb,
the celebrated American dwarf, who it seems
occupies the Indian Gallery for the present. I
paid my shilling and went in. The little wretch
was singing Yankee Doodle with a voice like a
smothered mouse, and prancing about on a table,
a la Jeffrey Hudson, with a wooden sword in his

112 FRANCIS PAEKMAN

hand ; a great crowd of cockneys and gentlemen
and ladies were contemplating his evolutions.
But for the Indian Gallery, its glory had de-
parted ; it had evidently ceased to be a lion.
The portraits of the chiefs, dusty and faded, hung
round the walls, and above were a few hunting
shirts and a bundle or two of arrows ; but the
rich and invaluable collection I had seen in Bos-
ton had disappeared, and no one thought of look-
ing at the poor remains of that great collection
that were hung about the walls. Catlin had done
right. He would not suffer the fruits of his
six years' labor and danger to rot in the damp-
ness to gratify a few miserable cockneys, so has
packed up the best part of his trophies. . . .

St. Paul's, which the English ridiculously com-
pare to St. Peter's, is without exception the dir-
tiest and gloomiest church I have been in yet.
I went up to the ball at the top of the cupola,
whence the prospect is certainly a most wonder-
ful one. . . .

Walk out in the evening, and keep a yard or
two behind some wretched clerk, who with nose
elevated in the air, elbows stuck out at right
angles, and the pewter knob of his cane playing
upon his under lip, is straddling his bow legs
over the sidewalk with a most majestic air. Get
behind him, and you see his dignity greatly dis-
turbed. First he glances over one of his narrow
shoulders, then over the other, then he edges off
to the other side of the walk, and turns his va-
cant lobster eyes fuU upon you, then he passes
his hand over his coat-tail, and finally he draws
forth from his pocket the object of all this solici-

FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 113

tude in the shape of a venerable and ragged cot-
ton handkerchief, which he holds in his hand to
keep it out of harm's way. I have been thus
taken for a pickpocket more than a dozen times
to-night, not the less so for being respectably
dressed, for these gentry are the most dashy men
on the Strand.

There is an interesting mixture of vulgarity,
and helplessness in the swarm of ugly faces you
see in the streets — meagre, feeble, ill-propor-
tioned, or not proportioned at all, the blockheads
must needs put on a game air and affect the
" man of the world " in their small way. I have
not met one handsome woman yet, though I have
certainly walked more than fifty miles since I
have been here, and have kept my eyes open.
To be sure, the weather has been raw and chill
enough to keep beauty at home. Elsewhere Eng-
glishmen are tall, strong, and manly ; here, the
crowd that swarms through the streets are like
the outcasts of a hospital. . . .

I spent seven or eight days in London. On
the eighth day I went up the river to Richmond
in a steamboat, with a true cockney pleasure
party on board, whose evolutions were very en-
tertaining. . . .

I got into the cars one night — having sent my
trunks to Liverpool — and found myself in the
morning at Darlington, nearly three hundred
miles distant. Thence I took stage for Carlisle,
famous in Border story.

I went away at four in the morning for Ab-
botsford. We were in the region where one
thinks of nothing but of Scott, and of the themes

114 FRANCIS PARKMAN

which he has rendered so familiar to the whole
world. The Cheviot was on our right — the
Teviot hills before us. The wind came down
from them raw and cold, and the whole sky was
obscured with stormy clouds. I thought as we
left the town of the burden of one of his ballads :
" The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall." It was
little applicable now. The ancient fortification
looked sullen and cheerless as tottering battle-
ments and black crumbling walls, beneath a sky
as dark and cold as themselves, could make it. I
was prepared for storms and a gloomy day, but
soon the clouds parted and the sun broke out
clear over the landscape. The dark heathery
sides of Teviot — the numberless bright rapid
streams that came from the different glens, and
the woods of ash, larch, and birch that followed
their course, and grew on the steeper declivities
of the hills — never could have appeared to more
advantage. Esk and Liddel, Yarrow, the Teviot,
Minto Crag, Ettrick Forest, Branksome Castle,
— these and more likewise we passed before we
reached the Tweed and saw Abbotsf ord on its
banks among the forests planted by Scott him-
self. I left my luggage at the inn at Galashiels,
telling the landlord that I was going away, and
might return at night, or might not. I visited
Abbotsf ord, Melrose, and Dryburgh — and con-
sider the day better spent than the whole four
months I was in Sicily and Italy. I slept at Mel-
rose, and returned to Galashiels in the morning.
I like the Scotch — I like the country and
everything in it. The Liverpool packet will
not wait, or I should stay long here, and take a

FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 115

trout from every "burnie " in the Cheviot. The
scenery has been grossly belied by Irving and
others. It is wild and beautiful. I have seen
none more so. There is wood enough along the
margins of the streams (which are as transparent
as our own) ; the tops of the hills alone are bare.
The country abounds in game, pheasants, moor-
cock, curlew, and rabbits. ...

I walked up Arthur's Seat, passing the spot
where Jeanie Deans had her interview with her
sister's seducer, and, when I arrived at the top,
looking [sic] down on the site of her father's
cottage. Under the crags here is the place where
Scott and James Ballantyne used to sit when
boys and read and make romances together.
Edinburgh, half wrapped in smoke, lies many
hundred feet below, seen beyond the ragged pro-
jecting edge of Salisbury Crag, the castle rising
obscurely in the extreme distance. . . .

Frank was obliged to hurry off to Liverpool,
where he went aboard the packet Acadia, and
after an uneventful voyage, during which he
amused himself with a little satire upon some
fellow passengers, notably my lord bishop of
Newfoundland, returned safely home.

CHAPTER XII

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT

Feank landed about June 20th, took his degree
of A. B., and attended a senior class supper, at
which we do not know whether he used the
temperance ticket for $2.12^, or the wine ticket
for $4.62|^. Off he went again in the beginning
of July with a little green notebook about as
large as a porte-monnaie in his pocket, which
he brought back filled with notes, descriptions,
memoranda, reflections. Conscious of his bach-
elorhood in arts, of a philosophic superiority to
youth and folly, and dignified by a sense of a
horizon stretching from Palermo to Edinburgh,
he begins in fragmentary, critical mood : —

The traveler in Europe. Art, nature, history
combine. In America art has done her best to
destroy nature — association, nothing. Her for-
mer state. Her present matter of fact. . . .

July 4, '44. The celebration at Concord. The
admirable good humor of the people in the cars
during some very vexatious delays was remark-
able. Some young men sang songs and amused

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 117

themselves with jokes, among whom my former
schoolmate was conspicuous. In spite of the cold-
ness attributed to the Am. character, he seems
to play the rowdy with all his heart, and as if
he considered it the height of glory.

The cheerfulness, the spirit of accommodation
and politeness was extraordinary. Perfect order,
in the most difficult evolutions of the day. An
hundred soldiers would not in Europe have as-
sured such quiet and unanimity. Some young
men exhibited a good deal of humor and of
knowledge, in their observations, and I remem-
bered that this is our lowest class. This orderly,
enthusiastic, and intelligent body is the nearest
approach to the peasantry of Europe. If we have
not the courtly polish of the European upper cir-
cles, the absence of their stupid and brutal pea-
santry is a fair offset. . . .

Students of H. [Harvard] do not on all occa-
sions appear much better than their less favored
countrymen, either in point of gentlemanly and
distingue appearance or in conversation. . . .

The discussion on Fourierism, etc., of the she-
philosophers of W. Roxbury. Their speculations,
and the whole atmosphere of that heart of new
philosophy, were very striking and amusing after
seeing the manners of Paris and London, — the
entertainments and pleasures and the workings
of passions which they in their retirement seem
scarce to dream of . . . .

England has her hedges and her smooth green
hills, robed [?] with a spirit of power and worth,
strengthened and sanctioned by ages ; but give
me the rocky hillside, the shaggy cedar and scrub-

118 FRANCIS PARKMAN

oak, the wide reach of uncultivated landscape, the
fiery glare of the sun ... its wild and ruddy
light. All is new, all is rough, no charm of the
familiar. Fierce savages have roamed like beasts
amid its rugged scenery ; there was a day of strug-
gle, and they have passed away, and a race of
indomitable men have succeeded them. . . .

Nahant, July 17th. The company on board the
steamboat — difference in silence and intelligence
from a cackling party. The man with the model
of a beehive, Ohio. . . . The traveled fool, set-
ting his name in the bar book as ,

Cosmopolite. He finds some improvements here
"very creditable to the town," of which he is a
native. He imitates English dress and manners.
The dinner party was various and far from dis-
tingue.

Roland Green, Mansfield. His family have
relics of the Indians.

The disagreeable whining manner of some
vulgar Yankee girls.

" John Norton's Captivity," taken at a fort in
Adams, 1746.

Springfield. The independent Yankee whom
I spoke to about his failure to call me. In Job's
language he " stood right up to it," giving shot
for shot. No English creeping.

The landlord — no bowing.

Montague. — Grape shot dug up.

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 119

The landlord of Chester Factory, sitting cross-
legged on his chair, took no notice of me as I
came in, but on my asking if the landlord was
in, he said, " Yes, here I be."

. . . An American landlord does not trouble
himself to welcome his guests. He lets them enter
his house, and sits by quite indifferent. He seemS
rather to consider himself as conferring an obli-
gation in anything he may do for them.

Stockbridge. Maple and beech have followed
the fir of the original growth. . . .

Dr. Partridge. The old man was in his labo-
ratory, bedroom, etc., among his old tables, book-
cases, etc., with shelves of medicines, and scales
suspended hard by. He is about 94, and remem-
bered Williams [Capt. Ephraim Williams] well,
who he describes as a large, stout man, who used
often to visit his father, and take him on his
knee. He says he remembers the face as if he
saw it yesterday, especially the swelling of the
ruddy cheeks. His father. Colonel Partridge,
was in the service, and despised Abercrombie as
a coward. The Dr. remembers seeing a thou-
sand of Abercrombie's Highlanders at Hatfield
or some other town where they were billeted.
Abercrombie was always trembling with fear of
Indians, and sending out scouts about camp.
When Howe fell. Partridge, the Dr. says, was
at his side, and his lordship said, " The army
has no leader, and is defeated." . . .

Gt. Barrington . . . Mt. Washington . . .
Bash-a-Bish. . . .

120 FRANCIS PARKMAN

The heartj'^, horse-swapping, thumping young
Dutchman, who would be damned if he cared for
anything if he could only swap off his old wag-
ons for Jim Fray's colt. . . .

The crouching, cadaverous, lank old man with
the opium for his rheumatic wife. . . . The Irish
priest, with his jovial conversation and hints
about a mitre. [Here follow various rumors
concerning letters, journals, remembrances, tra-
ditions, concerning perhapses and may-be's, con-
cerning Capt. Ephraim Williams and Rogers
the Ranger, all clues carefully noted, followed
by a " Nil Desperandum.'''''\

The two girls on the road from N. Adams.
One of them was a mixture of all the mean quali-
ties of her sex with none of the nobler. She was
full of the pettiest envy, spite, jealousy, and
malice, singularly impudent and indelicate.

" Should have given ye a pie to-day, but ain't
got no timber to make 'em."

Then follow memoranda of books, maps, his-
tories, memoirs, travels, letters, papers, pam-
phlets, notes from a French MS., etc., ending
with a reminder to be at Cambridge on the third
Wednesday of August.

But before the middle of September, with
another neat little leather-tongued notebook,
he went off to Concord. On the flyleaf is the
note " Read Dryden's prose " and also a copy
of a plan of old Fort Mackinaw made by

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 121

Lieutenant Whiting. This notebook served the
purpose of a spleen-valve, for in the midst of
historical notes and references are interspersed
very caustic descriptions of acquaintances and
companions. It would be unjust to think that
these satirical sketches indicate the usual pitch
of his judgments. A lad of twenty-one or two,
with a proud resolution hidden in his breast, with
strong ambition and high purposes, and perhaps
not unmindful of certain maidenly opinions, en-
tertained at Keene and Salem, as to what the
world and young men should be, may well be
forgiven if he measures his fellows by exacting
standards, — standards to which he endeavors to
conform his own conduct. Perhaps it was the
memory of a girl at Keene that provoked this
little irritation.

Sunday, Sept. 21. Some men are fools, utter
and inexpressible fools. I went over to Dr. Z's

last night to call on Miss . Heaven knows I

am quite indifferent to her charms, and called
merely out of politeness, not caring to have her
think I slighted her. But the Dr. in the con-
temptible suspicion that he is full of, chose to
interpret otherwise. William X was there, whom
I allowed to converse with Miss Y while I talked
with the Dr.'s lady. The Dr. watched me, though
I was not aware of it at the time, till happening
to rise to take a bottle of cologne, out of a mere
whim, and applying some of it to my handker-

122 FRANCIS PARKMAN

chief, the idiot made a remark, in a meaning
tone, about "long walks" in the evening. He
soon after asked me to take a glass of wine, say-
ing that it would make vaefeel better. He whis-
pered in my ear that X would go soon — and I
better stay. What could I do or say ? I longed
to tell him the true state of my feelings, and
above all what I thought of his suspicious imper-
tinence. I left the house vexed beyond measure
at being pitied as a jealous lover, when one ob-
ject of my visit to Miss that evening was to

prove to her and the rest how free I was from
the influence of her attractions. Is it not hard
for a man of sense to penetrate all the depths of
a blockhead's folly ? and to know what inter-
pretation such a fellow will put on his conduct ?
I sent him a letter which I think will trouble not
a little his jealous and suspicious temper. . . .

L 's freaks ; his disgusting habits at table ;

windows broken and he will not mend them ;

goes to B 's room, looks into his drawers,

" Hulloo, you 've got some gingerbread ! " invites
himself to spend the evening there ; stays till
morning, and sleeps standing against the wall,
like a horse !

Neither was our young gentleman very broad-
minded : —

May 30, 1845. A great meeting of the Fou-
rierites in Tremont Chapel. Most of them were
rather a mean set of fellows — several foreign-
ers — plenty of women, none pretty — there was
most cordial shaking of hands and mutual con-

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 123

gratulations before the meeting began. A dirty
old man four feet high, filthy with tobacco, came
and sat down by me and was very enthusiastic.
He thought Mr. Ripley, who made the opening
speech, " one of the greatest men our coun-
try can produce." Ripley was followed by a
stout old man ; he spoke with his hands in his
pockets, and gave nothing but statistics, in a,
very dry uninteresting manner. It surprised me
to see these old fellows, who looked like any-
thing but enthusiasts, attached to the cause.

H , the editor from N. Y., spoke in

a very weak indecisive manner, seemingly afraid
of himself and his audience. . . . Brisbane and
Dana followed in a pair of windy speeches, and
Channing was beginning a ditto when I came
away. They say that there is a system of laws
by which the world is to be governed " harmo-
niously," and that they have discovered those

laws. F. was there looking much more

like a lunatic or a beast than a man.

The young man had standards of his own ; to
his thinking there were certain things a man
should endeavor to do, certain behaviors to
which a gentleman must conform ; and as he
was endowed with a masterful quality of mind
and an impatience of bad work, Frank had a
youthful tendency to abrupt and severe judg-
ments ; of which, be it said, there is not a trace
in his history.

At Cambridge, soon after the summoning bell
of the third Wednesday, he began a new note-

124 FRANCIS FAEKMAN

book, not of the holiday kind incased in green
leather, but a large square blue-covered notebook
intended for the base uses of grinds. This little
book proves his great zeal in acquiring know-
ledge of European history. Long notes from
Gibbon on polytheism, policy, population, roads,
trade, and other great matters, so heavy to read,
so light to forget. On Gibbon's heels follow
Robertson and the Feudal System, then Gibbon
again, who had not been finished but intermitted ;
after him de Mably and Sisraondi, then Gibbon
back again, like a great whale coming up to
breathe, all about kings, popes, declines of this
and growths of that ; then, on loose and separated
pages as befitted a lesser dignity, hints of Polizi-
ano and Savonarola. Then come Sully, Wraxall,
Michelet, glimpses of the humanities, and so
on through close pages of abstracts and memo-
randa, until Notebook, No. 2, is reached, which
to the reader's relief of mind is dated six months
later, where Frank makes a headlong plunge into
the Holy Roman Empire, and all for the sake of
a backoTound for Indian and coureur de hois.
Macaulay, von Ranke, Guizot, Dunham, Millot,
Pfeffel, Giannone (unless perchance these latter
two be makers and not writers of history), pri-
mogeniture, Salic law, patriotism, vavasours, de-
cretals, Venice, heresy, and despotism, all come
up to be taxed according to the decree of the

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 125

young Caesar, who had resolved to put a new
province under his subjection. No doubt even
such a hearty appetite, whetted by ambition,
helped by a strong memory, could not digest
the great stretch of recorded time from Augus-
tus to the sailing of Jacques Cartier from Havre
de Grace, but he learned enough to know what
he must follow up more closely and what he
might pass by. Professor WendeU relates how
he once met Parkman in the Louvre, in front of
a picture of the murder of the due de Guise, and
Parkman immediately recounted with finished
detail all the story. The immediate service of
the Roman Empire, of the feudal system, of
mediaeval Europe was, not to stand either as
scenery or background, but to fill the vast spaces
behind, — where carpenters, machinists, stage-
managers toil and sweat, — all to cast the right
lights upon the stage on which Pontiac was to
play his brilliant part.

When the Law School opened, Frank took a
room in Divinity Hall, and using Blackstone as
a stalking horse betook himself to the immedi-
ate object of his thoughts. Here is a list of some
of the books he took from the college library
while in college and at the Law School : Scott,
Shakespeare, Coleridge, Goldsmith, Dr. John-
son, Irving, Chateaubriand, Carlyle, Machiavelli
in Italian, and, first interspersed but soon domi-

126 FRANCIS PARKMAN

nating general reading, books of American his-
tory, " Long's Expedition," " Indian Wars,"
"New Hampshire Historical Collection," "Lewis
and Clark," " Travels in Canada," " American
Annals," " Rogers's Journal," " Carver's Trav-
els," " Bouquet's Expedition," " Tracts on the
War," " Charlevoix," Colden's " Five Nations,"
" Mceurs des Sauvages," and scores more, many
or all contributing their tale of notes to fill little
books.

But study did not play too tyrannical a part
in his life ; he gave friendship and social pleasure
their dues.

PARKMAN TO GEORGE S. HALE, KEENB, N. H.
Cambridge, Monday, Oct. 6, [1844].

Dear George, — ... When shall I hear of
you and of your intentions with regard to your pro-
fession? Have you decided on the black gown?
Believe me it will turn out the best spec. I am
down at Divinity, devoting one hour jper diem
to law, the rest to my own notions. It is a little
dismal here without the fellers^ and no Cary
[George Blankern Cary, a classmate] to laugh
at — life a dull, unchanging monotony, varied by
a constitutional walk, or an evening expedition
to see Macready. . . .

We have here in the Law School a sprinkling
of fine fellows from north, south, east, and west
— some in the quiet studying line, some in the
all Hdl style, and some a judicious combination

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 127

of both. Dr. Walker pronounces a " very good
spirit " to prevail among the undergraduates, so
that there is no chance of a rebellion or any
other recreation to entertain us lookers-on. . . .
Please remember me to your father, mother, and
sister. Yrs. very truly,

Frank Parkman.

HALE TO PARKMAN, CAMBRIDGE

Keene, Oct. 28, 1844.

Dear Frank, — ... In common with you I
have paid a little attention to Blackstone, and
hope to finish the second volume this week, but
not in such a way as to feel confident that I am
gaining much certain knowledge. Will you tell
me when you write how you study at C, at what
[and what] your lectures amount to, how fast
you read, etc. [embarrassing questions to a young
gentleman whose attention was already fixed on a
"Ranger's Adventure " and a " Scalp- Hunter "].
. . . You ask about the black gown — It trem-
bles in the balance. Would I could see my way
clear — I should certainly feel more at ease. To
tell the truth sub rosa, I am not in love with any
one of the learned professions. Oh glorious lit-
erary ease," sweet otium cum scientia " ! — " glo-
rious humbug " " sweet nonsense,^ ^ says Frank
Parkman and perhaps rightly. In the mean-
time we both shout Vive I'amitie — and cherish
faithfully the remembrance of youthful efforts
which made the . . . [Chit Chat Club] worthy of
fame to our vanity, as it certainly was a bond of
union to its members.

Please tell Ned D wight he owes me a letter,

128 FRANCIS PARKMAN

and remember that you also are now ray debtor.
Meanwhile and ever, I am most truly
Yr. friend and classmate,

Geokge S. Hale.

SAME TO SAME.

Keene, N. H., Nov. 17, 1844.

Dear Frank, — ... I was very glad to hear
from you so soon. Quick replies are the life of
a friendly correspondence. ... I think the bal-
ance is rather inclining to sackcloth and the
black gown, but I do not wish to decide at pre-
sent. Miss Hall was very glad to hear from you
and will welcome you to Keene with pleasure
whenever your memory or fancy may lead you
away from your present literary ease. Do not
forget the maxim I laid down upon quick replies.
I assure you that your letters can never wear out
the hearty welcome they always get from me.
Most sincerely your friend,

George S. Hale.

Keene was not the only place where Frank
was in favor.

Salem, Noon, Wednesday, Jan. 15th, '45.

My dear Frank, — You will scarcely ex-
pect me to pop in again on you so soon, but I
wish to nudge your memory, which seems to be
very short lived in regard to your Fair friends
in this City of Peace ; our next Assembly is to-
morrow night, — i. e. Thursday, Jan. 16th, '45, —
and my grandmother begs me to assure you that
your chamber is ready for your occupation on

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 129

said night, and your knife and fork will be placed
for as many meals as you will honor her ; for be
it known to you, she considers the " Rev. Dr. P.'s
son as a young man of remarkably quick parts
and very correct," to say nothing of his being
my friend. ... So if the recollection of the last
Assembly is agreeable enough to tempt you, and
nothing better offers nearer home, you must come-
down to-morrow. Besides, we must chat over and
arrange the Keene expedition. . . .

If you will dine enfamille with us to-morrow,
I should be happy to measure appetites with
you. ...

Farewell — my estomac cries " cupboard," and
half -past one — our primitive dinner hour — is
at hand. Kind remembrances,

Joe Peabody.

Dancing and flirting, if that light word may
be applied to Salem in the forties, were not the
only indications of youth and lightheartedness
to be found in the life of Francis Parkman,
Junior, ostensible votary of Blackstone and
Kent.

PABKMAN TO HALE, KEENE, N. H.

Cambkidge, Nov. 24, '44.

Dear George, — ... We wanted you the
other night. Joe got up one of his old-fashioned
suppers on a scale of double magnificence, in-
viting thereunto every specimen of the class of
'44 that lingered within an accessible distance.
There was old S. and Snaggy, N. D., Ned W.

130 FRANCIS PARKMAN

(who by the way is off for Chili I), P., etc., etc.
The spree was worthy of the entertainment.
None got drank, but all got jolly ; and Joe's
champagne disappeared first ; then his Madeira ;
and his whiskey punch would have followed suit
if its copious supplies had not prevented. At
first all was quiet and dignified, not unworthy
of graduates ; but at length the steam found vent
in three cheers for '44, and after that we did not
cease singing and roaring till one o'clock. ... I
succeeded in actually singing in the chorus to
Yankee Doodle without perceptibly annoying
the rest. . . . The whole ended with smashing a
dozen bottles . . . and a war dance with scalp
yells in the middle of the Common, in the course
of which several nightcapped heads appeared at
the opened windows of the astonished neighbors.^

PABKMAN TO GEOBGE B. GARY.

Cambridge, Dec. 15, '44.

Dear George, — Here I am, down in Divin-
ity Hall enjoying to my heart's content that
otium cum, dignitate which you so affectionately
admire ; while you poor devil are jolted in Eng-
lish coaches. . . . Do you not envy me in my lit-
erary ease ? — a sea-coal fire — a dressing-gown
— slippers — a favorite author; all set off by
an occasional bottle of champagne, or a bowl of
stewed oysters at Washburn's ? This is the cream
of existence. To lay abed in the morning, till
the sun has half melted away the trees and cas-
tles on the window-panes, and Nigger Lewis's
fire is almost burnt out, listening meanwhile to

^ Life of Francis Parkman, p. 23.

A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 131

the steps of the starved Divinities as they rush
shivering and panting to their prayers and reci-
tations — then to get up to a fashionable break-
fast at eleven — then go to lecture — find it a
little too late, and adjourn to Joe Peabody's
room for a novel, conversation, and a morning
glass of Madeira. ... — After all a man was
made to be happy ; ambition is a humbug — a
dream of youth ; and exertion another ; . . . I
think the morbid tendency to unnecessary action
passes away as manhood comes on. . . .

At this time he injured sight and health by
getting up very early and studying by candle-
light, often without a fire.

Perhaps you may imagine me under some vi-
nous influence in writing this. Not at all ; yet if
I had written this a few nights ago, perhaps it
might have smacked more of inspiration. We
had a class spree ! Where if there was not much
wit, there was, as the Vicar of Wakefield saySj
a great deal of laughing, not to mention singing,
roaring, and unseemly noises of a miscellaneous
character. . . .Our brothers, whilom of . . . [Chit
Chat Club] accused me in the beginning of the
term of an intention of authorship ! probably
taking the hint from the circumstance of my
never appearing till eleven o'clock, a la Scott;
but I believe they no longer suspect me of so ill
advised an intention. It would run a little counter
to my present principles, though I do remember
the time when G. B. C. [Gary] meditated the

Baron of B ; and Snow felt sure (in his

cups) of being Captain General of Transatlantic

L

132 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Literature, while your humble servant's less soar-
ing ambition aspired to the manufacture of blood
and thunder chronicles of Indian squabbles and
massacres. . . . You will answer this, will you
not ? I am very eager to hear from you.

Yours truly, F. Parkman.^

Frank kept his purpose to himself, and con-
cealed from even his intimate friends that " Capt.
Jonathan Carver " had been at work on a tale
entitled " The Ranger's Adventure," and after
that on another entitled " The Scalp-Hunter."
* Iiife of Francis Parkman, pp. 19-22.

CHAPTER XIII

PREPAKATION FOR PONTIAC

The earlier progress of the relations between
Frank and his first publisher may be deduced
from the following letters : —

Knickerbocker Office, New York, Feb. 18, '45.

To Capt. Jonathan Carver :

Dear Sir^ — I thank you most cordially for
your excellent sketch," The Scalp-Hunter," which
you were so good as to send us. It is truly a
thrilling story, and, to my mind, the closing
scene is worthy of Cooper's pen. It is even
better than "The Ranger's Adventure," which
graces our March issue. It shall have a " place
of honor " in our April number.

I need not say that we shall be but too happy
to hear from you at all times ; and it gives me
pleasure to say to you, that your impression of
the character of the medium of communication
with the public which you have chosen is by no
means a mistaken one. If ever there was a peri-
odical that could be proud of, its class of readers,
it is the " Knickerbocker." There is an affection
in the public mind toward it, which I am sure is
not surpassed by any kindred work at home or

.134 FRANCIS PARKMAN

abroad. Pardon this seeming egotism, my dear
sir. I love the "Old Knick.," having been for
eleven years its editor ; and the feeling is widely
shared ; for more than half our subscribers are
of that long standing. Our corps of contributors
— God bless them ! — can't be exceeded ; as one
may see, by looking at their names on the cover.
You will receive the " Knickerbocker " regu-
larly hereafter. Is " Capt. Jonathan Carver " a
nom de plume f I partly suspect so, since proba-
bility seems rather to favor the conclusion that a
gentleman tolerably familiar with his own name
would n't be very apt to make a mistake in spell-
ing it. I observe you subscribe yourself Captain
" JoAnathan " Carver ! May I hope to hear from
you. Gratefully and truly yrs,

L. Gatlord Clark.

Capt. " Jo/fNATHAN " CaKVER.

Ekickebbooksb SANCTtTM, Monday, March lOth, 45.
My dear Sir, — ... I must again cordially
thank you for the " Scalp-Hunter." I am an
" old stager " in matters of the sort ; and it must
be something really "thrilling" to keep me
awake at night, after reading a proof sheet. . . .
I should be glad to hear from you as often as
may be agreeable to you ; and as early as the
sixth of each month, if intended for the ensuing
Number. Very truly, your obliged

L. Gatlord Clark.

Frank was, not unnaturally, taxed by bis
friends with " concealment," or with what among
law students was probably known as suppressio

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 135

veri, the suppression of an important matter,
which the intimacy of friendship claimed a title
to hear. This charge, made by an affection that
felt a little hurt to find itself ranked lower than
it ranked itself, was not without justification.

PARKMAN TO HALE, FEB. 13, 1845.

By the way, what do you mean by charging
me (for the fourth time, is it .-') with a design
to write a novel, or a poem, or an essay, or what-
ever it is? Allow me to tell you that though
the joke may be good, it is certainly old. . . .
If you catch me writing anything of the sort, you
might call me a " darned fool " with great pro-
priety as well as elegance.^

Frank, boy and man, was not oversensitive to
criticism. His own judgment was the only tribu-
nal of much consequence to him ; moreover, he
was already in full cry upon the scent of Pontiac,
" laboring through an army of musty books and
antiquarian collections," and what between Eu-
ropean history, which he was reading hard, and
a decent appearance of attending lectures on
law, he was too much occupied to trouble him-
self with animadversions on what he deemed
his own business. And, though Frank was a
good son, then and always, he did not take his
family into his confidence about his literary
work any more than he did his comrades. This
1 Life of Francis Parkman, p. 22.

136 FRANCIS PARKMAN

was natural, as his father was out of sympathy
with his interests, and wished him — as fathers
do — to pursue a safe career, and win a high
position at the Suffolk bar. But Frank was
always dutiful, and their relations, if not inti-
mate, were right-minded and affectionate.

This summer's trip was begun in July, but
in the mean time, by dint of five o'clock in the
morning application, Frank had sent off the copy
for another tale to be published in the " Knicker-
bocker Magazine" for June, and also a poem,
entitled, " The New Hampshire Ranger," to be
published in August. This year's little notebook,
crammed as usual with memoranda of MSS.,
maps, pamphlets, and addresses of possible anti-
quarians, shows that Frank stopped in New York
long enough to make caustic notes on some young
women, and quickly continued his journey to Phil-
adelphia.

PHTLADEIiPHIA, July 14, '45.

Dear Mother, — Though I have been sev-
eral days here, I have been compelled to re-
main quiet and passive by the furious heat ;
it has now got up to 100° of the thermometer.
There is positively no place tolerably comfort-
able but the bath, where I spend most of my
time. Yesterday I was at a Quaker meeting,
where, as it was too hot for the Spirit to move
anybody, the whole congregation slept in perfect
quiet for an hour and then walked off, without a

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 137

word said. . . . The Philadelphians have shrunk
away to the dimensions of Frenchmen, by the
effects of the climate. People lounge about at
corners and around pumps, rapidly cooking in
the sun. ... I go to Lancaster to-morrow, thence
to Harrisburg, thence to Pittsburg, thence give
a look at Ohio, and thence go to Detroit, from
which I propose to return by Niagara and Albany.^
My love to Carrie [his sister] and the rest, and
believe me.

Affectionately yours, Frank.

At Lancaster he interested himself in observ-
ing the Dutch farmers ; at Harrisburg he divided
his attention between the Dutch and the Sus-
quehanna, and made expeditions in the neighbor-
hood to scenes of old forays. The railroads met
with his disapproval, so did some of his fellow
passengers ; " a drunken, swearing puppy in the
cars first amused and then disgusted me." At
Buffalo he took the steamer for Detroit in com-
pany with " a host of Norwegian emigrants, very
diminutive, very ugly, very stupid and brutal in
appearance, and very dirty. They appeared to me
less intelligent and as ignorant as the Indians."
At Detroit he studied all the places which he
describes in the chapters relating to the siege of
the fort by Pontiac. Thence he went down Lake
Huron to Mackinaw, noting woodland and marsh,
promontory, beach and island, Indian huts and

138 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Canadian settlements. Here he met a lieutenant
in the regular army, an antiquarian like him-
self (" of which title I am a little ashamed," he
modestly says). He went about as usual, hunting
up the oldest inhabitants, buttonholing all per-
sons suspected of special knowledge, conversing
with Indians, crawling into caves, climbing hills,
measuring fortifications, pacing the sites of an-
cient forts, jotting down odd scraps of informa-
tion ready for use thereafter. Nor did he forget
to find room in his diary for biting comments: —

The dyspeptic man who insisted on helping
himself to such morsels as suited him (with his
own knife and fork). He had nursed himself
till he had reached a state of egotistic selfish-
ness. . . . Niagara, Aug. 17. The " Cataract "
is a bloated, noisy house ; a set of well-dressed
blackguards predominated at table. ... I have
looked at the great cataract, but do not feel in
the temper to appreciate it, or embrace its gran-
deur. An old woman, who for the pure love of
talking and an itching to speak to every one, sev-
eral times addressed me with questions about she
knew not what, filled me with sensations of par-
ticular contempt instead of amusing me, as they
would have done had not my stomach been dis-
ordered. I sat down near the rapids. " What 's
all this but a little water and foam ? " thought I.
" What a pack of damned fools ! " was my inter-
nal commentary on every group that passed, and
some of them deserved it. But, thank Heaven,
I have partially recovered my good humor, can

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 139

sympathize with the species, and to some degree
feel the sublimity of the great cataract.

How many of the visitors here deserve to look
on it ? I saw in the tower a motherly dame and
her daughters, amid the foam and thunder and
the tremendous pouring of the waters. " Oh,
ma ! (half whispered) he 's looking at us ! There,
I've torn my sash. I must go home and pin it
up," etc.

From Niagara he went to Oswego, Syracuse,
to the little Onondaga River, where he inspected
the council-house of the Indians, presented to the
chiefs gifts of cigars and pipes, and for return
extracted what information he could ; thence to
Oneida, to the valley of the Mohawk, and home-
ward by Albany and New York.

These little notebooks not only show where
Frank went and what he did, but by indirection
reveal his dutiful character ; for, secluded on
back pages, there are accounts of expenditure,
kept in boyish-clerkly fashion and somewhat spas-
modically. Frank had little natural taste for the
counting-room virtues, but he wished to please
his father, and so we find entries such as these : —

Funds at starting, Tuesday, July 8, 1845 $103.17
A bill of credit for $100 more.
July 8. Cravat $ .75

Shave

.06

Cider

.04

Ticket to N. Y.

2.

Supper on board

.50

140 FRANCIS PARKMAN

9th

Ale

.06

Boots

.12i

Porter

.11

Carriage to Astor H.

.50

Baths

.25

and so on with minute precision till his return.
In this same little book, at the top of a page,
in among notes of American history, of Indians,
of frontiersmen, of journals, of gazettes, and all
the heady current of furious historic chase, is
written, abbreviated in order to squeeze in amid
more important matter : —

M. W. F. — Greenleaf

Tues. T. S. — Story

10-11 o'clock
Story on Bailments Tuesday from 10-11
Blackstone on Wednesday 11-12 2^ & 3<* Sections espe-
cially.

A poor pennyworth of law to an intolerable deal
of border war ; this affords a fair measure of
the division of his interest between law and
history.

The next year he lived at home in Boston,
partly because his third term at the Law School
would be completed on January 16, and partly be-
cause he was not well ; at times he lay in bed and
listened to his little sister, Eliza, read a stumpy
little volume of Blackstone, and on one day at
least Frithiof's Saga. The girl was shy about
reading poetry, and the admired big brother,

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 141

perceiving her diffidence, turned and praised
her; then and always his careless seeming but
instinctive tenderness knit bonds that grew
stronger and stronger all their lives.

In spite of Kent and Blackstone, Frank con-
tinued to give his almost exclusive interest to
historical research, and we find traces of a wide-
spread correspondence, — Ohio, Delaware, Italy,
— questions and answers about Pontiac, Paxton
Boys, Jesuits, etc. Some of these letters were
to his cousin, J. Coolidge Shaw, a young man
lately converted to Catholicism, then studying
in Home for the priesthood.

SHAW TO PABKMAN.

Rome, Nov. 16th, 1845.

My dear Frank, — I have inquired at the
Gesu of Father Glover and Father de Villefort
concerning your Canada affairs, but it was in
1762 that the Company of Jesus was suppressed
in France, and though the missionaries in Can-
ada were not meddled with, this of course de-
stroyed the communication between them and
the mother country. [Here follows advice as to
getting historical information, and the names of
several Jesuit Fathers.] If these cannot give
you what you seek, I fear it cannot be found.

Do you think you shall stick to the Law, or
cut it in a year or two to give yourself completely
to history ? I am glad you have taken this turn,
for we want literary men, and a fair historian

142 FRANCIS PARKMAN

is a great desideratum. ... It was history
made Hunter a Catholic ; and I think if you
continue it, it will make you one ; . . . and we
may live to see the poor Pope stripped of what
little earthly power yet remains to him, and
as completely a beggar as St. Peter or our
Saviour himself ; but we shall see him still the
Pope, and his people still look to him as father.
Negai ? Well, we shall see. . . . Remember
me with all love to Uncle Francis. . . . Tell
him we are now studying the treatise De Trini-
tate, which I think, if he read it, would convince
him that our Lord is not over well pleased at
being stripped of his Divinity and only honored
as a man when he ought to be worshiped as a
God.

Hope to have the pleasure of reading your
work when it is out, and that its success will
give you a right to make it your fixed pur-
suit. . . .

Truly and affectionately yrs,

J. C. Shaw.

With theology and formal religion Frank had
little sympathy ; but random comments in his
diaries show that all his life he had a " reverent
gratitude for Christianity " and a strong senti-
ment for what he deemed a real and masculine
religion. Probably the epithet, " reverent agnos-
tic," which near the end of life he accepted in a
conversation with his sister, of right belonged to
him in youth. Manliness was an essential char-
acteristic of everything that found favor in his

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 143

eyes, and he believed the agnostic position the
most manly, for with that belief, so he thought,
a man stood on his own feet and faced the
universe, asking no prop except his own stout
heart. But metaphysics never interested him,
and at this time history crowded out every other
thought from his mind.

Frank now perceived that he had reached a
point in his studies at which he must take a new
course. On his summer excursions he had got
much information concerning the Yankee fron-
tiersman, he had read all the books he could find
that dealt with his subject, he had quizzed
farmer, antiquarian, and wayfarer for tradition,
gossip, hearsay ; he must now study the Indians,
not the tamed savages living by the Kennebec,
or the Onondaga, but the aboriginal savages, in
their homes. He knew that personal knowledge
of their life and customs was essential to his
work, and now that he had performed the filial
duty of taking his lawyer's degree, he felt that it
was high time to go westward to the land of the
Sioux and the Snakes, Accordingly he gladly
accepted a suggestion from Mr. Quincy A. Shaw,
Coolidge's brother, — he, too, bred upon Cooper
and Catlin, — to join him and to take a journey
towards Oregon and California.

Already that year, immediately on the comple-
tion of his third term in the Law School, Frank

144 FRANCIS PARKMAN

had made a trip to Philadelphia and Baltimore,
on which he had acquired certain valuable ex-
periences carefully jotted down in his notebook :
" N. B. Always take a driver's card. . . . N. B.
Employ a porter in preference to a carriage for
baggage. . . . Always ask for a porter's card —
see your baggage ticketed in person and get the
number of the car that contains it." From this
trip he got home about the middle of February,
and on March 28th started off again, this time
on his memorable expedition upon the Oregon
Trail. The careful little record of accounts, in
which bills for copying MSS. begin to appear —
item 11.50, item 85.00, item $25.00 — show that
he went to New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati,
and so to St. Louis.

FRANK TO HIS MOTHER.

CmciNNATi, April 9tli, 1846.
Deab Mother, — ... To-day I reached
Cincinnati, after a two days' passage down the
Ohio, The boat was good enough though filled
with a swarm of half-civilized reprobates, gam-
bling, swearing, etc., among themselves. . . . The
great annoyance on board these boats is the ab-
surd haste of everybody to gulp down their
meals. Ten minutes suffices for dinner, and it
requires great skill and assiduity to secure a
competent allowance in that space of time. As
I don't much fancy this sort of proceeding, I
generally manage to carry off from the table

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 145

enough to alleviate the pangs of hunger without
choking myself. The case is much the same here
in the best hotel in Cincinnati. When you sit
down, you must begin without delay — grab
whatever is within your reach, and keep hold of
the plate by main force till you have helped
yourself. Eat up as many potatoes, onions, or
turnips as you can lay hands on ; and take your
meat afterwards, whenever you have a chance to
get it. It is only by economizing time in this
fashion that you can avoid starvation — such a
set of beasts are these western men. ... In
three or four days I shall be at St. Louis, stop-
ping a short time at Louisville, Kentucky. My
eyes are decidedly improved, and my health ex-
cellent. In going about Cincinnati this morning,
I found a most ridiculous piece of architecture,
in utter defiance of taste or common sense ; and
learned that it was built by Mrs. TroUope during
her stay here. ... I am, dear mother,

Very affectionately yrs, F. P.

This letter must have crossed two from his
sister Caroline.

CAROLINE TO FRANK.

April 4, 1846.

My dear Frank, — ... I don't believe
you can form any idea of your importance in our
family. We wish for you just as much to-day
as we did a week ago, when you left us. I was
really truly sorry that I had not a better com-
mand of myself when you went away, for it is too
bad to give way to the feelings and make a leave-

146 FRANCIS PARKMAN

taking for such a pleasant journey so gloomy.
If I could have gone over the good-by again, it
should have been with smiles rather than tears,
for I would not be so selfish as to think of my-
self, when there is so much pleasure in prospect
for you. . . . With true love,

Carrie.

CABOLINE TO FRANK.

April 7, Boston, 1846.
... I spent Sunday with Aunt Mary, who
misses your visits and the prospect of them very
much. I mean to spend a day or two with her
every week. Mrs. Swan wished me to give her
love to you, and says that she cannot realize
that such a quiet little boy as you were should
ever be such a " Will-o-the-Wisp." ... I for-
got to tell you in our last letter how extremely
disappointed Perry [his classmate, H. J. Perry]
was on coming to see you on the afternoon you
had gone. . . . They all send their love, espe-
cially Elly [his little brother], who misses you
very much, as we all do. . . .

With much love, Carrie.

Frank was making notes all the time. He had
stopped to see the site of Fort Duquesne, the
remains of Fort Pitt, the spot of Braddock's de-
feat, and various scenes of border war ; nor did
he pretermit his practice of making comments
on the people he met. " The English reserve or
offishness seems to be no part of the western
character — I observe this trait in myself — to-

PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 147

day, for instance, when a young fellow expressed
satisfaction that he should accompany me to St.
Louis, I felt rather inclined to shake him off,
though he had made himself agreeable enough."
This trait of Parkman's remained with him
through life ; it may receive sympathy or blame,
according to temperament, or perhaps accord-'
ing to the mood of the moment, but those who,
like this young fellow, wished to come within a
line beyond which Parkman proposed that they
should stay, were sometimes wounded in their
vanity.

He reached St. Louis about the 13th of April,
and was soon joined by Shaw.

CHAPTER XIV

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL ^

In the early part of 1846 Oregon was still the
whole country west of the Rocky Mountains,
stretching from Mexico (as it was then still un-
dispossessed by the United States), on the south,
as far north as the parallel 50° 40', and was
jointly occupied by Great Britain and the United
States, until later in that year the treaty fixed
the boundary between them at the 49th par-
allel. The trail was the somewhat uncertain
track followed by emigrants and traders.

This expedition, which Shaw wished to ex-
tend to California but could not as Frank had
not the time to give, took them into the vast
region east of the Rocky Mountains which is
now cut up into the States of Nebraska, Colo-
rado, and Wyoming.

Parkman and Shaw left St. Louis on the
28th of April, 1846, on board a river steamboat
in a somewhat disorderly company of traders,
adventurers, gamblers, negroes, Indians, and emi-

1 See The Oregon Trail.

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 149

grants. They landed on the western frontier of
Missouri near Kansas City, which they reached
the next day. There they made their headquar-
ters while purchasing horses, mules, and various
articles necessary for the journey. Near by, en-
camped on the prairie, were a multitude of emi-
grants. Some of them were sober men, inter-,
ested in the doctrine of regeneration, others were
rogues from the lowest layer of society, prompted
by a forlorn hope of bettering their condition,
or by mere restlessness, or perhaps by a wish to
shake off the restraints of law and society.
Parkman and Shaw did not like such company,
and therefore they joined forces with a small
party of Englishmen for the sake of mutual
protection.

Their first experiences of the journey westward
were a mild foretaste of what was to come. No
sooner were the animals put in harness than the
shaft-mule reared and plunged, burst ropes and
straps, and nearly flung the cart into the Mis-
souri. The beast was uncontrollable, and an-
other had to be procured. This done, their cart
started, but had barely gone a few miles before
it stuck fast in a muddy gully, where it remained
for more than an hour. Their outfit was suffi-
cient but not elaborate. Their guide was dressed
in broad felt hat, moccasins, and deerskin trou-
sers ; he rode a Wyandot pony and carried hia

160 FRANCIS PARKMAN

rifle in front, resting on the pommel of the sad-
dle, bullet-pouch and powder-horn at his side,
and knife in belt. Parkman and Shaw wore
flannel shirts, buckskin breeches, and moccasins ;
each had a blanket rolled up behind, holsters
with heavy pistols, and the trail-rope coiled and
fastened to the front of the saddle. Each had
a gun, and a horse beside the one he rode. The
cart carried the provisions, tent, ammunition,
blankets, and presents for Indians. The mule-
teer, Deslauriers, was a Canadian.

Neither fatigue, exposure, nor hard labor
could ever impair his cheerfulness and gayety,
or his politeness to his bourgeois [employer] ;
and when night came he would sit down by
the fire, smoke his pipe, and tell stories with
the utmost contentment. The prairie was his
element.

The guide, Henry Chatillon, was of a much
higher type ; he came of a family of French Ca-
nadians, though he was born in Missouri, He
was a tall, powerful, fine-looking fellow.

The prairies had been his school ; he could
neither read nor write, but he had a natural re-
finement and delicacy of mind, such as is rare
even in women. His manly face was a mirror
of uprightness, simplicity, and kindness of heart ;
he had, moreover, a keen perception of charac-
ter, and a tact that would preserve him from
flagrant error in any society. He had not the

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 151

restless energy of an Anglo-American. He was
content to take things as he found them ; and
his chief fault arose from an excess of easy gen-
erosity not conducive to thriving in the world.
Yet it was commonly remarked of him that,
whatever he misfht choose to do with what
belonged to himself, the property of others was
always safe in his hands. His bravery was as
much celebrated in the mountains as his skill in
hunting ; but it is characteristic of him that, in
a country where the rifle is the chief arbiter be-
tween man and man, he was very seldom in-
volved in quarrels. Once or twice, indeed, his
quiet good-nature had been mistaken and pre-
sumed upon, but the consequences of the error
were such that no one was ever known to repeat
it. No better evidence of the intrepidity of his
temper could be asked than the common report
that he had killed more than thirty grizzly bears.
I have never, in the city or in the wilderness,
met a better man than my true-hearted friend,
Henry Chatillon.

After a few days of varied discomforts, chief
of which were insects and thunderstorms, they
came to the Big Blue River, which they crossed
on a raft, and then they struck the regular trail
of the Oregon emigrants. Soon they came upon
a party of them.

These were the first emigrants that we had
overtaken, although we had found abundant and
melancholy traces of their progress throughout
the course of the journey. Sometimes we passed

152 FRANCIS PARKMAN

the grave of one who had sickened and died on
the way. The earth was usually torn up, and
covered thickly with wolf-tracks. Some had es-
caped this violation. One morning a piece of
plank, standing upright on the summit of a
grassy hill, attracted our notice, and riding up
to it, we found the following words very roughly
traced upon it, apparently with a red-hot iron : —

Mary Elus
Died May 7th, 1845.
Aged two mouths.

Such tokens were of common occurrence.

Here a small emigrant train was invited by
the Englishmen to join company with them,
much to the disgust of Parkman and Shaw, as
the emigrant wagons drawn by oxen must ne-
cessarily hinder their progress. The emigrants
themselves, however, were good fellows, and all
journeyed on in amity ; in one respect the addi-
tion was an advantage, for every night two men
mounted guard, and with a greater number each
man's turn came round less frequently. Park-
man rather enjoyed his watches in spite of loss
of sleep and rest.

A few days' journey brought them to the top
of some sand-hills, from which they could see
the valley of the Platte.

We all drew rein, and sat joyfully looking
down upon the prospect. It was right welcome,
— strange, too, and striking to the imagination ;

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 153

and yet it had not one picturesque or beauti-
ful feature ; nor had it any of the features of
grandeur, other than its vast extent, its soli-
tude, and its wildness. For league after league a
plain as level as a lake was outspread beneath
us ; here and there the Platte, divided into a
dozen thread-like sluices, was traversing it, and
an occasional clump of wood, rising in the midst .
like a shadowy island, relieved the monotony of
the waste. No living thing was moving through-
out the vast landscape, except the lizards that
darted over the sand and through the rank grass
and prickly pears at our feet. [From here their
course lay westward through a long, narrow,
sandy plain, flanked by two lines of sand-hills,
and stretching nearly to the foot of the Rocky
Mountains. Before and behind them the plain
spread level to the horizon.] Sometimes it glared
in the sun, an expanse of hot bare sand ; some-
times it was veiled by long coarse grass. Skulls
and whitening bones of buffalo wei'e scattered
everywhere ; the ground was tracked by myriads
of them. . . . The naked landscape is, of itself,
dreary and monotonous enough ; and yet the
wild beasts and wild men that frequent the val-
ley of the Platte make it a scene of interest and
excitement to the traveler. Of those who have
journeyed there, scarcely one, perhaps, fails to
look back with fond regret to his horse and his
rifle. [Here they made acquaintance with the
Pawnee Indians, an idle, thieving tribe. Many
stories of their depredations were current, and
the travelers kept careful watch. The weather
was most fitful.] This very morning, for in-

154 FRANCIS PARKMAN

stance, was close and sultry, the sun rising with
a faint oppressive heat ; when suddenly darkness
gathered in the west, and a furious blast of sleet
and hail drove full in our faces, icy cold, and
urged with such demoniac vehemence that it felt
like a storm of needles. It was curious to see
the horses ; they faced about in extreme dis-
pleasure, holding their tails like whipped dogs,
and shivering as the angry gusts, howling louder
than a concert of wolves, swept over us. Wright's
[the Englishmen's muleteer] long train of mules
came sweeping round before the storm, like a
flight of snow-birds driven by a winter tempest.
. . . The thing was too good to last long ; and
the instant the puffs of wind subsided we pitched
our tents, and remained in camp for the rest of
a gloomy and lowering day.

[The even tenor of the journey was soon broken
by the presence of buffalo. Their tracks had
been frequent for some days, and a few stray
bulls had been shot, but before this no herd had
been seen.] One day somebody cried, " Buffalo,
buffalo ! " It was but a grim old bull, roaming
the prairie by himself in misanthropic seclusion ;
but there mi^ht be more behind the hills. Dread-
ing the monotony and languor of the camp, Shaw
and I saddled our horses, buckled our holsters
in their places, and set out with Henry Chatillon
in search of the game. Henry, not intending to
take part in the chase, but merely conducting
us, carried his rifle with him, while we left ours
behind as incumbrances. We rode for some five
or six miles, and saw no living thing but wolves,
snakes, and prairie-dogs. . . . The ground was

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 155

none of the best for a race, and grew worse as
we proceeded ; indeed, it soon became desperately
bad, consisting of abrupt hills and deep hol-
lows, cut by frequent ravines not easy to pass.
At length, a mile in advance, we saw a band of
bulls. Some were scattered grazing over a green
declivity, while the rest were crowded together
in the wide hollow below. Making a circuit, to '
keep out of sight, we rode towards them, until
we ascended a hill within a furlong of them, be-
yond which nothing intervened that could pos-
sibly screen us from their view. We dismounted
behind the ridge, just out of sight, drew our
saddle-girths, examined our pistols, and mount-
ing again, rode over the hill and descended at a
canter towards them, bending close to our horses'
necks. Instantly they took the alarm ; those on
the hill descended, those below gathered into a
mass, and the whole got into motion, shouldering
each other along at a clumsy gallop. We fol-
lowed, spurring our horses to full speed ; and as
the herd rushed, crowding and trampling in ter-
ror through an opening in the hills, we were close
at their heels, half suffocated by the clouds of
dust. But as we drew near, their alarm and speed
increased ; our horses, being new to the work,
showed signs of the utmost fear, bounding vio-
lently aside as we approached, and refusing to
enter among the herd. The buffalo now broke
into several small bodies, scampering over the
hills in different direction*, and I lost sight of
Shaw ; neither of us knew where the other had
gone. Old Pontiac [Parkman's horse] ran like a
frantic elephant uphill and down hill, his pon-

156 FRANCIS PARKMAN

derous hoofs striking the prairies like sledge-
hammers. He showed a curious mixture of
eagerness and terror, straining to overtake the
panic-stricken herd, but constantly recoiling in
dismay as we drew near. The fugitives, indeed,
offered no very attractive spectacle, with their
shaggy manes and the tattered remnants of their
last winter's hair covering their backs in irregu-
lar shreds and patches, and flying off in the wind
as they ran. At length I urged my horse close
behind a bull, and after trying in vain by blows
and spurring to bring him alongside, I fired from
this disadvantageous position. At the report
Pontiac swerved so much that I was again
thrown a little behind the game. The bullet,
entering too much in the rear, failed to disable
the bull, for a buffalo requires to be shot at par-
ticular points or he will certainly escape. The
herd ran up a hill, and I followed in pursuit.
As Pontiac rushed headlong down on the other
side, I saw Shaw and Henry descending the
hollow on the right at a leisurely gallop; and in
front the buffalo were just disappearing behind
the crest of the next hill, their short tails erect,
and their hoofs twinkling through a cloud of
dust.

At that moment I heard Shaw and Henry shout-
ing to me ; but the muscles of a stronger arm than
mine could not have checked at once the furious
course of Pontiac, whose mouth was as insensible
as leather. Added to -this, I rode him that morn-
ing with a snaffle, having the day before, for the
benefit of my other horse, unbuckled from my bri-
dle the curb which I commonly used. A stronger

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 157

and hardier brute never trod the prairie ; but the
novel sight of the buffalo filled him with terror,
and when at full speed he was almost incontrol-
lable. Gaining the top of the ridge, I saw nothing
of the buffalo ; they had all vanished amid the
intricacies of the hills and hollows. Reloading
my pistols in the best way I could, I galloped on
until I saw them again scuttling along at the base
of the hill, their panic somewhat abated. Down
went old Pontiac among them, scattering them
to the right and left ; and then we had another
long chase. About a dozen bulls were before us
scouring over the hills, rushing down the decliv-
ities with tremendous weight and impetuosity,
and then laboring with a weary gallop upward.
Still Pontiac, in spite of spurring and beating,
would not close with them. One bull at length
fell a little behind the rest, and by dint of much
effort I urged my horse within six or eight yards
of his side. His back was darkened with sweat ;
he was panting heavily, while his tongue lolled
out a foot from his jaws. Gradually I came up
abreast of him, urging Pontiac with leg and rein
nearer to his side, when suddenly he did what
buffalo in such circumstances will always do, —
he slackened his gallop, and turning towards us,
with an aspect of mingled rage and distress, low-
ered his huge, shaggy head for a charge. Pontiac,
with a snort, leaped aside in terror, nearly throw-
ing me to the ground, as I was wholly unprepared
for such an evolution. I raised my pistol in a
passion to strike him in the head, but think-
ing better of it, fired the bullet after the bull,
who had resumed his flight ; then drew rein, and

158 FRANCIS PARKMAN

determined to join my companions. It was high
time. The breath blew hard from Pontiac's nos-
trils, and the sweat rolled in big drops down his
sides ; I felt myself as if drenched in warm water.
... I looked about for some indications to show
me where I was, and what course I ought to pur-
sue. I might as well have looked for landmarks
in the midst of the ocean. How many miles I
had run, or in what direction, I had no idea ;
and around me the prairie was rolling in steep
swells and pitches, without a single distinctive
feature to guide me. I had a little compass hung
at my neck ; and ignorant that the Platte at
this point diverged considerably from its east-
erly course, I thought that by keeping to the
northward I should certainly reach it. So I
turned and rode about two hours in that direc-
tion. The prairie changed as I advanced, soften-
ing away into easier undulations, but nothing
like the Platte appeared,, nor any sign of a
human being : the same wild, endless expanse
lay around me still ; and to all appearance I was
as far from my object as ever. I began now to
think myself in danger of being lost, and, rein-
ing in my horse, summoned the scanty share of
woodcraft that I possessed (if that term be appli-
cable on the prairie) to extricate me. It occurred
to me that the buffalo might prove my best guides.
I soon found one of the paths made by them in
their passage to the river ; it ran nearly at right
angles to my course ; but turning my horse's head
in the direction it indicated, his freer gait and
erected ears assured me that I was right. . . .
Being now free from anxiety, I was at leisure

OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 159

to observe minutely the objects around me ; and
here for the first time I noticed insects wholly
different from any of the varieties found far-
ther eastward. Gaudy butterflies fluttered about
my horse's head ; strangely formed beetles, glit-
tering with metallic lugtre, were crawling upon
plants that I had never seen before ; multitudes
of lizards, too, were darting like lightning ovec
the sand.

He followed the buffalo path until at last he
came in sight of the river, and then with the aid
of Pontiac he found the emigrant trail, and see-
ing that his party had not passed he turned to
meet them.

Having been slightly ill on leaving camp in
the morning, six or seven hours of rough riding
had fatigued me extremely. I soon stopped, there-
fore, flung my saddle on the ground, and with my
head resting on it, and my horse's trail-rope tied
loosely to my arm, lay waiting the arrival of the
party, speculating meanwhile on the extent of the
injuries Pontiac had received.

Soon afterwards Shaw and the mule-team came
up, and the party resumed their way.

CHAPTEE XV

THE OGILLALLAH

On June 8th the party forded the South Fork of
the Platte. Here they parted from their coeq-
panions. The Englishmen affected authority to
decide when and where they should encamp, and
were domineering in their bearing ; so Parkman
and Shaw, careless of the security afforded by
numbers, took a somewhat abrupt leave, and,
having less baggage, soon left the others behind.
They pushed on along the North Fork of the
Platte without adventures, beyond meeting a Da-
kota village wandering along in rude procession
under the command of Old Smoke, and crossed
what is now the boundary between Nebraska
and Wyoming. They forded Laramie Creek,
the southern of two streams that unite just east
of Fort Laramie to form the North Fork of the
Platte, and, a short distance beyond, arrived at
the fort. This post was occupied, not by a gar-
rison of United States troops, as the name might
suggest, for in fact the nearest soldiers were
seven hundred miles to the east, but by servants

THE OGILLALLAH 161

of the American Fur Company, who bought
skins and furs of the trappers and Indians. The
scene was like that in a French fort on the fron-
tier a hundred years before. The fort itself,
built of bricks dried in the sun, was oblong in
shape. Its walls were about fifteen feet high,
and were fortified at two of the corners by '
blockhouses built of clay. Within, the area was
divided by a partition ; on one side was a court
surrounded by storerooms, offices, and bed-
rooms ; on the other side was an inclosure where
the horses and mules were shut in at night. The
inhabitants were a motley crew. There were
the servants of the company, men of French Ca-
nadian blood, in breeding and education not
much above their friends the Indians, who loafed
about with solemn faces in white buffalo robes,
or dozed in the sunshine. There were gayly
painted squaws in large numbers, a troop of
mongrel children tumbling about, and half-breed
trappers, who had either just come back from
a trapping expedition or were about to start.
Parkman and Shaw were hospitably received.
The chamber, ordinarily occupied by the bour-
geois [the " boss "] of the post, who was absent,
was put at their disposal. Its furniture was a
bare bedstead, two chairs, a chest of drawers,
and a pail ; buffalo robes were stretched on the
floor for beds, as the bedstead was only an orha-

162 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ment. On the wall, side by side, hung a crucifix
and a fresh scalp. The food consisted of dried
buffalo meat, " an excellent thing for strength-
ening the teeth," and cakes of bread. Here they
stayed several days, observing the ways and cus-
toms of their hosts and of the Indians. Old
Smoke's village had encamped near by, and they
used to go there and spend most of their even-
ings.

Parkman was very glad to observe the Indian
at home, but he desired with greater eagerness
to study him on the warpath ; for this an op-
portunity seemed to be at hand. The son of an
Ogillallah chief. The Whirlwind, had been killed
by the Snake Indians ; and in revenge The
Whirlwind had roused all the Dakota villages
within three hundred miles to take part in a
campaign against the Snakes.' The Ogillallah In-
dians belong to the Dakota or Sioux tribe, and
their kith and kin, having also grievances of
their own against the Snakes, acknowledged their
duty to punish the injury, and many villages,
making altogether five thousand persons or more,
were already on the march to the appointed
meeting ground on the river Platte. There they
were to celebrate the solemn rites which in In-
dian usage precede a campaign, and then the war-
riors, one thousand strong, were to start on the
' warpath. " I was greatly rejoiced to hear of it. I

THE OGILLALLAH 163

liad come into the country chiefly with a view of
observing the Indian character. To accomplish
my purpose it was necessary to live in the midst
of them, and become, as it were, one of them. I
proposed to join a village, and make myself an
inmate of one of their lodges." The first plan
had been to join Old Smoke's village, but Henry
Chatillon, the guide, was very anxious to go to
The Whirlwind's village to see his squaw, who
belonged to that village, and was there very ill,
so Parkman changed his plan to accord with
Chatillon's desire. Parkman was not well he
says : —

I had been slightly ill for several weeks, but
on the third night after reaching Fort Laramie
a violent pain awoke me, and I found myself
attacked by the same disorder that occasioned
such heavy losses to the army on the Rio Grande
[Mexican war]. In a day and a half I was re-
duced to extreme weakness, so that I could not
walk without pain and effort. Having no medi-
cal adviser, nor any choice of diet, I resolved to
throw myself upon Providence for recovery,
using, without regard to the disorder, any por-
tion of strength that might remain to me. So
on the twentieth of June we set out from
Fort Laramie to meet The Whirlwind's village.
Though aided by the high-bowed "mountain-
saddle," I could scarcely keep my seat on horse-
back.

They halted at a spot on Laramie Creek which

164 FRANCIS PARKMAN

The Whirlwind must necessarily pass on his way
to the meeting place, and there pitched their
camp to await his coming. Days went by, but
the dilatory Whirlwind did not come.

If our camp was not altogether safe [a troop
of hostile Indians had passed within rifle-shot, but
had missed them on account of a heavy mist], still
it was comfortable enough ; at least it was so to
Shaw, for I was tormented with illness and vexed
by the delay in the accomplishment of my designs.
When a respite in my disorder gave me some
returning strength, I rode out well armed upon
the prairie, or bathed with Shaw in the stream,
or waged a petty warfare with the inhabitants
of a neighboring prairie-dog village. Around our
fire at night we employed ourselves in inveighing
against the fickleness and inconstancy of Indians,
and execrating The Whirlwind and all his crew.

Parkman's impatience coul5 brook the delay
no longer, so he rode back to the fort, which was
about eighteen miles distant, to learn what news
he could of the war. At the fort, to his surprise,
he found The Whirlwind, whom the traders, in
their zeal to prevent any detriment to trade, were
urging to abandon the warpath. The Whirlwind
was fickle, and it seemed likely that the traders
would persuade him. Parkman returned to his
camp in great vexation, for his philanthropy, as
he said, was no match for his curiosity to see the
Indian on the warpath ; but he tried with poor

THE OGILLALLAH 165

success to console himself with the thought that
he avoided a very fair chance of being plun-
dered, and perhaps stabbed or shot into the
bargain. In a few days, however, they were
cheered by the arrival of a young chief from The
Whirlwind's village, who stated that The Whirl-
wind had not been persuaded to abandon the war-
path, and was on his way to the meeting place,
and would arrive at the spot where Parkman was
encamped in two days ; and so it came to pass.
Parties of Indians arrived by twos and threes,
and then the main village in disorderly array
straggled to the camping ground, and pitched
their lodges, above one hundred and fifty in num-
ber. Here they lingered for several days ; Park-
man made friends with the warriors and learned
their several histories.

After tarrying at this place long enough to
allow a proper period for vacillation. The Whirl-
wind made up his mind not to repair to the meet-
ing place of the war-party, but to cross the Black
Hills and proceed to the hunting grounds be-
yond, so that his people might secure enough
buffalo meat for the coming season, and fresh
skins for their lodges. When that should have
been done. The Whirlwind proposed to send a
band of warriors against the enemy. Parkman
and Shaw held a council together whether to go
to the meeting place in the hope of finding other

166 FRANCIS PARKMAN

bands of Dakota there, or to abide with The
Whirlwind's village and share its fortunes. They
chose the latter course, and started on July first
with the Indians, but before they had ridden
many miles a message came from a fur trader,
Bisonette, whom they had met at the fort, saying
that he was going to the meeting place and
urging them to go, too ; so they changed their
minds, parted company with The Whirlwind, who
was westward bound, and turned their horses'
heads to the north. On the third day they
reached the appointed place, but found neither
Indians nor Bisonette. They dismounted and
relieved their indignation with tobacco and criti-
cism of the whole aboriginal race in America.

For myself, I was vexed beyond measure : as
I well knew that a slight aggravation of my dis-
order would render this false step irrevocable,
and make it impossible to accomplish effectually
the object which had led me an arduous journey of
between three and four thousand miles. . . . After
supper that evening, as we sat round the fire, I
proposed to Shaw to wait one day longer, in hopes
of Bisonette's arrival, and if he should not come,
to send the [muleteer] with the cart and baggage
back to Fort Laramie, while we ourselves followed
The Whirlwind's village, and attempted to over-
take it as it passed the mountains. Shaw, not
having the same motive for hunting Indians that
I had, was averse to the plan ; I therefore re-
solved to go alone. This design I adopted very

THE OGILLALLAH 167

unwillingly, for I knew that in the present state
of my health the attempt would be painful and
hazardous. I hoped that Bisonette would appear
in the course of the following day, and bring us
some information by which to direct our course.

But Bisonette did not come, though Shaw took
a day's ride to find him, and the next morning
Parkman made ready to start. He had exchanged
Pontiac for a fleet little mare, Pauline, and all
his baggage was tied by leather thongs to her
saddle. In front of the black, high-bowed moun-
tain-saddle were fastened holsters with heavy
pistols. A pair of saddle-bags, a blanket tightly
rolled, a small parcel of Indian presents tied up
in buffalo skin, a leather bag of flour, and a
smaller one of tea, were all secured behind, and
a long trail-rope was wound round her neck.
Raymond had a strong black mule equipped in
a similar manner. They crammed their powder-
horns to the throat and mounted. Raymond was
a French Canadian trapper hired as guide the
week before. " I will meet you at Fort Laramie
on the first of August," said Parkman to Shaw.
So they parted ; Parkman and Raymond rode
off in the direction taken by The Whirlwind's
village, and Shaw after some misadventures re-
turned, under the compulsion of ivy-poison, to
the fort.

CHAPTER XVI

A ROUGH JOURNEY

Parkman's way led across wide plains and rough
ridges of hills, all cracked and split with fissure
and ravine, and dazzling white under the burn-
ing sun ; no trees cheered the waste, except a
stray pine here and there. But at sunset they
came upon a line of thick bushes which clothed
the banks of a little stream ; here they dis-
mounted, made their fire, and, wrapped in their
blankets, fell fast asleep, in complete disregard
of howling wolves. In the early morning the
animals were grazing and Raymond had gone
for a shot at an antelope, when on a sudden
Pauline broke her hobbles and galloped off, and
the mule bounded after her as best he could on
his hobbled legs. Raymond, still near enough to
hear Parkman's call, ran in pursuit, and soon all
three were out of sight, leaving Parkman, too
weak to join in the chase, to his meditations.

It seemed scarcely possible that the animals
could be recovered. If they were not, my situa-
tion was one of serious difl&culty. Shaw, when I

A ROUGH JOURNEY 169

left him, had decided to move that morning, but
whither he had not determined. To look for him
would be a vain attempt. Fort Laramie was
forty miles distant, and I could not walk a mile
without great effort. Not then having learned
the philosophy of yielding to disproportionate
obstacles, I resolved, come what would, to con-
tinue the pursuit of the Indians. Only one plan
occurred to me : this was, to send Raymond to
the fort with an order for more horses, while I
remained on the spot, awaiting his return, which
might take place within three days. But to re-
main stationary and alone for three days in a
country full of dangerous Indians was not the
most flattering of prospects. Resolving these
matters, I grew hungry; and as our stock of
provisions, except four or five pounds of flour,
was by this time exhausted, I left the camp to
see what game I could find.

A further danger was that Raymond might
catch the animals and not return. But Raymond
was faithful ; after a chase of ten miles and
more, he caught the fugitives, and Parkman was
able to start again upon his westward course in
the afternoon, but they were not destined to
make much progress that day. A tremendous
storm deluged them. After a time a blue rift
appeared in the clouds, and, growing larger,
made room for a rainbow ; the sun shone warm
on the plain, and revealed a belt of woods in
front, which proffered a good place for camp.

170 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Raymond kindled a fire with great difficulty.
The animals turned eagerly to feed on the soft
rich grass, while I, wrapping myself in my
blanket, lay down and gazed on the evening
landscape. The mountains, whose stern features
had frowned upon us so gloomily, seemed lighted
up with a benignant smile, and the green, wav-
ing undulations of the plain were gladdened with
warm sunshine. Wet, ill, and wearied as I was,
my heart grew lighter at the view, and I drew
from it an augury of good.

The next day they struck Laramie Creek, and
following the stream found marks of the Indians
at the point where they had forded the river.
Delighted to find the trail, Parkman and Ray-
mond dined on haunch of antelope, and in high
spirits made ready to follow ; but as Parkman
was saddling the exhausted Pauline, she stag-
gered and fell. With an effort she regained her
feet, and was able to carry her master at a slow
pace. The trail was clear at one spot where ant-
hills held the dint of trailing lodge-poles, at
another it disappeared on flinty ground ; then it
became visible again where the leaves of the
prickly pear showed bruises. Towards evening
they lost the trail completely, but far away, a
little to their right, in a black valley at the foot
of Mount Laramie, which rose in purple dark-
ness above its fellow peaks, they could see volumes
of smoke curling upward. At first they were

A ROUGH JOURNEY 171

inclined to ride thither, but reflection dissuaded
them, and they afterward had reason to believe
that the smoke was raised as a decoy by hostile
Crows. That night they lay beside Laramie
Creek, and at daybreak Parkman plunged in,
and for the moment felt the tingling of health ;
but the sensation was momentary ; as soon as he
was in the saddle, he says, " I hung as usual in
my seat, scarcely able to hold myself erect."

From where they were they could see a pass
in the mountain wall, which gave cause to think
that the Indians had gone through it.

We reached the gap, which was like a deep
notch cut into the mountain ridge, and here we
soon found an ant-hill furrowed with the mark
of a lodge-pole. This was quite enough ; there
could be no doubt now. As we rode on, the open-
ing growing narrower, the Indians had been com-
pelled to march in closer order, and the traces
became numerous and distinct. The gap termi-
nated in a rocky gateway, leading into a rough
and steep defile, between two precipitous moun-
tains. Here grass and weeds were bruised to frag-
ments by the throng that had passed through.
We moved slowly over the rocks, up the passage,
and in this toilsome manner advanced for an hour
or two, bare precipices, hundreds of feet high,
shooting up on either hand. Raymond, with his
hardy mule, was a few rods before me when we
came to the foot of an ascent steeper than the
rest, and which I trusted might be the highest

172 FRANCIS PARKMAN

point of the defile. Pauline strained upwai'd for
a few yards, moaning and stumbling, and then-
came to a dead stop, unable to proceed farther.
I dismounted, and attempted to lead her ; but
my own exhausted strength soon gave out, so I
loosened the trail-rope from her neck, and tying
it round my arm, crawled up on my hands and
knees. I gained the top, totally spent, the sweat-
drops trickling from my forehead. Pauline stood
like a statue by my side, her shadow falling upon
the scorching rock ; and in this shade, for there
was no other, I lay for some time, scarcely able
to move a limb. All around, the black crags,
sharp as needles at the top, stood baking in the
sun, without tree or bush or blade of grass to
cover their nakedness. The whole scene seemed
parched with a pitiless, insufferable heat. [After
a pause Parkman was able to mount again, and
they descended the defile on the farther side ;
here they were cheered by a clump of trees, a
fringe of grass, and a little icy brook. At the
foot of the mountains lay a plain, a half dozen
miles across and bad riding, and beyond the
plain there were thick woods and more moun-
tains ; through these a rocky passage wound
among gigantic cliffs and led into a second
plain. Here they stopped to eat.] When we
had finished our meal Raymond struck fire, and
lighting his pipe, sat down at the foot of a tree
to smoke. For some time I observed him puffing
away with a face of unusual solemnity. Then
slowly taking the pipe from his lips, he looked
up and remarked that we had better not go any
farther, " Why not? " asked I. He said that the '

A ROUGH JOURNEY 173

country was become very dangerous, that we
were entering the range of the Snakes, Arapa-
hoes, and Gros-ventre Blackfeet, and that if any
of their wandering parties should meet us, it
would cost us our lives ; but he added, with
blunt fidelity, that he would go anywhere I
wished. I told him to bring up the animals,
and mounting them we proceeded again. I con-
fess that, as we moved forward, the prospect
seemed but a doubtful one. I would have given
the world for my ordinary elasticity of body and
mind, and for a horse of such strength and spirit
as the journey required. Closer and closer the
rocks gathered round us, growing taller and
steeper, and pressing more and more upon our
path. We entered at length a defile which, in
its way, I never have seen rivaled. The moun-
tain was cracked from top to bottom, and we
were creeping along the bottom of the fissure, in
dampness and gloom, with the clink of hoofs on
the loose shingly rocks, and the hoarse murmur-
ing of a petulant brook which kept us company.
. . . Looking up, we could see a narrow ribbon
of bright blue sky between the dark edges of the
opposing cliffs. This did not last long. The pas-
sage soon widened, and sunbeams found their
way down, flashing upon the black waters. The
defile would spread to many rods in width ;
then we would be moving again in darkness.
The passage seemed about four miles long, and
before we reached the end of it the unshod hoofs
of our animals were broken, and their legs cut
by the sharp stones. Issuing from the mountain,
we found another plain. All around iji stood a

174 FRANCIS PARKMAN

circle of precipices that seemed the impersona-
tion of Silence and Solitude.

From this amphitheatre there was but one
outlet, over a low hill, and beyond that the
prairie spread wide and desolate. Here they
dismounted for the night and dined on their
last bit of antelope steak. Parkman was about
to shoot a rabbit, in order to replenish their
larder, but Raymond out of not unnecessary
caution stopped him, for fear lest the report
might attract visitors.

That night for the first time we considered
that the danger to which we were exposed was
of a somewhat serious character ; and to those
who are unacquainted with Indians it may seem
strange that our chief apprehensions arose from
the supposed proximity of the people whom we
intended to visit. Had any straggling party of
these faithful friends caught sight of us from
the hilltop, they would probably have returned
in the night to plunder us of our horses, and
perhaps of our scalps. But the prairie is unfa-
vorable to nervousness ; and I presume that
neither Raymond nor I thought twice of the
matter that evening. [The next day they lost
the trail again on a broad flat plain, with no-
thing in front but a long line of hills. Raymond
became discouraged.] " Now," said he, " we had
better turn round." But as Raymond's bourgeois
thought otherwise, we descended the hill and be-
gan to cross the plain. We had come so far that

A ROUGH JOURNEY 175

neither Pauline's limbs nor my own could carry
me back to Fort Laramie. I considered that
the lines of expediency and inclination tallied
exactly, and that the most prudent course was
to keep forward.

On they went, and drearily climbed the far-
off hills ; from the top Parkman discerned a few
dark spots moving, which he took to be buffalo,
but Raymond shouted " Horses ! " and galloped
on, lashing his mule to its best pace, and in a
few minutes, standing in a circle, they saw the
lodges of the Ogillallah. " Never, says Parkman,
"did the heart of wanderer more gladden at the
sight of home than did mine at the sight of that
Indian camp."

There, after the customary ceremony of shak-
ing hands with everybody, the first business was
to choose a host, and after inquiry Parkman de-
cided to partake of Big Crow's hospitality.

So Raymond and I rode up to the entrance
of Big Crow's lodge. A squaw came out imme-
diately and took our horses. I put aside the
leather flap that covered the low opening, and,
stooping, entered the Big Crow's dwelling. There
I could see the chief in the dim light, seated at
one side, on a pile of buffalo robes. He greeted
me with a guttural " How, cola ! " I requested
Reynal [a Canadian acquaintance hunting with
the Indians] to tell him that Raymond and I were
come to live with him. The Big Crow gave an-

176 FRANCIS PARKMAN

other low exclamation. The announcement may
seem intrusive, but, in fact, every Indian in the
village would have deemed himself honored that
white men should give such preference to his hos-
pitality. The squaw spread a buffalo robe for us
in the guest's place at the head of the lodge. Our
saddles were brought in, and scarcely were we
seated upon them before the place was thronged
with Indians, crowding in to see us. The Big
Crow produced his pipe and filled it with the
mixture of tobacco and shongsasha, or red willow
bark. Round and round it passed, and a lively
conversation went forward. Meanwhile a squaw
placed before the two guests a wooden bowl of
boiled buffalo-meat ; but unhappily this was not
the only banquet destined to be inflicted on us.
One after another, boys and young squaws thrust
their heads in at the opening, to invite us to
various feasts in different parts of the village.
For half an hour and more we were actively en-
gaged in passing from lodge to lodge, tasting in
each of the bowl of meat set before us, and inhal-
ing a whiff or two from our entertainer's pipe.

The Whirlwind was not there; he had not
come, rumor said, from fear of going so far into
the enemy's country, for the village was now
encamped on the Snake hunting ground ; the
main body of the community had disregarded
his authority, and were on their way to hunt the
buffalo.

The next day brought with it a return of hos-
pitality.

A ROUGH JOURNEY 177

I intended that day to give the Indians a
feast, by way of conveying a favorable impres-
sion of my character and dignity ; and a white
dog is the dish which the customs of the Dakota
prescribe for all occasions of formality and im-
portance. I consulted Reynal : he soon discovered
that an old woman in the next lodge was owner
of the white dog [a big dog on which Parkman
had cast his eye]. I took a gaudy cotton hand-
kerchief, and, laying it on the ground, arranged
some vermilion, beads, and other trinkets upon it.
Then the old squaw was summoned. I pointed to
the dog and to the handkerchief. She gave a
scream of delight, snatched up the prize, and van-
ished with it into her lodge. For a few more trifles,
I engaged the services of two other squaws, each
of whom took the white dog by one of his paws,
and led him away behind the lodges. Having
killed him they threw him into a fire to singe ;
then chopped him up and put him into two large
kettles to boil. Meanwhile I told Raymond to
fry in buffalo-fat what little flour we had left,
and also to make a kettle of tea as an additional
luxury. The Big Crow's squaw was briskly at
work sweeping out the lodge for the approaching
festivity. I confided to my host himself the task
of inviting the guests, thinking that I might
thereby shift from my own shoulders the odium
of neglect and oversight. When feasting is in
question one hour of the day serves an Indian as
well as another. My entertainment came off at
about eleven o'clock. At that hour Reynal and
Raymond walked across the area of the village,
to the admiration of the inhabitants, carrying the

178 FRANCIS PARKMAN

two kettles of dog meat slung on a pole between
them. These they placed iu the centre of the
lodge, and then went back for the bread and the
tea. Meanwhile I had put on a pair of brilliant
moccasins, and substituted for my old buckskin
frock a coat which I had brought with me in view
of such public occasions. I also made careful use
of the razor, an operation which no man will neg-
lect who desires to gain the good opinion of In-
dians. Thus attired, I seated myself between Rey-
nal and Raymond at the head of the lodge. Only
a few minutes elapsed before all the guests had
come in and were seated on the ground, wedged
together in a close circle. Each brought with him
a wooden bowl to hold his share of the repast.
When aU were assembled, two of the officials,
called " soldiers " by the white men, came for-
ward with ladles made of the horn of the Rocky
Mountain sheep, and began to distribute the
feast, assigning a double share to the old men
and chiefs. The dog vanished with astonishing
celerity, and each guest turned his dish bottom
upward to show that all was gone. Then the
bread was distributed in its turn, and finally the
tea. As the "soldiers" poured it out into the same
wooden bowls that had served for the substantial
part of the meal, I thought it had a particularly
curious and uninviting color. " Oh," said Reynal,
" there was not tea enough, so I stirred some soot
in the kettle, to make it look strong ! " Fortu-
nately an Indian's palate is not very discriminat-
ing. The tea was well sweetened, and that was
all they cared for. Now, the feast being over, the
time for speechmaking was come. The Big Crow

A ROUGH JOURNEY 179

produced a flat piece of wood, on which he cut
up tobacco and shongsasha, and mixed them in
due proportions. The pipes were filled and passed
from hand to hand around the company. Then
I began my speech, each sentence being inter-
preted by Reynal as I went on, and echoed by
the whole audience with the usual exclamations
of assent and approval. As nearly as I can recol-
lect, it was as follows : " I had come," I told them,
" from a country so far distant that at the rate
they travel, they could not reach it in a year." —
" How ! How ! " — " There the Meneaska (white
men) were more numerous than the blades of
grass on the prairie. The squaws were far more
beautiful than any they had ever seen, and all
the men were brave warriors." — " How ! How !
How ! " — I was assailed by twinges of conscience
as I uttered these last words. But I recovered
myself and began again. " While I was living in
the Meneaska lodges, I had heard of the Ogil-
lallah, how great and brave a nation they were,
how they loved the whites, and how well they
could hunt the buffalo and strike their enemies.
I resolved to come and see if all that I heard was
true." — "How! How! How!" — "As I had
come on horseback through the mountains, I had
been able to bring them only a few presents." —
" How ! " — " But I had enough tobacco to give
them all a small piece. They might smoke it, and
see how much better it was than the tobacco which
they got from the traders." — " How ! How I
How ! " — "I had plenty of powder, lead, knives,
and tobacco at Fort Laramie. These I was anx-
ious to give them, and if any of them should come

180 FRANCIS PARKMAN

to the fort before I went away, I would make
them handsome presents ! " — " How ! How !
How ! How ! " Raymond then cut up and distri-
buted among them two or three pounds of tobacco,
and old Mene-Seela [the principal chief] began to
make a reply. It was long, but the following was
the pith of it. " He had always loved the whites.
They were the wisest people on earth. He be-
lieved they could do anything, and he was always
glad when any of them came to live in the Ogil-
lallah lodges. It was true I had not made them
many presents, but the reason of it was plain.
It was clear that I liked them, or I never should
have come so far to find their village ! " Other
speeches were made. A short silence followed,
and then the old man (Mene-Seela) struck up a
discordant chant, which I was told was a song of
thanks for the entertainment I had given them.
" Now," said he, " let us go, and give the white
men a chance to breathe." So the company all
dispersed into the open air, and for some time the
old chief was walking round the village, singing
his song in praise of the feast, after the custom of
the nation.

CHAPTER XVII

LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE

After some indecision, for the village was with-
out a leader, — even The Whirlwind when he was
present had no authority, — the Indians set for-
ward again for the hunting fields. The line of
march was always highly picturesque, painted
warriors riding gayly, iron-tipped lances glitter-
ing in the sun, packhorses heavily laden with
bundles and babies, or dragging lodge poles, po-
nies ridden by grinning young squaws, old men
on foot wrapped in white buffalo robes, slim
boys and girls, barking dogs, all apparently led
by the genius of confusion. It was always as
good as a play to Parkman, though he was
hardly in fit state of body to enjoy a pageant.

At our encampment that afternoon I was at-
tacked anew by my old disorder. In half an hour
the strength that I had been gaining for a week
past had vanished again, and I became like a
man in a dream. But at sunset I lay down in
the Big Crow's lodge and slept, totally uncon-
scious till the morning. The first thing that

182 FRANCIS PARKMAN

awakened me was a hoarse flapping over ray
head, and a sudden light that poured in upon
me. The camp was breaking up, and the squaws
were moving the covering from the lodge. I
arose and shook off my blanket with the feeling
of perfect health ; but scarcely had I gained my
feet when a sense of my helpless condition was
once more forced upon me, and I found myself
scarcely able to stand. Raymond had brought
up Pauline and the mule, and I stooped to raise
my saddle from the ground. My strength was
unequal to the task. " You must saddle her,"
said I to Raymond as I sat down again on a pile
of buffalo robes. He did so, and with a painful
effort I mounted. As we were passing over a
great plain surrounded by long broken ridges,
I rode slowly in advance of the Indians, with
thoughts that wandered far from the time and
the place. Suddenly the sky darkened, and thun-
der began to mutter. Clouds were rising over
the hills, as dark as the first forebodings of an
approaching calamity ; and in a moment all
around was wrapped in shadow. I looked be-
hind. The Indians had stopped to prepare for
the approaching storm, and the dense mass of
savages stretched far to the right and left. Since
the first attack of my disorder the effects of rain
upon me had usually been injurious in the ex-
treme. I had no strength to spare, having at
that moment scarcely enough to keep my seat on
horseback. Then, for the first time, it pressed
upon me as a strong probability that I might
never leave those deserts. " Well," thought I to
myself, " the prairie makes quick and sharp

LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 183

work. Better to die here, in the saddle to the
last, than to stifle in the hot air of a sick cham-
ber ; and a thousand times better than to drag out
life, as many have done, in the helpless inaction
of lingering disease." So, drawing the buffalo
robe on which I sat over my head, I waited till
the storm should come. It broke at last with a ,
sudden burst of fury, and passing away as rap-
idly as it came, left the sky clear again. My re-
flections served me no other purpose than to look
back upon as a piece of curious experience ; for
the rain did not produce the ill effects that I had
expected.

The Indians, being in enemy's country, were
anxious to lose no time, and pushed on westward ;
in a day or two their scouts reported herds of
buffalo marching slowly over the hills in the dis-
tance. The lodges were pitched, and things got
ready for the hunt. Early in the morning the
huntsmen were off.

I had taken no food, and not being at all
ambitious of further abstinence, I went into my
host's lodge, which his squaws had set up with
wonderful dispatch, and sat down in the centre,
as a gentle hint that I was hungry. A wooden
bowl was soon set before me, filled with the nu-
tritious preparation of dried meat called pem-
mican by the northern voyagers and wasna by
the Dakota. Taking a handful to break my fast
upon, I left the lodge just in time to see the last
band of hunters disappear over the ridge of the
neighboring hill. I mounted Pauline and gal-

184 FRANCIS PARKMAN

loped in pursuit, riding rather by the balance
than by any muscular strength that remained to
me. ... I left camp that morning with a philo-
sophic resolution. Neither I nor my horse were
at that time fit for such sport, and I had deter-
mined to remain a quiet spectator ; but amid the
rush of horses and buffalo, the uproar and the
dust, I found it impossible to sit still; and as
four or five buffalo ran past me in a line, I lashed
Pauline in pursuit. We went plunging through
the water and the quicksands, and clambering
the bank, chased them through the wild sage
bushes that covered the rising ground beyond.
But neither her native spirit nor the blows of
the knotted bull-hide could supply the place of
poor Pauline's exhausted strength. We could
not gain an inch upon the fugitives.

After a shot, which hit but did not maim the
cow he was chasing, Parkman turned back and
rode slowly to camp.

In this place they remained five days, the
braves hunting every day and killing great num-
bers of buffaloes. The hides were skinned,
scraped, and rubbed, the meat was cut up and
hung to dry in the sun. Parkman, and also
Pauline, were too tired to take further part in
the hunting, so he strolled over the prairie for
an occasional shot at an antelope, and watched
his hosts and their squaws at their various occu-
pations. His repose at night was not all that
weary limbs might wish. In the next lodge

LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 185

gambling would be going on, fast and furious ;
ornaments, horses, garments, and weapons were
staked upon the chances of the game to the ac-
companiment of yells, chants, and the thumping
of an Indian drum. In Parkmau's own lodge
Big Crow would rouse himself every night at
twelve o'clock and sing a doleful dirge to ap-
pease the spirits ; and the children, who were al-
lowed to eat too much during the day and were
petted and generally spoiled, had a habit of
crawling about the lodge over Parkman and
every other object, and sometimes they cuddled
under his blanket. He was obliged to keep a
short stick at hand and punch their heads some
five times during the night.

On the twenty -fifth the camp broke up, and
the return journey was begun. . . . The lodges
were pitched early, and the chiefs sat in a circle
smoking and chaffing one another.

When the first pipe was smoked out, I rose
and withdrew tp the lodge of my host. Here I
was stooping, in the act of taking off my powder-
horn and bullet-pouch, when suddenly, and close
at hand, pealing loud and shrill, and in right
good earnest, came the terrific yell of the war-
whoop. Kongra-Tonga's [Black Crow] squaw
snatched up her youngest child and ran out of
the lodge. I followed, and found the whole vil-
lage in confusion, resounding with cries and
yells. The circle of old men in the centre had

186 FRANCIS PARKMAN

vanished. The warriors, with glittering eyes,
came darting, weapons in hand, out of the low
openings of the lodges, and running with wild
yells towards the farther end of the village. Ad-
vancing a few rods in that direction, I saw a
crowd in furious agitation. Just then I distin-
guished the voice of Reynal [a French Canadian
living with the Indians] shouting to me from
a distance ; he was calling to me to come over
and join him [on the farther side of a little
stream]. This was clearly the wisest course, un-
less we wished to involve ourselves in the fray ;
so I turned to go, but just then a pair of eyes,
gleaming like a snake's, and an aged familiar
countenance was thrust from the opening of a
neighboring lodge, and out bolted old Mene-
Seela, full of fight, clutching his bow and arrows
in one hand and his knife in the other. . . . The
women with loud screams were hurrying with
their children in their arms to place them out
of danger, and I observed some hastening to
prevent mischief by carrying away all the wea-
pons they could lay hands on. On a rising ground
close to the camp stood a line of old women sing-
ing a medicine-song to allay the tumult. As I
approached the side of the brook, I heard gun-
shots behind me, and turning back saw the crowd
had separated into two long lines of naked war-
riors confronting each other at a respectful dis-
tance, and yelling and jumping about to dodge
the shots of their adversaries, while they dis-
charged bullets and arrows against each other.
At the same time certain sharp, humming sounds
in the air over my head, like the flight of beetles

LIFE- IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 187

on a summer evening, warned me that the danger
was not wholly confined to the immediate scene
of the fray. So, wading through the brook, I
joined Reynal and Raymond, and we sat down
on the grass, in the posture of an armed neu-
trality, to watch the result. Happily it may be
for ourselves, though contrary to our expectation,^
the disturbance was quelled almost as soon as it
began. When I looked again, the combatants
were once more mingled together in a mass.
Though yells sounded occasionally from the
throng, the firing had entirely ceased, and I ob-
served five or six persons moving busily about,
as if acting the part of peacemakers. One of
the village heralds or criers proclaimed in a loud
voice something which my two companions were
too much engrossed in their own observations to
translate for me. The crowd began to disperse,
though many a deep-set black eye still glittered
with an unnatural lustre, as the warriors slowly
withdrew to their lodges. This fortunate sup-
pression of the disturbance was owing to a few
of the old men, less pugnacious than Mene-Seela,
who boldly ran in between the combatants, and,
aided by some of the " soldiers," or Indian police,
succeeded in effecting their object.

It was contrary to etiquette to inquire into the
cause of the brawl, and Parkman only learned it
some time afterwards. Mad Wolf had presented
Tall Bear with a horse, expecting, according to
the well-understood custom, to receive another
gift of equal value in return. Tall Bear, how-

188 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ever, made no reciprocal gift, whereupon Mad
Wolf strode up to Tall Bear's lodge, untied the
horse he had given, and started to lead it home ;
Tall Bear leapt from his lodge and stabbed the
horse dead. Mad Wolf, quick as a flash, drew
an arrow to the head against Tall Bear's breast,
but the other stood impassive as a statue, and
Mad Wolf lowered his bow. Partisans rallied
to each, and the fray began, but no one was
killed, thanks to the vigorous intervention of the
old chiefs and of the " soldiers," a species of con-
stabulary appointed in council and charged with
the duty of preserving the peace.

The next step in the Indian preparation for
winter was to cut lodge poles. For these, which
could only be cut from tall straight saplings, it
was necessary to go to the Black Hills. So they
traveled eastward for two days and arrived at
the foot of the gloomy ridges ; here, after trav-
ersing a long ravine between precipitous cliffs
and masses of rock, they came upon the desired
groves. The Indians cut their poles, while Park-
man cultivated the friendship of Mene-Seela,
and persuaded Black Crow, the White Eagle,
and the Panther, his more intimate comrades,
to spin yarns of their adventures. Most of the
Indians Parkman did not trust, and did not like.

They were thorough savages. Neither their
manners nor their ideas were in the slightest

LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 189

degree modified by contact with civilization.
They knew nothing of the power and real char-
acter of the white men, and their children would
scream in terror when they [first] saw me. Their
religion, superstitions, and prejudices were those
handed down to them from immemorial time.
They fought with the weapons that their father^
fought with, and wore the same garments of
skins. They were living representatives of the
" stone age ; " for though their lances and arrows
were tipped with iron procured from the traders,
they still used the rude stone mallet of the prime-
val world. . . . For the most part, a civilized
white man can discover very few points of sym-
pathy between his own nature and that of an
Indian. With every disposition to do justice to
their good qualities, he must be conscious that
an impassable gulf lies between him and his red
brethren. No, so alien to himself do they appear
that, after breathing the air of the prairie for a
few months or weeks, he begins to look upon
them as a troublesome and dangerous species of
wild beast. Yet, in the countenance of the Pan-
ther (. . . who, unless his face greatly belied
him, was free from the jealousy, suspicion, and
malignant cunning of his people), I gladly read
that there were at least some points of sympathy
between him and me.

As they approached Fort Laramie Parkman
became eager to make haste, for August 1st, the
day on which he had promised to meet Shaw,
had already come ; so, when the buttes, near
which he had encamped while waiting for the

190 FRANCIS PARKMAN

unpunctual Whirlwind, lifted their rough cones
above the horizon, he rode away from his savage
hosts in company with Raymond and one Indian
who was bound for the fort. Several of the In-
dians proffered him their horses as parting pre-
sents, for the sake of receiving Pauline in return,
but their offers were promptly declined ; Park-
man shook hands with Reynal, but in deference
to aboriginal custom, took no leave of the In-
dians, and with mixed feelings of regret and
pleasure parted with them forever. That night
they encamped near their old site.

" First, however, our wide-mouthed friend [the
Indian] had taken the precaution of carefully
examining the neighborhood. He reported that
eight men, counting them on his fingers, had been
encamped there not long before, — Bisonette,
Paul Dorion, Antoine Le Rouge, Richardson,
and four others whose names he could not tell.
All this proved strictly correct. By what instinct
he had arrived at such accurate conclusions, I
am utterly at a loss to divine.

Parkman's impatience got them up long be-
fore sunrise, and they reached the fort well
before noon ; there they found Shaw, Chatillon,
and Deslauriers the muleteer, and had a banquet
on biscuit, coffee, and salt pork, which they ate
and drank with all the ostentation of plates,
knives, forks, and cups, sitting on stools before
a wooden structure politely called a table. Shaw

LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 191

then produced his library, — Shakespeare, Byron,
and the Old Testament.

I chose the worst of the three, and for the
greater part of that day I lay on the buffalo
robes, fairly reveling in the creations of that
resplendent genius which has achieved no more,
signal triumph than that of half beguiling us to
forget the unmanly character of its possessor.

The young men bade good-by to their compan-
ions, especially to Chatillon, with much regret,
left the fort, and turned their faces eastward.
They had made great friends with Chatillon,
and thereafter friendly letters and gifts passed
between them. Once they made the mistake
of offering payment for rich gifts from him,
and hurt his feelings. Chatillon prospered in a
worldly sense, and years afterwards Parkman
saw him at St. Louis, an owner of houses, dressed
in the discomforts of white shirt, urban coat,
and trousers.

The returning journey was made without much
ill luck. From Westport they went by boat to St.
Louis, which they reached in the beginning of
October, and the young men made haste to give
their friends news of themselves.

St. Loms, Oct. 7th, '46.
My dear Mother, — ... Everybody here
speaks of the intense heat of the past summer.
We, Q. and I, may congratulate ourselves on hav-

192 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ing escaped it, besides gaining a great deal of
sport, and a cartload of practical experience. I
feel about ten years older than I did five months
ago. To-day, for the first time, I have mounted
the white shirt, tight dress coat, etc. . . . My
temperament is bilious, and a meat diet, I sup-
pose, acts unfavorably on it ; and hence the
particularly uncomfortable state to which I was
reduced when in the Indian country ; but in
spite of this, they tell me here that I look better
than when I set out for the mountains.

... I shall go by stage, as the rivers are low,
to Chicago, thence by railroad to Detroit, and
thence to BufPalo. Ask Carrie to write, as I want
very much to hear from her. You will hear from
me often, and meanwhile believe me, dear mother,
respectfully, your affectionate Frank.

On his return he felt that he had qualified
himself by practical experience to write the his-
tory of the Indian and French wars, and grate-
ful that so loose a rein had been given to his
inclination, he was ready to do his duty towards
his father and the law.

CHAPTER XVIII

UNDER DR. Elliott's care

Frank had come back with a great store of in-
formation and experience ; he had garnered the
grain and was ready to begin to grind. But vio-
lent exertion, exposure, bad food, wet clothes,
and all evil attendants of physical hardship,
began to exact their scot, and the chief burden
of their exaction fell on his weakest member,
his eyes. No sooner had he got home than he
was obliged to be off again to New York to put
himself under the care of Dr. Elliott, a famous
oculist, whose skill had already wrought a cure
for his sister Caroline, who had suffered with
her eyes. From this time his physical life as-
sumes the grim and strained attitude of one
long wrestle with ill health. At first there was
hope that two months would suffice to make the
weak eyes strong and undo the hurt that the
Oregon journey had done ; but though his eyes
sometimes got better and sometimes got worse,
the two months lengthened out, and at the end
of the second year his eyes were worse, much

194 FRANCIS PARKMAN

worse. In this wrestling-match with fate there
were recesses, pauses, breathing spaces, but from
this fatal year his body was but a ragged fort
in which the spirit was incessantly beleaguered.
In his brief autobiographical letters he has told
the story in a soldier's way; it reads like the
journal of a fighting regiment. Those pages tell
of hardships ; these are intended to chronicle
the happier intervals between bouts of pain, to
record recollections and the careless gossip of
letters which show the tender love of his family,
the proud affection of his friends, and to relate
the gradual progress of his work.

CAROLINE TO FRAJfK.

Boston, Dec. 17th, 1846.
It is a great while since I have written to you,
for I do not get time to do half what I want to.
. . . The historical lectures take a great deal of
time, and if I read half of the books he [the
teacher] recommends I should be able to do no-
thing else. They are very interesting and edify-
ing. How glad I am that your eyes are improv-
ing so much and what a comfort to be able to
read so long. Don't you occasionally turn your
thoughts homeward and remember that the two
months are almost gone ? I fear that when they
are gone, the Dr. will think that it would be bet-
ter to stay a little longer. I wish you were at
home to go with me to Aunt Shaw's party next
Tuesday. ... I must say the party has no great

UNDER DR. ELLIOTT'S CARE 195

attractions for me ... if you were here I should
like it much better, ... I hope I shall have a
letter from you soon, but don't write unless you
can withoiit the least difficulty. Mother and all
send their love. . . . Good-by, my dear brother.

Jan. 11, 1847. ,
Let me in the first place wish you a happy
New Year, though ten days of it has gone, but
there is enough left beside. We had a most re-
markable day here as to weather : it was oppres-
sively warm with winter clothes. . . . Did you
make many calls? There were some families
here who received their friends, but I should
not care about its becoming a general custom ;
there seems no satisfaction in such visits, and it
must be a real hard day's work for gentlemen.
. . . We heard from Aunt Mary yesterday. She
is at Providence now, as I suppose you know,
but is not much better than she has been since
the summer. . . . She writes in pretty good
spirits though, and wants to know particularly
about you, and sends her love. We are going
this evening to see the " Viennoises Danseuses "
(I am quite willing to write it, but would n't
think of pronouncing it). Father saw them in
Dublin, and was so delighted with them that he
is willing to be seen at the theatre in such a
cause, custom notwithstanding. I think it will
be quite an inducement in itself to go, just for
the sake of seeing him sitting in one of the
boxes !

196 FRANCIS PARKMAN ,

Tuesday, Feb. 23d, 1847.

... I believe that father told you in his last
letter that Dr. Elliott gave "encouraging ac-
counts " of you when he was here ; but he mis-
understood me, for I was the only one of the
family that the Dr. saw, and all that he said
was that yours was a difficult case, that he had
no doubt of his curing you finally, but that after
you had been with him a few weeks he found there
were peculiarities of the system that at first he
could not discover. He said that your nervous
system was a good deal deranged, which made it
difficult to affect you by medicine, or something
to that purpose ; if I have not represented it as
it was told, do not think he made out a better
statement just to please us, for all he said to
encourage was that it was a curable case, and
that he should do all he could to enable you to
come home as soon as possible, as father de-
sired. . . . Last week I had a miniature party,
and wish you had been here, for it was very
pleasant. ... They came to tea, and it was a
very sociable little soiree. We had music of the
first order, for they are a very musical set, and
Matilda Abbot sings remarkably well. . . .

Now Frank, my dear, I have heard that you
have written some account of your journey in the
"Knickerbocker," and how brotherly it would
be if you woxdd send us the number which con-
tains it, for I suppose you have it, or at least
you might have told us that it was to be seen
there, for you know how much interested I
should be in everything you write, and all that
you do. Only think how long it is since you

UNDER DR. ELLIOTT'S CARE 197

have lived at home, almost a year. Sometimes
I feel that you know so much more, and that we
are so different in mind and in our feelings about
some things that we might not be so near to
each other as is my sincerest wish ; but this feel-
ing, perhaps, is quite unnecessary, and I hope
that our love will be just as strong as if X
did not feel there was any difference. I never
could have told you this, it is so much easier to
write one's secret feelings than to speak them,
but I am glad to let you know them. . . . Write
to us soon, and I hope you will have better ac-
counts to give. Mother sends her love, and with
much love from your sister Cakrie.

Tuesday, March 2d, 1847.
Your letter reached us yesterday, and I can-
not tell you how badly we feel on account of
your health. It is a hard trial, I am sure, not to
be able at least to use your mind while you are
shut out from reading. I do hope that this state
will not continue long. ... I hope that next
summer you will feel inclined to loqfe round at
Phillips beach with us. For we have the pros-
pect of the same pleasant family that we had
last year, and you would be able to have quite a
variety in your occupations too, . . . and there
are beautiful rides and walks all around there,
and perhaps we might renew our horseback ex-
peditions, which are very popular there, espe-
cially the ride to Nahant over the beach, and
when you get there you would find many of
your friends, Mary Eliot among others. Is n't
that a pleasant prospect ? It would be so plea-

198 FRANCIS PARKMAN

sant to have you there with us, you don't know
how we used to long for you last summer. . . .
I go to history in a few minutes, so I am in a
hurry. . . . Mother and all the rest send their
love and wish you were with us that we might
do something for you. I hope it will not be long
before we can see you. Maria Eldredge is going
to N. Y. in a few weeks to stay. I should like to
go with her to stay with you. Suppose I should
not be admitted to Delmonico's, though. . . .

Friday, March 19th, 1847.

We were very glad to hear from you yester-
day, and I hope you will feel the good effects of
the new system, but if it is much more severe
than that which the Dr. generally uses, I should
think you would be in torture. ... 1 cannot
tell you how delighted Elly [his brother John
Eliot] was with the book you sent him, and you
could not have chosen a better time to send it.
. . . He is quite overcome by your thinking of
him and is going to write you a letter next week.
Father sends his love. Mother and the girls send
love also. . . .

Boston, May 14th, [1847].
. . . We were very glad to receive a letter
from you this morning, and hope you will feel
that your eyes are continuing to improve with-
out any more drawbacks. . . . Mary gets on
very well with the copying ; it is about finished
now. ... I hope you will be able to read this
yourself, and out of compassion for your eyes I
will not inflict more, but believe me, dear Frank,
that nothing would make me happier than to

UNDER DR. ELLIOTT'S CARE 199

feel that I could do something to make your un-
occupied time pass pleasantly. ... I hope we
shall hear very soon. With much love,

Cakbie.

In the course of nature a father, as the purse-
holder, has relations and correspondence with a
son which differ a little in tenor from those
which mother and sister have, and as the Park-
man family did not differ in any marked partic-
ular from other families, we find traces of that
eternal dialogue between the purse-holder and
the purse-emptier, which commonly fills so much
larger a part in the correspondence between
father and son.

Boston, March 2, [1847],
My dear Son, — We have read your letter
to Carrie with no little regret and disappoint-
ment. I am pained by what you write of your
general state of health as well as of your eyes.
And I hardly know what course it will be best
for you to pursue. . . .

You write in a short postscript that you are
in want of money. I am most happy, as you
well know, to supply it. But I confess, my dear
son, that I am somewhat surprised by the fre-
quency of your calls. Since I was in New York,
when I gave you fifty dollars in addition to
twenty or thirty you then had, I sent you sev-
enty dollars, in anticipation, as I thought, of
your needs for the present. I take it for granted
that it was ample for the bills at Delmonico's,

200

FRANCIS PARKMAN

etc., for the month just ended, and that those bills
are paid. I request that instead of a short post-
script thro' Caroline [mark the full complement
of syllables] you would let me know more par-
ticularly of the amount of your expenses, and
what is necessary for a month. AH that is
proper for your comfort and gratification shall
always and most readily be supplied. But for the
four months you have been in New York you
have received $400, or at the rate of il200 a
year. ... I wish you would write to me partic-
ularly if your eyes permit. Your mother sends
her love, and we earnestly hope, my dear son,
that you will find yourself better soon.
I am your affectionate father,

Francis Pakkman.

Then those honest friends, — great peace-
makers, that knit up the raveled sleave of a
father's care, — exact accounts, served their good
offices.

Item

. Bootblack .

.10

Ale .

.12

. Breakfast .

.37

Umbrella

.75

. Chocolate, etc.

.18

. . Ale . . .

.12

. Breakfast .

.25

Dinner

.75

. Tea .

.25

Waiter .

.25

. Carriage

.50

Books

1.50, etc

In the next letter their service is recognized.

UNDER DR. ELLIOTT'S CARE 201

Monday, March 8, 1847.

My dear Son, — Your statement of your
expenses at Delmonico's is altogether satisfac-
tory. . . .

I am at present at a loss what to advise as to
your remaining from home. It seems to me very
desirable that you should have more of domestic
comfort than you can possibly have as you are.
. . . Think over the matter in your own mind,
and at your leisure give me your ideas. We are
all well. Your affectionate father,

F. Parkman.

Frank, however, was obliged to stay away all
the spring and all the summer too.

In the mean time " The Oregon Trail " had
begun its slow publication in the " Knicker-
bocker Magazine." Frank had kept a full note-
book of his expedition and adventures, and soon
after his return, from these notes and from his
admirable memory, had dictated the book to
his friend and comrade, Shaw. The first chap-
ters appeared in February. Frank, in his mod-
est, reserved, self-sufficient way, deigned to teU
neither his family nor his friends. His sister
found it out by chance, so did his friends. It was
put out into the world to stand on its own feet,
and like a waif win what success it might in the
estimation of the impartial, cold-hearted sub-
scribers to the " Knickerbocker." If it deserved
success, Frank wished it to succeed ; if not, why

202 FRANCIS PARKMAN

let it go and keep company with mediocrity and
failure, as it deserved.

The book was not as successful, not as pop-
ular with the public, as might well have been
expected even by a young man much less cool
and self-contained than Frank. It was more than
twenty years since the " Last of the Mohicans "
had been published, and it was reasonable to
anticipate an eager reception for a fresh tale
of the wild life of the West. The editor of the
"Knickerbocker," however, justly appreciated
its worth ; so did others.

DOBB, HIS CkOSSINO,

Woden, his day, Aiig. 30, ['47].

Mt dear Parkman, — Your next " Trail "
has the place of honor in the " Knickerbocker," —
that is, the one for October. They are excellent
papers. Washington Irving told me to-day that
he read them with great pleasure — as I always
do. I hope you find them as correctly printed
as you covdd expect, under the circumstances. I
read them carefully ; but the manuscript is some-
times very obscured. How are your eyes ? I long
much to hear that they are getting well. . . .

WiU you let me say how much I am, and truly,
yours, L. Gaylord Clark.

BEV. F. PARKMAN TO SAME.

Monday Morning, Aug. 7th, ['47].

My dear Son, — ... Though I wrote to you
something of a long letter on Friday, yet I can-
not help " taking pen in hand," just to tell you

UNDER DR. ELLIOTT'S CARE 203

of a little incident which, as it gave pleasure to
your mother and me, will not, I think, be other-
wise than agreeable to you.

Last week Elly came into town, and having
a half day's leisure, strolled over to the Navy
Yard at Charlestown. As he was looking round,
as boys love to look, an officer met him and.
asked him his name ; and finding it Parkman,
he asked him, further, if he was any relation to
the gentleman who wrote articles in the " Knick-
erbocker." Elly told him that he was his brother,
which, as you know, was no more than true.
The officer then said, " Come with me, and I
will show you all there is to see ; for I am glad
to know a brother of the writer of those pieces.
He writes well, and I read ' The Oregon Trail '
with great pleasure." He then took Elly all over
the yard, and when he had shown him fully all
there was to be seen he invited him into his own
room, and among many other things showed him
the numbers of the "Knickerbocker" which he
said had given him so much pleasure.

I confess, my dear Frank, I was much grati-
fied by this ; but I should not be studious to
write it out at length, did I not feel that under
your trials and inability to do as much as you
desire, you are entitled to know that what you
have done, and still can do, is fully appreciated.
It is a consolation, when some of our plans are
interrupted, to know that others have so well
succeeded. And I congratulate you on having
accomplished so much and so successfully amidst
great discouragements. . . . Mother sends her
love ; and I am your affectionate father,

F. Parkman.

204 FRANCIS PARKMAN

SAME TO SAME.

Boston, Friday, Sept. 3, [1847].
My DEAE Son, — ... I have received for
you a diploma as Honorary Member of the New
York Historical Society. I hear frequently of
your " Oregon Trail," and of the success of your
lucubrations. ...

With sincere affection, I am yours,

F. Parkman.

By this time, finding that his eyes had not
improved, Frank had gone to Brattleboro, Ver-
mont, to try the water-cure, somewhat fash-
ionable in those days. But the success of this
experiment, though he repeated it several times,
was slight, and he went back again to Dr. El-
liott's care.

CHAPTER XIX

ILL HEALTH, 1848^1850

Before the " Oregon Trail " had run its slow
course in the " Knickerbocker Magazine," Park-
man had been busying himself in putting into
narrative the varied mass of information which
he had been gathering during the previous six
or seven years. It was not easy to make one
straight-away story of it, there was such lack of
unity in the subject. Pontiac was but the most
conspicuous chief in a long line of border war that
encircled the English settlements from Maine to
Carolina. There was need of art, of grouping
and arrangement, of dragging certain events and
actors into the foreground, of pushing others
back, of exalting here and abasing there ; in
short, of the infinite pains that only can over-
come an unwieldly narrative. Parkman himself
says in the preface that lack of eyesight, which
forced him to long periods of darkness and medi-
tation, during which he thought out the sequence
of his story, was really of service to him. It is a
generous instance of giving the devil his due. I

206 FRANCIS. PARKMAN

quote his autobiography ^ for an account of this
period of composition.

In the spring of 1848, the condition indicated
being then at its worst, the writer resolved to
attempt the composition of the history of the
conspiracy of Pontiac, of which the material had
been for some time collected and the ground pre-
pared. The difficulty was so near to the impossi-
ble that the line of distinction often disappeared,
while medical prescience condemned the plan as
a short road to dire calamities. His motive, how-
ever, was in part a sanitary one, growing out of
a conviction that nothing could be more deadly
to his bodily and mental health than the entire
absence of a purpose and an object. The diffi-
culties were threefold : an extreme weakness of
sight, disabling him even from writing his name,
except with eyes closed ; a condition of the brain
prohibiting fixed attention, except at occasional
brief intervals ; and an exhaustion and total de-
rangement of the nervous system, producing of
necessity a mood of mind most unfavorable to
effort. To be made with impunity, the attempt
must be made with the most watchful cautiop.
y He caused a wooden frame to be constructed
of the size and shape of a sheet of letter paper.
Stout wires were fixed horizontally across it, half
an inch apart, and a movable back of thick paste-
board fitted behind them. The paper for writing
was placed between the pasteboard and the wires,
guided by which, and using a black lead crayon,
he could write not illegibly with closed eyes. He

1 Life ofParkman, pp. 325-327.

ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 207

was at the time absent from home, on Staten
Island, where, and in the neighboring city of
New Yoi'k, he had friends who willingly offered
their aid. It is needless to say to which half of
humanity nearly all these kind assistants be-
longed. He chose for a beginning that part of
the work which offered fewest difficulties, and
with the subject of which he was most familiar,
namely, the Siege of Detroit. The books and
documents, already partially arranged, were pro-
cured from Boston, and read to him at such times
as he could listen to them ; the length of each
reading never, without injury, much exceeding
half an hour, and periods of several days fre-
quently occurring during which he could not lis-
ten at all. Notes were made by him with closed
eyes, and afterwards deciphered and read to him
till he had mastered them. For the first half
year the rate of composition averaged about six
lines a day. The portion of the book thus com-
posed was afterwards partially rewritten. His
health improved under the process, and the re-
mainder of the volume — in other words, nearly
the whole of it — was composed in Boston, while
pacing in the twilight of a large garret [5 Bow-
doin Square], the only exercise which the sen-
sitive condition of his sight permitted him in
an unclouded day while the sun was above the
horizon. It was afterwards written down from
dictation by relatives under the same roof, to
whom he was also indebted for the preparatory
readings. His progress was much less tedious
than at the outset, and the history was complete
in about two years and a half.

aOS FRANCIS PARKMAN

This story was given to the world after his
death ; in life Parkman concealed his disabilities
from his acquaintances under a cool reserve.
Once a friend, coming from a distance, entered
the room where Parkman sat in the dark with
curtains drawn and eyes bandaged ; surprised by
sympathy, he betrayed his pity. The tone of
Parkman's voice made him think for an instant
that his own eyes had deceived him, and that he
was in the presence of a perfectly well, untroubled
man. Nevertheless, Parkman's intimates knew
what odds he struggled with, and having in their
minds the young man who had spent his time
crying " words of manage to his bounding steed,"
leaping on and o£E while at full gallop, — one of
them has said that on horseback, with his face
grim and resolute, he looked like Colleoni^ —
they could not wholly forbear to express their
sympathy.

Mr. Edmund D wight was a classmate and
dear friend.

EDMUND DWIGHT TO PAKKMAN.

Boston, April 23d, '48.
My dear Frank, — I received your most wel-
come note three days ago. Thank you for it.
. . . Your account of yourself is perhaps as
good as could have been expected. I wish that
it had been a great deal better, but still it is
enough for us to build our hopes upon that all

ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 209

will yet be well. I believe I have told you how
certain I consider your final success to be if your
health is spared. So keep up your spirits, dear
Frank. No one ever did so more thoroughly and
bravely than you have done. Your reward is as
certain as any future event can be. . . .

Pray let me hear from you soon, and believe
me, dear Frank, faithfully and warmly, your
friend.

Boston, April 30th, 1848.

I saw Qulncy Shaw last night, who told me he
heard indirectly that you were getting on pretty
well, which is very good news so far as it goes.
Charlie Norton will bring more minute intelli-
gence, and I hope soon to get a word having
your own authority for it. . . .

I have read " The Oregon Trail " for April and
admire it exceedingly, though I think they would
be still more interesting if read without a month's
intermission between the chapters. ... If you
have not already made up your mind to collect
and publish what has been portioned out to us,
I hope you will for your friends' sake as well as
your own. I will not give you the opinions which
I hear expressed unless you prove intractable ;
if you do I have that which will bring you
round. . . .

Boston, May 18, 1848.

I was heartily glad to receive a line from you
on Sunday, giving so encouraging account of
your condition and prospects. You know that if
my good wishes could do you any good, you
would have had the full benefit of them long
ag:o. . . .

210 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Boston, June 10, 1848.

I received your letter of the 9th upon my re-
turn from Springfield to-day. No words can tell
you, dear Frank, how deep my sympathy is for
you in all your terrible sufferings, nor how ar-
dent my admiration for the noble fortitude with
which you bear them. Nor is my faith that in
this world you will find at last that happiness
which you are so faithfully earning less deep
than my sympathy and sorrow for your misfor-
tunes. The postscript of your letter adds a
ground of belief and opens a prospect of success.
It cannot, it will not be that you shall be disap-
pointed and foiled at last. No, dear Frank, it
will all be well with you before long, and your
reward will be as great as the difficulties you
have overcome. The darkest cloud has a silver
lining, and that will soon be turned toward you,
and all these storm clouds pass away. I know
how truly religious you are amidst all this dread-
ful trial. Only recollect that " hope " is ranked
next to " faith " among the Christian virtues.
Heaven bless the Doctor who gives you such
good grounds for belief in the place of hope, and
with one skillful Dr. for your eyes and another
for your nerves all will be well before long. . . .
Farewell, my dear friend. Heaven be with you
and send you bright days quickly.

July 19, 1848.

I was very glad indeed to receive your let-
ter two days ago confirming the impression 1
had received when with you that you were grow-
ing better. The progress may be, or rather, I
suppose, must be, slow, and changes for the

ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 211

worse will occur ; still, so long as the direction is
the right one, there is a certainty of coming out
right at last. . . .

July 22d.

The returned volunteers parade the streets to-
day, and the city is full of gaping countrymen
to see the warriors. Do you still hold to your
old notions about the glory of a soldier and the
high qualities that are required to make a man
fight well? Because if you do I should like to
argue the point with you. A good officer is a
noble fellow, and so is any other good man in
active business. I 'm getting a contempt for
men who only preach and theorize. If a man
does keep straight through the bad influences of
such a life it says a vast deal for him. Good-by.
Keep up your spirits, and believe me, dear Frank,
yours sincerely,

Edmund Dwight, Jr.

In some of the letters there are references to
politics which seem to imply that Dwight and
Parkman shared the views prevailing in well-to-
do Boston, — dislike of the ad valorem clauses
in the tariff, indignation with the South, disap-
proval of the Mexican war. But Parkman's
world had shrunk to the four walls of a dark-
ened room, and his thoughts were too closely
concentred on his work to wander far afield.

He valued his friends, and always kept the
letters that bore witness to the affection they
felt for him.

212 FRANCIS PARKMAN

C. E. NORTON TO PAEKMAN.

Sunday, June 18, 1848.

My dear Frank, — I have long meant to
write to you, and should have done so before
now had I supposed my letter would have given
you pleasure. But as Ned Dwight told me last
week that you spoke in your last letter to him
of not being so well, except as regards your
eyes, I determined to write to you, if for no
other reason than to assure you of my continued
and sincere sympathy with you. You have, my
dear friend, one great source of support and
comfort in your sufferings, the consciousness
that they have not been sent to you as the retri-
bution for your past life, but that they have
come in accordance with the inscrutable design
of God, and will finally work out their own re-
sult by bringing you nearer to him. Let me
quote from Miss Barrett two or three lines : —

" With earnest prayers
Fasten your soul so high that constantly
The smile of your heroic cheer may float
Above all floods of earthly agonies."

All this is, I know, very familiar to you, and for
the last year or two you have given proof to
every one who has known you that you carry
your principles, which so few of us do, into daily
action ; and in the midst of suffering you may
have the encouragement of knowing that your
example is one which we shall always cherish as
inciting us to manliness and patience and faith.
. . . Good-by. Write to me if you can. With
kindest remembrances from the whole family.

ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 213

Boston, Sept. 4th, 1848.

I have just got and looked over the worthless
number of the " Knickerbocker " for this month.
Where is the " Oregon Trail " ? Have you quar-
reled with the editor, or he with you ? Or was
the manuscript lost ? Or is Clark, knowing that
there are but three numbers more, keeping it
back that he may have a number or two for his
new volume, so as to retain his subscribers who
subscribe for the sake of that alone? It is not
good policy in an editor of a magazine to have
one contributor who so far excels the rest. Pray
write to me to tell me about the missing chapter
and about yourself. I hope you still keep to your
intention of publishing the " Trail " in a volume
this autumn. The time la drawing near when it
should be out. Do begin to print, and either
make arrangements with some New York pub-
lisher, or let me make them with some publisher
here. At any rate, let me do as much for you in
looking over the proofs, or in any other way, as I
can. . . .

New York, Febr'y 25th, 1849.

It seemed almost as if I were going to meet
you, when yesterday morning I went down to
Putnam's to see him about your book. ... I
found Putnam, and learned from him that the
" Oregon and California Trail " would be out in
about ten days ■^- some time in next week. He
said that so far as he knew there had not been
the least difficulty in making out the corrections
in the copy you had sent him, that he had re-
ceived the last proof that morning, that the en-
gravings were so nearly finished that he thought

214 FRANCIS PARKMAN

he could give me copies of them to send on to
you to-morrow, and that he could have six copies
bound and sent to you early. I selected a neat
and handsome style in which to have them bound,
and told Putnam's clerk to be careful to have
the matter attended to. . . .

Melan, April 18th, 1850.

I have owed you a letter for a long time. It
has not been from any want of frequent remem-
brance that I have not written — if I did not
know that you would believe in that, I should
certainly have written before. Your last letter
came to me at Alexandria. I was very glad to
receive it, as it contained good accounts of your-
self. I hope that you could have written in the
same way all the winter. . . . During this last
January I was traveling from Agra to Bombay,
and during the journey, which was a solitary one,
I often thought over and with constant pleasure
the mornings of the January of the year before
spent with you. I trust you will have a very long
manuscript for me to read a year hence, when I
am once more at home. . . .

Ever your very faithful friend,

Charles Eliot Norton.

E. George Squier, another friend, was an anti-
quarian interested in Central America, a man of
scholarly tastes and archaeological learning, full
of energy and exuberant vigor.

ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 215

PARKMAN TO SQUIER [dictated].

Boston, Oct. 15th, 1849.

My dear Sqtjier, — ... As for me I am
rather inclined to envy you less for your success
and your prospects, enviable as they are, than for
your power of activity. From a complete and
ample experience of both, I can bear witness that
no amount of physical pain is so intolerable as
the position of being stranded and doomed to lie
rotting for year after year. However, I have not
yet abandoned any plan which I have ever formed,
and I have no intention of abandoning any until
I am made cold meat of. At present I am much
better in health than when you last saw me, and
do not suffer from that constant sense of oppres-
sion on the brain which then at times annoyed
me almost beyond endurance. I find myself able
to work a little, although my eyes are in a to-
tally useless state and excessively sensitive. The
eyes are nothing to the other infernal thing,
which now seems inclined to let me alone, good
riddance to it ; so I continue to dig slowly along
by the aid of other people's eyes, doing the work
more thoroughly, no doubt, and digesting my ma-
terials better than if I used my own. I have just
obtained the papers that were wanting to com-
plete my collection for the illustrative work on
the Indians which I told you about. The manu-
scripts amount to several thousand pages. I am
inclined to think that the labor of collecting them
might have been better bestowed, but I was a
boy when I began it, and at all events the job
will be done thoroughly. ... If I can serve you

216 FRANCIS PARKMAN

in the way of writing or otherwise, I wish you
would let me know, and I shall be very glad to
do anything in my power. By some practice I
have caught the knack of dictating and find it as
easy as lying.

Believe me, with much regard, very truly
yours,

[F. Parkman.]

In' May, 1850, he married Miss Catherine
ScoUay Bigelow, a daughter of Dr. Jacob Bige-
low, at that time a distinguished physician in
Boston.

CHAPTER XX

LIFE AND LITEEATUEE, 1850-1856

Pabkman's married life was very happy, espe-
cially in these first years before the devil of
lameness clntched him. He and his wife were
rarely suited to each other ; she was a spiritu-
ally-minded and an intellectual woman, religious,
fond of poetry, dearly loved by those who knew
her best. She was endowed by nature with a
sweet, joyful disposition, with humor and flashes
of wit, and with the high courage requisite to
tend unfalteringly the pain and suffering of the
man she loved. She, too, was calm outwardly
and ardent underneath, and in self-abnegation
and devotion bore her great sorrows. She put
aside everything to minister to him, became his
eyesight and his health, and lived his life in
all ways possible. The death of her little son,
Francis, broke her heart, and it never healed ;
after that she went about like one who belonged
in another world. In the last year of her life
she was called upon to bear her husband's worst
illness ; but the first years of married life were

218 FRANCIS PARKMAN

gay and happy. They were poor, with not much
more than six hundred dollars a year to begin
housekeeping : —

Sie hatten nichts and doch genug —

In the winter they lived part of the time at his
father's house, and part at Dr. Bigelow's ; one
summer they spent at Milton, the next at Brook-
line. Some letters to Mr. Norton, who was at
that time in Europe, written soon after their
marriage, reveal their interests and their happi-
ness.

PARKMAN TO NOBTON [dictated].

Milton, June 15, [1850].

My dear Charley, — ... I have a place
near Milton Hill, small, snug, and comfortable,
where I can offer entertainment for man and
beast, of which I hope you and your steed will
one day avail yourselves. We have woods about
us dark enough for an owl to hide in, very fair
society, not too near to bore us, and, what is
quite as much to the purpose, a railroad to place
us within arm's reach of town. This kind of life
has one or two drawbacks, such as the necessity
of paying bills, and the manifold responsibilities
of a householder, an impending visit from the
tax-gatherer, and petitions for the furtherance of
charitable enterprises which, as I am informed,
the son of my father will not fail to promote. . . .

I have a reader for an hour or two, and when
it is not too bright play the amateur farmer, to
the greaLt benefit of my corporeal man. Kate

LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 219

[Mrs. Parkman] is generally my amanuensis,
as perhaps you may see by this handwriting.
Pontiac is about three quarters through, and I
hope will see the light within a year. I cal-
culated at starting it would take four years to
finish it, which, at the pace I was then writing,
was about a straight calculation, for I was then
handsomely used up, soul and body on the rack,
and with no external means or appliances to
help me on. You may judge whether my present
condition is a more favorable one. I detest be-
ing spooney or an approximation to it, so I say
nothing, but if you want to understand the thing,
take a jump out of hell-fire to the opposite ex-
treme, such a one, in short, as Satan made when
he broke bounds and paid his visit to our first
parents. . . .

With the greatest regard, very truly yours,

F. Parkman, Jr.

SAME TO SAME [dictated].

Milton, Sept. 22d, 1850.

My dear Charley, — It is a fortnight since
your letter came to hand, and I have been too
busy to answer it ; rather a new condition of
things for me, but the fact is all the time which
I could prudently give to work has been taken up
in carrying forward my book so as to be ready
for publication next spring. I see that you are
a true-hearted American, and have too much
sense to be bitten by the John Bull mania, which
is the prevailing disease of Boston in high places
and in low. A disgusting malady it is, and I
pray Heaven to deliver us from its influence.

220 FRANCIS PARKMAN

We can afford to stand on our own feet and
travel our own course without aid or guidance ;
and ray maxim is, that it is about as well to go
wrong on one's own hook as to go right by slav-
ishly tagging at the heels of another. But in the
present case the thing is reversed. It is we that
are going right, and John Bull may go to the
devil. Fine Yankee brag, — is n't it ? In spite
of Taylor's [President Taylor] death we have
come out right at last. There is no danger, thank
God, of the Union breaking up at present, in
spite of all the efforts of Garrison and his coad-
jutors.
A I wish with all my heart that you could be
here, as you kindly wish, at the forthcoming of
my book ; but a copy shall be put by for you.
I find it seriously no easy job to accomplish all
the details of dates, citations, notes, etc., with-
out the use of eyes. Prescott could see a little
— confound him, he could even look over his
proofs, but I am no better off than an owl in
the sunlight. The ugliest job of the whole is
getting up a map. I have a draught made in
the first place on a very large scale. Then I
direct how to fill it in with the names of forts,
Indian villages, etc., all of which I have pretty
clearly in my memory from the reading of count-
less journals, letters, etc., and former travels
over the whole ground. Then I examine the
map inch by inch, taking about half a minute
for each examination, and also have it com-
pared by competent eyes with ancient maps and
draughts ; then I have the big map reduced to a
proper size. I have got to the end of the book

LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 221

and killed off Pontiac. The opening chapters,
however, are not yet complete. I have just
finished an introductory chapter on the Indian
tribes, which my wife pronounces uncommonly
stupid. Never mind, nobody need read it who
don't want to, ... I shall stereotype it myself
and take the risk. . . .

I remain, my dear Charley, ever faithfully
yours,

F. Parkman, Jk.

Another extract from this correspondence
shall be the last.

SAME TO SAME [dictated].

Nov. 10th, 1850.
. . . Just now we are on the eve of an elec-
tion — a great row about the Fugitive Slave
Law, and an infinity of nonsense talked and
acted upon the subject. A great union party is
forming in opposition to the abolitionists and
the Southern fanatics. For my part, I would see
every slave knocked on the head before I would
see the Union go to pieces, and would include
in the sacrifice as many abolitionists as could be
conveniently brought together. . . .

All his life Parkman liked common sense.
He was irritated by sentimentality, by fanati-
cism, by transcendentalism, by eccentricity of
thought ; and he was wont to relieve his mind
by a little emphatic language, which he was
pleased to enhance with a certain extravagance,
half in jest, half in relief of his humors.

222 FRANCIS PARKMAN

The " Conspiracy of Pontiac," was published
in 1851, but it had been ready for more than a
twelve-month. Mr. Jared Sparks read a portion
of the manuscript in March, 1850. " It affords,"
he says, " a striking picture of the influence of
war and religious bigotry upon savage and semi-
barbarous minds." But the old pedagogical his-
torian of the earlier American generation, miss-
ing in the young historian of a new school a
proper predilection for moral lessons, so ready
to hand, could not find it in his heart to stop
there. Referring to the massacre by the Paxton
Boys,^ he writes : " The provocation and sur-
rounding circumstances afford no ground of miti-
gation of so inhuman a crime. It is one of the
great lessons of history, showing what passion
is capable of doing when it defies reason and
tramples on the sensibilities of nature, to say
nothing of the high injunctions of Christianity.
Although you relate events in the true spirit
of calmness and justice, yet I am not sure but
a word or two of indignation now and then, at
such unnatural and inhuman developments of
the inner man, would be expected of a historian,
who enters deeply into the merits of his sub-
jects." But Parkman preferred to state facts as
he believed them to be, and to let his readers
make their own philosophical deductions and

^ Conspiracy of Pontiac, chap. xsdv.

LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 223

ejaculate their own exclamations of indignation
or content.

Negotiations for publication began in the sum-
mer, when the manuscript was submitted to
Messrs. Harper & Brother by a friend. Park-
man would have preferred to have the book pub-
lished in two volumes, in appearance similar to
Prescott's " Conquest of Mexico," but the pre-
cise form was indifferent to him " provided the
book appear in a decent and scholar-like dress."
The title caused him some perplexity. He sug-
gested the following name, " which, however, I
don't greatly admire," — it certainly is open to
criticism from a bookbinder who should wish to
stamp the name on the back, — "A History of
the War with Pontiac and the Indian Tribes 6i
North America in their combined attack upon
the British Colonies after the Conquest of Can-
ada," or " A History of the Conspiracy of Pon-
tiac and the Struggle of the North American
Indians against the British Colonies after the
Conquest of Canada ; " and again, " The War
with Pontiac (or Pontiao's War), a History of
the Outbreak of the Indian Tribes of America
against the British Colonies after the Conquest
of Canada." The difficulty for the outside of the
book was the same as for the inside ; the far-
spread border war resisted the attempt to crib
and confine it within the circle of unity.

224 FRANCIS PARKMAN

The prudent Harpers, scared perhaps by
these titles, submitted the MS. to their reader,
and wrote back : —

" Our Reader [the capital R. served both to show
how Rhadamanthine that gentleman was, and to
soften the Rejection] has just returned to us
Mr. Parkman's MS. His opinion, as regards
the literary execution of the work, etc., is very
favorable, — but he is apprehensive that the
work, highly respectable as it is, will not meet
with a very rapid or extensive sale," etc., etc.

" Our Reader" had said : —

The subject is handled with very considerable
ability — in a manner highly creditable to the
industry, intelligence, and literary skill of the
author. The narrative is lively and often grace-
fW, the rules of historical perspective ai'e well
observed, and the whole effect of the picture is
pleasing and impressive. It will" worthily fill a
notch among the standard works of American
history. At the same time, I do not anticipate
for it a remarkably brilliant reception. This is
forbidden both by the subject and the style. . . .
It will require a good deal of effort to push it
into general circulation among the people.

Therefore the Harpers, in the self-respecting
phraseology of the old-fashioned counting-room,
advised that Parkman should stereotype the work
at his own cost, and then submit the plate proofs
to various publishers, and find where he could
get the best terms.

LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 225

Parkman followed this advice and had the
book stereotyped, having learned what terms to
make by borrowing from the "confounded"
Prescott the latter's contract with a printer for
stereotyping the " Conquest of Mexico." The
book was published by Messrs. Little & Brown.

" Our Reader " was sagacious ; the book was
not a popular success. But those who read it
admired and enjoyed it. Mr. Jared Sparks may
speak for the students of American history : —

Cambridge, June 4, 1850.
I have been intimately acquainted with ye
progress of Mr. Parkman's historical studies
several years. On ye subject of our Indian His-
tory, subsequent to ye French War, he has taken
unwearied pains to collect materials, and has
procured copies of many original manuscripts
and papers both in this country and from ye
public offices in London. I doubt if any writer
has bestowed more thorough research, or has
more completely investigated his subject. I have
read one chapter of his work, wh. appeared to
me to be written in a spirited style, and with
good judgment and discrimination in ye selec-
tion of facts.

Other readers wrote their feelings, — perhaps
none of them are entitled to speak for anybody
but themselves. Mr. G. R. Russell, however, a
relation, expressed a common opinion in a letter
to Parkman : —

226 FRANCIS PARKIVIAN

I have just finished reading your " History of
the Conspiracy of Pontiac." I have read the work
with great care, going over parts of it twice, not
for purposes of criticism, but to enjoy the really
beautiful descriptions, which place scenes before
the reader as distinctly conspicuous as though he
gazed at them wrought out on canvas by the hand
of a master.

Particular reasons for enjoyment are unimpor-
tant matters of personal taste which the reader
must determine for himself ; but the young man,
the middle-aged man, or the graybeard, is not to
be envied who, even now, fifty years after its
publication, cannot sit up half the night over the
pages of " Pontiac " and read about the bloody
scalpings, skirmishes, forays, and battles which
arouse that central government of our being, the
aboriginal savage in us. John Fiske says that
the secret of Parkman's power is that his Indians
are true to the life, — that Pontiac is a man of
warm flesh and blood. ^

The book was also published in London by
Richard Bentley at the time of the publication of
the American edition. Mr. Bentley took a more
hopeful view than the Reader for the Harpers,
but that keen-scented gentleman, with his daintier
sense of the reading public's appetites, was the
more accurate. At the end of a year the English
publisher's account carried a deficit of .£53 0 2,
and his ledger showed that of the five hundred

LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 227

copies printed, but one hundred and fifty-three
had been sold.

Parkman, however, never fell before the tempta-
tion to dally over that which had been done, —
stopping neither to regret this nor to wish that
changed ; he ever pressed onward to the things
that were before. No sooner was " Pontiac " pub-
lished than he strained in his leash to get after
his great quarry, the English-French contest. But
the devils of ill health leaped upon him. In the
autumn of 1851 an effusion of water on the left
knee lamed him ; a partial recovery was followed
by a relapse, which came to a crisis in 1853 and
shut him up in the house for two years. An odd
consequence was that all the irritability of his
nervous system centred in his head, causing him
great pain. When he tried to fix his attention,
he felt as if he had an iron band clamped around
his head, like an old instrument of torture ; at
other times his thoughts swooped through his
brain like an infernal blast, with a horrid con-
fusion of tossing pains. In the train of these
furies followed sleepless nights. Work upon his
history was impossible. Afterwards, when the
rage of the crisis was spent, he betook himself
to writing reviews of historical books, and in
1856 he published a novel, " Vassall Morton."
Perhaps in writing the novel he wished to occupy
time which he covdd not use in graver work, per-

228 FRANCIS PARKMAN

haps he desired to prove himself in a new field.
The novel was not a success. To most readers
to-day, merely seeking selfish amusement, the
book does not appear to have deserved success.
Parkman himself rated it at its worth, or proba-
bly at less than its worth ; he never spoke of it,
and did not include it in his collected works. Its
real interest is in the self-revelation of the au-
thor ; for Vassall Morton, the hero, is undoubt-
edly in great measure drawn from Parkman's
own imagination of himself. The generation of
that day, however, had its own appetite in novels,
and people of taste here and there liked it.

George William Curtis, in " Putnam's
Monthly," said that " Vassall Morton " was far
the best of late American novels, but that it
was sketchy, as if tossed o£E in intervals of
severer study, and not equal to what was to be
expected from Parkman's position in literature.

CHAPTER XXI

1858-1865

The following years brought the great sorrows
of his life ; in 1857 his little boy died, the next
year his wife died, leaving him with two little
girls, Grace and Katharine, and as if to prove
him, body and soul at once, another fierce attack
of his malady fell upon him. Some friend senti-
mentally assumed that he had nothing more to
live for, but his blunt answer intimated that
Francis Parkman was not born to hoist the
white flag.

This attack of illness was so bad that the doc-
tor hardly expected him to live, but Parkman
meant to make a fight for life, and went to Paris
to consult the famous physician, Brown-Sequard.
On the steamer he met Professor Child. The fol-
lowing letters show somewhat of his condition :

PROFESSOR F. J. CHILD TO PARKMAN.

Qbnoa, 21 January, [1859].

My dear Friend, — ... I must not ask
about you because I know you cannot answer

230 FRANCIS PARKMAN

me by pen and ink. Yoa will believe that though
I have not written I have thought a great deal
of you. I wish that you may have found at least
some alleviation to your great sufferings in Paris,
— or if not there in the mountains, — and I wish
that we could meet every now and then, and go
back in the same ship. My dear fellow, you can-
not even read much, and so you must believe
that there is a great deal in these last lines when
I say that I shall never forget your magnanimous
fortitude, that I felt an intense sympathy for
you that I could not express when we were to-
gether, and that I shall often pray God to help
you, as I have constant occasion to do for other
friends.

Nice, 23 February, [1859].
... I begin faintly to realize what I have
often supposed I thoroughly comprehended, —
but did not, — that happiness in this world is
par dessus le marcM. I don't mean to talk like
a philosopher. Your experience, given with such
profound feeling and conviction in our first con-
versation on board ship, ought never to be lost
sight of by me. My dear fellow, I hope you get
some comfort from heaven, if none on earth.
Remember me kindly. I received your message.
God bless you ever.

Your affectionate friend,

F. Child.

This letter confirms what his closest friends
knew, that, where Parkman met a man like
Child, endowed by nature with ten talents for
tenderness, he laid aside the grim aspect of his

1858-1865 231

reserve and showed his sensitiveness to affec-
tion.

Parkman stayed in Paris for several months.
He wrote home some scraps of information about
his health, in answer to a loving appeal from his
sisters, " Do not write the best of it to us, write
the whole ; " they were ready, as he knew, " to
give their health to him," if only nature had
allowed love to make the sacrifice.

PARKMAN TO HIS SISTEB.

Pabis, Dec. 22, '58.
My dear Molly, — I got y'r letter yester-
day with Grace's remarkable designs. I was
very glad to hear from home. ... I am well
lodged. Hotel de France, 239 Rue St. Honore —
have felt much better since arriving. I find
abundant occupation for the winter. I often see
Anna Greene, and have been at Howland's and
Mrs. Wharton's. For the rest, I shun Americans
like the pest. I have not even given my address
to my bankers, Hottinguer & Co., to whom
please direct. I tell them to send my letters
to Wm. Greene. I passed the Empress day be-
fore yesterday, in the Bois de Boulogne ; I re-
ceived a gracious bow in return of my salute.
On the previous day, the heir of the Empress,
about 3 years old, was walking with his gou-
vernante and servants in the garden of the Tui-
leries, while a line of Zouave sentinels kept the
crowd at a safe distance. Paris is greatly
changed since I was here 14 years ago. The

232 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Emperor has made great improvements in many
parts and added vastly to the beauty of the city.
Tell Jack [his brother] I cannot advise him to
come, as the cigars are very bad. Give my love
to Grace [daughter], mother, Lizzie [sister], and
aJl. Y'rs affect'ly, F.

SAME TO SAME.

Paris, Jan. 13, 1859,
My deae Moll, — I got y'r letter yesterday
and Lizzy's some time ago. By this time all
mine will have come. I wrote Dr. B. [Bigelow]
that I was floored with lameness. It still con-
tinues, but seems mending, so that I get about
— drive all day (chiefly on omnibuses ! !), dine
at 6, and commonly spend the evening at the
cafes. I have seen Dr. Brown-Sequard, who fixed
Sumner's head. He says he can soon cure the
lameness, but that the head is quite another
matter. He says, however, that it will not kill
me, and at some remote period may possibly be-
come better. He has 2 other cases of the kind
but says they are very rare. I am still unable to
walk more than 5 minutes at a time. ...

I am greatly obliged to Uncle C. [Chardon]
for his remembrance, and hope the youngster
will do honor to the name. He should be
brought up to some respectable calling, and not
allowed to become a minister. . . . [He had a
high regard for many of the clergy, but liked to
chaff them as a body.] Love to Jack. Ditto
to Grace, to whom I would send a little doll, if
it would go into the letter. With love to mo-
ther and Lizzy, Y'rs aff'ly, F.

1858-1865 233

PABKMAN TO HIS SISTEE.

Paris, Jan. 19, 1859.

My dear Liz, — My knees are somewhat
better, and I am about all day, sleep well, etc.
So much for my corporeal state. I mean to stay
here some time, as I am better off than else-
where. ... I see Anna Greene almost daily.
Greene is a capital fellow, and nothing of a par-
son. X wrote me a long letter in which she
advises me to leave Paris, as the contrast be-
tween outward gayety and inward sin must grate
dreadfully on my feelings! I used to think
her a woman of sense and understanding. What
the devil are your sex made of ? Also that I
should leave my hotel and live at a boarding-
house kept by a female friend of hers, where I
should be surrounded by such kind people ! I
shall stop off that sort of thing.

Y'rs affec'ly, F.

PABKMAN TO HIS SISTER.

Paris, Feb. 30, 1859.

My dear Molly, — I got y'r letter of Feb. 8
about a week ago. I am a little less lame. I get
on well enough. The omnibuses of Paris — of
which there are about 700 — are made with rail-
ings, etc., in such a way that with a little science I
can swing myself to the top with the arms alone,
and here I usually spend the better part of the
day smoking cigarettes and surveying the crowds
below. I have formed an extensive acquaintance
among omnibus cads and the like, whom I find
to be first-rate fellows in their way — also have

234 FRANCIS PARKMAN

learned pretty thoroughly the streets of Paris,
where much may be seen from the top of an
omnibus. When hungry or thirsty, I descend to
any restaurant, cafe, or " buffet " that happens
to be near, whether of low or high degree, if
only clean. In fine weather, an hour or two may
always be spent pleasantly enough, between 2
and 5 o'clock, in the open air under the porches
of the cafes on the Boulevards, where aU Paris
passes by/

In one respect I have gained greatly from
Brown-S^quard's treatment. The muscles, which
ever since my first lameness have been very much
reduced and weakened, are restored wholly to
their natural size and strength, so that when the
neuralgic pain subsides I shall be in a much
better condition than before. . . .

Y'rs afE'ly, F.

His health, however, made but little gain, and
he went home after the winter was over. From
this time he lived with his mother and sisters, at
their house in town in the winter, at his house
hard by Jamaica Pond in the summer. His
daughters had gone to live with their aunt, Miss
Bigelow, for he was unable to take the charge
of them. This little country-place on Jamaica
Pond was one of the great pleasures in his life.
He had bought the cottage, with three acres of
garden about it, after his father's death, in 1862,
and there he lived, in warm weather, all his life.
1 Life of Francis Parkman, pp. 101, 102.

1858-1865 235

It was on the border of Jamaica Pond that ^
Parkman revealed a versatility of spirit which,
in a man whose indomitable will was clinched
upon a work of history, the dream of his boy-
hood, may well quicken the most sluggish admi-
ration. Balked in his course, pulled off from his
chosen work, another man would have felt justi-
fied in despair, at least in idleness ; not so he.
His wife had given him the suggestion, " Frank,
with all your getting, get roses." Up he got and
made a garden of roses. He had three acres, his
man Michael, such enrichment of the soil as a
horse, a cow, and a pig could supply, a few
garden implements, and a wheeled chair, or in
happy seasons a cane ; with these he grew his
beautiful roses, " Madame Henriette, rosy pink,
very large and beautiful," " ^Etna, brilliant crim-
son tinted with purple," " Mariquita, white,
lightly shaded, beautiful," " Marechal Niel, beau-
tiful, deep yellow, large, full, and of globular
form, very sweet, the shoots well clothed with
large shining leaves," " Euphrosyne, creamy buff,
very sweet and good," and a thousand more. Suc-
cess led to a head-gardener, spadesman, and hoe-
man, to greenhouse, hotbeds, hybrids, horticul-
tural shows, medals, and all the pomp that Flora
showers on her successful bedesmen. He loved
what he calls " that gracious art which through
all time has been the companion and symbol of

236 FRANCIS PARKMAN

peace ; an art joined in the closest ties with Na-
ture, and her helper in the daily miracle by
which she works beauty out of foulness and life
out of corruption ; an art so tranquillizing and
so benign ; so rich in consolations and plea-
sures." He turned to Nature like a lover, and
with the industry and will of a man who meant
to be "a jolly thriving wooer." <His character
was his art. In " The Book of Roses " he says : —

One point cannot be too often urged in re-
spect to horticultural pursuits. Never attempt
to do anything which you are not prepared to do
thoroughly. A little done well is far more satis-
factory than a great deal done carelessly and
superficially. . . . The amateur who has made
himself a thorough master of the cultivation of
a single species or variety has, of necessity, ac-
quired a knowledge and skill which, with very
little pains, he may apply to numberless other
forms of culture.

This is the way he went to work for a bed of
roses. He took a plot some sixty feet long by
forty wide, his gardener dug it, turned it, spaded
it, and hoed it two feet and a half deep. Then
a layer of manure was spread at a depth of
eighteen inches ; on top of that a spaded mix-
ture of native yellow loam nicely intermin-
gled with black surface soil was shoveled in ;
then, this time nine inches deep, a second layer
of manure, and again on top of that a shoveling

1858-1865 237

of the nicely intermingled dirt. On top of the
bed he spread a third layer of manure, with a
goodly supply of sandy road-scrapings. Each
act was performed with sacerdotal exactness.
The manure was not home-got, for he had " found
no enriching material so good as the sweepings
from the floor of a horseshoer, in which manure
is mixed with the shavings of hoofs," — it was
light and porous, and altogether deserving of
commendation.

Sometimes in his wheeled chair he would pro-
pel himself from tuft to tuft, armed with trowel
or sickle, but he liked best to superintend some
delicate manoeuvre, as of sowing the seeds of
roses ; there he sat, one hand on a wheel, to
revolve himself along the edge of the bed, —
carefully made of loam, old manure, leaf-mould,
and sand, — and with the other hand scattered
broadcast and thick over the expectant ground
seeds born of some marriage of horticultural con-
venance contrived by himself. Thus he came to
love stocks, stalks, runners, creepers, corollas,
pistils, stamens ; and, love of science mingling
with his love of beauty, he gradually devoted
himself almost exclusively to the hybridization
of lilies and the cultivation of roses. Thus forced
to leave library and desk, and the long lists of
catalogued and ticketed manuscripts, he betook
himself to the business of growing and selling

238 FRANCIS PARKMAN

flowers. He was better at growing than at sell-
ing, and took a partner for a season.

PABKMAN TO MBS. SAM. PABKMAN.

Jamaica Plain, Ap. 4, 1862.
My dear Mart, — ... I am daily here — in
Jamaica Plain — and am at last really busy, hav-
ing formed a partnership with Spooner [a florist]
which will absorb all the working faculties I
have left. So you find me a man of business. I
am content with the move, and resolved to give
the thing a fair trial, and, by one end of the
horn or the other, work a way out of a condi-
tion of helplessness. At all events, this is my
best chance, and I will give it a trial. Spooner
wants me to go to England and France in the
fall, to look up new plants. The thing has dif-
ficulties and risks, not a few under any circum-
stances ; but is attractive, and doubly so as it
gives me a prospect of meeting you. So I cherish
it, as probably an illusion, but still a very pleas-
ing one. Turning tradesman has agreed with
me so far. Several bushels of historical MSS.
and fragments of abortive chapters have been
packed under lock and key, to bide their time.
Affec'ly y'rs, F. P.

The firm did not make money, and dissolved
within a year. Parkman continued to labor in
his garden. He became member, and finally
president, of the Massachusetts Horticidtural So-
ciety, and in due course won hundreds of prizes
at the flower shows. His experiments in hybridi-

1858-1865 239

zation of lilies were most careful, and (so Pro-
fessor Goodale says) there are no better lessons
on this subject for the botanical student than
Parkman's own narrative of what he did. He
wished to combine two Japanese lilies, that they
should not " live unwooed and unrespected fade,"
the Lily Beautiful, with lancet leaves, and the
Lily Golden ; the former was to be the bride.
Four or five varieties, in color from pure white
to deep red, were tended in pots under glass, for
the Lily Beautiful will not ripen its seed un-
coaxed in New England air. When the flowers
were on the point of opening, Par km an took a
forceps and removed all the anthers from the
expanding buds, — the pollen at that period was
still wholly unripe, and self-impregnation was
impossible. He then applied the pollen of the
Lily Golden to the pistils of the Lily Beautiful
as soon as they were in a condition to receive it.
Conception took place, the pods swelled, and
the seed ripened ; though the pods looked full,
they held less seeds than chaff, and these seeds
were rough and wrinkled, not like the smooth
seeds of the Lily Beautiful when left to itself.
Fifty seedlings were got, their stems all mottled
like the father plant ; " the infant bulbs were
pricked out into a cold frame "and left there
three or four years ; then they were planted in a
bed for blooming. One bud at last opened, and

240 FRANCIS PARKMAN

spread its flower nine and a half inches in di-
ameter, resembling its father in fragrance and
form, its mother in color ; the next year the bulb
produced a flower whose extended petals mea-
sured twelve inches from tip to tip, and taken
to England it produced other flowers fourteen
inches across. This was the famous Lilium
Parkmanni.^ The other forty-nine hybrids all
put forth flowers like their mother's.

In 1866 he published " The Book of Koses,"
in which he told the various processes of culti-
vation, training, and propagation, — both in
open ground and in pots, — and gave accounts
of the various families and groups, with descrip-
tions of the best varieties. Among other fruits
of this book was this letter : —

Esteemed Sir, — Allow one of your most ar-
dent admirers to address you, for the purpose of
obtaining from you a floral sentiment and your
autograph. I am a great lover of flowers and
the beauties of nature in general, and being well
aware of the fact that you are a great floricul-
tural historian, T take the liberty to address you.
May I kindly ask if you will favor me with a
quotation from your " Book of Roses " or else
some sublime floral sentiment which may occur
to your mind.

I am the fortunate possessor of floral senti-
ments from the pen of such celebrated botanists,

^ Sold at last to an English florist for a thousand dollars.

1858-1865 241

floriculturists, and pomologists as . . . [the quick
and the dead]. I assure you, sir, that such a
contribution from you will be highly valued and
appreciated, and long after you shall have gone
to join that grand and immortal army of floral
writers this contribution will be sacred to me.
My object is only to possess letters or quotations
dwelling on floriculture. If you cannot think of
anything appropriate, will you kindly write for
me those exquisite words of the late Solon Rob-
inson, " A love of flowers is a love of the beauti-
ful, and a love of the beautiful is a love of the
good," from his " Facts for Farmers " (1864),
p. 500.

Whether Mr. Parkman gave a floricultural or
a pomological sentiment, or none, is not known.

Outdoor occupation did him good, but per-
haps the tenderness of the flowers — comforters
who comfort and ask neither thanks nor confi-
dence in return — did him more good still. The
whole garden was delightful, — the best of phy-
sicians, the best of friends. Sometimes in the
richness of the blossoming time the colors were
too heavily laid on by the horticultural hand ;

The fayre grassy grownd
Mantled with green, and goodly beautifide
With all the ornaments of Floraes pride,
Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorn
Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride
Did decke her, and too lavishly adorne —

was too red and pink and yellow. The azaleas,

242 FRANCIS PARKMAN

rhododendrons, magnolias, syringas, lilacs, and
the big scarlet Parkman poppies were too bold
for a less scientific eye, and overshadowed the
columbine, foxglove, larkspur, violet, even the
Japanese iris, whose seeds had been fetched from
the Mikado's garden, and all the wee, modest
flowers; but people would drive thither many
miles to see the splendor of the blossoms.

The garden was of modest dimensions and
sloped down sharply to the shore, so that the lit-
tle walk from the house to the dock on the pond's
edge ran past all the vegetable friends, trees,
shrubs, and plants. There were a tall, wide-
spreading beech, elms sixty feet high, a big chest-
nut, a tulip, a plane-tree, two white oaks, a
sassafras, Scottish maples and scarlet maples,
lindens, willows, pines, and hemlocks ; and hold-
ing themselves a little aloof, as befitted their
rarity and breeding, a Kentucky coffee-tree, a
gingko, the magnolia acuminata, and the Park-
man crab, first of its kind in New England,
radiant with its bright-colored flowers.

Parkman always lived comfortably but sim-
ply, for though he had inherited a competence
from his father, his books brought him in little,
— even in his first days of fame he received
hardly more, as he said, than the wages of a
day-laborer, — and his researches were very ex-
pensive, and horticulture paid little. At the

1858-1866 243

time of the partnership he was troubled by the
thought that for the firm's benefit it might be his
duty to sell the garden ; but he was not obliged
to make that sacrifice. His purse gradually be-
came somewhat heavier, so that in 1874 he was
able to build a pleasant house in place of the
original cottage.

I have not finished the list of Parkman's ills.
He was forced to endure anew the poison of in-
action when the Civil War broke out, and the
"hand that should have grasped the sword " —
an itching palm — could hold nothing but the
trowel or the pen. He, with his heart and soul
in the Union cause, and believing in the enforce-
ment of right by might, was compelled to sit
and hear the President's call for troops, to sit
and read Governor Andrew's proclamation, to
sit and see his friends and kinsmen ride away
to the front, and in a wheeled chair or darkened
room to receive the news of battle, of defeat, of
victory. This was bitterer than any pain.

As he himself said : —

Who can ever forget the day when from spires
and domes, windows and housetops, the stars and
stripes were flung to the wind, in token that the
land was roused at last from deadly torpor. They
were the signals of a new life ; portentous of
storm and battle, yet radiant with hope. Our
flag was never so glorious. On that day it be-

244 FRANCIS PARKMAN

came the emblem of truth and right and justice.
Through it a mighty people proclaimed a new
faith — that peace, wealth, ease, material pro-
gress were not the sum and substance of all good.
Loyalty to it became loyalty to humanity and
God. The shackles of generations were thrown
off. We were a people disenthralled, rising from
abasement abject and insupportable.

There is not a chapter in his books which does
not show that the bent of his spirit was to fight
by day in the forest, and bivouac by night under
the stars ; and yet while a million men were under
arms he was not able to take any part, even the
very least. This was his purgatory ; he sat with
outward calm and inward wrath in his town
house or on the banks of Jamaica Pond and
wrote " The Book of Roses," and put together
page by page " The Pioneers of New France."
He was a stoic, and believed the stoic's creed,
that the ills of life should be accepted at the
hands of fate without petulance, without spleen,
with no word, not merely not complaining, but not
demanding sympathy, not telling even friendly
ears. He believed in the virtue of silent forti-
tude. This rule he deliberately put aside for
once. Before the close of the war he wrote the
brief autobiographical letter published in Mr.
Farnham's Life, which shows how much (in his
uncertainty of life and of strength to labor) he
wished the world to know that while his friends

1858-1865 245

were dying for a great cause, he was not un-
worthy of their friendship, and that but for hos-
tile fate he too would have accomplished no un-
worthy thing. This letter, indorsed " Not to be
used during my life," was sent to Dr. George E.
Ellis in 1868, with a note saying : —

My dear Friend, — Running my eye over
this paper, I am more than ever struck with its
egoism, which makes it totally unfit for any eye
but that of one in close personal relations with
me. It resulted from a desire — natural, per-
haps, but which may just as well be suppressed
— to make known the extreme difficulties which
have reduced to very small proportions what
might otherwise have been a good measure of
achievement. Having once begun it, I went on
with it, though convinced that it was wholly un-
suited to see the light. Physiologically consid-
ered, the case is rather curious. ... If I had
my life to live over again, I would follow exactly
the same course again, only with less vehemence.
Very cordially, F. Parkman.

He wrote a very similar, almost identical, let-
ter in 1886 to Mr. Martin Brimmer, which is
printed in the appendix. Both letters were kept
secret till after Parkman's death, in accordance
with his instructions.

CHAPTER XXII

HISTORY AND FAME

The first volume of the great series on France
and England in North America was not pub-
lished till 1865. In the preface he writes : —

To those who have aided him with information
and documents, the extreme slowness in the pro-
gress of the work will naturally have caused sur-
prise. This slowness was unavoidable. During
the past eighteen years, the state of his health
has exacted throughout an extreme caution in
regard to mental application, reducing it at best
within narrow and precarious limits, and often
precluding it. Indeed, for two periods, each of
several years, any attempt at bookish occupation
would have been merely suicidal. A condition of
sight arising from kindred sources has also re-
tarded the work, since it has never permitted
reading or writing continuously for much more
than five minutes, and often has not permitted
them at all.

Thus, so far as concerns his history, the record
of these laborious years, doing " day labor, light
denied," is chiefly a chronicle of the spirit domi-
nating continuous insurrections of the body. It

HISTORY AND FAME 247

is the story of a prize-fight — a bout, a respite,
again a toeing of the line, again blows hard and
heavy, and Parkman again and again coming
back to the scratch, on guard, teeth set, and reso-
lute " never to submit or yield." The cause of
all these ills was the subject of great disagree-
ment among physicians ; Dr. George M. Gould,
of Philadelphia, has written a very interesting
monograph to prove that unsymmetric astigma-
tism and anisometropia were the prime devils in
his body. Sed non nobis — Procul, prof anil
Enough of this, as he himself would have said.

At the time he published " The Pioneers of
France in the New World " he had written parts
of later volumes, near a third of " The Jesuits,"
a half of " La Salle ; " also the material for
" Frontenac " was partially arranged for compo-
sition, and most of the material for the whole
series had been collected and was within reach.
" The Pioneers " could not fail of flattering
criticism from the newspapers; the episode of
Menendez and Dominique de Gourgues, the
story of Champlain, have all the spirit of the
" Trois Mousquetaires " and all the accuracy of
Agassiz. The " Tribune " ventured to say to
New Yorkers that " in vigor and pointedness of
description, Mr. Parkman may be counted supe-
rior to Irving ; " and the " Nation " said, " This
book will add his name to the list of those his-

248 FRANCIS PARKMAN

torians who have done honor to American liter-
ature."

The other volumes followed with louder and
louder choruses of applause, — " The Jesuits in
North America " in 1867, " La Salle and the
Discovery of the Great West" in 1869, the
" Old Regime " in 1874, " Frontenac " in 1877,
" Montcalm and Wolfe " in 1884, for here he
broke the sequence of his story in order that he
might run no risk, but complete while yet time
served the last great scene of the play. After-
wards, in 1892, he published the " Half Century
of Conflict," and the long day's work was done.

The careless, pleasure-loving reader, who skips
prefaces and notes, might rashly conclude that
what is so delightful to read is not to be classed
with " profitable " books of research, — which
commonly have the charm of a law book and
read like a dictionary ; to such readers a page or
two must be addressed. In the preface to the
" Pioneers " Parkman says : —

/ Faithfulness to the truth of history involves
far more than a research, however patient and
scrupulous, into special facts. . . . The narrator
must seek to imbue himself with the life and
spirit of the time. He must study events in
their bearings near and remote ; in the char-
acter, habits, and manners of those who took
part in them. . . . With respect to that spe-
cial research which, if inadequate, is still in the

HISTORY AND FAME ' 249

most emphatic sense indispensable, it has been
the writer's aim to exhaust the existing material
of every subject treated. . . . With respect to
the general preparation, ... he has long been
too fond of this theme to neglect any means
within his reach of making his conception of it
distinct and true.

For the second volume, " The Jesuits in North
America," there was a mass of materials, as
" nearly every prominent actor left his own re-
cord of events," and all the documents connected
with the Jesuits had to be studied and compared.
For " La Salle " he had to examine volumes of
manuscript drawn from the public archives of
France. For the " Old Regime " the story is very
much the same. For " Montcalm and Wolfe," be-
sides books, pamphlets, brochures^ memoirs, re-
ports, documents, and all the multitudinous forms
of print, — brevier, long primer, small pica, not to
forget Borgis, nonpareille, Garmond, and Cicero,
and all the other outlandish types of foreign
lands, — six thousand folio pages of manuscript
had been copied from the Archives de la Marine
et des Colonies, the Archives de la Guerre, and
the Archives Nationales at Paris ; ten volumes
of copies had been made from the Public Record
Office and the British Museum in London ; and
on the heels of these he had to listen to the slow
deciphering of cramped writing, crabbed writing,
hasty, blotted, blurred writing, faded writing,

250^ FRANCIS PARKMAN

unpunctuated writing, — all sorts of writing, ab-
breviated by caprice and the waywardest fancy,
naturally bad, worsened by time, by the corrup-
tions of moth and dust, and all the foes of his-
tory. So, too, it was for the " Half Century of
Conflict."

In the upper hall of the house of the Massa-
chusetts Historical Society stands a large wooden
press, — a bookcase with doors ; over the top is
carved Parkman's name. Within are his manu-
scripts, given by him to the Society. They not
only tell of all the work he did, but they talk
about him, and boast of the proud and affec-
tionate interest he took in them. There the vol-
umes of MSS. stand bound in their bindings,
differing in degree according to size and dig-
nity. There are the early -gathered " Pontiac
Miscellanies " in big, red, shiny leather, with gilt
lettered backs, standing eighteen inches high
and near two inches thick, — neat copies of docu-
ments ; one volume of them, of less elegant cal-
ligraphy, in Parkman's own hand, copied from
records in the Maryland Historical Society in
1845. Next them come the letters of Pedro Me-
nendez, the cruel Spaniard ; and following him
more great big red books, copied for Francis
Parkman,Esq., by Ben : Perley Poore, Historical
Agent of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, as
the frontispiece recounts in pied letters of great

HISTORY AND FAME 251

brilliancy. Very creditable calligraphy they
are. Then follow volumes in rows, — volumes
of " Correspondance Officiale," 1621-1679 ; vol-
umes on Acadia, Isle Royale, Canada ; volumes
of documents copied from the Public Record
Office in London ; volumes of Dinwiddle's let-
ters, — these last in green leather, in self-satisfied
distinction from their fellows. Then other vol-
umes, English and French, of which none is more
interesting than the " Voyage dans le Gulfe de
Mexique," written by La Salle's brother, an old
manuscript bought at a sale in London in 1857
for $48.50, as the fly-leaf says. It begins : —

MoNSEiGNEUR, — Voicy la Relation du voy-
age que mon f rere entreprit pour decouvrir dans
le golfe du mexique, I'embouchure du fleuve de
missisippy, une mort inopin^e et tragique I'ayant
empeche de le parachever et d'en rendre Conte
a votre grandeur, j'espere quelle agreera que je
supine a son defaut.

In the days of Louis XIV even death was a
poor excuse for not fulfilling the punctilios due
the king.

Following these big books come little note-
books of Parkman's own keeping, loose sheets,
letters, journals, little parcels of papers neatly
tied with ribbon, the MSS. of one or two of the
histories, and a guerilla band of those enemies
of peace and order, " Sundry documents."

252 FRANCIS PARKMAN

His printed books, several thousands, were
kept in his study on the third story of No. 50
Chestnut Street ; so were the MSS. before they
were given to the Historical Society. Up in
that study he used to sit all the winter months,
in the company of his books and manuscripts,
while the fire from the open stove flickered sal-
utations to the shelves opposite, and the books
stared back at trophies got forty years before
on the Oregon trail, — bow, arrows, shield, pipe
of peace, hanging tamely on the wall ; the little
bronze cats on the mantelpiece played undis-
mayed beside the couchant Barye lioness, em-
bodiment of the eternal struggle, the triumph
of the strong, the ruin of the weak; and Sir
Jeffrey Amherst, out from his engraving after
Reynolds's portrait, his head resting pensively
on one hand, careless of baton and helmet, gazed
ruminatingly at his fellow pictures, prints of the
" Catterskills," of the ruins of Ticonderoga, of
Lake George. From other walls Sir Walter
Scott, a lion, and a cat looked gravely at Colonel
Shaw, Colleoni, Diirer's Knight (a favorite),
and at the facade of Notre Dame ; but pictures
had no great liberty of place, for the bookshelves
spread themselves over most of the room.

Parkman used to sit in a simple easy-chair,
his feet near the stove, while his sister, at a little
table beside the window, wrote at his dictation.

HISTORY AND FAME 253

But when his work was over, as the short win-
ter twilights hurried away, his thoughts often
must have wandered back over the forty years
spent in the wilderness of physical ills, and with
his jaw set firm, but with his kind heart un-
strung, he must have remembered the old days
of boyhood, of health, of promise, when Nature,
too, was young and beautiful and savage, and
perhaps he repeated the words of his youth : —

Thus to look back with a fond longing to inhos-
pitable deserts, where men, beasts, and Nature
herself, seem arrayed in arms, and where ease,
security, and all that civilization reckons among
the goods of life, are alike cut off, may appear
to argue some strange perversity, and yet such
has been the experience of many a sound and
healthful mind. To him who has once tasted
the reckless independence, the haughty self-reli-
ance, the sense of irresponsible freedom, which
the forest life engenders, civilization thenceforth
seems flat and stale. Its pleasures are insipid,
its pursuits wearisome, its conventionalities, du-
ties, and mutual dependence, alike tedious and
disgusting. . . . The wilderness, rough, harsh,
and inexorable, has charms more potent in their
seductive influence than all the lures of luxury
and sloth. There is a chord in the hearts of
most men, prompt to answer loudly or faintly,
as the case may be, to such rude appeals. But
there is influence of another sort, strongest with
minds of the finest texture, yet sometimes hold-
ing a controlling power over those who neither

254 FRANCIS PARKMAN

acknowledge nor suspect its workings. There
are so few imbruted by vice, so perverted by art
and luxury, as to dwell in the closest presence
of Nature, deaf to her voice of melody and
power, untouched by the ennobling influences
which mould and penetrate the heart that has
not hardened itself against them. Into the spirit
of such an one the mountain wind breathes its
own freshness, and the midsummer tempest, as
it rends the forest, pours its own fierce energy.
... It is the grand and heroic in the hearts of
men which finds its worthiest symbol and noblest
aspiration amid these desert realms — in the
mountain and in the interminable forest.^

So spake the lover at twenty-three, in the lux-
uriant exuberance of love and youth ; so thought
the old man, thinking of his mistress whom he
had not seen for forty years. Perhaps to his
thin determined lips and firm-set jaw, up from
his modest heart, came the ancient benedic-
tion,—

Blessed of the Lord be his land,
For the precious things of heaven, for the dew,
And for the chief things of the ancient mountains,
And for the precious things of the lasting hills,
And for the precious things of the earth and fulness

thereof.
And for the good will of him that dwelt in the bush.

As I have said, his reputation increased as
the series advanced, and on the publication of
" Montcalm and Wolfe " he reached the height
1 Pontiac, vol. ii. pp. 237-239.

HISTORY AND FAME 255

of his fame ; this book he and the world re-
garded as his best. He coidd then feel that,
even should he not fill in the intervening half
century between Frontenac and Montcalm, his
work had been in substance done, that his en-
durance had overcome its enemies. He enjoyed
applause, not so much that of the public — for
he had a smack of Coriolanus's opinion on the
" raskell many " — as that of men whose judg-
ment was trained and instructed, and whose
speech was measured.

MR. HENRY ADAMS TO PARKMAN.

[Washington], 21 December, 1884.
My dear Parkman, — Your two volumes on
Montcalm and Wolfe deserve much more care-
ful study than I am competent to give them,
and so far as I can see, you have so thoroughly
exhausted your sources as to leave little or
nothing new to be said. The book puts you in
the front rank of living English historians, and
I regret only that the field is self-limited so that
you can cultivate it no further. Your book
is a model of thorough and impartial study and
clear statement. Of its style and narrative the
highest praise is that they are on a level with its
thoroughness of study. Taken as a whole, your
works are now dignified by proportions and com-
pleteness which can be hardly paralleled by the
" literary baggage " of any other historical writer
in the language known to me to-day. . . .

Ever truly y'rs, Henry Adams.

256 FRANCIS PARKMAN

MR. E. L. GODKIN TO PAKKMAX.

[New York], Dec. 14, 1885.

My dear Parkman, — I have just finished
your " Wolfe and Montcalm," and I cannot help
doing what I have never done before — write to
tell the author with what delight I read it. I do
not think I have ever been so much enchained
by a historical book, although I was passionately
fond of history in my boyhood. Wolfe, too, was
one of my earliest heroes, and although I have
been familiar for over forty years with his story,
I became almost tremulous with anxiety about
the result of the night attack when reading your
account of the final preparations, a few evenings
ago.

AYhat became of Montcalm's family ? Has he
any descendants now? What a pathetic tale
his is !

. . . Thank you most sincerely for a great
pleasure. Yours very sincerely,

E. L. GODKEN.

A later letter, 1887, characteristically says :
**I hope you are well and busy. No one else
does nearly as much for American literature.
This is ' gospel truth.' "

MB. HENRY JAMES TO PARKMAN.

Dover, [England], August 24th, [1885].
My dear Parkman, — This is only three
lines, because I cannot hold my hand from tell-
ing you, as other people must have done to your
final weariness, with what high appreciation and
genuine gratitude I have been reading your

HISTORY AND FAME 257

" Wolfe and Montcalm." (You see I am still so
overturned by my emotion that I can't even
write the name straight.) I have found the right
time to read it only during the last fortnight,
and it has fascinated me from the first page to
the last. You know, of course, much better than
any one else how good it is, but it may not be
absolutely intolerable to you to learn how good
still another reader thinks it. The manner in
which you have treated the prodigious theme is
worthy of the theme itself, and that says every-
thing. It is truly a noble book, my dear Park-
man, and you must let me congratulate you,
with the heartiest friendliness, on having given
it to the world. So be as proud as possible of
being the author of it, and let your friends be
almost as proud of possessing his acquaintance.
Reading it here by the summer smooth channel
with the gleaming French coast, from my win-
dows, looking on some clear days only five miles
distant, and the guns of old England pointed sea-
ward, from the rambling, historic castle, perched
above me upon the downs ; reading it, I say,
among these influences, it has stirred aU sorts
of feelings — none of them, however, incompat-
ible with a great satisfaction that the American
land should have the credit of a production so
solid and so artistic. . . . Believe in the per-
sonal gratitude of yours, ever very faithfully,

H. James.

MR. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TO PARKMAN".
31, Lowndes Square, [London], S. W., 8th Deer., 1884.
Dear Parkman, — I have just done reading
your book, and write a line to thank you for

258 FRANCIS PARKMAN

what has been so great a pleasure. It went as
delightfully as floating down one of the forest
streams where your scene is laid. You have done
nothing better, and you know how I liked the
others. Faithfully yours,

J. R. Lowell.

MB. GEORGE BANCROFT TO PARKMAN.

Washington, D. C, 28 Nov., 1884,
Dear Mr. Parkman, — I am delighted at
receiving from you under your own hand these
two new volumes with which you delight your
friends and instruct readers in both worlds.
You belong so thoroughly to the same course of
life which I have chosen that I foUow your
career as a fellow soldier, striving to promote
the noblest ends, and I take delight in your
honors as much or more than I should my own.
You have just everything which go to make an
historian — persistency in collecting materials,
indefatigable industry in using them, swift dis-
cernment of the truth, integrity and intrepidity
in giving utterance to truth, a kindly human-
ity which is essential to the true historian, and
which gives the key to all hearts, and a clear and
graceful and glowing manner of narration. I
claim like yourself to have been employed ear-
nestly, and pray you to hold me to be in all sin-
cerity and affectionate regard,

Your fellow laborer and friend,

Geo. Bancroft.

Mr. Henry Cabot Lodge dedicated his " His-
torical and Political Essays " to Parkman, —

HISTORY AND FAME 259

"To Francis Parkman, in token of admiration
for his great work as an American historian and
for his character as a man " — and at the time
wrote this letter : —

Nov. 11th, [1892].
Dear Mr. Parkman, — I send herewith a
little volume of essays, which I have taken the
liberty and given myself the great pleasure of
dedicating to you. ... I should have liked to
have had time to write an article on the com-
pletion of your history, but politics have so en-
grossed me of late that literature has gone to
the wall. But I wished in some public fashion
to express the great admiration I feel for your
writings and for your services to American -his-
tory, and also for the character, courage, and
will which have enabled you to do such work
despite the obstacles with which you contended
and which you have so entirely overcome. May
I add that I also wished to express my very
strong personal regard for you. The dedication
cannot possibly give you the pleasure that it
gives me, but I venture to hope that you will
accept it. Sincerely y'rs,

H. C. Lodge.

Mr. Theodore Roosevelt dedicated " The Win-
ning of the West " to Parkman, having first writ-
ten this letter to ask permission : —

Oyster Bay, Long Island, N. Y.,
April 23d, '88.

\ My dear Sir, — I suppose that every Ameri-
can who cares at all for the history of his own

260 FRANCIS PARKMAN

country feels a certain personal pride in your
work — it is as if Motley had written about
American instead of European subjects, and so
was doubly our own ; but those of us who have
a taste for history, and yet have spent much of
our time on the frontier, perhaps realize even
more keenly than our fellows that your works
stand alone, and that they must be models for
all historical treatment of the founding of new
communities and the growth of the frontier here
in the wilderness. This — even more than the
many pleasant hours I owe you — must be my
excuse for writing. \

I am engaged on a work of which the first
part treats of the extension of our frontier west-
ward and southwestward during the twenty odd
years from 1774 to 1796. . . . This first part I
have promised the Putnams for some time in
1889 ; it will be in two volumes, with some such
title as " The Winning of the West and South-
west." . . .

I should like to dedicate this to you. Of course
I know that you would not wish your name to be
connected, in even the most indirect way, with
any but good work ; and I can only say, that I
will do my best to make the work creditable. . . .
Yours very truly,

Theodore Roosevelt.

MB. JUSTIN WINSOR TO PARKMAN.

Cambkidge, May 23, '92.

Dear Parkman, — ... I read your " Pon-
tiac" when I was in college, and I have not failed
to read each succeeding work of yours upon its

HISTORY AND FAME 261

publication. In the last ten years I have seldom
had them off my study table, for work I have
been upon has often — almost constantly — taken
me to them ; and always with increasing admira-
tion. Believe me faithfully yours,

Justin Winsor.

Just before his death he was invited to at-
tend the World's Congress of Historians, at
the World's Fair, in Chicago, as " The Nestor
and most beloved of American Historians." I
cite these letters because scholars say that " no
one who has not prosecuted some original re-
search on the same lines can have an idea of the
extreme care with which he [Parkman] worked,
or of the almost petty detail which he was at
pains to master, not necessarily to use, but sim-
ply to inform himself thoroughly of the circum-
stances or of the man [of which or whom he
was writing]." For though he always wished to
make his books delightful to read, he never used
his imagination except as a means to discover
and to combine the jots and tittles of accurate
detail.

There were also tributes from persons less
well known.

Hon. Francis Parkman :

Dear Sir, — Hoping and begging, I write
you asking you if you will be so very kind as to
give me your " autograph " — please may I have

262 FRANCIS PARKMAN

it ? I would feel most highly honored to receive
and love dearly to possess your autograph. And
if it is pleasing to you, Dear Sir ! to favor me
with a line or favorite sentiment — I will ever
be most grateful for your exquisite kindness
— for it will be to me a "precious souvenir"
of a " Divinely gifted and most illustrious gen-
tleman " whose name is dearly familiar and
whose " noble researches " and " grand and bril-
liant " Historical writings which ever charm and
enlighten the world — have endeared you to
all hearts, as the most " famous and brilliantly
gifted Historian of the world." . . .

To Hon. Francis Paekman, " Author," " King of His-
torians."

CHAPTER XXIII

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS

Paekman's history is in substance a history of
Canada, and in that country aroused great inter-
est and admiration and also some dissatisfaction
and dissent. Canadians almost unanimously ac-
knowledged that Canada was greatly indebted to
him for fame and honor : for, before Parkman
wrote, on the south side of the border there was
little information and much prejudice in regard
to the past of our northern neighbor ; in Eng-
land there were but hazy ideas of an uninterest-
ing agricultural province, momentarily illumi-
nated by the exploit of an Englishman on the
Plains of Abraham ; and in France, Canada was
but a vague and mortifying memory. English-
speakers did not read the books of French Cana-
dians, and for them Parkman put the history of
Canada on a level of interest and importance
equal to that, as statesmen say, of the most
favored nation ; before him, there was a history
in English by William Smith, and the extent to
which Mr. William Smith's history failed to

264 FRANCIS PARKMAN

dispel the general darkness of ignorance holds
out a measure by which we can judge what
Parkman did for Canada.

The criticism which he received, sometimes
bitter, came from French Canadians, not wholly
able to forget that they represented a fallen
cause ; they had remained loyal to that cause,
with the loyalty that forgets defects and enhances
virtues. The lost cause was not only that of a
nation, charming even to those whose birth and
breeding cut them off from full appreciation, but
also that of a church, sacred with all the affec-
tion that men cherish for their mothers. They
could not enjoy the story which told how that
nation and that church had been vanquished by
their common foe, and, as the story was told,
justly vanquished ; for the teller, despite gener-
ous and impartial sympathy, believed that the
side upon which the right on the whole prepon-
derated had prevailed. That the victory had
been deserved was, in Parkman's judgment, the
verdict of history ; but what man is there, who
belongs to the side which has lost, who can pa-
tiently endure to hear Ehadamanthus say, " You
have received your deserts." Thus there was
some feeling against Parkman, and when in
1878 some of the gentlemen of Laval Univer-
sity, the distinguished Catholic university at
Quebec, wishing to honor him, even if in their

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 265

judgment sometimes astray, proposed that the
university should confer the degree of Doctor of
Letters upon him, there was warm opposition.
Hot words were spoken, strong feelings were
strongly expressed ; the conservatives carried the
day, and the degree was denied. On the other
hand, in the following year, the English univer-
sity at Montreal, McGill, gave him the degree
of Doctor of Laws. He was also chosen hono-
rary member of the Literary and Historical So-
ciety of Quebec, and a corresponding member of
the Royal Society of Canada.

The opposition of adverse critics troubled
Parkman very little. He took no position on a
matter of history until he had studied it with
great care, and with all the impartiality that was
possible.

On his visits to Canada Parkman naturally
visited his friends and not his critics, and from
them he always received the kindest hospitality.
Quebec, as the historic centre of Canada, was
his headquarters, and there he had very warm
friends ; in earlier days Judge Black, Judge Stu-
art, and all his life Sir James M. Le Moine, the
latter a man of letters and student of history,
whose country-seat, Spencer Grange, is not far
from the site where the gallant Levis routed Gen-
eral Murray. In the company of these gentle-
men Parkman would wander over the battlefields

266 FRANCIS PARKMAN

from Cap Rouge on the west to the Falls of
Montmorency on the east, examining the historic
spots, such as Sillery, a little village on the north
bank of the river, famous as possessing the oldest
house in Canada, and in the brave days of old
crowned with a French battery. Their friendly
commerce was fittingly accompanied, following
the best Hellenic traditions, by interchange of
gifts. He had friendships, too, with several
French Canadians, gentlemen of Quebec, who
were interested in Canadian history. Such was
M. Hubert La Rue, who always held out a warm
welcome: "Rendez-vous tout droit a la maison, ou
votre petite chambre du fonds vous attend avec
impatience." He made a friendly acquaintance
with M. Ferland, Abbe Laverdiere, Dr. J. C.
Tach^, and other scholars. M. N. E. Dionne, now
librarian of the Parliamentary Library in the
Province of Quebec, did some copying for Park-
man in 1871, as he himself tells, in English so
much better than much of our American-French,
that I venture to quote it : " Being poor, I was
glad to gain some dollars, but I was chiefly proud
to accompany this well-known Bostonian through
his peregrinations from the Seminary to the epis-
copal palace, from the registrar office to the Ter-
rier's office, compulsing together every document
which he intended to use." Parkman was well
pleased with the copies ; and M. Dionne, himself

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 267

a historian, is able to add, " So that I must say,
aiid everybody can say so, that if I am something
to-day, I owe this to Mr. Parkman,"

Among the Catholic clergy he had many
friendly acquaintances. M. Audet, chaplain of
the Convent de Jesus et Marie de Sillery, intro-
duced him to a priest at Cape Breton in these
terras, " This gentleman, in spite of the difference
of faith, has shown in his writings great justice
in his estimate of the deeds of Catholics in Can-
ada;" and to another thus, "This gentleman,
although he does not share our faith, has in all
his writings taken pains to give the most just
and favorable testimony to the work of Catholi-
cism in Canada."

Parkman's chief correspondence and most fa-
miliar intercourse were with M. I'Abbe H. R.
Casgrain, the distinguished historian of Canada.
The two were good friends for some twenty-eight
years ; M. I'Abbe, then a professor in the univer-
sity, was the chief combatant on Parkman's side
in the battle royal over the Laval degree ; the
friendship had begun by an interchange of let-
ters in 1866, for the Muse of History, taking
each by the hand, had brought them together.
Parkman wished to subscribe to a Canadian re-
view, "Le Foyer Canadien," Abbe Casgrain,
secretary to the board of publication, hearing of
this wish, presented him with all the back num-

268 FRANCIS PARKMAN

bers, for, as the French know better than the
rest of us, " little gifts make great friendships."
The Abbe was a descendant of M. Baby, " a
prominent habitant," who lived across the river
from Detroit at the time of Pontiac's attack, and
by his good offices rendered the hard-pressed gar-
rison great service ; ^ this ancestry made a natu-
ral tie between the two historians. They had
another bond, for the Abbe was afflicted with
a partial blindness that prevented him from
reading or writing. Between them there was
an interchange of maps and documents and of
photographs. The little incidents of history, the
tassels and ornaments of narrative, made their
intercourse very agreeable. For example. Abbe
Casgrain brought together careful documentary
evidence that Cham plain's tomb had been erected
on the spot now occupied by the post-office, near
the Chateau Frontenac, — a feat that aroused
jealousy and disbelief in other antiquarians. On
this occasion Parkman wrote, "A friend in Mon-
treal sent me a newspaper with a notice of your
great discovery. I have long hoped that some-
thing might be brought to light on this point,
and wait with interest to hear more." Then fol-
lows another letter, disputing the Abbe's opinion
that Brebeuf — the noble Jesuit — should not
have an accent on the first syllable of his name,
^ Pontiac, vol. i. p. 248.

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 269

ending, " I hope soon to hear that Champlain's
bones are found."

Then Parkman sends a copy of "The Jesuits
in North America."

Boston, Jan. 30, 1868.

If you are not in Quebec, it will no doubt await
your return. Remembering that I am a heretic,
you will expect a good deal with which you will
be very far from agreeing. The truth is, I am a
little surprised that neither Catholics nor Pro-
testants have been very severe in their strictures
on the book. I fully expected to be attacked by
both — that is by the Calvinistic portion of Pro-
testants. I believe both sides saw that I meant
to give a candid view of my subject in the best
light in which I could see it.

SAME TO SAME.

Boston, Feb. 13, 1868.
My deae Abbe, — Many thanks for your
most kind and welcome letter. I am truly glad
that, as a man of letters and as a Catholic priest,
you can find so much to approve in my book,
and I set an especial value on your commenda-
tion. We are, as you say, at opposite poles of
faith — but my faith, such as it is, is strong and
earnest, and I have the deepest respect for the
heroic self-devotion, the true charity, of the early
Jesuits of Canada. . . .

Believe me ever, with great esteem,
Your friend and servant,

F. Paekman.

270 FRANCIS PARKMAN

SAME TO SAME.
50 Chestnut St., Boston, 10 April, '71.
My dear Abbe, — Many thanks for your
most friendly and obliging letter, and for the
books which accompanied it. I regret to hear that
your eyes still give you so much trouble ; a mat-
ter in which I can wholly sympathize with you,
my own having been useless for ten years or
more, and even now permitting me to write or
read only for a few minutes at one time.

Soon after this the Abbe went to Boston and
paid Parkman a visit at his country home by
Jamaica Pond. The Abb^ says, " Les politesses
exquises dont je f us I'objet de sa part et de celle
de sa famille ont laiss^ en moi des souvenirs qui
ne sont pas effaces ; " and Parkman wrote : " I
recall your visit with the greatest pleasure, and
congratulate myself that after so long an inter-
val I have at last the good fortune to know you
personally." The visit was short, but Parkman
took the Abbe to see Harvard College, Mr.
Agassiz, and Mr. Longfellow, whose long wh;te
beard, falling over his chest, recalled to the Abb6
the ancient seers and poets, " Ossian, Baruch, or
Camoens."

One consequence of this visit was the little
book, " Francis Parkman, par I'Abb^ H. R.
Casgrain," published in 1872, which is full of
admiration, of compliments, and yet speaks out
frankly the author's divergent views.

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 271

We have enlarged as far as possible the place
of praise, in order to accord to Truth all its rights,
to criticism elbow-room. Let us say, without
beating about the bush, . . . Mr. Parkman's
work is the negation of all religious belief. The
author rejects the Protestant theory as well as
Catholic dogma ; he is an out-and-out rationalist.
We perceive an upright soul, born for the truth,
but lost without a compass on a boundless sea.
Hence these aspirations towards the true, these
flashes of acknowledgment, these words of hom-
age to the truth, followed, alas, by strange fall-
ings off, by fits of fanaticism that are astound-
ing.

The Abbd sent Parkman the proofs of this
little book before publication.

PARKMAN TO CASGBAIK.

Boston, Jan. 26, 1872.

My DEAR Friend, — The proofs came yester-
day. I think you know me too well to doubt that
I accept your criticism as frankly as it is given,
and that I always listen with interest and satis-
faction to the comments of so kind and generous
an opponent. I only wonder that, in the oppo-
sition of our views on many points of profound
importance, you can find so much to commend.
When you credit me with loyalty and honor, you
give me the praise that I value most of all.

In all that you say of my books and of myself
I recognize a warmth of personal regard which
would lead me to distrust your praises but for
the manifest candor and sincerity which pervade

272 FRANCIS PARKMAN

your praise and blame alike. I need not say that
I am extremely gratified by the one ; and as for
the other, I gladly accept it. I know what your
views are. You have spoken them openly, but
very kindly. As a Catholic you could not have
said less, and you might have said more.

I wish you were not in error when you say
that I am about finishing my present task. A
very long road is still before me. The subject
is complicated and difficult, and the time I can
give to it each day is short, both from other
deviations and the state of my health, which often
makes study out of the question. According to
the "medical faculty," as the newspapers say,
the trouble comes from an abnormal state or
partial paralysis of certain arteries of the brain.
Whatever it is, it is a nuisance of the first order,
and a school of patience by which Job himself
might have profited. However, Providence per-
mitting, I will spite the devil yet.

Very sincerely and cordially yours,

F. Parkman.

SAME TO SAME.

Boston, 17 Nov., '72.

I have just returned [from a trip to France].
I have brought home a large collection of doc-
uments. More are to follow, to the amount of
about 2500 folio pages. So you see, I did not
lose my time.

Let me correct what seems a mistaken im-
pression. In your critique of Chauveau you
speak of dures verites which you uttered in re-
gard to my books, and for which I thanked you

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 273

and still thank you. But this is because I like
frank and outspoken criticism, when kindly ut-
tered, not because I recognize as verites the
strictures passed upon me. While esteeming my
critic, I still believe myself in the right.

[May 23, 1873.]
Of one thing I beg you to be entirely assured,
and that is that your article in the " Revue "
[criticising Parkman] has not in the slightest
degree affected the cordial regard which I enter-
tain for you. I knew that you wrote it with
pain and regret, in obedience to a sense of duty ;
and besides, I believe that when I feel confident
in my position I am not very sensitive to criti-
cism.

After this, Parkman made a return visit to
the Abbe, at the Maison d'Airvault, the latter's
family place at Riviere Quelle, a village on the
south bank of the St. Lawrence, opposite the
mouth of the Murray River. Here Parkman not
merely had the pleasure of the society of his
host and his host's family, but became familiar
with a little village not so very different from
what it had been when the fleur-de-lis floated
over the citadel of Quebec. Correspondence was
taken up again as before. M. I'Abbe wrote a
review of the " Old Regime," in which he found
sundry expressions of opinion that did not co-
incide with his own.

274 FRANCIS PARKMAN

PABKMAN TO CASGRAIN.

Jamaica Plain, 9 May, 1875.
MoN CHER Ami, — I have read your article
on the Old Regime with attention and inter-
est. It is very much what I had expected, know-
ing your views and the ardor with which you
embrace them, as well as the warmth and kind-
liness of your feelings. I could take issue
squarely on the principal points you make, but
it would make this letter too long, and I do not
care to enter into discussion with a personal
friend on matters which he has so much at heart.
Moreover, I wish to preserve an entirely judicial,
and not controversial frame of mind on all that
relates to Canadian matters. Let me set you
right, however, on one or two points personal to
^myself. My acquaintance here would smile to
hear me declared an advocate of democracy and
a lover of the puritans. I have always declared
openly my detestation of the unchecked rule of
the masses, that is to say, of universal suffrage,
and the corruption which is sure to follow in
every large and heterogeneous community. I
have also always declared a very cordial dislike
of Puritanism. I recognize some most respecta-
ble and valuable qualities in the settlers of New
England, but do not think them or their system
to be praised without great qualifications, and I
would not spare criticism, if I had to write about
them. Nor am I at all an enthusiast for the nine-
teenth century, many of the tendencies of which
I deplore, while admiring much that it has ac-
complished. It is too democratic, and too much
given to the pursuit of material interests at the

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 275

expense of intellectual and moral greatness,
which I hold to be the true end, — to which
material progress should be but a means.

My political faith lies between two vicious ex-
tremes, democracy and absolute authority, each
of which I detest the more because it tends to
react into the other. I do not object to a good
constitutional monarchy, but prefer a conserva-
tive republic, where intelligence and characterj^,,--^
and not numbers, hold the reins of power.

I could also point out a good many other mis-
takes in your article. You say that I see Cana-
dian defects through a microscope, and merits
through a diminishing glass. The truth is, I have
suppressed a considerable number of statements
and observations because I thought that while
they would give pain, they were not absolutely
necessary to the illustration of the subject ; but
I have invariably given every favorable testimony
I could find in any authentic quarter. . . .
Very cordially yours,

F. Parkman.

SAME TO SAME.

Nov. 2, 1878.
Did you get an attack on the sovereign Demos,
which I sent you ? It has drawn on me a great
deal of barking and growling, and caused me to
be branded as " audacious," a " foe to popular
government " etc., — so you see I am shot at
from both sides of the line. The article in ques-
tion, however, has been very widely read, and
has received a great deal of approval as well as
denunciation.

276 FRANCIS PARKMAN

The following extract relates to the degree
which his friends sought to obtain for him from
Laval University.

Dec. 10, 1878.

This outbreak is a very curious one. So far
as I myself am concerned, I find it rather amus-
ing, and am not annoyed by it in the least. But
I regret it extremely on account of the trouble
it has given you and Mr. Le Moine ; and also on
account of the embarrassing position in which I
fear that it places the University and the excel-
lent ecclesiastics by whom it is directed. It was
to me extremely gratifying that men like these,
while differing profoundly from me and disap-
proving much that I have written, should recog-
nize the sincerity of my work by expressing their
intention to honor me with a degree of Docteur
es Lettres. It was this generous recognition
which gave me particular pleasure ; and greatly
as I should feel honored by a degree from Laval
University, I prize still more the proofs of esteem
which its directors have already given me. I
trust that they will not feel themselves com-
mitted to any course which circumstances may
have rendered inexpedient, and that they will be
guided simply by the interests of the University.

Thus the correspondence went along, touch-
ing on Parkman's gleanings in the archives of
Paris, on the Abbe's antiquarian discoveries, on
history, on friends, on other matters unimportant,
except in the respect most important of all, evi-
dence of good hearts and good friendship. Most

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 277

of the Abba's letters unfortunately have been
lost or destroyed ; Parkman's continue till the
year before his death ; but the last of his that
shall be quoted concerns his health, in answer to
inquiries of alBfectionate interest.

Jamaica Plain, 12 May, 1889.
MoN CHER Abb:^, — For the past five years I
have done very little historical work, not so
much from laziness as from the effects of insom-
nia. Two or three hours of sleep in the 24 —
which have been until lately my average allow-
ance for long periods together — are not enough
to wind up the human machine, especially when
exercise is abridged by hereditary gout mixed
with rheumatism, produced, according to the
doctors, by numerous drenchings in the forests
of Maine when I was a collegian (e. g. on one
occasion, rain without shelter for three days and
nights, just after being wrecked in a rapid of
the River Margalloway). Perhaps, however, the
rheumatism is a stroke of retributive justice for
writing " Montcalm and Wolfe." Though I have
slept better in the past year, it is still an open
question whether I shall ever manage to supply
the missing link between that objectionable work
and its predecessor " Count Frontenac." . . .
Que Dieu vous aide —

Tout-a-vous.

We cannot suppose that two historians of di-
vergent views corresponded on such hotspur top-
ics as the peasants of Acadia, the rival merits of

278 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Montcalm and L^vis, or the character of Vau-
dreuil, not to mention nationality and religion,
without one or the other catching fire and flam-
ing up till the " rash bavin " cause was burned
out, and old friendship returned to its old ways.
But certainly there was no trace of jangling
towards the end ; the melody of friendship was
altogether pleasant.

CASGRAiN TO PARKMAN [translated].

Quebec, May 23d, 1892.

My dear Historian, — I make haste to thank
you for the present of your two handsome vol-
umes, " A Half Century of Conflict," which I
have just received. Let me cordially congratu-
late you upon having set the crown on the great
work to which you have consecrated all your life.
No one values it more than I do. I am now
going to forsake all other reading, in order to
plunge headlong into your two volumes. For me
they have a double attraction : because of the
conscientious researches of which they are the
fruit, and because they are written by a person
who has always been the object of my admira-
tion, and for whom I feel an attachment that I
cannot well express. . . . Je fais des voeux pour
que votre chere sante s'ameliore, et je vous prie
de croire a une estime qui n'a d'egale que mon
attachement. " H. K. Casgrain.

So they parted with French politeness on their
lips and kind feelings in their hearts. " Croyez

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 279

toujours a ma sincere amitie : la votre m'honore
infiniment, Casgrain." " Que Dieu vous aide,
tout-a-vous, Parkman."

I must not close this correspondence without
a passing allusion — my ignorance will not suffer
me to do more — to two criticisms which the
Abbe Casgrain has made- upon Parkman's his-
tory. The first is that Parkman was unjust in
his account of the poor peasants banished from
Acadia by the English in 1755.^ Parkman did
make a mistake in his reliance upon certain doc-
uments officially published : " Selections from the
Public Documents of the Province of Nova Sco-
tia ; " these were in fact badly garbled, as the
Abbe proved by his diligent researches and dis-
coveries in the British Museum and the Record
Office in London. The Abbe, relying on this
fresh evidence, spoke very warmly in favor of
the Acadians in his book "Un pelerinage au pays
d'Evangeline " (1886) ; but other scholars say
that the case against the Acadian peasants is
not upset by the new documents.

The second criticism is that Parkman made
Montcalm the French hero in the final drama at
Quebec, whereas this honor should have been
bestowed upon Levis. Several years after Park-
man's book was published, Count Raimond de
Nicolay, great-grandson of Chevalier Levis,
1 Montcalm and Wolfe, chap. viiL

280 FRANCIS PARKMAN

through the good of&ces of Abbe Casgrain, gave
permission to the Province of Quebec to publish
the journals and letters of his great-grandfather.
To these valuable papers Parkman had not ac-
cess. They were published between 1889 and
1895 under the superintendence of the Abbe,
and show that Levis was a very noble, spirited,
and capable man, and, if they do not oust Mont-
calm from his pedestal, prove that the French
had a second hero as well.

During all the years from the beginning of
preparation until the " Half Century of Con-
flict" was sent to the printer, Parkman made
from time to time frequent visits to Canada.
As Sir James M. Le Moine says, he used to
call Quebec his sunny, health-restoring, holiday
home. No wonder the St. Lawrence was a river
after his own heart, with its long ancestry of
lakes, its great seaward flow, its shifting banks,
high and low, soft and rugged, its little lines
of white villages, and the romantic citadel -of
Quebec, at whose feet it flows with all the chiv-
alry proper to the prince of rivers. He would
go about as always, with a little notebook in
pocket, jotting down, not with the prodigality
of old, but with a frugal pencil, notes and memo-
randa, so brief that one little book served for
years. But the old love of detail is there.

Li Canada, too, after forty lean years of absti-

CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 281

nence, he camped out for the last time ; on the
banks of the Batiscan River, he spent a month
with Mr. Farnham, his biographer.

TO MISS PABKMAN.

Batiscan Rivek, 7 June, [1886].

My dear L., — I am well. Fishing good.
Flies bad. Farnham very pleasant. Camp fin-
ished and comfortable. Excellent fare. Family
consists of selves and our puppy. ... F. an ex-
cellent cook.

F. P.

Parkman could not do much, hobbled by his
lame knee, but he was always interested, patient,
and cheerful. He enjoyed the " feel " of a rifle
once more, and a shot at a handy mark ; he tried
fishing with a fly, — the worm of his early days
having crawled under the protection of fashion-
able contempt. He liked to get into his little
canoe, in which he could mock his lame leg,
and paddle down the river, gazing at the green
banks, the high bluffs, the close thickets, — all
as it were seen in a magic mirror, for he could
not enter. This was his last visit to the land he
had done so much to honor.

CHAPTER XXIV

LATER LIFE

There still remains the duty to chronicle the
simple happenings in the life of the scholar in-
valid, during the thirty years from the war until
his death ; they are uneventful, much too undra-
matic for a reader, but such as they were they
made up his life. Random extracts from his sis-
ter's diary show the ups and downs over which
he passed : —

1862, Jan. 29. F. went to the Baldwins' last
ev'g to a small supper given to Mr. W. Hunt,
and to-night was able to go to the Club for a
short time.

June 11. F. has seemed in very good spirits for
a day or two.

Sept. 9. F. is suffering from the most severe
attack in his eyes he has had for years. He
cannot attend to his gardening at all. Mo-
ther feels very anxious.

10th. F., if anything, worse. He seems in very
low spirits.

15th. F. seems better.

1863, Jan. 24. F. is highly entertained by " Pick-
wick," as much as if he had never read it be-
for6.

LATER LIFE 283

Feb. 11. F. is beginning to work upon his French

History, though, as he says, at a snail's pace.

His eyes are very troublesome now.
June 27. Rose Show. Grace [his daughter] and

I drove in with F. and arranged the flowers.

1st prize, Moss Roses ; 2d, June Roses ; 3d,

Display.
Sept. 20. F. has not slept for some nights, and

his head is in a bad state.
Oct. 1. F. still has very poor nights and seems

miserably.
2d. F. had very little sleep ; head very bad.

1864, June 25. This is the day of the Rose
Show. Grace and I went in to help Frank.
We worked steadily for two hours, and barely
had time to prepare the great quantity of roses.
F. took four 1st prizes and a large " gratuity."

1865, June 6th. F. went to Washington this
morning.

12th. Frank writes from Washington. He has
seen the camps and means to go to Rich-
mond.

20 th. Letter from F. at Richmond. He is de-
tained there to collect documents for the Bos-
ton Athenaeum.

July 18th. Frank and I have been to a reception
at the Lymans' to meet Gen. Meade and Staff.

Nov. 7. Frank came down to breakfast very
lame ; thinks the old trouble is all coming
back.

22d. The anxiety about Frank's knee is passing
away.

1866, Aug. 10th. F. started for Quebec.
29. F. took the usual prizes at the Hort.

284 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Nov. 16th. F. came in [town] to-day to live.

1867, April 20th. F. came in to spend Sunday.
Grace came to tea. Enthusiasm over cats.

July 10. Frank is going to the Mississippi River ;
he is now writing history connected with its dis-
covery, and goes on that account. What a good
summer he has had so far ; his book ["Jesuits"]
out this spring and well received, and his
flowers so successful, and he seems so well.

Aug. 15. Frank arrived none the worse for the
5 weeks journey, though he has used head and
eyes much. He has brought many photo's of
Sioux Indians and of Mississippi scenery. [He
saw Henry Chatillon at St. Louis.]

1868, June 30. Drove in with F. to the Rose
Show. F. took 1st prizes.

July 15. F. goes to Cambridge in all the heat.
He is chosen overseer of the college.

Aug. 1st. F. has gone to Rye to spend Sunday
with the children.

10th. F. left this ev'g to spend a fortnight in
Canada.

Sept. 25. Mother is 75 to-day. F. brought in
white roses.

Oct. 29. Frank's head is in a bad state, the first
time for a long time.

Nov. 1. F.'s head is very bad, worse than for
some time ; he says, years.

Nov. 27. Frank has determined to go to Paris
for the winter. His head seems a little better,
but he cannot do much with it, and he would
rather be idle there than here. He seems dis-
posed to go, and in good spirits, so we are very
glad to have him, but it leaves a great gap.

LATER LIFE 286

PAEKMAN TO HIS SISTER.

21 Boulevard St. Michel,
Paris, 15 Jan., 1869.

My dear Lizzie, — I have rec'd your letter
of 8 Dec, but not till a month after its date. . . .
There* is a little girl in the house, daughter of
the concierge, who collects post-stamps, and would
be delighted with five or six American and Ca-
nadian stamps. Will you inclose them in your
next if convenient. I mean to leave here for
England early in March, and thence home after
a few days in London. . . .

[Jan. 18.]

... I have just rec'd all your letters. I am
grieved more than I can tell you about mother's
accident. Keep me well informed about it. . . .
Tell Grace that there are girls here who ride on
velocipedes with two wheels in the streets, but
that their conduct is not at all approved. . . .

[28 Jan., '69.]
If I do not hear good news soon I shall set out
for home, but 1 trust that mother is getting bet-
ter. Remember me most affectionately to her
and tell her that I think of her continually. I
am doing very well indeed, and am far better in
health than when I left Boston. ... I have a
good many acquaintances, some of them very
pleasant ones, though I refuse dinners, etc.

[Feb. 1, '69.]
I have just rec'd yours of Jan. 16 with news
that mother is better, which is an immense re-
lief. I am all right bating a cold in the head.

286 FRANCIS PARKMAN

To-morrow I am going to St. Cloud to breakfast
with Count Circourt, a friend of the Ticknors. I
see Margry often. He was here the other night,
and staid till twelve. ... I made a journey of 2
miles and more under Paris, through the sewers,
partly in a boat, and partly in a sort of rail-car.
. . . Give my best love to mother and the chil-
dren, not forgetting Jack.

[Feb. 24, '69.]
Have been troubled with want of sleep for five
or six nights, but otherwise all right. If I ac-
cepted invitations, which I do not, I should have
the run of the Faubourg St. Germain. I have
just declined an invitation from the Prince de
Broglie to dine. Yesterday I saw the Marquis de
Montcalm, great-grandson of Wolfe's antagonist,
who was very civil. The post-stamps were very
gratefully received. Don't let the doctor [Dr.
Bigelow] think that I am doing anything but
amuse myself, for I am not. I meet a few people
incidentally, but am very stiff in declining over-
tures. The Marquis placed his family papers at
my disposal. I have not read one of them, but
employed a man to copy them, who is now at
work.

MISS pabkman's diabt.

1869. March 27. F. arrived this ev'g. He seems
in very good spirits and health.

April 12. Frank's head is almost as bad as be-
fore he went away.

1870. Feb. 17. F. has been very sleepless of
late. He had his club last night at the Union
Club rooms (mother being ill).

LATER LIFE 287

March 24. F. is having sleepless nights, and suf-
fering very much.

Sept. 16. F.'s birthday. He got no sleep last
night, and I never saw him more affected by
it in health or spirits. It is a year since he
has been sleepless, more or less.

23d. F. did not sleep at all last night. It is
wonderful that he can do anything by day,
and he does not do much.

24th. F. slept between 5 and 6 hours. It is such
a relief. Yesterday it was mournful enough
at breakfast, though he plays with the cats
and the children and says nothing.

25th. Mother is 76 to-day. As I came down to
breakfast I saw F. coming in with a bunch of
roses already tied, and another of ribbons and
daisies. He looked so well I knew he had
slept, and found he had had a very good night.
That alone made mother happy.

1871. March 12. Mother feels very happy that
F. has just been chosen professor of Horticul-
ture in the new Bussey Institute of H. C.
[Harvard College]. Frank himself likes the
appointment, as he thinks he can do the work
without giving more time than he can give,
and the fact that he can take such a responsi-
bility is a delight as a proof of how much better
he is. [He resigned as overseer of the college
on the ground of inconsistency between the
two positions.]

April 2d. Flora's first kittens appeared, but had
a brief existence. F.'s interest was deep, and
his disappointment also.

June 8th. Mother moved out of town with great

288 FRANCIS PARKMAN

difficulty (on account of her Mp), but at last
was safe in her room, rhododendrons and roses
of Frank's gathering all about her.

That summer their mother died, while Park-
man was in Canada. It was a terrible blow to
him, — "poor fellow, how his face looked," —
and the brother and sister were left alone to go
through life together, for their sister Caroline
had married and their sister Mary had died sev-
eral years before, and their brother Jack — John
Eliot, once Elly — died soon afterwards.

In 1872 they went to Paris, as Parkman wished
to relieve his insatiable appetite for more docu-
ments. Here they saw a good deal of Margry, a
person who plays a part in the story of Parkman's
difficulties in laying his hands on documents,
even on those of which he had definite informa-
tion. Parkman had known this gentleman for
several years, not without forming some opinion
of him, as we see from certain phrases in the let-
ters of 1868 to Abbe Casgrain : —

As for Margry, I am fully of your mind con-
cerning him. I am in the midst of La Salle's
discoveries. ... I have a great deal that is new
relating to his enterprises ; and but for M. Mar-
gry, should have still more. . . . Margry is very
intractable, and I can get nothing from him.

M. Pierre Athanase Margry, chef adjoint
Archiviste au Ministere de la Marine (in later

LATER LIFE 289

years en retraite) and Chevalier de la Legion
d'Honneur, had made an immense collection of
documents about La Salle, which he had ferreted
out of the Public Archives under his charge with
great zeal and industry ; these he wished to pub-
lish himself, but he had not money enough, and
was not willing that another should reap the har-
vest of his sowing, so he denied Parkraan access
to them. As these documents were of great in-
terest in the history of the United States, an
attempt had been made a year or two before to
induce Congress to make an appropriation for the
cost of publication, but in vain. In this collection
were La Salle's own letters, and these Parkman
was most eager to see. This conduct of Margry's
has been harshly blamed. Mr. Justin Winsor
says : " The keeper of an important department
of the French Archives had been so unfaithful to
his trust as to reserve for his own private use some
of its documentfary proofs," Be the blame just
or no, — a lawyer might find something to say in
behalf of a right of lien for labor spent in search
and discovery, — Parkman freely forgave him.
Margry was a man with whom it would have
been hard to remain angry, even for a much less
generous person than Parkman ; he was a voluble
Gallic, kindly, smiling, enthusiastic little person,
lively, alert, " sensitive and distrustful," wearing
his mustachios and goatee after the fashion of

290 FRANCIS PARKMAN

the Second Empire. An amiable, infantile look
of quizzical cunning on his face, with his silk
hat, kid gloves, and loose pantaloons, effectually
disqualified him as an object of indignation. He
was very friendly, liked to come and sit and chat,
and would stay till cockcrow if permitted ; he was
full of friendly usages, and on this visit cele-
brated Parkman's birthday with a poem : —

16. yi're. 1823-1872.

A Francis Parkman, Auteur des Franqais en
Am^rique.

Dans le monde, oti vous etes n^
Vos Merits disent notre gloire;
Nul n'a, comme vous, honore
Les beaux actes de notre histoire.

Cependant presque inaperqu
Vous allez parcourant la France,
Et c'est par basard que j'ai su
La date de votre naissance.

Aussi je veux pour mon pays

Feter ce jour, selon I'usage,

Par la menae pens^e unis

II m'est cher de vous rendre bommage.

The poem has ten stanzas, is annotated, and
altogether breathes patriotism, hatred of Bis-
marck, and love of Parkman. The friendship
thus fostered led to a plan, — that Parkman
should try to persuade some American bookseller
to publish the collection, for Margry, in spite of
poetry, firmly declined to sell the documents or

LATER LIFE 291

the use of them ; but this plan came to nought,
as the great fire in Boston made general econ-
omy necessary. Thereupon Parkmau pricked on
professors, and the professors stuck spurs into
historical societies — fire, fire, burn stick ; stick,
stick, beat pig, — and they, in turn, petitioned
Congress to make the necessary appropriation
of ilO,000. Senator Hoar and General Garfield
took the matter up ; the act was passed, and the
' Decouvertes et Etablissements des Frangais,
dans I'Ouest et dans le Sud de I'Am^rique Sep-
tentrionale (1614-1754), Memoires et Docu-
ments originaux," were published in Paris, and
did good service for a later edition of " La Salle
and the Discovery of the Great West."

There were other friends in Paris, the Marquis
de Montcalm, a nobleman completely indifferent
to that ceremonious deportment which we like
to think accompanies a coronet, but a kindly
little man, always giving full performance in
deeds to the pleasant " expression de ma parfaite
amiti^ et de mes sentiments les plus distingu^s ; "
there was M. le Comte de Circourt, and other
gentlemen acquainted with Canadian history,
either through respect for their fighting ances-
tors, or, by a prodigious cosmopolitan effort, in-
teresting themselves in things outside of Paris.

Parkman enjoyed the beautiful city, he was
diverted by the happy bearing and gay polite-

292 FRANCIS PARKMAN

ness of the people, and he liked to stroll, when
he could, along the quais, and examine the rows
of books, always seasonable bait for the foreign
traveler, or see what could be seen from tops of
omnibuses.

There was but one intrusion of unpleasant-
ness into his French relations : a lady, Mme. la
Comtesse de Clermont-Tonnerre, translated into
French " The Pioneers," and " The Jesuits,"
but in such a garbled and wanton manner, as to
suppress facts and opinions which in her judgment
were not so complimentary to the church as the
needs of pious edification required. Mr. Park-
man was nettled, and expressed his opinion, but
with much less asperity than the lady deserved.

In contradistinction to this disagreeable im-
propriety, M. Geffroy delivered an intelligent
speech before the Department of Moral and Po-
litical Sciences of the French Institute, on the
occasion of presenting a copy of Parkman's
works, and expressed appreciation of the even-
handed justice which Parkman had dealt to so
partisan a subject.

After this visit to Paris in 1872, brother and
sister returned to their old way of life, dividing
the year between Jamaica Plain and 50 Chestnut
Street. He had given up his professorship at
the Bussey Institute, after one year of service,
but he always maintained a deep affection for

LATER LIFE 293

the college, and in 1875 was elected one of the
Fellows of the Corporation. He served for thir-
teen years, and was regular and punctual in his
attendance; sometimes the matters of business
were too severe in their claims on his atten-
tion, and he would get up and walk about, or go
out into the fresh air, and then come back to
the business.

In 1880 he made another trip to England and
France. This time the archives and the books
on the banks of the Seine were not his only mo-
tives for going ; his younger daughter had married
Mr. John Templeman Coolidge, and was living
in Paris with her husband. This journey was
memorable for the discovery of the letters of
Montcalm to his lieutenant Bourlamaque; these
letters covered all the time from Montcalm's
arrival in Canada to within a few days before
his death, and had long been hidden treasure,
suspected, sought, but undiscovered. For fifteen
years Parkman had been on the scent, and now
that he was approaching the time to publish
"Montcalm and Wolfe," he was doubly eager.
The letters had been traced to England; there
the scent failed. At last they were found to be
a part of a precious collection belonging to Sir
Thomas Phillips, a great buyer of manuscripts in
his day, and from him they had descended to the
Rev. John E. A. Feuwick, and were hid in his

294 FRANCIS PARKMAN

library at Thirlestaine House, CLeltenliam. Let-
ters passed rapidly concerning the treasure trove,
and it was agreed that Mr. Fenwick's son Fitz
Roy, who was "fond of deciphering," should copy
the MSS. wanted. The Rev. Mr. Fenwick was
obliged to move about, and his travels to Redels-
ton Hall, Derby, and the Crescent Hotel, Bux-
ton, caused several little delays. Then the young
gentleman had to hurry back to Oxford for a
cram, as he was to be examined for his final
" school," and a new copyist had to be found. A
lady of Atherfield House, Miles Road, Clifton,
could not serve. She, however, suggested two
ladies of the Brooklands, Gloster Road, but
that house was two miles and a half from Chel-
tenham ; finally Mr. Fenwick, a very kind and
hospitable man, procured the services of a French
lady. Miss Marie Perret, who copied the rest of
the documents, " Lettres de Vaudreuil, Lettres
de Levis, Lettres Variarum," at the cost of 3d.
for 72 words, as a neat little receipt in her hand-
writing records. These letters were especially
valuable, because they were very intimate, full of
frank remarks on Vaudreuil, Bigot, and others,
with frequent "brulez cette lettre," — orders,
like many others given by poor Montcalm, diso-
beyed.

The expenses for copying were often very
heavy ; the little notebooks record : —

LATER LIFE 295

Cost of copying, etc.
Montcalm papers, leave to copy . . £20
Facsimile to map of Ticonderoga . . 15s.

Book, Conduct of Shirley 2

T. Fitzroy Fenwick, copying .... 13 2 6
J. E. A. Fenwick, copying (for Miss

Ferret) 12

Montcalm picture, 60 francs.

Wolfe " 10s.

Imbry, copying 15 3

Mrs. BuUen, copying 15 1

These expenses obliged Parkman to practice
economy, not on a petty scale, but after the man-
ner of a prudent, unostentatious gentleman.

Perhaps it was on this visit that one day he
was sitting upon a bench in St. James's Park,
somewhat forlorn, missing unconsciously the care
he always got at 50 Chestnut Street, when up
came friendly aid in the person of Mr. Henry
James, who put him down at the Athenjemn
Club, and gave him a pleasant sense of sym-
pathy, admiration, and fellowship, in the felici-
tous, evasive way that Parkman liked so much.
Mr. James and the Athenseum took off what for
Parkman was a rather cold, raw edge in London
atmosphere.

There was another visit to Paris the next
year; and at divers times there were journeys to
Florida, to Acadia, to Canada, which interrupted
for a few weeks at a stretch the peaceful life at

296 FRANCIS PARKMAN

Jamaica Pond. His health continued as before,
but the lack of sleep grew worse.

PABKMAN TO DR. WEIR MITCHELL.

Jamaica Plain, 5 Nov., 1885.

My dear Dr. Mitchell, — I regret to bother
you again with my troubles, but as you have done
more for me than anybody else, I am tempted to
do so.

For about two years I have observed an in-
creasing tendency to insomnia. This autumn,
within about two months, it has become ex-
tremely troublesome. Sometimes I do not sleep
at all. Often I sleep only from one to three
hours. The week before last, the average for
seven days was about two hours. Last night I
heard every clock but those of eleven and twelve.
The preceding night, however, I slept — at in-
tervals and not continuously — to the amount
of more than five hours, which was rather rare
good luck.

Bromide, etc., produce no effect. . . . Bating
sleeplessness and its effects, I have been better
than before, with the exception of palpitation of
the heart, which is sometimes very troublesome.
Throbbing in the ear at night is also annoying
at times. The old distress in the head continues,
but has been less distressing within the last few
years than before I took your advice. Within the
last year I have done a very moderate amount
of work, and recently none at all. . . . Muscu-
lar strength is not exhausted, but nerves are set
on edge, and the condition of the head entirely
precludes brain-work. I have occasionally had

LATER LIFE 297

attacks as severe, or more so, — once four suc-
cessive nights absolutely without sleep, — but this
is more persistent than any before, and is aggra-
vated by the palpitation of the heart, which
I have reason to believe is not from organic
causes. Yours very truly,

F. Parkman.

The skillful physician could do little or no-
thing. I must not let myself be betrayed into'
too much of malady and medicine. Parkman's
body might be hampered and harassed ; there
was no sickness in his spirit. No one who ad-
mitted to himself that he was an invalid could
have written so much like a man, belted and
booted, with hand on saddle-bow, as he does in
all his histories.

Neither did he admit that he was cut off from
indoor pleasures. He always enjoyed the meet-
ings of the " Saturday Club," a company of Bos-
ton gentlemen, some of great note, — the most
famous club of its kind in America, The club
used to meet at the end of the month to dine to-
gether, and pronounce salvation or condemnation,
it was said, upon the intellectual work of Boston.
Parkman was always essentially a sociable per-
son ; a man with opinions interesting to hear ; a
taker of sides ; a man full of likes and dislikes ;
a lover of old ways, with delightful variety of
expression between quiet, refined acquiescence

298 FRANCIS PARKMAN

and heady opposition ; a charming companion,
a distinguished presence. John Fiske, who was
a member of the club, and a pretty constant
attendant, never knew that he was an invalid ;
always found him alert, extremely gentle ; and
when he was absent, supposed that a prudence
for digestion or early hours kept him away. " He
never made the slightest allusion to his ill health ;
he would probably have deemed it inconsistent
with good breeding to intrude upon his friends
with such topics, and his appearance was always
,most cheerful,"

His life had its pleasures, its happiness, its gay-
eties, the tenderness of deep affection, the cheer
of friendship, the amusement of little comic hap-
penings ; it was a good life, a hundred times
worth the living, if it had been only for the plea^
sure of daily fight and daily victory ; but there
were history, fame, roses, and a dozen things,
each enough to make him hold life rich. All
these found their way into his daily uneventful
existence, and the years passed on far too quick.

In July, 1886, after his experiment at camp-
ing out with Mr. Farnham, he went to the Range-
ley Lakes in Maine, where he lived at Bemis
Camps, "F. C. Barker, Prop'r." He had not
much to do there, and after a time ill health
obliged him to give up even the moderate dis-
comforts of Mr. Barker's proprietorship.

LATER LIFE 299

EXTEACTS FROM LETTERS TO MISS PARKMAN.

[Aug., 1886.]

As I am forbidden to take any but the feeblest
exercise, and as the light is very strong here, my
resources for passing the time are limited. . . .

Aug. 26. Tell Mike I wrote to him to pot the
chrysanthemums about Sept. 1, and to order
what pots are wanted. ... I think a little of
building* a log cabin here, with two small rooms
for you, if you should want to come for a week,
month, or more. It will cost little, and be inde-
pendent of the rest. Board at Barker's. No
servants needed. Barker will gladly do the job.
How does it strike you? — all my affair, of
course.

This was a delightful plan, and the log cabin
was begun with the happiest expectations, but
the grim hand of disease laid hold of him, and
the log cabin, half built, was abandoned for-
ever.

The next year he made a visit to Spain and
France, in company with Dr. Algernon Coolidge.

The trip was cut short by Parkman's ill health,
and he went back to the flowers on the banks of
Jamaica Pond, and to the winter life in Boston,
where his attendance at the dinners of the Satur-
day Club, and at the meetings of the St. Botolph
Club, became gradually less and less.

In the last summers of his life he used to go
to Little Harbour, near Portsmouth, to pay a visit

300 FRANCIS PARKMAN

to his son and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Coolidge,
and their children. Mr. Coolidge lived in the
Wentworth mansion, which stands on a point of
land where the Piscataqua runs into the sea. It
is an old house, built in the reign of George II,
with a rambling roof and a quaint, romantic
aspect, telling stories of ancient days. Round
the house are old lilac bushes ; on one side is one
outlet of the river, on the other a creek, both at
low tide almost dry, laying bare sandbank, mus-
sel-bed, seaweed, rocks, and glistening, gleam-
ing mud-flats, — strangely beloved by delicate
colors that come as soon as the sea goes and
linger till it drives them off again. Here Park-
man liked to go a-fishing, — not with the fly of
the Canadian camp, but with the homely worm
or a vexed grasshopper ; on better days he got
to the shore with a cane, on worse days with a
crutch, but once safely in the little rowboat, he
grasped the oars with the comfort of mastery, and
rowed for hours at a smartish pace even wlien
against the tide, or sometimes he would throw
out his anchor and fish for cod and perch. He
enjoyed his grandchildren very much, and his
friends ; sometimes he had a chat with Mr. Bar-
rett Wendell over Cotton Mather, or with Mr.
Howells over that more modem New Englander,
Silas Lapham, or, perhaps, in default of other
society, he would play with the cat.

LATER LIFE 301

PARKMAN TO HIS SISTER — EXTRACTS.

Things are here as usual, — all the worse for
your absence ; I row every day and fish occa-
sionally. The cat had a temporary seizure, in
the nature of a mal de mer, in consequence of
imprudent indulgence in lobster. The rest of
the family are well. My eyes are less sensitive.
Knees about as when I last wrote. I sometimes
get to the wharf without the one horse shay ; but
do not like to try it often. Have not slept well
for two or three nights. Otherwise well enough.
Want very much to see you. . . .

Things go on here as usual. The afternoon
of Tuesday was extremely hot, and the night
still worse, so that sleep was out of the question.
I made up for it last night. All well. I miss
you extremely, though Katy [Mrs. Coolidge]
has taken her lessons from you very well. . . .

I have received from you a card, a note, and
the bundle, of which the last two came yester-
day. All were most welcome. I should be a very
discreet young man if I were as thoughtful for
myself as you are for me. You are the beau
ideal of sisterhood ; of which I am always affec-
tionately conscious, though I do not say much.
I slept last night with the help of "pisen."
Eyes better. Miriam [cat] has been suffering,
as Molly [his granddaughter] conjectures, from
the bite of a spider which she was munching
in the grass ; but she seems convalescent. Rest
of the family well. The shoes were as welcome
as unexpected. ...

302 FRANCIS PARKMAN

It was a great disappointment to learn that
you were not coming. Can you not come after
your stay with T, ? I took Molly out fishing on
Monday. She caught a sculpin and a pollock,
which last was served up at tea, and pronounced
by her to be one of the best fish she ever tasted.
She was delighted with her success. Sleep very
uncertain. . . .

After having been able to get about more than
for several years past, I was suddenly attacked,
three days ago, by a greatly increased lameness
of the old knee, and to-day can scarcely get out
of the house at all, especially as a severe lum-
bago is added, which makes my attempts at
locomotion rather ridiculous. No cause that I
can see. . . .

All right here. The circus came off with eclat,
and Molly was conspicuous in gymnastics. A
goat race took place with applause. Louise
[granddaughter] had a profusion of gifts, to
which I made the contribution of an india rubber
ball, chosen by her mother as of a safe nature.

Things go as well here as the extreme heat
will permit. I have got about more freely, and
missing my crutches this morning, sent Molly to
look for them. She found them in my room, as
I had inadvertently come down without them,
which causes me to pass for a bit of a humbug.

Crock [a cat] has caused some moderated sor-
row ; but I cannot wear crape as my hat is not
adapted to it. Visitors come and go constantly.
I am reasonably well and very glad to hear from
you.

LATER LIFE 303

Thus the simple chronicle of the last years
runs away. The " Half Century of Conflict "
was published in the spring of 1892 ; and it is
amusing to find the old difficulty about a name
that had bothered him with " Pontiac." First
he thought of the " Rivals," a dramatic name,
then of the " Irrepressible Conflict," a political
name, and then at last, the sister, upon whom
he had gradually come to depend to a degree
that even his strong, independent spirit at last
understood, helped him with the happy solution.
His work was then done ; there was no rea-
son why he should tarry. After his visit to the
Wentworth mansion in the summer of 1893, he
returned to Jamaica Plain ; he went rowing on
a Sunday, came back to the house, felt sick,
and went to bed. His life had run its course,
and after a brief illness, borne, like all his ills,
with dignity, gentleness, and serenity, he died on
November 8, 1893.

CHAPTEK XXV

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS

A MAN in his innermost core may be a unity, a
homogeneous something, which remains always
the same ; or if it change, changes with a uni-
form movement, the whole being altering at once.
Perhaps by " other eyes than ours " this inmost
personality may be seen; but in this world it
is invisible, or else appears in such an endless
variety of ways that we, guided by a practical
philosophy, must face it in an agnostic attitude.
Even the outer being shifts with the sun, with
the air, with breakfast coffee, with this man's
presence or that girl's absence, with hope, te-
dium, prosperity. A man appears to his acquaint-
ance this, to his neighbors that, to his friends
thus and so, to his family different, and per-
haps to the woman whom he loves different still.
Therefore a biographer but goes a-fishing, seek-
ing which of the many semblances appearing to
one or another come in his judgment closer to
that inmost self which, though the moving force
within, he cannot touch. He must catch, as best

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 305

he can, the traits, dispositions, manners, that
have left their imprint here and there and put
them together in some consistent fashion, so
that they shall indicate, if possible, the move-
ments of what he believes is the mainspring
within. This makeshift is likely, at best, to be
a botch. An honest purpose is the only excuse.

The Parkmans, though Boston bred, and an-
cestored by masters in theology, hailed from
Devon, and among their family possessions had
what need never be inquired about too curiously,
— a coat-of-arms. On this there is a chevron,
a field azure, a coronet, a helmet, and various
heraldic appendages ; but for us the significant
emblem lies in the crest, which depicts a " horse
hurrant." Here we have the true device for
Francis Parkman. Busy with little things, busy
with big things, as a boy in Medford Fells and
in his chemical laboratory, as a lad in the gym-
nasium and on the banks of the Margalloway,
as a man in his flower-garden and in his library,
in his quick opinions, in his vigorous speech, in
his wheeled chair or limping on canes, always in
his heart there galloped or chafed the "horse
hurrant."

At Paris, once, on one of the visits made in
later years in pursuit of documents, his friend
M. Margry came to dine with him and his sis-
ter. The fete was in honor of his birthday, —

306 FRANCIS PARKMAN

that memorable one crowned by the poem, —
for Margry had wished to celebrate it, and the
readiest way to forestall his gay proposals was
to invite him to the hotel. The voluble little
Frenchman talked and stayed, stayed and talked,
till Parkman had to betake himself, cane in hand,
upstairs for a few minutes' rest ; he dashed up-
stairs with his youthful ardor. Margry caught
sight of him, and nicknamed him "le cerf- volant,"
which is, I take it, a graceful French rendering
of " horse hurrant." Thus it was always. Park-
man's ardor hurled him on, obstacles stuck spurs
into him, difficulties whipped and stung him ;
onward he dashed, the hot spirit always bullying
the body, and the poor body always paying the
scot. To his daughter he was a " passionate Puri-
tan," — the phrase is just. Under his stoicism,
under his reserve, under his gentleness, all cast
in the Puritan mould, was this passionate spirit.
Chi non arde non risplende, as the Umbrian
proverb says. When he was lying on his sick-
bed, ill and helpless, a lady came to see him ;
eager to be of comfort, she said, " Oh, think of
what you have done." "Done!" he cried, his
head rising from the pillow, " done ! there is
much more still for me to do ! "

The Puritan inheritance mingles with its stead-
fastness a certain sternness not unbecoming a
man. The soldier must be stern ; and there are

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 307

certain photographs of Parkman that throw into
prominence his fine jaw, and reveal a latent
sternness needful for a lifelong battle with phy-
sical ills, and by him well put to use in resistance
to the unseen enemy that robbed him of his eyes,
his legs, and the use of his brain. That stern-
ness was but his coat of mail ; when he came
forth unarmed from his dark chamber, and was
left at ease to enjoy his friends, then, even in
later years when the gifts of youth had left him,
women young and old found him charming,
younger men admired his refined, scholarly face,
his gentle manners, and recognized too his "boy-
ish freshness of feeling and nature." To men of
his own age he was " a most entertaining com-
panion." When some gentlemen in Boston, in-
terested in art and letters, organized the St.
Botolph Club, he was chosen president, not
merely because he was a distinguished man of
letters, but because he was a good fellow and
delightful company.

He belonged to the generation that in creed
represented the reaction against Puritanism ; he
could remember the pinch of the vanishing Pu-
ritan oppression, and was not born late enough
to look at it with the eyes of the succeeding gen-
eration, — those eyes to which that generation
modestly ascribes such perfect vision. He was
strongly averse to the Puritan creed, to their

308 FRANCIS PARKMAN

theocracy, their narrowness, their injustice, and
perhaps did not see how closely their virtues
resembled his own, — courage, fortitude, love
of truth as they saw it, and a passionate ardor
in pursuing their ends. Like them, he went un-
troubled by doubts ; he made up his mind and
was indifferent to disagreement. Like them, he
was immensely conservative: the inheritance from
the past must be held to; the dreams of men,
discontented with the lot meted to them and
their fellows, — dreams of new forms of society,
new conceptions of social order, were to him
delusions of vanity rigidly to be pushed away.
He deemed New England of a generation or
more ago " perhaps the most successful demo-
cracy on earth," but the growth and development
of modern democracy filled him with detesta-
tion ; he beheld in it " organized ignorance, led
by unscrupulous craft, and marching, amid the
applause of fools, under the flag of equal rights."
He felt strongly on new theories, just as his an-
cestors the Cottons, or their friends the Mathers,
would have felt, and he spoke forcibly just as
they would have done. " Out of the wholesome
fruits of the earth, and the staff of life itself,
the perverse chemistry of man distills delirious
vapors, which, condensed and bottled, exalt his
brain with glorious fantasies, and then leave
him in the mud." So it is (for example), he

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 309

says, with those deluded people who are in favor
of woman suffrage.

Not that he did not admire and respect wo-
men, — he did, for cause passing common, — but
he did not like the notion of woman suffrage.
On a loose sheet shut into a notebook kept in
Bemis Camps in 1886 is this entry : " The first
and fundamental requisites of women, as of men,
are physical, moral, and mental health. It is for
men to rear the political superstructure ; it is
for women to lay its foundation. God rules the
world by fixed laws, moral and physical ; and
according as men and women observe or violate
these laws will be the destinies of communities
and individuals for this world and the next.
The higher education is necessary to the higher
order of women to the end that they may dis-
charge their function of civilizing agent ; but it
should be cautiously limited to the methods and
degree that consist with the discharge of their
functions of maternity. Health of body and mind
is the one great essential. In America men
are belittled and cramped by the competition of
business, from which women are, or ought to be,
free. Hence they have opportunities of moral
and mental growth better in some respects than
those of men."

There was a grim vigor in his speech on these
distasteful subjects, that betrayed the Puritan

310 FRANCIS PARKMAN

character. Perhaps this masculine vigor, this
rude immalleability, make a special charm to a
younger generation bred upon a somewhat milk
and water skepticism for principles and theories,
whether old or new. He was masculine in his
outlook on life and on all its chief matters. He
despised effeminacy, self-coddling, comfort-lov-
ing ; hardly less also he disliked the coddling of
others, the " effusive humanitarianism '" of New
England " melting into sentimentality at a tale
of woe," as he called it, that tended to concen-
trate interest and sympathy on the feeble rather
than on the strong and self-sustaining. He liked
a masculine judgment, readiness not untempered
by a heady vigor, but devoid of sentimental sur-
charge ; he could not tolerate fanaticism. There-
fore in the slavery days he was out of patience
with the abolitionists of Massachusetts, men, as
he thought, of a feminine intemperance, of un-
masculine mawkishness, who neglected the real
ideals of the country for the benefit of a few
scattered fugitives of an inferior race, which
had not the pluck to strike a blow for itself.

It was this belief that men should be mascu-
line that led him to the natural corollary that
women should be feminine. Like other men of
a male temper, he enjoyed the distinctive fem-
inine traits, unreasoning sympathy, instinctive
comprehension, absolute self-abnegation, delicate

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 311

sensibility. He took great pleasure in the soci-
ety of women, and in their company was wont
to drop most freely the outer semblance of the
warrior, that blending of sternness and determi-
nation, which others sometimes found in him.
This wish always to keep the two types, mu-
tually complementary, separate and apart, lay
at the bottom of his putting Washington so
much higher than Lincoln as a hero ; for the
womanly tenderness of Lincoln seemed to him
out of place. He liked a man who could get
angry in time of need, and vent his anger in
blunt, rough words.

By his creed and by his practice he belonged
to the sect of the Stoics, a disciple worthy of
the sect's happiest days ; his favorite virtue was
fortitude, and of all men of philosophic mind,
Marcus Aurelius was his accepted pattern. In
his youth he jotted down in his private diary
his resistance to the strongest temptation that
assails the body ; and his manhood was a con-
stant obedience to self-restraint, in order that he
might fulfill his work. In spirit he was always
mindful of the noble emperor's words, "Take
care always to remember that you are a man and
a Eoman; and let every action be done with
perfect and unaffected gravity, humanity, free-
dom, and justice." His friends bear witness that
again and again he had to restrain his vehement

312 FRANCIS PARKMAN

impulses to rash speech or action; again and
again with a calm exterior batten the hatches on
a mutinous mood. This antique Puritan, with
fire fetched from Devon burning within him,
took care to remember that he was a man and
a gentleman, and bore himself with gentleness
and justice.

Perhaps his aristocratic bent helped him to
self-control. In this bent there was no touch of
vainglory, no trace of a willingness to live upon
the good report of ancestors ; but a notion, in
part begotten no doubt from the general social
theories prevalent in the stately old house in
Bowdoin Square, in part based on reasoning,
and justified by his purpose to prove that his
place was beside the best. We may perceive his
views of men, when he speaks of the rose : —

Like all things living, in the world of mind
or of matter, thfe rose is beautified, enlarged, and
strengthened by a course of judicious and per-
severing culture, continued through successive
generations. The art of horticulture is no lev-
eler. Its ti'iumphs are achieved by rigid systems
of selection and rejection, founded always on the
broad basis of intrinsic worth. The good culti-
vator propagates no plants but the best. He
carefully chooses those marked out by conspicu-
ous merit ; protects them from the pollen of in-
ferior sorts; intermarries them, perhaps, with
other varieties of equal vigor and beauty ; saves

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 313

their seed, and raises from it another generation.
From the new plants thus obtained he again
chooses the best, and repeats with them the same
process. Thus the rose and other plants are
brought slowly to their perfect development. It
is in vain to look for much improvement by
merely cultivating one individual. We cultivate
the parent, and look for our reward in the off-
spring.

Such was his theory, and if we meet with a
little lift of the eyebrows, a little look askant,
when he regards nouveaux riches^ we know that
the movement was due not to snobbery, but to
what he deemed personal and inherited experi-
ence. In a notebook kept while he was overseer
of Harvard College, there are memoranda of
notes of opinions gathered from the older pro-
fessors ; and among other opinions is this, which
evidently squared satisfactorily with his own
conclusions, — " The best class of students are
those of families of inherited wealth or easy
means, sons of nouveaux riches do not make
scholars." But such a feeling never degener-
ated into a class spirit. Speaking on a subject
in which he took a deep interest, he says : —

The public schools, moreover, are democratic
institutions in the best sense of the words ; and,
on a broader and more comprehensive scale,
they produce the effects which are said to be the
peculiar advantages of the great English en-

314 FRANCIS PARKMAN

dowed schools. They bring together children of
different walks in life, and weaken mutual pre-
judices by force of mutual contact, teach the rich
to know the poor, and the poor to know the rich,
and so sap the foundations of class jealousies
and animosities. The common schools are cru-
cibles in which races, nationalities, and creeds
are fused together till all alike become Ameri-
can.

But his books reveal his character better than
I can suggest it, not only by their obvious admi-
rations, but by their reticence. The historian
never mentions himself except to point a foot-
note ; he wears the dignified ermine of historic
impartiality, but a generous heart cannot hide
itself. By his loves he shall be known. Nobody
can read the pages on Champlain, on La Salle,
Brebeuf , or Wolfe, and not know that these are
the heroes whose high deeds quickened a kin-
dred soul.

Yet the reader would not know, nor would an
acquaintance in life have guessed, that this stu-
dious gentleman, with his firm jaw and his schol-
arly brow, of decided views and occasional bursts
of vigorous speech, was tenderly sensitive to sym-
pathy. The show of unwarranted compassion or
officious pity from some person outside the inner
circle of those that loved him was coldly pushed
aside ; but real sympathy, offered as one manly
man may tjffer it to another, or tendered by a

CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 315

woman who had the right to tender it, when ex-
pressed with reticence and restraint, or indicated
in action rather than speech, went straight to his
heart. It was more acceptable to him even than
fame, and he was very ambitious.

CHAPTER XXVI

A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTEB

The story of a scholar is uneventful ; it is made
up of travels, rummagings, notes, dictation, and
printing; it lies far from the madding crowd,
remote from the bustle of politics and the creak-
ing machinery of national life. Parkman's infirm-
ities intensified this seclusion ; they forced him
to sport his oak against all except extreme inti-
macy, and intimacy is shy of the chronicler ; but
a biography with no allusion to intimacy is but
a shell, a case, a cover, and lets the reader carry
away an impression that the man had none of
those close affections that reveal themselves in
trifling commerce, in looks, in smiles, and silence.
This intimacy of Parkman's needs a pen plucked
" from an angel's wing," for his deepest feelings
radiated from his presence, and no one could say
just how they had been expressed ; and part of
it should be told by Robin Goodfellow, for his
playfulness, his fun, his fondness for nonsense,
pass in the telling.

He spent his life between the town house —

A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 317

his mother's during her life, then his sister's —
and his country house at Jamaica Plain; they
were his guests in summer, he theirs in winter.
At 50 Chestnut Street he had the top floor as his
apartment, his bedroom to the south, his study
to the north. The stairs that lead thither have a
half-fulfilled inclination to wind ; in later years, a
little elevator for his private use spared him the
stairs he often could not climb. The study was
his home, for illness prevented him from taking
an ordinary part in family life. He came down
to breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but was gen-
erally silent, and went up again directly after
the meal was finished. In the study he spent
his time, working when he could. One winter
he employed a young woman, a public school-
teacher, as his amanuensis ; she was wholly ig-
norant of French, and read the copied archives
with a pure Yankee pronunciation. But all the
rest of the time, his sister or some member of
his family wrote for him while he dictated. In-
somnia kept him awake at night, and during
these wakeful hours, and also in the long periods
of repose during the day, he would think of his
writing, and put sentence to sentence and para-
graph to paragraph, so that when he began to
dictate he proceeded in orderly progress as if he
were reading from a book. Thus, barring the
interruptions of illness, he proceeded day by day,

318 FRANCIS PARKMAN

until chapter was added to chapter, volume to
volume, and the whole at last finished.

The "gridirons " were used in earlier years, at
times from 1850 to 1860. There were three of
these in all, very much alike, the later ones hav-
ing being made to improve on the earlier model.
The last is a little metal frame twelve inches by
eight, with wire bars running across like lines
on ruled paper, some sixteen in all. Underneath
this grill the sheet of paper was slipped in, with
a metal back to write on. With this contrivance,
following the wire by touch, he could write in
the dark without looking. It is an eloquent wit-
ness, —

" Stone walls do not a prison make
Nor iron bars a cage," —

nor blindness, nor pain, nor manifold privations
to the man of heroic temper.

In the evening Miss Parkman would read
aloud to him books of various kinds, novels often.
He liked a good, strong story, like "Monte
Cristo" or "The Wandering Jew," or some
classic like Miss Austen's novels or " Evelina ; "
just as in early days he had loved Cooper and
Scott. Poetry he liked, but not all. Wordsworth
he could not bear, Byron he enjoyed ; but he al-
most always had a volume of Shakespeare on his
table, often open ; sometimes he was able to read
a few lines, but commonly the silent presence was

A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 319

enough. One of his last gifts to his wife was a
fine copy of Milton.

After his mother died, two nieces, the daugh-
ters of his sister Caroline, Mrs. Cordner, were
frequent inmates of the house, and they, with
Miss Parkman, were the only confidantes of his
wilder nonsense. To his friends he passed as a
man rather lacking in humor, rather inclined to
take statements au pied de la lettre ; but in the
summer time, the tap of the cane coming down-
stairs was the reveille for jokes and nonsense.
The audience was on tiptoe with expectation,
and the performance was always received with
fullest appreciation ; and even if brother and
sister were alone, the humor, if less boisterous,
was gay. The cheer was no counterfeit, but born
of an honest gratitude for the happy things in
life; it also served to hide his pain from the
others, and even from himself, for he could not
take part in ordinary conversation, and silence
had a painful physical effect on him.

As it was with his nonsense, so too it was with
his intimate tenderness, only those who lived
under the same roof with him realized it to the
full. His daughters and his little nieces used to
make him visits twice a year, — two months in
the spring and two in the autumn ; they used to
be at that breakfast-table, giggling for the non-
sense to come, and they knew how to read the

320 FRANCIS PARKMAN

tenderness in his eye, and did not need to wait
for words, for they knew that the " horse hur-
rant " had great difficulty with those most clumsy
instruments for expressing tenderness — English
monosyllables. The visits were always at Jamaica
Pond, and one of them would row with him in
the boat, or go a- visiting the roses and the lilies ;
or he would help them to disentangle the fish-
line and bait the hook, or, it might be, arrange
the aquatic flora and fauna in their little aqua-
rium ; or when they said good-by, he would go
to the greenhouse to choose a plant for them ;
and here they found that the language of flowers
was also far better than that of the dictionary.
These nieces, too, bear witness to his triumphant
self-mastery; during all the years from their
childhood to womanhood, — in town, when they
were not staying in the same house, they lived
across the street and ran in daily, — during all i
these years they never once heard an impatient
word fall from his lips, they never once saw an
impatient look; they merely could divine that
he would not let them be troubled by his pain.
This is the triumph of stoicism, of the sweet
stoicism of Marcus Aurelius, mingled in no
small measure with the teachings of the Gali-
lean fisherman.*

Thus I come to the end of this uneventful
story ; but there are a few more pages to com-

A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 321

plete this little picture of his later life and its
intimacies. At Jamaica Plain, in those latter
days, — when gardening and horticultural prizes
were things of the past, — every morning he and
his sister went rowing. This pond is not very
big, and does not afford a great variety of scene
nor of incident, and the dreary repetition had to
be enriched by art. Here Parkman gave loose
rein to his boyish imagination. Every afternoon
they went for a drive, with Michael, the gardener,
— known to his intimates as Mike, — driAring.
Parkman had no natural love for a carriage ; the
" horse hurrant " despised the slow and tedious
monotony of the inevitable road, but his fancy
filled the borders of the way with historic scenes,
and would not permit his helplessness to darken
their horizon.

Parkman was very fond of cats, and though
they were rigidly excluded from the library, in
the evening there was always a cat — Peter or
Sarah or Molly — who sat on his lap, or curled
on the rug and purred its thoughts into a most
sympathetic ear. He had always had a weakness
for them. Once when Miss Parkman was in
Paris, we find him writing, 1872, a year or two
after the siege of Paris, " You are also to be
congratulated on the discovery of two Angoras,
which I trust were favorable specimens. There
used to be a good one in the lodge of the con-

322 FRANCIS PARKMAN

cierge at No. 123 Av. de Champs Ely sees, but
the accidents of war may have removed her from
the sphere which she adorned and consigned her
to the frying-pan."

He makes a point of the Angora blood here,
but that is an affectation ; igood cats, bad cats,
lean cats, fat cats, well-bred or wayfarers, ears
torn, tailless, young and old, had some claim
on his interest. He liked nothing better than to
sit in summer time on the veranda festooned
with wisteria, and stroke a little cat, and listen
to its purring, and help it to make itself per-
fectly comfortable on his lap. Not only cats,
but pictures of cats, photographs of cats, effigies
of cats abounded. In especial there was one
flannel likeness, whiskered with red silk, eyed
with green beads, and featured pathetically with
cotton thread, presented to him by his little
granddaughter. When he went to Portsmouth
to pay her his summer visit, he tucked this flan-
nel slander of a cat under his coat and brought
it forth triumphantly, she believing that it had
been cherished next his waistcoat all the winter.
He had played the same comedy with the child's
mother when she was a little girl.

My dear Katy, — Me and Creem are wel.
We send u our luv. We do not fite now. We
have milk every day. One day, when i was play-
ing under the evergreens, Creem would not lap

A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 323

her milk till she had come out and told me that
it was reddy, and we both went and lapped it
together. Papa holds me every night to keep
me tame. . . . Yors till deth,

Flora, her m x ark [mark].

(I struggled so, my paw has not made a good
mark.)

P. S. Plese bring me a skulpin.

P. P. S. Papa says to thank Grace for her
letter, and he is glad she is having such a good
time.

N. B. This is a lok of my fer, with best luv
of Yors in haste. Puss. [Lock of fur fastened
on.]

The cats returned his affection, and loved to
curl their backs, and rub up against his legs.

His own children, after their mother's death,
had gone to live with their aunt, Miss Bigelow,
who brought them up as if they had been her
own, so that Parkman was spared the care he
coiUd not give and yet had the pleasure of see-
ing them constantly, for Dr. Bigelow's house was
hard by. In the early summer and again in the
autumn they made him a visit at Jamaica Plain.
The elder daughter, Grace, took her chief plea-
sure in the pond and the boat, but the younger,
Katy, liked the garden best, and every morn-
ing trudged after her father, basket in hand, as
he walked down the paths with his campstool
under his arm on the matinal expedition to cut

324 FRANCIS PARKMAN

flowers for the house or to send to his friends.
Whatever different occupations the three might
find during the day, at dusk they met at his sofa
in the " ante-room," where he narrated story after .
story with Grace sitting beside him, and Katy
perched on the back of the sofa. He inspired
them with deep respect, affection, and admira-
tion.

In later years, after his daughters were mar-
ried, when on the whole he suffered less and had
the sustaining sense that his work was substan-
tially finished, he enjoyed his grandchildren very
much, letting them see, perhaps, more of his
tender, playful side than he had been able to
show to their parents. So his life went by, loved
by his cats, his family, his friends, his kindred,
and his fellow historians ; and it was cheered
and brightened by kind and generous expressions
of affection, on such occasions as when he re-
signed from the presidency of the St. Botolph
Club, or attained his seventieth year.

I am not sure that I have spoken enough of
his gentleness, and I have said too little of his
modesty. John Fiske was once delivering a lec-
ture on " America's Place in History," at Haw-
thorne Hall, in Boston; he alluded to Pontiac
and his conspiracy, and said that it was memo-
rable as " the theme of one of the most brilliant
and fascinating books that have ever been writ-

A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 325

ten by any historian since the days of Herodotus."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when
he caught sight of Parkman in the audience. He
says, " I shall never forget the sudden start which
he gave, and the heightened color of his noble
face, with its curious look of surprise and plea-
sure, an expression as honest and simple as one
might witness in a rather shy schoolboy sud-
denly singled out for praise. I was so glad that
I had said what I did without thinking of his
hearing me."

Parkman's memory is linked forever with the
first great epoch in American history; and a
memorial in stone is to be placed near the edge
of Jamaica Pond hard by the dock from which
he used to push his little boat when he and his
sister went for their daily row around the pond.
Two great monoliths will stand, one on each
side of a stone seat ; in one the sculptor has
carved the figure of an Indian, in the other an
image of the Spirit of the Woods, — the com-
rades of Parkman's boyhood.

After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Val-
iant-for- Truth was taken with a summons. . . .
When he understood it, he called for his friends,
and told them of it. Then said he, ..." though
with great difficulty I have got hither, yet now
I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been
at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to

326 FRANCIS PARKMAN

him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and
my courage and skill to him that can get it. My
marks and scars I carry with me." . . .

When the day that he must go hence was
come, many accompanied him to the river-side,
into which as he went he said, " Death, where
is thy sting?" And as he went down deeper,
he said, " Grave, where is thy victory ? " So
he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded
on the other side.

APPENDIX

Letter written to Mr. Martin Brimmer in 1886,
with instructions to be kept imtil after Park-
man's death, and then to be given to the Mas-
sachusetts Historical Society : —

My dear Brimmer, — I once told you that I
should give you some account of the circumstances
under which my books were written. Here it is, with
some preliminary pages to explain the rest. I am
sorry there is so much of it : —

Causes antedating my birth gave me constitutional
liabilities to which I largely ascribe the mischief that
ensued. As a child I was sensitive and restless, rarely
iU, but never robust. At eight years I was sent to a
farm belonging to my maternal grandfather on the
outskirts of the extensive tract of wild and rough
woodland now called Middlesex Fells. I walked
twice a day to a school of high but undeserved repu-
tation about a mile distant, in the town of Medford.
Here I learned very little, and spent the intervals of
schooling more profitably in collecting eggs, insects,
and reptiles, trapping squirrels and woodchucks, and
making persistent though rarely fortunate attempts

328 APPENDIX

to kill birds with arrows. After four years of this
rustication I was brought back to Boston, when I was
unhappily seized with a mania for experiments in
chemistry involving a lonely, confined, unwholesome
sort of life, baneful to body and mind. This lasted
till the critical age of fifteen, when a complete change
came over me — I renounced crucibles and retorts
and took to books ; read poetry and fancied for a
while that I could write it ; conceived literary ambi-
tions, and, at the same time, began to despise a liter-
ary life and to become enamored of the backwoods.
This new passion — which proved permanent — was
no doubt traceable in part to fond recollections of the
Middlesex Fells, as well as to one or two journeys
which I was permitted to make into some of the
wilder parts of New England. It soon got full pos-
session of me, and mixed itself with all my literary
aspirations. In this state of mind I went to college,
where I divided my time about equally between books
and active exercises, of which last I grew inordinately
fond, and in which I was ambitious beyond measure
to excel.

My favorite backwoods were always in my thoughts.
At first I tried to persuade myself that I could woo
this new mistress in verse ; then I came down to fic-
tion, and at last reached the sage though not flattering
conclusion that if I wanted to build in her honor any
monument that would stand, I must found on solid
fact. Before the end of the sophomore year my vari-
ous schemes had crystallized into a plan of writing
the story of what was thus known as the " Old French

APPENDIX 329

War ; " that is, the war that ended in the conquest
of Canada ; for here, as it seemed to me, the forest
drama was more stirring and the forest stage more
thronged with appropriate actors than in any other
passage of our history. It was not till some years
later that I enlarged the plan to include the whole
course of the American conflict between France and
England ; or, in other words, the history of the Amer-
ican forest ; for this was the light in which I regarded
it. My theme fascinated me, and I was haunted with
wilderness images day and night.

From this time forward, two ideas possessed me.
One was to paint the forest and its tenants in true
and vivid colors ; the other was to realize a certain
ideal of manhood, a little mediaeval, but nevertheless
good. Feeling that I fell far short of it, I proceeded
in extreme dissatisfaction to apply heroic remedies.
I held the creed that the more hard knocks a man
gets, whether in mind or body, the better for him,
provided always that he takes them without flinching ;
and as the means of forcing myself up to the required
standard, I put my faith in persistent violence which
I thought energy. I held that the true aim of life
was not happiness but achievement ; had profound re-
spect for physical strength and hardihood when joined
with corresponding qualities of character ; took plea-
sure in any moderate hardship, scorned invalidism of
all kinds, and was full of the notion, common enough
with boys of a certain sort, that the body will always
harden and toughen with exercise and exposure. I
remember to have had a special aversion for the Rev.

330 ' APPENDIX

Dr. Channiiig, not for his heresies, but for his meager
proportions, sedentary habits, environment of close
air and female parishioners, and his preachments of
the superiority of mind over matter ; for, while I had
no disposition to gainsay his proposition in the ab-
stract, it was a cardinal point with me that while the
mind remains a habitant of earth, it cannot dispense
with a sound material basis, and that to neglect and
decry the corporeal part in the imagined interest of
the spiritual is proof of a nature either emasculate
or fanatical. For my own part, instead of neglect-
ing, I fell to lashing and spurring it into vigor and
prosperity.

Meanwhile I diligently pursued my literary scheme.
While not exaggerating the importance of my sub-
ject, I felt that it had a peculiar life of its own, of
which I caught tantalizing glimpses, to me irresistibly
attractive. I felt far from sure that I was equal to
the task of rekindling it, calling out of the dust the
soul and body of it and making it a breathing reality.
I was like some smitten youth plagued with harrow-
ing doubts as to whether he can win the mistress of
his fancy. I tried to gauge my own faculties, and was
displeased with the result. Nevertheless, I resolved
that if my steed was not a thoroughbred, I would at
least get his best paces out of him, and I set myself
to a strenuous course of training for the end in view.
A prime condition of success was an unwearied delv-
ing into dusty books and papers, a kind of work
which I detested ; and I came to the agreeable yet
correct conclusion that the time for this drudgery was

APPENDIX 331

not come ; that my present business was, so to speak,
to impregnate myself with my theme, fill my mind
with impressions from real life, range the woods, mix
with Indians and frontiersmen, visit the scenes of the
events I meant to describe, and so bring myself as
near as might be to the times with which I was to
deal. Accordingly, I spent all my summer vacations
in the woods or in Canada, at the same time reading
such books as I thought suited, in a general way, to
help me towards my object. I pursued these lucubra-
tions with a pernicious intensity, keeping my plans
and purposes to myself, while passing among my com-
panions as an outspoken fellow.

The danger into which I was drifting rose from the
excessive stimulus applied to nerves which had too
much stimulus of their own. I was not, however, at
all nervous in the sense in which that term is com-
monly understood, and I regarded nervous people
with more pity than esteem. The mischief was work-
ing underground. If it had come to the surface, the
effects would probably have been less injurious. I
flattered myself I was living wisely because I avoided
the more usual excesses, but I fell into others quite
as baneful, riding my hobbies with unintermitting
vehemence, and carrying bodily exercise to a point
where it fatigues instead of strengthening. In short,
I burned the candle at both ends.

The first hint that my method of life was not to
prove a success occurred in my junior year, in the
shape of a serious disturbance in the action of the
heart, of which the immediate cause was too violent

332 APPENDIX

exercise in \he gymnasium. I was thereupon ordered
to Europe, where I spent the greater part of a year,
never losing sight of my plans and learning much
that helped to forward them. Returning in time to
graduate with my class, I was confronted with the
inevitable question, What next ? The strong wish of
my father that I should adopt one of the so-called regu-
lar professions determined me to enter the Harvard
Law School.

Here, while following the prescribed courses at a
quiet pace, I entered in earnest on two other courses,
one of general history, the other of Indian history and
ethnology, and at the same time studied diligently the
models of English style ; which various pursuits were
far from excluding the pleasures of society. In the
way of preparation and preliminary to my principal
undertaking, I now resolved to write the history of
the Indian War under Pontiac, as offering peculiar
opportunities for exhibiting for§^_Jife and Indian
character ; and to this end I began to collect mate-
rials by travel and correspondence. The labor was not
slight, for the documents were widely scattered on
both sides of the Atlantic ; but at the beginning of
1846 the collection was nearly complete.

I had been conscious for some time of an over-
stimulated condition of the brain. While constantly
reminding myself that the task before me was a long
one, that haste was foUy, and that the slow way was
the surer and better one, I felt myself spurred for-
ward irresistibly. It was like a rider whose horse has
got the bit between his teeth, and who, while seeing

APPENDIX 333

his danger, cannot stop. As the mischief gave no
outward sign, nobody was aware of it but myself. At
last, however, a weakness of the eyes, which was one
of its symptoms, increased so fast that I was forced
to work with the eyes of others. I now resolved to
execute a scheme which I had long meditated. This
was to visit the wild tribes of the far West, and live
among them for a time, as a necessary part of train-
ing for my work. I hoped by exchanging books and
documents for horse and rifle to gain three objects at
once — health, use of sight, and personal knowledge
of savage life. The attempt did not prosper. I was
attacked on the plains by a wasting and dangerous
disorder, which had not ceased when I returned to
the frontier five months later. In the interval I was
for some weeks encamped with a roving band of Sioux
at the Rocky Mountains, with one rough though not
unfaithful attendant. It would have been suicidal
to accept the part of an invalid, and I was sometimes
all day in the saddle, when in civilized life complete
rest would have been thought indispensable. I lived
like my red companions, and sometimes joined them
in their hunting, with the fatiguing necessity of being
always armed and on the watch. To one often giddy
with the exhaustion of disease, the strain on the sys-
tem was gi'eat. After going back to civilization, the
malady gradually subsided, after setting in action a
train of other disorders which continued its work. In
a year or more I was brought to a state of nervous
prostration that debarred all mental effort, and was
attended with a weakness of sight that for a time

334 APPENDIX

threatened blindness. Before reaching this pass I
wrote the " Oregon Trail " by dictation. Complete
repose, to me the most detestable of prescriptions, was
enjoined upon me, and from intense activity I found
myself doomed to helpless inaction. Such chance of
success as was left lay in time, patience, and a studied
tranquillity of spirit ; and I felt, with extreme disgust,
that there was nothing for it but to renounce past
maxims and habits and embrace others precisely the
opposite. An impulse seized me to return to the
Rocky Mountains, try a hair of the dog that bit me,
and settle squarely the question to be or not to be. It
was the time of the Mexican War, and I well remem-
ber with what envious bitterness I looked at a col-
ored print in a shop window, representing officers
and men carrying a field battery into action at the
battle of Buena Vista. I believe that I would will-
ingly have borne any amount of bodily pain, pro-
vided only I could have brought with it the power
of action.

After a while — as anything was better than idle-
ness— I resolved on cautiously attempting to make
use of the documents already collected for the " Con-,
spiracy of Pontiac." They were read to me by friends
and relatives at times when the brain was least rebel-
lious, and I wrote without use of sight, by means of
a sort of literary gridiron or frame of parallel wires,
laid on the page to guide the hand. For some months
the average rate of progress did not exceed three or
four lines a day, and the chapters thus composed were
afterwards rewritten. If, as I was told, brain work

APPENDIX 335

was poison, the dose was homeopathic and the effect
was good, for within a year I could generally work,
with the eyes of others, two hours or more a day, and
in about three years the book was finished.

I then began to gather materials for the earlier
volumes of the series of France and England in North
America, though, as I was prevented from traveling
by an extreme sensitiveness of the retina which made
sunlight insupportable, the task of collection seemed
hopeless. I began, however, an extensive correspond-
ence, and was flattering myself that I might succeed
at last, when I was attacked with an effusion of water
on the knee, which subsided in two or three months,
then returned, kept me a prisoner for two years, and
deprived me of necessary exercise for several years
more. The consequence was that the devil which had
been partially exorcised returned triumphant. The
evil now centred in the head, producing cerebral
symptoms of such a nature that, in 1853, the physi-
cian who attended me at the time, after cautious cir-
cumlocution, said in a low and solemn voice that his
duty required him to warn me that death would prob-
ably follow within six months, and stood amazed at
the smile of incredulity with which the announcement
was received. I had known my enemy longer than
he, and learned that its mission was not death, but
only torment. Five years later another physician —
an eminent physiologist of Paris, where I then was —
tried during the whole winter to discover the par-
ticular manifestations of the insanity winch he was
convinced must needs .attend the symptoms he had

336 APPENDIX

observed, and told me at last what he had been about.
" What conclusion have you reached ? " I asked.
" That I never knew a saner man in my life."
" But," said I, *' what is the chance that this brain of
mine will ever get into working order again ? " He
shook his head and replied, " It is not impossible " —
with which I was forced to content myself.

Between 1852 and 1860 this cerebral rebellion
passed through great and seemingly capricious fluctu-
ations. It had its ebbs and floods. Slight and some-
times imperceptible causes would produce an access
wluch sometimes lasted with little respite for months.
When it was in its milder moods I used the opportu-
nity to collect material and prepare ground for future
work, should work ever become practicable. When it
was at its worst the condition was not enviable. I could
neither listen to reading nor engage in conversation,
even of the lightest. Sleep was diflBcult and was often
banished entirely for one or two nights, during which
the brain was apt to be in a state of abnormal activ-
ity, which had to be repressed at any cost, since
thought produced the intensest torture. The effort
required to keep the irritated organ quiet was so fa-
tiguing that I occasionally rose and spent hours in the
open air, where I found distraction and relief in
watching the policemen and the tramps on the malls
of Boston Common, at the risk of passing for a tramp
myself. Towards the end of the night this cerebral
excitation would seem to tire itself out, and gave
place to a condition of weight and oppression much
easier to bear;

APPENDIX 337

Having been inclined to look with sliglit esteem on
invalidism, the plight in which I found myself was
mortifying ; but I may fairly say that I never called
on others to bear the burden of it, and always kept
up a show of equanimity and good humor. The worst
strain on these was when the Civil War broke out and
I was doomed to sit an idle looker on.

After it became clear that literary work must be
indefinitely suspended, I found a substitute in horticul-
ture ; and am confident that I owe it in good measure
to the kindly influence of that gracious pursuit that
the demon in the brain was gradually soothed into
comparative quiet. In 1861 I was able, with frequent
interruptions, to take up my work again. At the same
time there was such amendment as regards sight that
I could bear the sunlight without blinking, and read
for several minutes at once without stopping to rest
the eyes, though my chief dependence was still in
those of others. In 1865 " The Pioneers " was fin-
ished, and the capacity of work both of brain and eye
had much increased. " The Jesuits " was finished in
1867 ; " The Discovery of the Great West," in 1869 ;
" The Old Regime," in 1874 ; and " Frontenac," in
1877. " Montcalm and Wolfe," which involved more
labor, was not ready till 1884.

While engaged on these books I made many jour-
neys in the United States and Canada in search o£
material, and went four times to Europe with a simi-
lar object. The task of exploring archives and col-
lecting documents, to me repulsive at the best, was,
under the circumstances, difficult, and would have

338 APPENDIX

been impossible but for the aid of competent assistants
working under my direction.

Taking the last forty years as a whole, the capacity
of literary work which during that time has fallen to
my share has, I am confident, been considerably less
than a fourth part of what it would have been under
normal conditions. Whether the historical series in
hand will ever be finished I do not know, but I shall
finish it if I can. Yours faithfully,

F. Parkman.

Jauaica Finals, 28 Oct., 1886.

APPENDIX 339

POEM BY DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Read at the Special Meeting of the Massachusetts Historical
Society in Memory of Francis Parkman, November 21, 1893.

He rests from toil ; the portals of the tomb
Close on the last of those unwearying hands

That wove their pictured webs in History's loom,
Rich with the memories of three mighty lands.

One wrought the record of the Royal Pair
Who saw the great Discoverer's sail unfurled,

Happy his more than regal prize to share,
The spoils, the wonders of the sunset world.

There, too, he found his theme ; upreared anew.
Our eyes beheld the vanished Aztec shrines.

And all the silver splendors of Peru

That lured the conqueror to her fatal mines.

No less remembered he who told the tale
Of empire wrested from the strangling sea ;

Of Leyden's woe, that turned his readers pale,
The price of unborn freedom yet to be ;

Who taught the New World what the Old could teach ;

Whose silent hero, peerless as our own.
By deeds that mocked the feeble breath of speech

Called up to life a State without a Throne.

As year by year his tapestry unrolled.

What varied wealth its growing length displayed 1

What long processions flamed in cloth of gold !
What stately forms their flowing robes arrayed I

Not such the scenes out later craftsman drew ;
Not such the shapes his darker pattern held ;

340 APPENDIX

A deeper shadow lent its sober hue,

A sadder tale his tragic task compelled.

He told the red man's story ; far and wide

He searched the unwritten records of his race ;

He sat a listener at the Sachem's side,

He tracked the hunter through his wildwood chase.

High o'er his head the soaring eagle screamed ;

The wolf's long howl rang nightly ; through the vale
Tramped the lone bear ; the panther's eyeballs gleamed ;

The bison's gallop thundered on the gale.

Soon o'er the horizon rose the cloud of strife, —
Two proud, strong nations battling for the prize.

Which swarming host should mould a nation's life ;
Which royal banner flout the western skies.

Long raged the conflict ; on the crimson sod
Native and alien joined their hosts in vain ;

The lilies withered where the Lion trod,
Till Peace lay panting on the ravaged plain.

A nobler task was theirs who strove to win

The blood-stained heathen to the Christian fold,

To free from Satan's clutch the slaves of sin ;
Their labors, too, with loving grace he told.

Halting with feeble step, or bending o'er

The sweet-breathed roses which he loved so well.

While through long years his burdening cross he bore,
From those firm lips no coward accents fell.

A brave, bright memory ! his the stainless shield

No shame defaces and no envy mars !
When our far future's record is unsealed.

His name will shine among its morning stars.

INDEX

INDEX

Abbotsford, 114.

Adams, Henry, letter to Parkman,

255.
Angier, John, school of, 20, 21.

Bancroft, George, letter to Park-
man, 258.

Batiscan River, 281.

Bentley, Richard, 226.

Big Crow, Indian chief, 175 et seq.

Bigelow, Catherine ScoUay, 216.
See also Parkman, Mrs.

Book of Roses, 236, 240.

Bowdoin Sqimre, No. 5, 25.

Brimmer, Martin, autobiographical
letter to, 327-338.

Brown-S6quard, Dr., 232.

Canada, Parkman's first visit to,
42 ; second visit, 59 ; friends in,
263-280.

Carver, Capt. Jonathan, nom de
plume of Parkman, 133, 134.

Cary, George B., letter from Park-
man, 130.

Casgraiu, Abb6, 267-280.

Cats, Parkman's fondness for, 322.

Chatillon, Henry, 150, 163.

Chestnut St., No. 50, 252, 317.

Child, F. J., letters to Parkman,
229, 230.

Clark, L. Gaylord, editor of Knick-
erbocker MngaziTie, 133, 134, 202.

Clermont-Tonnerre, Comtesse de,
292.

Convent, Roman, 96-103.

Coolldge, Dr. Algernon, 299.

Coolidge, J. Templeman, 293, 300.

Curtis, G. W., 228.

Dionne, M. N. E., quoted, 266.
Dwight, Edmund, letters to Park-
man, 208-211.

Elliott, Dr. Samuel M. , 193.
Ellis, Dr. G. E., autobiographical
letter to, 246.

Famham, C. H., 281.

Fenwick, Rev. John E. A., 293,294.

Fiske, John, 3, 4, 226, 298, 324.

Fort WiUiam Henry, 34.

Fourierites, 122.

Prontenac and New France, 248.

Garrison, WiUiam Lloyd, 220.

Gibraltar, 69.

Godkin, E. L., letter to Parkman,

256.
Gould, Dr. G. M., 247.

Hale, George 8., 56 ; letters from

Parkman, 126, 129, 135 ; letters to

Parkman, 127, 128.
Half Century of Conflict, 248, 278,

303.
HaU, Nathaniel, 20, 21.
Hansen, Mr., second mate of the

Nautilus, 64 et seq.
Harper & Brother, 223, 224.
Hart, Albert Bushnell, 4.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, poem by,

339.

Indians, 160-192.
Italy, visit to, 75-108.

Jamaica Pond, 234.
James, Henry, 295 { letter to Park-
man, 256.
Japanese lilies, 239.
Jesuits in North America, 248, 249.

Keene, N. H., 56.

Knickerbocker Magazine, 29, 134,
201.

La Salle and the Discovery of the
Great West, 248, 249.

Lake George, 32.

Le Moine, Sir James M., 265, 280.

Lilies, Parkman's experiments with,
239, 240.

Lodge, Henry Cabot, letter to Park-
man, 259.

344

INDEX

London, 110-113.

Lowell, J. R., letter to Farkman,
257.

Malta, 73.

Margalloway River, 45-55.

Margry, P. A., 288-290, 305, 306.

Massachusetts Historical Society,
250.

Messina, 76.

Middlesex Fells, school and play-
ground for Parkman, 21, 22, 28.

Mitchell, Dr. Weir, letter from
Parkman, 2%.

Montcalm and Wolfe, 248, 249, 254,
255

Montcalm's letters, 293-295.

Naples, 90.

Norton, C. E., letters to Parkman,

212-214 ; letters from Parkman,

218-221.

Ogillallah Indians, 160.

Old Regime, 248.

Oregon visited by Parkman, 148-

159,
Oregon TraU, The, 201-204, 213.

Paris, 109, 231, 288.

Parker, Theodore, 90, 92, 93.

Parkman, Breck, 17.

Parkman, Caroline (Mrs. Cordner),
letters to Parkman, 13-17, 145,
146, 194-199.

Parkman, Rev. Ebenezer, 12, 25 ;
his diary, 282-284, 286-288.

Parkman, Eliza W. 8., 19, 140, 233,
252, 282-288, 303.

Parkman, Rev. Francis, 17, 18, 25 ;
letters to Parkman, 199, 201, 202,
204.

Parkman, Mrs. Francis, mother of
Francis, 18, 19 ; her death, 288.

Parkman, Francis, ancestry, 12 ;
birth and boyhood, 20 ; school, 20,
25 ; college, 27 ; explorations, 32 ;
Margalloway, 45 ; Keene, 56 ; voy-
age to Europe, 62 ; Gibraltar, 69;
Malta, 73 ; Sicily, 75, 80, et seq. ;
Naples, 90 ; Rome, 93 ; Roman
convent, 97 ; Florence, 105 ; Mi-
lan, 106 ; Paris, 109, 110 ; London,
110-113 ; Scotland, 113-115 ; Ab-
botsford, 114 ; Berkshire County,
119 ; the law school, 125 ; social
pleasures, 129, 130; The Knicker-
bocker Magazine, 29, 134; Capt.
Jonathan Carver, 133, 134; The

Ranger's Adventure, 132; The
Scalp - Hunter, 132 ; travels to
Pennsylvania, 136, 137 ; Detroit,
137 ; the Oregon trail, 148 ; the
start, 148 ; emigrant train, 151 ;
buffalo hunt, 154; The Whirlwind,
162; Fort Laramie, 160; the rough
journey, 168 ; Indian life, 181 ;
journey home, 191 ; Dr. Elliott's
care, 193 ; preparation for Pon-
tiac, 205 ; marriage, 216 ; publica-
tion of Pontiac, 222 ; life at Mil-
ton, 218 ; Vassall Morton, 227 ;
death of son, 229 ; death of wife,
229 ; trip to Paris, 229 ; Jamaica
Pond, 234; gardening, 235-240;
hybridization of lilies, 239 ; JSook
of Roses, 240 ; Civil War, 243 ; The
Pioneers, 246 ; The Jesuiis, 248 ;
La Salle, 248 ; The Old Rigime,
248 ; Fronienac, 248 ; Montcalm
and Wolfe, 248 ; A Half Century
of Conflict, 248 ; 50 Chestnut
Street, 252 ; letters of praise, 255-
261 ; Canada, 263-281 ; Quebec,
265, 2G6 ; Abb6 Casgrain, 267-280 ;
camping at Batiscan River, 281 ;
trip to Paris, 288; M. Margry, 288-
290 ; Montcalm's letters to Bour-
lamaque, 293 - 295 ; Wentworth
mansion, 300 ; death, 303 ; his
character, 304 et seg. ; his opin-
ions, 304 et seq. ; woman suffrage,
309 ; aristocrat, 312 ; intimacies,
316 ; nonsense, 319; love of cats,
322.

Parkman, Francis, letters of: to
George S. Hale, 126, 129, 135; to
George B. Gary, 130 ; to his
mother, 104, 136, 144 ; to B. Geo.
Squier, 215; to C. E. Norton, 218,
219, 221 ; to Miss Mary Parkman,
231-233; to Miss Eliza Park-
man, 233, 285, 286, 299, 301, 302 ;
to Mrs. Sam. Parkman, 238 ; to
Dr. Weir Mitchell, 296, 297; to
his daughter Katherine (Mrs. J.
T. Coolidge), 322, 323 ; to Martin
Brimmer, 245, 327-338.

Parkman, Mrs., wife of Francis, 217 ;
her death, 229.

Parkman, Grace, 323, 324.

Parkman, John Eliot, 19, 203.

Parkman, Katherine (Mrs. J. T.
Coolidge), 300, 322-324.

Parkman, Mary E., letters to, 231-
233.

Parkman, Samuel, 17, 25.

Parkman, William, 17.

INDEX

345

Peabody, Joseph, 128, 129.

Phillips, Sir Thomas, 293.

Pioneers of France, in the New
World, The, 24G, 248.

Pontiac, Conspiracy of, prepara-
tions for, 205 ; published, 222.

Rome, 93-104.

Roosevelt, Theodore, letter to Park-
man, 259, 260.

Roses, 235-237.

Russell, G. R., 225.

Russell, William, teacher of Park-
man, 26.

St. Botolph Club, 307.

St. Paul's, London, 112.

Salem, 128, 129.

Saturday Club, 297.

Scotland, 113-115.

Shaw, J. Coolidge, letter to Park-
man, 141, 142.

Shaw, Quincy A., 143, 147-107, 190,
191.

SicUy, 75, 80-89.

Slade, Daniel Denison, 29.

Smith, Goldwin, 4.

Smith, WilUam, History of Canada,
263.

Snow, Charles A. B., letter to Park-
man, 61.

Snow, Jonathan, of the barque Nau-
tilus, 64 et seq.

Sparks, Jared, 222, 225.

Squier, E. George, 214, 215.

Stanstead, Canada, 43.

Switzerland, 108, 109.

Thayer, Gideon, teacher of Park-
man, 25.
Ticonderoga, 40.

Vassall Morton, 227, 228.

Wentworth mansion, 300.
Whirlwind, The, Ogillallah chief,

162-167.
White, Henry Ome, 32.
Williams, Col. Ephraim, 34, 119.
Winsor, Justin, letter to Parkman,

260 ; on M. Margry, 289.
Woman suffrage, 309.

EUctrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &* Co.
Cambridge, Mass., U S. A.

"I

A

E

175
.5
P27
cop. 2

Sedgv/ick, Henry Dwight
Francis Parkman

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SUPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY