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Contents of McClurfs Magazine 

VOLUME X. 
NOVEMBER, 1897, TO APRIL, 1898. 



PACK 

ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY, THE DEATH OF. A Personal Recollection. General 

John M. Thayer 126 

AMERICA, A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF. Ferdinand Brunetiere 67/ 

AMERICAN, AN, AT KARLSHAD. Cy Warman. Illustrated 205 

ANDR£E PARTY, LETTERS FROM THE. The Balloon Expedition to the Pole. 

Illustrated 41 1 

ASIA, IN UNEXPLORED. Discoveries and Adventures of Dr. Sven Hedin. R. H. 

Sherard. Illustrated. , 180 

BRAKEMAN, A, IN THE YARD AND ON THE ROAD. A Narrative of Personal 

Experiences. Herbert E. Hamblen. Illustrated 211 

BROWN, JOHN, REMINISCENCES OF. Daniel B. Hadley 273 

CHRISTMAS NIGHT. Painting by F. S. Church 179 

CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPHS, THE GOVERNMENT COLLECTION OF. General 

A. W. Greely 18 - 

CLEMENS, SAMUEL L. "MARK TWAIN." A Character Sketch. Robert Barr. . . 246 

DANA, CHARLES A. : AN EDITORIAL NOTE 193 

DE MONVEL, BOUTET. A Painter of Children. Norman Hapgood. Illustrated. 197 

DREAMERS. A Poem. Rosalie M. Jonas. Illustrated 32 

EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. Theodore Waters. Illustrated. 75 

EDITORIAL NOTES 289, 385, 482 

FICTION : Short Stories. 

ACCORDIN* TO SOLOMON. Mary M. Mbars 38a 

ARCHBISHOP'S, THE, CHRISTMAS GIFT. Robert Barr. Illustrated 143 

BRIDE, THE, COMES TO YELLOW SKY. Stephen Crake. Illustrated 377 

CUPID'S MESSENGER. Gertrude Adams. Illustrated. 571 

DAY, THE, OF THE DOG. Morgan Robertson. Illustrated. 534 

DOMINOES, THE ROW OF. Frank Crane. Illustrated. 525 

EXPERIMENT IN BURGLARY, AN. H. Hobakt Nichols. Illustrated. 4<M 

INCIDENT, THE, OF THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR. Bliss Perry 165 

"KING FOR A DAY." W. A. Frasbr 505 

LONG LADDER, THE. Robert Barr. Illustrated 226 

OTTENHAUSEJTS COUP. John Walker Harrington. Illustrated. 475 

SAIRY SPENCER'S REVOLT. Carrie Blake Morgan. Illustrated 268 

SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES. Anna A. Rogers 54 

TOMB, THE, OF HIS ANCESTORS. Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated 99 

TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN, A. Ella Hicc.inson. Illustrated. 60 

UNJUST ACCUSATION, AN. Robert Barr. Illustrated. 47 

WEE TAY TABLE, THE. Shan F. Bullock. Illustrated ■$*> 

FIRING A LOCOMOTIVE. A Narrative ok Personal Experiences. Herbert E. 

Hamblen. Illustrated. 361 

FREIGHT ENGINEER. ADVENTURES OF A. A Narrative of Personal Experi- 
ences. Herbert E. Hamblen. Illustrated 3S9 

FRENCH CRITIC'S, A, IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. Ferdinand Brunetiere 67 

GAY GORDONS. THE. Darc.ai, October, 20, 1897. A Pokm. Henry Newbolt 497 

GEORGE'S, HENRY, LAST BOOK. Hamlin Garland 380 

GORDON HIGHLANDERS, STORIES OF THE. Charles Lowe. Illustrated.. 485 

GRANT AND WARD FAILURE, THE. A Romano, or Wall Street. IIami.in Gar- 

land. Illustrated f^7\VSrrTh> 4q8 

HALCYON DAYS. A Poem. Walt Whitman Qiflit]^d.by\j.O.Q5lS 93 



iv CONTENTS. 

I AGS 

HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. W. T. Stead 172 

INCIDENT, AN, OF '49. James II. Holmes. Illustrated 251 

INDIA, FROM, TO SOUTH AFRICA. The Diauy of a Voyage. Mark Twain. Illus- 
trated 3 

IRON MINING, EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN. Theodore Waters. Illustrated 75 

IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS? Illustrated 192 

KARLSBAD, AN AMERICAN AT. Cy Warman. Illustrated. 205 

KLONDIKE! HO FOR THE. The Various Ways in.— Where the Gold is Found. 

Hamlin Garland. Illustrated. k 443 

LIFE IS STRUGGLE. A Poem. Arthur Hugh Clough 96 

LINCOLN, SOME GREAT PORTRAITS OF. Ida M. Tarbell. Illustrated 339 

MADONNAS, THREE FAMOUS. 

VIRGIN ADORING THE INFANT CHRIST. Perugino ,21 

MADONNA AND CHILD, AND ST. JOHN. Botticelli ia 2 

MADONNA AND CHILD ("THE MADONNA OF THE GRAND DUKE"). Raphael 123 

MIRROR, THE. A Poem. Margaret F. Mauro 277 

MODERN MIRACLE, A. H. G. Prout. Illustrated 45 

PAINTER, A, OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. Norman Hapgood. Illus- 
trated 197 

PASSENGER ENGINEER, ADVERSITIES OF A. A Narrative of Personal Experi- 
ences. Herbert E. Hamblen. Illustrated. 513 

POLAR EXPLORATION, FUTURE NORTH. Dr. Fridtjof Nansen. Illustrated...... 293 

PRIZE DRAWINGS: 

A TYPE OF AMERICAN HEAD. Paint™ nv Miss Lillie O'Ryan 94 

A TYPE OF AMERICAN HEAD. Drawn by J. Harrison Mills 95 

RAILROAD MAN, THE LIFE OF THE. Drawn from Fifteen Years' Experience. 
Herbert E. Hamblen. 

A BRAKEMAN IN THE YARD AND ON THE ROAD. Illustrated 211 

FIRING A LOCOMOTIVE. Illustrated 361 

ADVENTURES OF A FREIGHT ENGINEER. Illustrated 389 

ADVERSITIES OF A PASSENGER ENGINEER. Illustrated 5,3 

RAILROADS, THE NATION'S. George B. Waldron. Illustrated. 557 

REMINISCENCES OF MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. Charles A. Dana. 

I. FROM THE "TRIBUNE" TO THE WAR DEPARTMENT. Illustrated 20 

II. FROM MEMPHIS TO VICKSBURG.-THE VICKSBURG CAMPAIGN. Illustrated 150 

III. LIFE IN THE TRENCHES AT VICKSBURG AND THE MEN IN COMMAND. Illus- 

trated. 253 

IV. IN COUNCIL AND IN BATTLE WITH ROSECRANS AND THOMAS.— A VISIT TO 

BURNSIDE AT KNOXVILLE. Illustrated. 347 

V. THE BATTLE OF CHATTANOOGA.— IN THE WAR DEPARTMENT WITH STANTO!.'. 

Illustrated. 431 

VI. MR. LINCOLN AND HIS CABINET. Illustrated 561 

RUPERT OF IIENTZAU. A Novel. Chapters I.-XIV. Anthony Hope. Illus- 
trated 128, 235, 322, 455, 546 

SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT AVAILETH. A Poem. Arthur Hugh 

Clough 96 

SOUTH AFRICA, TO, FROM INDIA. The Diary of a Voyage. Mark Twain. Illus- 
trated 3 

ST. IVES. A Novel. Conclusion. Robert Louis Stevensen. .... 33 

STEVENSON'S GALLERY, THE LAST PORTRAIT IN. A Poem £90 

TARBELL, IDA M. A Portrait 427 

TO R. T. II. B. A Poem. William Ernest Henley 96 

TRUCK SIX, AN ADVENTURE OF. A True Story of a Fireman's Bravery. Ray 

Stannard Baker 428 

VESPERTINA QUIES. A Painting by Sir Edward Burne-Jones 267 

WALL STREET, A ROMANCE OF. The Grant and Ward Failure. Hamlin Gar- 
land. Illustrated 49 8 

WASHINGTON, GEORGE, THE LAST DAYS OF. From the Manuscript Diary of 

his Private Secretary, Colonel Tobias Lear. Illustrated. 315 

WHERE IS ANDREE? Walter Wellman. Illustrated. • ••° > vw/~vvvTA 22 



YET ' FOR PITY. A Poem. Ella Higginson. Illustrated.. . J. D y.>^.VV^N L V24 



in. IUnstraTMIvk ty. VrJ.QQS I-V24 



GREAT BUSINESS ENTERPRISES. 



THE COLUMBIA CHAINLESS. 

THE AUTHENTIC STORY OF A MARVELOUS 
ACHIEVEMENT. 



By Russell Stone. 



The chainless bicycle, be it said in the 
beginning, has come. The long-promised, 
long-deferred is here. In that quiet Con- 
necticut capital from whence near a million 
bicycles have come, through streets whose 
arching trees were just turning to yellow 
and gold, I have taken my first ride upon a 
successful chainless wheel. 

The word successful implies much ; in 
the present instance, it implies a marvel. 
I wish to indicate all of this. The wheel 
which I rode, one of the earliest made, has 
been in service about a year ; it has had 
the roughest usage ; it has been out in all 
weathers; it has been subjected to every 
possible test which a bicycle might ever be 
expected to undergo. And it runs to-day 
as easily as any bicycle that was ever put 
on the road. It has been under test, as I 
say, for months, and its shaft is not twisted, 



its bevel gears are not out of plumb, th'. 
wheels are not sprung, the cogs are not 
broken. 

In brief, what the greatest of bicycle 
makers regarded as impossible, what the 
most competent of mechanical engineers 
declared was utterly impracticable, what 
even his own experts looked upon as a fool- 
hardy attempt, the indomitable builder of 
the famous Columbia has at last achieved. 

The wonder of it, if the paradox is 
allowable, is that nothing wonderful is ap- 
parent ; it is so extraordinarily simple. Out- 
wardly there is nothing more noticeable 
than the absence of the awkward and 
clumsy chain. Inwardly there is nothing 
more than a pair of bevel gears, set at 
either end of a short slender steel shaft. 
All this is boxed in ; the metal case which 
encloses the gearing is but little larger than 
one of the big cyclometers which were in 
use a few years ago ; the shaft itself turns 
in a hollow tube no larger than that com- 
prising the frame of an ordinary chain-and- 
sprocket wheel. And that is all. The entire 
mechanism occupies so little visible space 
that, as you look at the machine for the 
first time, you are at a loss to understand 
how it runs. 

It is just because of this, and because it 
does run, smoothly, noiselessly and with 
greater ease than any wheel which has yet 
been made, of any type, that it is a success. 



Notk.— These articles on Great Business Enterprises are prepared under the supervision of the editor of the Macazinp, 
by a member of its regular staff, and with the same literary and artistic care as articles designed for the body of the Magazine. 
The cost of them is borne, however, by the several firms whose industries they describe. 



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THE COLUMBIA CHATNLRSS. 



In order to realize the full measure of 
this achievement it will be necessary to go 
back a little. For ten years or more rivalry 
in the field of bicycle construction has been 
of the keenest. Probably no industry in 
the world has engaged finer mechanical 
genius, nor, for that matter, larger capital, 
proportionately, than has been lavished on 
the perfected "safety." One must have 
personally made a tour through one of the 
great factories and seen with his own eyes 
the truly marvelous mechanical contri- 
vances, the care and detail which go to the 
making of the swift, graceful machine we 
ride, in order to adequately realize what a 
triumph of constructive ingenuity it is. 

And yet there was one unsatisfactory 
feature. That, it is needless to say, is the 
chain. It does not require an expert 
knowledge of dynamics to understand that 
the chain and sprocket is an expensive de- 
vice for the transmission of power. As 
soon as the chain begins to do work, it 
begins to wear — and fill. It is exposed to 



the weather, and mud and dust. All these 
influences directly shorten its life. More 
than all this, its effect, since it is placed 
upon one side, with no counter-balancing 
force, is to pull the rear wheel out of plumb 
— to twist it round. 

Thousands of dollars, hundreds of de- 
vices, and endless experiments have hitherto 
failed to overcome these difficulties or to 
find out any better substitute. 

Among these hundreds of devices the 
bevel gear rnd transmitting shaft was one ; 
and one of the most attractive. And for 
this reason almost every bicycle maker has 
tried to construct such a gearing — one that 
would be a success. 

Now, not the least remarkable part of 
the matter is that four or five years ago 
such a bevel gear and shaft was actually 
devised — was an actual success. That was 
the old League wheel. It was a cumber- 
some machine, its construction was faulty, 
its tread was very wide, its weight was 
thirty-eight pounds. It was far from a 



SHOW I NT. RASE OF LIFTING OUT RBAK WHSBL. 



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THE COLUMBIA CHAINLESS. 



thing of beauty. But a thousand or more 
of these machines were marketed before the 
company failed and went out of business. 

This wheel was so well liked in spite of 
all its faults that there is more than one 
rider in this country who has awaited the 
construction of a new and better chainless 
before he would give up the old one. The 
wheels were suprisingly easy to ride — they 
even made records. A well-known rider, 
"Jack Knowles," made sixty consecutive 
centuries on one of them, and that, too, in 
sixty consecutive days. Many of his runs 
were over roads that would have been im- 
passable for an ordinary chain-and-sproket 
wheel ; they were ridden through mud and 
slush, and with water, at times, almost to 
the hubs. 

All this was not merely extraordinary 
then ; it has never been equaled since by 
any wheel now on the market. It is 
notable, too, that whoever rode a League 
wheel found his initial prejudice giving place 
to admiration for some of its features. 
With all the handicap of a bad model and 
crude workmanship, the League wheels 
were a demonstration that the bevel gears 
were built to run. 

After the League enterprise failed its 
patents went into the hands of the Columbia 
company. As a matter of course League 
wheels in Hartford and round about began 
in time to come to the Pope Manufacturing 
Company's works to be repaired. The 
vital part of the story is here: they never 
came because of any failure of the bei>el gears. 
Other parts of the machine might go to 
pieces ; the bevel gears were still intact. 

All this, it should be noted, was in entire 
contradiction to what all the experts and 
trained engineers had invariably declared 
would take place. The experts were per- 
suaded that the cogs would bind, that the 
apparatus would crumple up, and, in short, 
that the bevel-gear principle could not be 
applied on a bicycle with success. 

Any one who has gone even a little way 
into the history of invention and mechani- 
cal advance, especially in this country, will 
have learned that " impossible " is a danger- 
ous word. The present instance is to be add- 
ed to other notable cases of such bad usage. 

The fact that stood boldly out was that 
the mechanical demonstration of the chain- 
less bicycle had been made. It was one 
thing, however, to make a bevel-gear wheel 
which would run for thousands of miles 
without appreciably showing wear and tear ; 
it was quite another to make a chainless 



m 

wheel that could be put on the market at a 
price which would enable it to compete 
with the wheel now in vogue. The success 
of the bevel gear was due to two things : 
first, fine gear cutting, and second, to a 
frame so rigid that the gearing could not 
be dislocated or sprung. The introduction 
of nickel steel made possible a frame that 
would be at once sufficiently rigid and still 
not un.'jightly or clumsily large. There re- 
mained the problem of cutting on a large 
scale absolutely perfect gears. 

It has cost half a million dollars to 
solve this problem. When the makers of 
the Columbia began their experiments, two 
years ago, there were not in the wide world 
factories with a sufficient caoacity to supply 
the Pope factory with bevel gears for an 
hour r\ day. 

It was an absolute requisite that these 
little gears — not so wide as the palm of 
your hand — should be cut so true that 
when they came to be put together, or 
rather, what is much more to the point, 
when they came to roll together, they would 
not vary a hair's breadth — not one two- 
thousandths of an inch ! Formerly they 
were cut by hand, at least such as required 
this extreme accuracy. In order to make 
them in sufficient quantities for use in a 
bicycle, it was necessary that they should 
be made by machinery, and by the hun- 
dreds a day. 

The machine to do this has been built 
and is at work. As you stand watching it 
it does not seem human — it seems more. 
With clock-like precision it takes hold of 
the roughed-out pieces of bevel cogs as they 
come from the die in which they have been 
forged, and chisels and pares them down 
to a fineness of finish comparable only to 
the movement of the most delicate watch. 

It is not merely that these cogs must be 
cut smooth and true; they must be cut 
upon a curve and with a shelving face. 
Not only must the cog be rounded with 
absolute precision, but the opening between 
the teeth must be slightly wider toward the 
upper end. This tapering of the teeth and 
the spaces must be exactly uniform. More 
than this, the side of each tooth must be 
cut with a gradual and mathematically exact 
swell (what is known as an epicycloidal 
curve), so that when the teeth are in opera- 
tion they will come together and separate 
with a rolling motion and without any slip- 
ping or grinding whatever. 

Now, imagine, if you will, a machine 
which, when the roughed-out gear is set in 

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IV 



THE COLUMBIA CHAINLESS. 



place, will cut away these teeth of such 
extraordinary shape — file them down, as it 
were, to the exact degree of fineness, and, 
having completed one, turn to the next 
without any interference from the operator ; 
and so on clear around the circle. Then 
with a sharp click, like that of a benign 
old lady snapping together her needles 
when the stocking is done, this automaton 
of steel draws back its knives, throws off 
the belt and thus announces that its ap- 
pointed task is finished. As I stood before 
it, marveling greatly, I seemed to under- 
stand why it did not look up and speak to 
me ; it was much too busy, and no doubt 
its voiceless brain was too weary, after such 
an exacting task, for speech. 

Yet even when these wonderful affairs 
were designed and completed and set up, 
row after row, like workmen at a bench, 
merely a beginning — though it was a very 
great beginning — had been made. To have 
mechanically perfect gears that could be 
cut by machinery in half an hour where it 
had formerly required days was a great ad- 
vance. But it was still necessary to construct 
a frame which should not merely permit of 
a free working of the parts when first set 
up, but should hold them together so firmly 
that they might be subjected to any strain, 
short of that which would ruin the entire 
machine. The frame must be so rigid that 
no strain will draw the gearing apart by so 
much as the hundredth of an inch. This 



is one reason why the old League wheel 
was so heavy. Its makers knew no other 
way to give it this required firmness than 
to make it, figuratively, as heavy as a dray. 

It was just about this time that the 
National Government had shown the as- 
tonishing possibilities that lay in the use 
of nickel steel for armor plate. Elaborate 
tests upon this new metal disclosed that by 
the addition of a small percentage of nickel, 
steel takes on a wonderful rigidity without 
losing those other qualities which have 
made it the most useful metal in the 
world. 

It was a naval engineer who suggested to 
Colonel Pope the possibility that nickel 
steel might be employed in the manufacture 
of bicycles in the making of frames. At 
that time there was not a single establish- 
ment in existence manufacturing nickel 
steel tubing ; it was not even known that 
such a tubing could be satisfactorily made. 

It has required an outlay of nearly a million 
dollars to build and equip a plant for this 
purpose ; but the result has justified the 
expenditure. Nickel steel tubing has been 
introduced in all the Columbia Bicycles 
made this year, and it has been found to 
be the most perfect material for this pur- 
pose which has yet been discovered. 

It is nickel steel which, as I remarked a 
little way back, has made possible the con- 
struction of light, graceful bevel-gear shaft- 
ing* A glance at the illustrations which 



CAPS REMOVED TO SHOW SEAR GEAR IN PLACE. 



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THE COLUMBIA CHAINLESS. 



accompany this article will disclose the 
principle employed and likewise the method 
of construction. 

Bevel gears join the rear axle and like- 
wise the crank-shaft between the pedals 
Between these two pairs of gearings is a 
short, hollow shaft, set upon ball bearings 
and transmitting the motion of the crank- 
shaft to the rear wheel. Practically this 
is all. Delicate devices, which it would be 
difficult here to describe with profit, unite 
the shaft with the bevel gears so firmly that 
they will run for years without disturbance 
and yet permit the rear gearing to be re- 
moved and another substituted with quick- 
ness and ease. 

It almost goes without saying that a long- 
headed business man with a reputation 
which a generation of commercial and me- 
chanical success has established, will not 
risk either that reputation or the half 
million dollars he has invested, on a prod- 
uct that offers the slightest possibility of 
failure when placed before the public. 
Still, I can give but a faint idea of the long 
course of experimentation and the exhaus- 
tive tests which have wrought the new 
chainless wheel to probably the highest 
pitch of perfection which it is possible at 
this day to achieve. 

The fact which should be borne in mind 
is that the bevel gear has been worked out 
in the face of what those who were re- 
garded as the highest authorities had to 
say upon the subject. It is very interest- 
ing to learn that even after the thing had 
been done the experts still declared that it 
was not commercially practicable. Even 
the trained engineers persisted in this belief 
long after the old League wheel had shown 
that the bevel gear could be made a success. 
The chainless wheels made by this com- 
pany had been running in Hartford, and 
notwithstanding every test, for two years 
before the men who had made the Colum- 
bia what it is — the finest-built wheel in the 
world — could be brought to believe that 
the new type might be so far perfected as 
to be superior to the chain-and-sprocket 
wheel. Such ' is the force of educated 
prejudice. 

If such a degree of prejudice is to be 
found among those who have made all 
these questions more or less of a life-long 
study, it will not be surprising to find much 
adverse opinion in the minds of those who 
are merely bicycle riders. It will be of 
interest, therefore, to run over one after 
another of the questions which naturally 



arise when one comes to consider the 
chainless for the first time. In doing this 
we may note what the tests, hundreds upon 
hundreds in number, have demonstrated. 
These tests, it may be said in passing, may 
be regarded as the final word upon the 
subject, since it is obvious that for the 
Pope company itself to entertain the 
slightest delusion regarding the new wheel 
would result, in the end, in sure and certain 
disaster. 

First, as to the question of efficiencies. 
It was found that under a heavy load the 
chainless wheel showed an efficiency of 
nearly 95 per cent, and under light loads 
88.5 per cent. This is not only a higher 
average than can be obtained with a chain 
wheel, but it likewise develops the highly 
important fact that under extremely heavy 
loads, corresponding to the very worst of 
hill climbing, the bevel gearing shows none 
of that "cramping," which was so much 
feared. It simply did not occur. 

It was also noted that where the chain 
wheel lost in efficiency when a side strain 
was put upon the crank bracket, similar to 
that which comes in hill climbing, under 
the same conditions the chainless wheel 
lost nothing at all. 

Again, it is probable that most people 
would, at first thought, regard the friction 
of bevel gearing as greater than that of any 
other form. This, because of the fact that 
in the transmission of the motion there are 
two right-angle turns. As a matter of fact 
it has been found that, all other things being 
equal, bevel gearing is slightly more efficient 
than spur gearing, (of which the chain and 
sprocket is a combination type). 

It has been found that what would be 
called ordinarily a fairly clean chain is less 
efficient by 3 or 4 per cent, than the same 
chain when carefully cleaned and oiled. 
Such variation of conditions does not exist 
with the driving mechanism of the chain- 
less, as it is practically perfectly protected 
from dirt ; and this is what no gear case 
can insure. Further than this, the wear of 
the chain, with accompanying disagreement 
of pitch with sprockets, goes on just the 
same even within the gear case. 

The wear upon the gear teeth, cut and 
carefully hardened as they are, is inappre- 
ciable, so that they can be run for many 
thousands of miles without showing the 
slightest deterioration. 

In the discussion of the chainless bi- 
cycle much has been said of the "tor- 
sional strain " to which such a shaft as 



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VI 



THE COLUMBIA CHAINLESS. 



that employed in bevel gearing would neces- 
sarily be subjected. It seems a preva- 
lent idea that no piece of steel could be 
made sufficiently strong to withstand this 
strain without being all out of proportion 
to the rest of the wheel. As a matter of 
fact, not only has such a shaft been con- 
structed so slender that it rolls within a 
piece of frame tubing of the ordinary size, 
but it is so strong that under ordinary 
strains it actually increases, very slightly, 
in efficiency, rather than the opposite. 
This is precisely the reverse of the be- 
havior of the chain wheel under a similar 
strain. 

I may compact into a few brief sen- 
tences some other of the disclosures of the 
tests both on the road and in the shop — 
tests which have now been carried on for 
more than a year. 

Under all conditions of riding, and un- 
der all tests, fhe chainless runs easier than 
the chain machine. This is due to the fact 
that the bevel gear offers less resistance 
due to friction than the best chain bicycle 
which can be built. A perfectly-cut bevel 
gear presents a rolling contact against its 
mate, producing no more friction than a 
pair of shafts, or even ball bearings, roll- 
ing together. 

The frame does not get out of line under 
the application of pressure, and even if it 
should do this by any accident, this fact 



makes no difference with the gearing what- 
ever. Both the shaft and the teeth of the 
gears are so hard and so strong that the driv- 
ing cranks will break before they give way. 
This is the best illustration I can give of the 
strength of the bevel-gear construction. 

The chainless wheel makes less noise 
than the chain wheel even when each are 
new from the factory, and it goes without 
saying that as the chainless gearing is no- 
where exposed to dirt or the atmosphere, 
and hence undergoes no wear or rust from 
these influences, it is as noiseless at the 
end of the year as the day it started. 

The driving mechanism of the chainless 
is, on the whole, less complicated and has a 
smaller number of parts than the chain ma- 
chine, and is, therefore, less liable to get 
out of order. More than this, it requires 
a skillful hand to take apart the chain-and- 
sprocket wheel and put it together again 
properly. The chainless is so simple that no 
more than ordinary experience with a wheel 
is required to take it down and put it up. 

The difference in the weight of the chain 
wheel and the chainless, model for model, 
is so slight as to make no appreciable dif- 
ference — a matter of no more than two or 
three pounds. 

With the use of nickel steel tubing, and 
the bracing device to give additional firm- 
ness, the Columbia Chainless is the strong- 
est bicycle that has ever been made. 



THB COLUMBIA CHAINLESS READY FOR THB ROAD. 



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THE COLUMBIA CHAINLESS. 




THE LA DIBS COLUMBIA CHAINLHSS. 



Finally, it is practically established that 
the bevel gearing will outlast the other im- 
portant parts of the machine. In other 
words, so highly has the new mechanism 
been developed that it has practically sur- 
passed many other portions of the bicycle. 
This is to me a very striking fact. 

It remains for me to give account of my 
own sensations on the new wheel. I mount 
on a street opposite the factory that has a 
considerable grade and start off up the hill. 
The sensation afforded by the first stroke 
of the pedal is an odd one. There is no 
" give," or yielding as in the chain wheel, 
at all, but a curious feeling of firmness. 
At the instant that I apply pressure upon 
the pedal the machine seems to answer. 
There is no " back- lash," as riders have 
come to call it — that slight jog or interval 
which comes at the moment when one 
pedal releases the tension and the other 
takes it up. 

More than this, although the chainless 
is absolutely noiseless and the friction is 
demonstrably a great deal less than in the 
type to which I have been accustomed, it 
seems as if I can yet feel the gearing and 
follow it as it carries the motion of the 
crank-shaft back to the driving wheel. I 
cannot better describe this rather elusive 
impression than to say it seems to add to 
that exhilaration which every bicycle rider 
must experience "in making the thing go." 



It is, I fancy, an added sense of having 
your machine absolutely under your own 
control. 

I have not been upon my own wheel for 
perhaps a month, and yet I mount the hill 
with surprising ease. This is due, I sus- 
pect, to the fact which I have already 
noted — that the stroke is longer and quick- 
er to take effect. The considerable loss 
of energy which must necessarily occur in 
taking up the slack of the chain, when 
passing the " dead point " at each revolu- 
tion, is completely eliminated. 

So, again, when I turn the corner and 
meet a strong head wind, I experience the 
same effect. The positive motion of the 
bevel gears gives one a peculiar sensation 
of "going straight ahead." There is no 
feeling of a strain, and momentary pause, 
and then the answering motion, as in the 
case of the chain wheel. Similarly in go- 
ing down hill there is the same impression 
of absolute control, and hence ability to 
stop the wheel or slow it as one likes. 

Disregarding the municipal regulations 
of Hartford I put the new wheel to various 
coasting tests and am rather astonished to 
find that it moves off with no more feeling 
of resistance than that of the chain wheel 
under the best possible conditions. I am 
told that the most precise tests have shown 
that the chainless will actually coast farther 
and run farther when the wheel is lifted 

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THE COLUMBIA CHATNLRSS. 



off the ground, than the best of the old 
type. 

Nor is this all. In every century road 
test the rider of a Columbia Chainless has 
shown much less fatigue than his com- 
panions. Upon returning from a spin of 
104 miles over a rough country, an expe- 
rienced rider, who started out with " no 
faith in bevel gears " gave this report : " I 
must say that I rode this distance with less 
effort than any 100 miles I ever attempted 
before." 

A slight matter which is still worth re- 
porting is this : I rode all about the streets 
of Hartford upon the chainless wheel with- 
out any "trouser clips," and just as I 
stepped upon the machine from the street. 
There seems not the slightest opportunity 
for any part of the machine to catch in 
your clothes. 

The absence of the chain guard must be 
inexpressibly welcome to women, for with 
this comes the assurance that no flapping 
of skirts will hereafter result in a sometimes 
perilously sudden and involuntary dismount. 

It must be clear from what I have said 
thus far that my experience with the chain- 
less wheel has left me without a doubt that 
it is the wheel of the future. Were it on 



I--*. _*. iL- 



The importance of this marked step in 
advance seems to me exactly comparable 
to the difference between an enclosed and 
open crank-shaft, axles and ball bearings. 
If it is important that these last should be 
shut in and protected from exposure to 
weather and dust and mud, it seems to me 
it is quite as important that the rest of the 
driving gear should be equally protected. 

For the rest, I do not believe that any 
one can go over the ground as carefully 
as I have done and not come to the belief 
that the bevel gear is the simplest, safest, 
cleanest, most economical, and most durable 
form of power transmission that has yet 
been used in bicycle construction ; that for 
come-as-it-may riding it gives a maximum 
of speed for a minimum of effort; and, 
lastly, that in the Columbia Chainless the 
Pope Manufacturing Company has pro- 
duced a practically perfect wheel. It rep- 
resents to me the highest achievement of 
mechanical genius in this field. More 
could hardly be said. 

The cost of construction, and conse- 
quently the price at which it must be sold, 
seems the only possible bar to its universal 
use. 



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McClure's Magazine. 



Vol. X. 



NOVEMBER, 1897. 



No. 1. 



FROM INDIA TO SOUTH AFRICA. 

THE DIARY OF A VOYAGE. 



Bv Mark Twain, 

Author of " The Innocents Abroad," " Adventures of Tom Sawyer," etc. 

A TRUTHFUL CAPTAIN WHOM NOBODY WOULD BELIEVE, AND A FABLING 
PASSENGER WHOM NOBODY WOULD DISCREDIT.— A STEAMSHIP LIBRARY 
PERFECT IN ITS OMISSIONS.— THE ADVANTAGES OF LIVING AWAY FROM 
MAURITIUS.— BARNUM'S PURCHASE OF SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHPLACE. 



I. 



There are no people who are quite so vulgar as 
the over-refined ones. — Pudd* ahead Wilsons New 
Calendar. 



W 



'E sailed from Cal- 
cutta toward the 
end o f March ; 
stopped a day at Madras; 
two or three days in Cey- 
lon; then sailed westward 
on a long flight for Mau- 
ritius. From my diary: 

April 7th. — We are far 
abroad upon the smooth 
waters of the Indian 
Ocean now; it is shady 
and pleasant and peaceful 
under the vast spread of 
the awnings, and life is 
perfect again — ideal. 

The difference between 
a river and the sea is, 
that the river looks fluid, 
the sea solid — usu- 
ally looks as if you 
could step out and 
walk on it. 

The captain has 
this peculiarity — he 
cannot tell the truth in a plausible way. 
In this he is the very opposite of the au- 
stere Scot who sits midway of the table: 




' A Ftmmit Vntle. 



he cannot tell a lie in an ««-plausible way. 
When the captain finishes a statement the 
passengers glance at each other privately, 
as who should say, " Do you believe 
that?" 

When the Scot finishes one, the look 
says, 4I How strange and interesting ! " 
The whole secret is in the manner and 
method of the two men. 

The captain is a little shy and diffident, 
and he states the simplest fact as if he 
were a little afraid of it, while the Scot 
delivers himself of the most abandoned 
lie with such an air of stern veracity that 
one is forced to believe it although one 
knows it isn't so. . For instance, the Scot 
told about a pet flying-fish he once owned, 
that lived in a little fountain in his con- 
servatory, and supported itself by catch- 
ing birds and frogs and rats in the neigh- 
boring fields. It was plain that no one at 
the table doubted this statement. 

By and by, in the course of some talk 
about custom-house annoyances, the cap- 
tain brought out the following simple, 
everyday incident, but through his infirm- 
ity of style, managed to tell it in such a 
way that it got no credence. He said: 

"I went ashore at Naples one voyage 
when I was in that trade, and stood around 
helping my passengers, for I could speak 
a little Italian. Two or three times, at 
intervals, the officer asked me if I had any- 



Copyright, 1897, by the S. S. McClure Co. AH rights reserved. 



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FROM INDIA TO SOUTH AFRICA. 



thing dutiable about me, and seemed more 
and more put out and disappointed every 
time I told him no. Finally a passenger 
whom I had helped through asked me to 
come out and take something. I thanked 
him, but excused myself, saying I had 
taken a whisky just before I came ashore. 

" It was a fatal admission. The 
officer at once made me pay 
pence import duty on the w\ 
— just from ship to shore, you 
and he fined me five pounds 
for not declaring the 
goods, another five pounds 
for falsely denying that 
I had anything dutiable 
about me, also five pounds 
for concealing the goods, and 
pounds for smuggling, whi 
the maximum penalty for ui 
fully bringing in goods under tne 
value of sevenpence ha'penny. 
Altogether, sixty-five pounds six- 
pence, for a little thing like that! " 

The Scot is always believed, yet 
he never tells anything but lies; 
whereas the captain is never be- 
lieved, although he never tells a 
lie — so far as I can judge. If he 
should say his uncle was a male 
person, he would probably say it 
in such a way that no- 
body would believe it; 
at the same time the 
Scot could claim that 
he had a female uncle 
and not stir a doubt in 
anybody's mind. My 
own luck has been cu- 
rious all my literary 
life: I never could tell 
a lie that anybody 
would doubt, nor a truth that anybody 
would believe. 

Lots of pets on board — birds and 
things. In these far countries the white 
people do seem to run remarkably to pets. 
Our host in Cawnpore had a fine collec- 
tion of birds — the finest we saw in a pri- 
vate house in India. And in Colombo, 
Dr. Murray's great compound and com- 
modious bungalow were well populated 
with domesticated company from the 
woods: frisky little squirrels; a Ceylon 
mina walking sociably about the house; a 
small green parrot, that whistled a single 
urgent note of call without motion of its 
beak, also chuckled; a monkey in a cage 
on the back veranda, and some more out 
in the trees; also a number of beautiful 
macaws in the trees; and various and sun- 




' Yet a eat would have HJked that place. 



dry birds and animals of breeds not known 
to me. But no cat. Yet a cat would have 
liked that place. 

April gth. — Tea-planting is the great 
business in Ceylon now. A passenger 
says it often pays forty per cent, on the 
investment. Says there is a boom. 

April ioth. — The sea is a 

Mediterranean blue; and I 

believe that that is about 

. the divinest color known 

to nature. 

It is strange and fine — 
ture's lavish generosities to her 
matures. At least to all of 
ixti except man. For those 
it fly she has provided a home 
it is nobly spacious — a home 
which is forty miles deep and 
envelops the whole globe, and 
has not an obstruction in it. 
For those that swim she has 
provided a more than imperial 
domain which is miles deep 
and covers three-fifths of the 
globe. But as for man, she has 
cut him off with the mere odds and 
ends of the creation. She has 
given him the thin skin, the mea- 
ger skin which is stretched over 
the remaining two-fifths — the na- 
ked bones stick up through it in 
most places. On the one-half of 
this domain he can raise snow, ice, 
sand, rocks, and nothing else. So 
the valuable part of his inheritance 
really consists of but a 
single fifth of the family 
estate ; and out of it he 
has to grub hard to get 
enough to keep him alive 
and provide kings and sol- 
diers and powder to extend the blessings 
of civilization with. Yet man, in his sim- 
plicity and complacency and inability to 
cipher, thinks nature regards him as the 
important member of the family — in fact, 
her favorite. Surely it must occur to even 
his dull head, sometimes, that she has a 
curious way of showing it. 

Afternoon. — The captain has been telling 
how, in one of his Arctic voyages, it was 
so cold that the mate's shadow froze fast 
to the deck and had to be ripped loose 
by main strength. And even then he got 
only about two-thirds of it back. Nobody 
said anything, and the captain went away. 
I think he is becoming disheartened. 
. . . Also, to be fair, there is another 
word of praise due to this ship's library: 
it contains no copy of the "Vicar of 
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'THE MATE'S SHADOW FROZE FAST TO THE DECK." 



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FROM INDIA TO SOUTH AFRICA. 



•• Every shade of complexion." 

Wakefield," that strange menagerie of 
complacent hypocrites and idiots, of the- 
atrical cheap-john heroes and heroines 
who are always showing off, of bad people 
who are not interesting and good people 
who are fatiguing. A singular book! Not 
a sincere line in it, and not a character 
that invites respect; a book which is one 
long waste-pipe discharge of goody-goody 
puerilities and dreary moralities; a book 
which is full of pathos which revolts and 
humor which grieves the heart. There 
are few things in literature that are more 
piteous, more pathetic, than the celebrated 
"humorous" incident of Moses and the 
spectacles. 

Jane Austin's books, too, are absent 
from this library. Just that one omis- 
sion alone would make a fairly good library 
out of a library that 
ho dn't a book in it. 
Customs in tropic 
is: At five in the 
►rning they pipe to 
sh down the decks, 
i at once the la- 
:s who are sleeping 
ire turn out, and 
jy and their beds 
below. Then one 
er another the men 
ne up from the 
th in their paja- 
s, and walk the 
:ks an hour or two 
:h bare legs and 
re feet. Coffee and 
it served. The 
ship cat and 
her kitten 
now appear 
and get 
about their 
toilets ; next 
the barber 
comes and 
flays us on 
the breezy 
deck. Break- 



er 



* Onh one match in sixteen ut'i/ light.' 



fast at 9:30, and the day begins. I do 
not know how a day could be more 
reposeful; no motion; a level blue sea; 
nothing in sight from horizon to hori- 
zon ; the speed of the ship furnishes a 
cooling breeze ; there is no mail to read 
and answer ; no newspapers to excite 
you; no telegrams to fret you or fright 
you — the world is far, far away ; it has 
ceased to exist for you — seemed a fad- 
ing dream, along in the first days ; has 
dissolved to an unreality now; it is gone 
from your mind with all its businesses and 
ambitions, its prosperities and disasters, 
its exultations and despairs, its joys and 
griefs and cares and worries. They are 
no concern of yours any more; they have 
gone out of your life; they are a storm 
which has passed and left a deep calm 
behind. The people group themselves 
about the decks in their snowy white linen, 
and read, smoke, sew, play cards, talk, 
nap, and so on. In other ships the pas- 
sengers are always ciphering about when 
they are going to arrive; out in these seas 
it is rare, very rare, to hear that subject 
broached. In other ships there is always 
an eager rush to the bulletin board at 
noon to find out what the "run" has been; 
in these seas the bulletin seems to attract 
no interest; I have seen no one visit it; in 
thirteen days I have visited it only once. 
Then I happened to notice the figures of 
the day's run. On that day there hap- 
pened to be talk, at dinner, about the 
speed of modern ships. I was the only 
passenger present who knew this ship's 
gait. Necessarily the Atlantic custom of 
betting on the ship's run is not a custom 
here — nobody ever mentions it. 

I myself am wholly indifferent as to 
when we are going to "get in;" if any 
one else feels interested in the matter he 
has not indicated it in my hearing. If I 
had my way we should never get in at all. 
This sort of sea life is charged with an 
indestructible charm. There is no weari- 
ness, no fatigue, no worry, no responsi- 
bility, no work, no depression of spirits. 

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MARK TWAIN. 




There is nothing like this serenity, this 
comfort, this peace, this deep contentment, 
to be found anywhere on land. If I had 
my way I would sail on forever and never 
go to live on the solid ground again. 

One of Kipling's ballads has delivered 
the aspect and senti- 
ment of this bewitch- 
ing sea correctly: 

14 The Injian Ocean sets 
an' smiles 
So sof \ so bright, so 
bloomin' blue ; 
There aren't a wave for * 
miles an* miles * 

Excep' the jiggle from 
the screw." 

April 14th.— -It 
turns out that the as- 
tronomical apprentice 
worked off a section 
of the Milky Way on 
me for the Magellan 
Clouds. A man of 
more experience in 
the business showed 
one of them to me 
last night. It was 
small and faint and 
delicate, and looked 
like the ghost of a 
bunch of white smoke 
left floating in the 
sky by an exploded 
bombshell. 

Wednesday, April 
fj/A, Mauritius. — Ar- 
rived and anchored off 
Port Louis two a.m. 
Rugged clusters of 
crags and peaks, 
green to their sum- 
mits; from their bases 
to the sea a green plain with just tilt enough 
to it to make the water drain off. I believe it 
is in 56 E. and 22 S. — a hot, tropical coun- 
try. The green plain has an inviting look ; 
has scattering dwellings nestling among 
the greenery. Scene of the sentimental 
adventure of Paul and Virginia. 



The wtttfst climate on earth. 



" Every shade of complexion." 

Island under French control — which 
means a community which depends upon 
quarantines for its health, not upon sani- 
tation. 

Thursday, April 16th. — Went ashore in 
the forenoon at Port Louis — a little town, 
but with the largest 
variety of nationali- 
ties and complexions 
we have encountered 
yet: French, English, 
Chinese, Arabs, Afri- 
cans with wool, blacks 
with straight hair, 
East Indians, half- 
whites, quadroons — 
and great varieties in 
costumes and colors. 
Took the train for 
Curepipe at 1:30 — 
two hours' run, grad- 
ually up hill. What a 
contrast, this frantic 
luxuriance of vege- 
tation, with the arid 
plains of India; these 
architecturally pictur- 
esque crags and knobs 
and miniature moun- 
tains, with the monot- 
ony of the Indian 
dead-levels! 

A native pointed 
out a handsome 
swarthy man of grave 
and dignified bearing, 
and said in an awed 
tone, " That is So- 
and-so; has held office 
of one sort or another 
under this govern- 
ment for thirty-seven 
years — he is known 
all over this whole island — and in the other 
countries of the world perhaps — who 
knows ? One thing is certain ; you can 
speak his name anywhere in this whole 
island, and you will find not one grown 
person that has not heard it. It is a won- 
derful thing to be so celebrated; yet look 
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8 



FROM INDIA TO SOUTH AFRICA. 



at him; it makes no change in him ; he 
does not even seem to know it." 

Curepipe (means Pincushion, or Peg- 
town, probably). — Sixteen miles (two 
hours) by rail from Port Louis. At each 
end of every roof and on the apex of 
every dormer window a wooden peg two 
feet high stands up; in some cases its top 
is blunt, in others the peg is sharp and 
looks like a toothpick. The passion for 
this humble ornament is universal. 

Apparently there has been only one 
prominent event in the history of Mauri- 
tius, and that one didn't happen. I refer 
to the romantic sojourn of Paul and Vir- 
ginia here. It was that story that made 
Mauritius known to the world, made the 
name familiar to everybody, the geographi- 
cal position of it to nobody. 

A clergyman was asked to guess what 
was in a box on a table. It was a vellum 
fan painted with the shipwreck, and was 
' 4 one of Virginia's wedding gifts. * ' 

April 18th. — This is the only country in 
the world where the stranger is not asked 

44 How do you 
like this place?" 
This is indeed 
a large distinc- 
tion. Here the 
citizen does the 
talking about 
the country 
himself; the 
stranger is not 
asked to help. 
You get all sorts 
of information. 
From one citi- 
zen you gather 
the idea that 
Mauritius was 
made first, and 
then heav- 
e n ; and 
that heav- 
en was cop- 
ied after 
Mauritius. 
Another one tells you that this is an 
exaggeration; that the two chief villages, 
Port Louis and Curepipe, fall short of 
heavenly perfection; that nobody lives in 
Port Louis except upon compulsion, and 
that Curepipe is the wettest and rainiest 
place in the world. An English citizen 
said: 

44 In the early part of this century Mau- 
ritius was used by the French as a basis 
from which to operate against England's 
Indian merchantmen; so England cap- 




tured the island and also the neighbor, 
Bourbon, to stop that annoyance. Eng- 
land gave Bourbon back; the government 
in London did not want any more posses- 
sions in the West Indies. If the govern- 
ment had had a better quality of geography 
in stock it would not have wasted Bourbon 
in that foolish way. A big war will tem- 
porarily shut up the Suez Canal some day, 
and the English ships will have to go to 
India around the Cape of Good Hope 
again; then England will have to have 
Bourbon and will take it. 

" Mauritius was a crown colony until 
twenty years ago, with a governor ap- 
pointed by the crown and assisted by a 
council appointed by himself; but Pope 
Hennessey came out as governor then, 
and he worked hard to get a part of the 
council made elective, and succeeded. 
So now the whole council is French, and 
in all ordinary matters of legislation they 
vote together and in the French interest, 
not the English. The English population 
is very slender; it -has not votes enough to 
elect a legislato?. Half a dozen rich 
French families elect the legislature. Pope 
Hennessey was an Irishman, a Catholic, a 
Home Ruler M. P., a hater of England 
and the English, a very troublesome per- 
son, and a serious incumbrance at West- 
minster. So it was decided to send him 
out to. govern unhealthy countries, in the 
hope that something would happen to him. 
But nothing did. The first experiment was 
not merely a failure, it was more than a 
failure. He proved to be more of a disease 
himself than any he was sent to encoun- 
ter. The next experiment was here. The 
dark scheme failed again. It was an off 
season, and there was nothing but measles 
here at the time. Pope Hennessey's 
health was not affected. He worked 
with the French and for the French and 
against the English, and he made the Eng- 
lish very tired and the French very happy, 
and lived to have the joy of seeing the 
flag he served publicly hissed. His mem- 
ory is held in worshipful reverence and 
affection by the French. 

44 It is a land of extraordinary quaran- 
tines. They quarantine a ship for any- 
thing or for nothing; quarantine her for 
twenty and even thirty days. They once 
quarantined a ship because her captain 
had had the smallpox when he was a boy. 
That and because he was English. 

44 The population is very small ; small to 
insignificance. The majority is East In- 
dian; then mongrels; then negroes (de- 
scendants of the slaves of the French 



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MARK TWAIN. 



'•the barber 



FI.AYS US ON THE BREEZV DECK. 



times); then French, then English. There 
was an American, but he is dead or mis- 
laid. The mongrels are the result of all 
kinds of mixtures; black and white, mu- 
latto and white, quadroon and white, oc- 
toroon and white. And so there is every 
shade of complexion; ebony, old mahog- 
any, horse-chestnut, sorrel, molasses- 
candy, clouded amber, clear amber, old- 
ivory white, new-ivory white, fish-belly 
white — this latter the leprous complexion 
frequent with the Anglo-Saxon long resi- 
dent in tropical climates. 

"You wouldn't expect a person to be 
proud of being a Mauritian, now, would 
you ? But it is so. The most of them 
have never been out of the island, and 
haven't read much or studied much; they 
think the world consists of three principal 
countries — Judea, France, and Mauritius; 
so they are very proud of belonging to 
one of the three grand divisions of the 
globe. They think that Russia and Ger- 



many are in England, and that England 
does not amount to much. They have 
heard vaguely about the United States and 
the equator, but they think both of them 
are monarchies. They think Mount Peter 
Botte is the highest mountain in the world, 
and if you show one of them a picture of 
Milan Cathedral, he will swell up with 
satisfaction and say that the idea of that 
jungle of spires was stolen from the forest 
of pegtops and toothpicks that makes the 
roofs of Curepipe look so fine and prickly. 

"There is not much trade in books. 
The newspapers educate and entertain the 
people. Mainly the latter. They have 
two pages of large-print reading matter — 
one of them English, the other French. 
The English page is a translation of the 
French one. The typography is super- 
extra primitive; in this quality it has not 
its equal anywhere. There is no proof- 
reader now; he is dead. 

" Where do they get matter to fill up a 
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page in this little island lost in the wastes 
of the Indian Ocean ? Oh, Madagascar. 
They discuss Madagascar and France. 
That is the bulk. Then they chock up 
the rest with advice to the government. 
Also, slurs upon the English administra- here. 
tion. The papers are all owned and ed- "Many copies of 'Paul and Virginia* 
ited by Creoles — French. are sold every year in Mauritius. No 

" The language of the country is French, other book is so popular here except the 
Everybody speaks it — has to. You have Bible. By many it is supposed to be a 



know, in these days, when a country be- 
gins to introduce the tea culture, it means 
that its own specialty has gone back on it. 
Look at Bengal; look at Ceylon. Well, 
they've begun to introduce the tea culture 



to know French — 
particularly mon- 
grel French, the 
patois spoken by 
Tom, Dick, and 
Harry of the mul 
tiform complex 
ions — or you can't 
get along. 

"This was a 
flourishing country 
in former days, for 
it made then and 
still makes the best 
sugar in the world; 
but first the Suez 
Canal severed it 
from the world and 
left it out in the 
cold, and next the 
beet root sugar, 
helped by bounties, 
captured the Euro- 
pean markets. Su- 
gar is the life of 
Mauritius, and it is 
losing its grip. Its 
downward course 
was checked by the 
depreciation of the 
r u p e e — f o r t h e 

planter payS WageS " Tke third year they ao not gather sket/s 

in rupees, but sells 

his crop for gold — and the insurrection in 
Cuba and paralyzation of the sugar indus- 
try there have given our prices here a life- 
saving lift; but the outlook has nothing 
permanently favorable about it. It takes 
a year to mature the canes — on the high 
ground, three and six months longer — and 
there is always a chance that the annual 
cyclone will rip the profit out of the crop. 
In recent times a cyclone took the whole 
crop, as you may say; and the island 
never saw a finer one. Some of the 
noblest sugar estates in the island are in 
deep difficulties. A dozen of them are 
investments of English capital; and the 
companies that own them are at work now 
trying to settle up and get out with a sav- 
ing of half the money they put in. You 



part of the Bible. 
All the missiona- 
ries work up their 
French on it when 
they come here to 
pervert the Catho- 
lic mongrel. It is 
the greatest story 
that was ever writ- 
ten about Mauri- 
tius, and the only 
one." 

II. 

The principal differ- 
ence between a cat and 
a lie is that the cat has 
only nine lives. — Pud- 
d'nhead Wilson s Xew 
Calendar. 



April 20th. — The 
cyclone of 1892 
killed and crippled 
hundreds of peo- 
ple; it was accom- 
panied by a deluge 
of rain which 
drowned Port 
*" Louis and produced 

a water famine. 
Quite true; for it 
burst the reservoir 
and the water-pipes; and for a time after 
the flood had disappeared there was much 
distress from want of water. 

This is the only place in the world 
where no breed of matches can stand the 
damp. Only one match in sixteen will 
light. 

The roads are hard and smooth; some 
of the compounds are spacious, some of 
the bungalows commodious, and the road- 
ways are walled by tall bamboo hedges, 
trim and green and beautiful; and there 
are azalea hedges, too, both the white 
and the red. I never saw that before. 

As to healthiness: I translate from to- 
day's (April 20th) " Merchants' and Plant- 
ers' Gazette," from the article of a regu- 
lar contributor, " Carminge," concerning 

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MARK TWAIN. 



the death of the nephew of a prominent 
citizen. 

" Sad and lugubrious existence, this 
which we lead in Mauritius; I believe 
there is no other country in the world 
where one dies more easily than among 
us. The least indisposition becomes a 
mortal malady; a simple headache devel- 
ops into meningitis; a cold into pneumo- 
nia, and presently, when we are least ex- 
pecting it, death is a guest in our home." 

This daily paper has a meteorological 
report which tells you what the weather 
was day before yesterday. 

One is never pestered by a beggar or a 
peddler in this town, so far as I can see. 
This is pleasantly different from India. 

April 22d. — To such as believe that the 
quaint product called French civilization 
would be an improvement upon the civili- 
zation of New Guinea and the like, the 
snatching of Madagascar and the laying 
on of French civilization there will be fully 
justified. But why did England allow the 
French to have Madagascar ? Did she 
respect a theft of a couple of centuries 
ago ? Dear me, robbery by European 
nations of each other's territories has 
never been a sin, is not a sin to-day. To 
the several cabinets the several political 
establishments of the world are clothes- 
lines; and a large part of the official duty 
of these cabinets is to keep an eye on each 
other's wash and grab what they can of it 
as opportunity offers. All the territorial 
possessions of all the political establish- 
ments in the earth — including America, 



of course— consist of pilferings from other 
people's wash. No tribe, howsoever in- 
significant, and no nation, howsoever 
mighty, occupies a foot of land that was 
not stolen. When the English, the French, 
and the Spaniards reached America, the 
Indian tribes had been raiding each other's 
territorial clothes-iines forages, and every 
acre of ground in the continent had been 
stolen and re-stolen five hundred times. 
The English, the French, and the Span- 
iards went to work and stole it all over 
again; and when that was satisfactorily 
accomplished they went diligently to work 
and stole it from each other. In Europe 
and Asia and Africa every acre of ground 
has been stolen several millions of times. 
A crime persevered in a thousand centu- 
ries ceases to be a crime, and becomes a 
virtue. This is the law of custom, and 
custom supersedes all other forms of law. 
Christian governments are as frank to-day, 
as open and above-board, in discussing 
projects for raiding each other's clothes- 
lines as ever they were before the golden 
rule came smiling into this inhospitable 
world and couldn't get a night's lodging 
anywhere. In one hundred and fifty 
years England has beneficently retired 
garment after garment from the Indian 
lines, until there is hardly a rag of the 
original wash left dangling anywhere. In 
eight hundred years an obscure tribe of 
Muscovite savages has risen to the daz- 
zling position of land-robber-in-chief; she 
found a quarter of the world hanging 
out to dry on a hundred parallels of lati- 
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Resting in Euroft. 

tude, and she scooped in the whole wash. 
She keeps a sharp eye on a multitude of 
little lines that stretch along the northern 
boundaries of India, and every now and 
then she snatches a hip-rag or a pair of 
pajamas. It is England's prospective 
property, and Russia knows it; but Russia 
cares nothing for that. In fact, in our 
day, land-robbery, claim-jumping, is be- 
come a European governmental frenzy. 
Some have been hard at it in the borders 
of China, in Burma, in Siam, and the 
islands of the sea; and all have been at 
it in Africa. Africa has been as coolly 
divided up and portioned out among the 
gang as if they had bought it and paid for 
it. And now straightway they are begin- 
ning the old game again — to steal each 
other's grabbings. Germany found a vast 
slice of Central Africa with the English 
flag and the English missionary and the 
English trader scattered all over it, but 
with certain formalities neglected — no 
signs up, "Keep off the grass," "Tres- 
passers forbidden," etc. — and she stepped 
in with a cold, calm smile, and put up the 
signs herself, and swept those English 



pioneers promptly out of the 
country. 

There is a tremendous point 
there. It can be put into the 
form of a maxim : Get your 
formalities right — never mind 
about the moralities. 

It was an impudent thing, 
but England had to put up 
with it. Now, in the case of 
Madagascar, the formalities 
had originally been observed, 
but by neglect they had fallen 
into desuetude ages ago. 
England should have 
snatched Madagascar from 
the French clothes-line. 
Without an effort she could 
have saved those harmless 
natives from the calamity of 
French civilization, and she 
did not do it. Now it is too 
late. 

The signs of the times show 
• plainly enough what is going 
to happen. All the savage 
lands in the world are going 
to be brought under subjec- 
tion to the Christian govern- 
ments of Europe. I am not 
sorry, but glad. This com- 
. ing fate might have been a 
calamity to those savage peo- 
ples two hundred years ago, 
but now it will in some cases be a 
benefaction. The sooner the seizure is 
consummated, the better for the savages. 
The dreary and dragging ages of blood- 
shed and disorder and oppression will 
give place to peace and order and the 
reign of law. When one considers what 
India was under her Hindoo and Moham- 
medan rulers, and what she is now; 
when he remembers the miseries of her 
millions then and the protections and 
humanities which they enjoy now, he must 
concede that the most fortunate thing that 
has ever befallen that empire was the es- 
tablishment of British supremacy there. 
The savage lands of the world are to pass 
to alien possession, their peoples to the 
mercies of alien rulers. Let us hope and 
believe that they will all benefit by the 
change. . . . 

April 23d. — " The first year they gather 
shells; the second year they gather shells 
and drink ; the third year they do not gather 
shells." (Said of immigrants to Mau- 
ritius.) . . . What there is of Mauritius 
is beautiful. You have undulating, wide 
expanses of sugar cane — a fine, fresh green 

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MARK TWAIN. 



13 



and very pleasant to the eye; and every- 
where else you have a ragged luxuriance of 
tropic vegetation of vivid greens of varying 
shades, a wild tangle of underbrush, with 
graceful tall palms lifting their plumes 
high above it; and you have stretches 
of shady, dense forest with limpid streams 
frolicking through them, continually 
glimpsed and lost and glimpsed again in 
the pleasantest hide-and-seek fashion; and 
you have some tiny mountains, some quaint 
and picturesque groups of toy peaks, and 
a dainty little vest-pocket Matterhorn; 
and here and there and now and then a 
strip of sea with a white ruffle of surf 
breaks into the view. 

That is Mauritius; and pretty enough. 
The details are few. The massed result is 
charming, but not imposing; not riotous, 
not exciting; it is a Sunday landscape. 
Perspective,and the enchantments wrought 
by distance, are wanting. There are no 
distances; there is no perspective, so to 
speak. Fifteen miles as the crow flies is 
the usual limit of vision. Mauritius is a 
garden and a park combined. It affects 
one's emotions as parks and gardens affect 
them. The surfaces of one's spiritual 
deeps are pleasantly played upon, the deeps 



themselves are not reached, not stirred. 
Spaciousness, remote altitudes, the sense 
of mystery which haunts apparently inac- 
cessible mountain domes and summits re- 
posing in the sky — these are the things 
which exalt the spirit and move it to see 
visions and dream dreams. 

The Sandwich Islands remain my ideal 
of the perfect thing in the matter of tropi- 
cal islands. I would add another story 
to Mauna Loa's sixteen thousand feet if 
I could, and make it particularly bold and 
steep and craggy and forbidding and 
snowy; and I would make the volcano 
spout its lava-floods out of its summit 
instead of its sides; but aside from these 
non-essentials, I have no corrections to 
suggest. I hope these will be attended 
to; I do not wish to have to speak of it 
again. 

III. 

When your watch gets out of order you have 
choice of two things to do : throw it in the fire, or 
take it to the watch-tinker. The former is the 
quickest. — Pudd'nhead Wilson's New Calendar . 

The " Arundel Castle n is the finest boat 
I have seen in these seas. She is thor- 



* fifteen or twenty Africanders 



SAT I'P SINGING ON THE AKTKRDECK. IN TUB MOONLIGHT, TILL THRF.R A.M 

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FROM INDIA TO SOUTH AFRICA. 



oughly modern; and that statement covers 
a great deal of ground. She has the usual 
defect, the common defect, the uni- 
versal defect, the defect that has never 
been missing from any ship that ever 
sailed: she has imperfect beds. Many 
ships have good beds, but no ship has very 
good ones. In the matter of beds all 
ships have been badly edited, ignorantly 



and receiving worrying cables and letters. 
And a sea voyage on the Atlantic is of no 
use — voyage too short, sea too rough. The 
peaceful Indian and Pacific oceans and the 
long stretches of time are the healing thing. 

May 2d, a.m. — A fair, great ship in sight 
— almost the first we have seen in these 
weeks of lonely voyaging. . . . 

Last night the burly chief engineer, 



* FIFTY INDIANS AND CHINAMEN SLEEP IN A BIG TENT IN THE WAIST OF THE SHIP FORWARD. 



edited, from the beginning. The selec- 
tion of the beds is given to some hearty, 
strong-backed, self-made man, when it 
ought to be given to a frail woman accus- 
tomed from girlhood to backaches and 
insomnia. Nothing is so rare, on either 
side of the ocean, as a perfect bed, nothing 
is so difficult to make. Some of the hotels 
on both sides provide it, but no ship ever 
does or ever did. In Noah's Ark the beds 
were simply scandalous. Noah set the 
fashion, and it will endure in one degree of 
modification or another till the next flood. 

8 a.m. — Passing Isle de Bourbon. 
Broken-up sky-line of volcanic mountains 
in the middle. Surely it would not cost 
much to repair them, and it seems inexcus- 
able neglect to leave them as they are. 

It seems stupid to send tired men to 
Europe to rest. It is no proper rest for 
the mind to clatter from town to town, in 
the dust and cinders, and examine galleries 
and architecture and be always meeting 
people and lunching and teaingand dining, 



middle-aged, was standing telling a spir- 
ited seafaring tale, and had reached the 
most exciting place — where a man over- 
board was washing swiftly astern on the 
great seas and uplifting despairing cries, 
everybody racing aft in a frenzy of excite- 
ment and fading hope — when the band, 
which had been silent a moment, began 
impressively its closing piece, the English 
national anthem. As simply as if he was 
unconscious of what he was doing, he 
stopped his story, uncovered, laid his laced 
cap against his breast, and slightly bent his 
grizzled head; the few bars finished, he 
put on his cap and took up his tale again 
as naturally as if that interjection of 
music had been a part of it. There was 
something touching and fine about it, and 
it was moving to reflect that he was one 
of a myriad, scattered over every part of 
the globe, who by turn were doing as he 
was doing, every hour of the twenty-four 
— those awake doing it while the others 
slept — those impressive bars forever float- 
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MARK TWAIN, 



l S 



ing up out of the various climes, never 
silent and never lacking reverent listeners. 
All that I remember about Madagascar 
is that Thackeray's little Billee went up to 
the top of the mast and there knelt him 
upon his knee, saying, 

I see 

Jerusalem and Madagas- 
car, 

And North and South 
Amerikee. 

May jd, Sunday. 
— Fifteen or twenty 
Africanders who 
will end their 
voyage to-day and 
strike for their sev- 
eral homes from 
Delagoa Bay to- 
morrow, sat up singing 
afterdeck in the moonli 
3 a.m. Good fun and 
some. And the song 
clean songs, and so 
hallowed by their t 
Finally, in a pause, a 
had heard a certain ol 
lowly anecdote. It w 
blanket. The men w 
for humorous dirt. Tl 
them to their homes, a 
by those far hearthston 
heard voices other th 
about them. The p< 
enough to see that he 
asked his question aga 
no response. It was embarrassing tor him. 
In his confusion he chose the wrong 
course, did the wrong thing — began the 
anecdote. Began it in a deep and hostile 
stillness, where had been such life and 
stir and warm comradeship before. The 
two rows of men sat like statues. There 
was no movement, no sound. He had to go 
on ; there was no other way — at least none 
that an animal of his caliber could think of. 
When at last he finished his tale, which 
is wont to fetch a crash of laughter, not a 
ripple of sound resulted. It was as if the 
tale had been told to dead men. After 
what seemed a long, long time, somebody 
sighed, somebody else stirred in his seat; 
presently the men dropped into a low 
murmur of confidential talk, each with his 
neighbor, and the incident was closed. 
There were indications that that man was 
fond of his anecdote; that it was his pet, 
his standby, his shot that never missed, 
his reputation-maker. But he will never 
tell it again. No doubt he will think of 



it sometimes, for that cannot well be 
helped; and then he will see a picture — and 
always the same picture: the double rank 
of dead men; the vacant deck stretching 
away in dimming perspective beyond 
them, the wide desert of smooth sea all 
abroad; the rim of the moon spying from 

d; the remote 
aring a zigzag 
stars in the 
his soft picture 
e time that he 
t and told his 
jit so lonesome 

Indians and 
len sleep in a 
t in the waist of 
> forward; they 
by side with no 
between ; the 
ormerwrapped 
ip, head and 
ill, as in the 
ndian streets; 
he Chinamen 
incovered; the 
amp and 
h i n g s for 
>pium - smok- 
ng in the cen- 
er. . . . 
Monday \ May 
4th. — Steam- 
ing slowly in 
the stupend- 
ous Delagoa 
Bay, its dim 

" MOST OF THEM ARE EXACTLY LIKE arillS StretCh- 
THE NEGROES OF THE SOUTHERN ing faT aWay 
STATES — ROUND FACES, FLAT NOSES." and disaD- 

pearing on 
both sides. It could furnish plenty of 
room for all the ships in the world, but 
it is shoal. The lead has given us three 
and one-half fathoms several times, and we 
are drawing that, lacking six inches. 

A bald headland — precipitous wall 150 
feet high — very strong red color, stretch- 
ing a mile or so. A man said it was Por- 
tuguese blood — battle fought here with 
the natives last year. I think this doubt- 
ful. Pretty cluster of houses on the table- 
land above the red — and rolling stretches 
of grass and groups of trees, like Eng- 
land. 

The Portuguese have the railroad (one 
passenger train a day) to the border, 
seventy miles — then the Netherlands Com- 
pany have it. Thousands of tons of 
freight on the shore — no cover. This is 

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FROM INDIA TO SOUTH AFRICA. 



Portuguese all over — indolence, piousness, 
poverty, impotence. 

Crews of small boats and tugs all jet 
black, woolly heads, and very muscular. 

Winter. — The South African winter is 
just beginning now, but nobody but an 
expert can tell it from summer. How- 
ever, I am tired of summer; we have had 
it unbroken for eleven months. We spent 
the afternoon on shore, Delagoa Bay. A 



eter of a teacup. It required nice bal- 
ancing — and got it. 

No bright colors; yet there were a good 
many Hindoos. 

The Second Class Passenger came over 
as usual at " lights out " (eleven), and we 
lounged along the spacious vague solitudes 
of the deck and smoked the peaceful pipe 
and talked. He told me an incident in 
Mr. Barnum's life which was evidently 



"it's a first-rate idea, i'll buy the monument." 



small town — no sights. No carriages. 
Three rickshaws, but we couldn't get them 
— apparently private. These Portuguese 
are a rich brown, like some of the In- 
dians. Some of the blacks have the long 
horse-heads and very long chins of the 
negroes of the picture books; but most 
of them are exactly like the negroes of 
our Southern States — round faces, flat 
noses, good-natured, and easy laughers. 

Flocks of black women passed along, 
carrying outrageously heavy bags of 
freight on their heads — the quiver of their 
leg as the foot was planted and the strain 
exhibited by their bodies showed what a tax 
upon their strength the load was. They 
were stevedores, and doing full stevedore's 
work. They were very erect when unladen 
— from carrying weights on their heads — 
just like the Indian women. It gives them 
a proud, fine carriage. 

Sometimes one saw a woman carrying 
on her head a laden and topheavy basket 
the shape of an inverted pyramid — its top 
the size of a soup-plate, its base the diam- 



characteristic of that great showman in 
several ways. This was Barnum's purchase 
of Shakespeare's birthplace, a quarter of 
a century ago. 

The Second Class Passenger was in 
Jamrach's employ at the time, and knew 
Barnum well. He said the thing began 
in this way. One morning Barnum and 
Jamrach were in Jamrach's little private 
snuggery back of the wilderness of caged 
monkeys and snakes and other common- 
places of Jamrach's stock in trade, refresh- 
ing themselves after an arduous stroke of 
business, Jamrach with something ortho- 
dox, Barnum with something heterodox — 
for Barnum was a teetotaler. The stroke 
of business was in the elephant line. 
Jamrach had contracted to deliver to Bar- 
num in New York eighteen elephants for 
$360,000, in time for the next season's 
opening. Then it occurred to Mr. Bar- 
num that he needed a "card." He sug- 
gested Jumbo. Jamrach said he would 
have to think of something else — Jumbo 
couldn't be had; the Zoo wouldn't part 

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MARK TWAIN. 



17 



with that elephant. Barnum said he was 
willing to pay a fortune for Jumbo if he 
could get him. Jamrach said it was no 
use to think about it; that Jumbo was as 
popular as the Prince of Wales, and the 
Zoo wouldn't dare to sell him; all Eng- 
land would be outraged at the idea; Jumbo 
was an English institution; he was part 
of the national glory; one might as well 
think of buying the Nelson monument. 
Barnum spoke up with vivacity and said: 

44 It's a first-rate idea. /'// buy the monu- 
ment." 

Jamrach was speechless for a second. 
Then he said, like one ashamed: 

44 You caught me. I was napping. For 
a moment I thought you were in earnest." 

Barnum said pleasantly: 

44 1 was in earnest. I know they won't 
sell it, but no matter. I will not throw 
away a good idea for all that. All I want 
is a big advertisement. I will keep the 
thing in mind, and if nothing better turns 
up I will offer to buy it. That will an- 
swer every purpose. It will furnish me a 
couple of columns of gratis advertising 
in every English and American paper for 
a couple of months, and give my show 
the biggest boom a show ever had in this 
world." 

Jamrach started to deliver a burst of ad- 
miration, but was interrupted by Barnum, 
who said: 

44 Here is a state of things! England 
ought to blush." 

His eye had fallen upon something in 
the newspaper. He read it through to 
himself; then read it aloud. It said that 
the house that Shakespeare was born in at 
Stratford-on-Avon was falling gradually 
to ruin through neglect; that the room 
where the poet first saw the light was now 
serving as a butcher's shop; that all ap- 
peals to England to contribute money (the 
requisite sum stated) to buy and repair 
the house and place it in the care of sal- 
aried and trustworthy keepers had fallen 
resultless. Then Barnum said: 

44 There's my chance. Let Jumbo and 
the monument alone for the present — 
they'll keep. I'll buy Shakespeare's 
house. I'll set it up in my museum in 
New York, and put a glass case around it 
and make a sacred thing of it; and you'll 
see all America flock there to worship; 
yes, and pilgrims from the whole earth; 
and I'll make them take their hats off, 
too. In America we know how to value 
anything that Shakespeare's touch has 
made holy. You'll see!" 

In conclusion the S. C. P. said: 



44 That is the way the thing came about. 
Barnum did buy Shakespeare's house. He 
paid the price asked, and received the 
properly attested documents of sale. 
Then there was an explosion, I can tell 
you. England rose! What, the birth- 
place of the master genius of all the ages 
and all the climes — that priceless posses- 
sion of Britain — to be carted out of the 
country like so much old lumber and set 
up for sixpenny desecration in a Yankee 
show-shop! The idea was not to be toler- 
ated for a moment. England rose in her 
indignation, and Barnum was glad to relin- 
quish his prize and offer apologies. How- 
ever, he stood out for a compromise; he 
claimed a concession — England must let 
him have Jumbo. And England, con- 
sented, but not cheerfully." 

It shows how, by help of time, a story 
can grow— even after Barnum has had the 
first innings in the telling of it. Mr. 
Barnum told me the story himself, years 
ago. He said that the permission to buy 
Jumbo was not a concession; the purchase 
was made and the animal delivered before 
the public knew anything about it ; also, 
that the securing of Jumbo was all the 
advertisement he needed. It produced 
many columns of newspaper talk free of 
cost, and he was satisfied. He said that 
if he had failed to get Jumbo he would 
have caused his notion of buying the Nel- 
son monument to be treacherously smug- 
gled into print by some trusty friend, and 
after he had gotten a few hundred pages 
of gratuitous advertising out of it, he 
would have come out with a blundering, 
obtuse, but warm-hearted letter of apol- 
ogy, and in a postscript to it would have 
naively proposed to let the monument go 
and take Stonehenge in place of it at the 
same price. 

It was his opinion that such a letter, 
written with well-simulated asinine inno- 
cence and gush, would have gotten his ig- 
norance and stupidity an amount of news- 
paper abuse worth six fortunes to him and 
not purchasable for twice the money. 

I knew Mr. Barnum well, and I placed 
every confidence in the account which he 
gave me of the Shakespeare birthplace 
episode. He said he found the house ne- 
glected and going to decay, and he inquired 
into the matter, and was told that many 
times earnest efforts had been made to 
raise money for its proper repair and pres- 
ervation, but without success. He then 
proposed to buy it. The proposition was 
entertained, and a price named — $50,000, 
I think; but whatever it was, Barnum paid 
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18 GOVERNMENT COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPHS, 



the money down, without remark, and the 
papers were drawn up and executed. He 
said that it had been his purpose to set up 
the house in his museum, keep it in repair, 
protect it from name-scribblers and other 
decorators, and leave it by bequest to the 
safe and perpetual guardianship of the 
Smithsonian Institution at Washington. 
But as soon as it was found that Shakes- 
peare's house had passed into foreign 
hands and was going to be carried across 
the ocean, England was stirred as no ap- 
peal from the custodians of the relic had 
ever stirred her before, and protests came 
flowing in— and money, too, — to stop 
the outrage. Offers of re-purchase were 
made — offers of double the money that 



Mr. Barnum had paid for the house. He 
handed the house back, and took only the 
sum which it had cost him — but on the 
condition that an endowment sufficient for 
the future safeguarding and maintenance 
of the sacred relic should be raised. This 
condition was fulfilled. 

That was Barnum's account of the epi- 
sode; and to the end of his days he 
claimed with pride and satisfaction that 
not England, but America — represented 
by him — saved the birthplace of Shakes- 
peare from destruction. 

At three p.m., May 6th, the ship slowed 
down, off the land, and thoughtfully and 
cautiously picked her way into the snug 
harbor of Durban, South Africa.* 



THE GOVERNMENT COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR 

PHOTOGRAPHS. 

By Genkrai. A. \V. Grerly. 



IN its progress the American civil war 
was marked by the application to its 
use and benefit of many phases of indus- 
trial evolution that had hitherto been un- 
employed in the art of war. One of the 
most interesting for the future historian 
was the utilization of photography. For- 
tunately for historical students there has 
been concentrated, arranged, and cata- 
logued, in the War Department Library, 
more than eight thousand photographs re- 
lating to the civil war, which are the prop- 
erty of the United States. Of these more 
than six thousand are represented by neg- 
atives. Inasmuch as McClure's Maga- 
zine has been the first to thoroughly ex- 
amine these photographs for historical 
purposes, under permission of Secretary of 
War Russell A. Alger, and will present 
many of them to its readers in connection 
with the reminiscences of the former As- 
sistant Secretary of War, Charles A. Dana, 
one of the ablest and most active officials 
of the war period, it may be of interest 
to its readers to know the story of the 
aggregation of these photographs and of 
the vicissitudes which nearly caused their 
total loss to the world. 

These negatives and photographs were 
brought together in the War Department 



Library in 1894, under an order of Secre- 
tary of War Lamont, reorganizing certain 
divisions of the War Department, which 
directed that collections of photographs 
of any bureau of the War Department, 
not used in the administrative work there- 
of, should be transferred to the War De- 
partment Library. As a result there are 
now in the files of the War Department 
Library 8,115 photographs, ranging in 
size from three by four inches to seventeen 
by twenty inches. 

While fewest in number, yet, from their 
official character, the most important pho- 
tographs are those contributed by the 
Corps of Engineers and the Quartermas- 
ter's Department. The Quartermaster's 
photographs, over a thousand in number, 
illustrate not only the multifarious opera- 
tions and activities of this great depart- 
ment, but also of other army bureaus. 
We find represented bakeries, hospitals, 
stables, warehouses, barracks, conscript 
camps, prisoners* quarters, signal towers, 
convalescent camps, draft rendezvous, 
gunboats, refugee camps and quarters, 
contraband quarters, hospitals, and camps, 
rolling-mills, shipyards, waterworks — in 
short, nearly every phase of the operations 
in the rear of or accessory to a great 



* Editor's Note.— These chapters (copyright, 1807, by Olivia I.. Clemens) are from a forthcoming book by Mark 
Twain, entitled '* Following the Equator," and are published here by special arrangement with the American Publishing 
Co., of Hartford, Conn. They constitute the only account of any part of Mark Twain's recent journey around the world 
that will appear in periodical form, and all rights are expressly reserved. The book will be sold only by subscription, 
and its sale in New York and the vicinity is under the exclusive control of the Doubleday and McClure Company 



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GOVERNMENT COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPHS. 19 



army. There is an extended series of 
views of gunboats and transports, and a 
very valuable one showing the operation, 
construction, and repair of military rail- 
ways as conducted by the Railway Divi- 
sion of the Quartermaster's Department. 
These photographs exhibit experimental 
bridges, the manner of straightening bent 
rails, of various expedients for crossing 
streams, of barges carrying freight cars, 
with appliances for loading and unloading, 
from which originated the great transfer 
railway ferryboats, which are still peculiar 
to America only. The Adjutant-General's 
photographs consist of nearly seven hun- 
dred portraits of distinguished officers 
who served in the war. Very few of these 
photographs have ever been reproduced, 
the collection not being accessible until 
now. Among views obtained from private 
sources the most important collection is 
that belonging to Captain W. C. Marge- 
dant, about fifty views of Chattanooga and 
its surroundings in 1863-64. 

Far the greater number, and those pos- 
sessing the greatest popular interest, are 
contained in the views and negatives known 
as the Brady war photographs. The 
Brady collection covers the operations 
of the war in the District of Columbia, 
Georgia, Maryland, New York, Pennsyl- 
vania, South Carolina, Tennessee, and 
Virginia. It also comprises photographs 
of Presidents Lincoln and Johnson, and 
their cabinets, senators and members of 
the House of Representatives, judges, 
many distinguished citizens, and a large 
number of military and naval officers. 
Secretary of War William W. Belknap pur- 
chased for the War Department in July, 
1874, a large number of photographic neg- 
atives of war views and portraits of prom- 
inent men. The government secured a 
perfect title to the entire collection in 
April, 1875, at an aggregate expense of 
nearly $28,000. 

For nearly twenty years subsequent to 
the passing of these negatives into the 
possession of the United States, the story 
of the Brady war photographs is practi- 
cally one of neglect or misfortune. In- 
trusted to the care of subordinate officials, 
who were either indifferent to or ignorant 
of the value and interest of the collec- 
tion, it suffered to an extraordinary degree 
from the lack of proper care in handling. 
Passing from one official to another, it 
was nearly ten years before any attempt 
was made to make a list of the six thou- 
sand negatives. Meanwhile, for various 
official and historical purposes, free and 



unguarded access was allowed to the neg- 
atives, which naturally suffered from inex- 
perienced and careless handling. Many 
negatives were broken, some defaced by 
handling, some destroyed by neglect and 
exposure, while others were lost. 

When in 1894 Secretary Lamont ordered 
that the civil war photographs be grouped 
and catalogued, the labor of identification, 
cleaning, repairing, and putting beyond the 
possibility of further damage of this Brady 
collection seemed at first a hopeless task; 
but fortunately, after a period of three 
years, this has been in a measure done, ex- 
cept three hundred unidentified negatives. 
The perfected work is now, through a pub- 
lished catalogue of the War Department, in 
such shape as to be available to historical 
students, and the original negatives of the 
various collections, in dust-proof envel- 
opes, have been so arranged, classified, 
and stored that any one of them is imme- 
diately accessible. 

Future generations, in dwelling on the 
civil war, must necessarily revert to these 
war photographs for information and im- 
pressions; and, as man is always of greater 
interest than his environment, the por- 
traits of the prominent actors in this stu- 
pendous war must be ever of the greatest 
value. The wealth of the collection in 
this direction may be appreciated by the 
names of a few of the Federal and Con- 
federate commanders, now dead, whose 
deeds and services have won renown. 

Among these are Anderson, Bartlett, 
Beauregard, Birney, Boggs, Buell, Bu- 
ford, Burnside, Casey, Corcoran, Combs, 
Custer, Dahlgren, Davis, Dix, Dupont, 
Emory, Farragut, Foote, Foster, Fre- 
mont, Garfield, Grant, Gregg, Griffin, 
Hancock, Hazen, Heintzelmann, Hooker, 
Hunt, " Stonewall " Jackson, Johnston, 
Kearney, Lee, Logan, McClellan, Mc- 
Pherson, Meade, Morris, Ord, Paulding, 
the Porters, Rodgers, Rowan, Schenck, 
Scott, Sedgwick, Sheridan, Sherman, 
Slocum, Terry, Thomas, and Warren. 

In short, there are but few Federal offi- 
cers of rank and distinction whose linea- 
ments are not preserved in this collection, 
which in another generation will be con- 
sidered one of the inestimable treasures of 
the American nation. The genius of the 
artist may well be looked to for the deline- 
ation of the heroic figures of the Ameri- 
can civil war. But it is safe to say that, 
however beautiful may be these works of 
art, they can never touch the heart or 
awaken the imagination as do certain pho- 
tographs of this collectjc^ t 



REMINISCENCES OF MEN AND EVENTS OF THE 

CIVIL WAR. 

By Charles A. Dana, 
Assistant Secretary of War from 1863 to 1865. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS FROM THE WAR DEPARTMENT COLLECTION OF 

CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPHS. 

I. 
FROM THE " TRIBUNE" TO THE WAR DEPARTMENT. 




HAD been associated with Hor- 
ace Greeley on the New York 
"Tribune" for about fifteen 
years when, one morning early 
in April, 1862, Mr. Sinclair, the 
advertising manager of the pa- 
per, came to me saying that 
Mr. Greeley would be glad to have me 
resign. I asked one of my associates to 
find from Mr. Greeley if it was really 
his wish. In a few hours he came to me 
saying that I had better go. I stayed 
the day out, in order to make up the paper 
and give them an opportunity to find a 
successor, but I never went into the office 
after that. I think I owned a fifth of the 
paper — twenty shares — at that time; this 
stock my colleagues bought. 

Mr. Greeley never gave a reason for 
dismissing me, nor did 1 ever ask for one. 
I know, though, that the real explanation 
was that while he was for peace I was for 
war, and that as long as I staid on the 
" Tribune" there was a spirit there which 
was not his spirit — that he did not like. 

My retirement from the " Tribune " was 
talked of in the newspapers for a day or 
two,* and brought me a letter from the 

♦AN EDITORIAL CHANGE. 

It seems to be generally understood, and we believe it is 
true, that Charles A. Dana, Esq., who has been for the last 
fifteen years managing editor of the "Tribune,' has with- 
drawn from that position, and dissolved his connection with 
that journal. 

The reasons of this step are not known to us, nor are they 
proper subjects of public comment. 

we presume, however, that Mr. Dana intends to with- 
draw from journalism altogether and devote himself to the 
more congenial pursuits of literature. He is one of the ablest 
and most accomplished gentlemen connected with the news- 
paper press. The ranks of the profession are not sufficiently 
crowded with such members to render his departure from it 
a matter of indifference. 

The " Albion " makes the following just and merited no- 
tice of this incident : 

" The daily press of this city has sustained— for a time at 



Secretary of War, say- 

ing he would like War 

Department. I h Lin- 

coln, and had ca res- 

pondence with Mr ting 

with Mr. Lincoln 5 in- 

auguration. He Rew- 

ard to be his S and 

some of the Rep Mew 

York who had b pre- 

venting Mr. Sew; the 

Presidency and i: Mr. 

Lincoln, had begu >uld 

be left out in the c n of 

the offices. Gene rth, 

George Opdyke, . B. 

Carroll, and He w vere 

among the number of these gentlemen. 
Their apprehensions were somewhat miti- 
gated by the fact that Mr. Chase, to whom 
we were all friendly, was Secretary of the 
Treasury. But, notwithstanding, they 
were afraid that the superior tact and per- 
tinacity of Mr. Seward and of Mr. Thur- 
low Weed, Seward's close friend and the 
political manager of the Republican party, 
would *get the upper hand, and that the 
power of the Federal administration would 

least— a serious loss in the discontinuance of Mr. Charles A. 
Dana's editorial connection with the * Tribune.' Differing 
as we almost invariably have done with the policy and the 
tenets of that paper, and having been drawn at intervals 
into controversy with it, we should nevertheless omit both a 
pleasure and a duty if we failed to put on record our grate- 
ful sense of many professional courtesies experienced at 
Mr. Dana's hands. 

" Remembering also that during the palmy days of the 
New York Press Club, no member of that association was 
more personally popular than this our genial and scholarly 
friend, we do but unite, we are sure, with all our brethren 
in hoping that he will not long absent himself from the 
ranks. Should he, however, hold aloof from a difficult and 
thankless office, his taste and abilities are certain to bring 
him most honorably before the public in some other 
department of letters. Such as he cannot hide their light 
under a bushel."— " The Times," New York, April 6. 
i86a. 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



HOKACK GKKKI.KY IN 1862. AGE 51 YKAKS. 

Editor of the New York " Tribune " from 1841 to 187a. 



be put into the control of the rival fac- 
tion; accordingly, several of them deter- 
mined to go to Washington, and I was 
asked to go with them. 

I believe the appointment for our inter- 
view with the President was made through 
Mr. Chase; but, at any rate, we all went up 
to the White House together, except Mr. 
Henry B. Stanton, who stayed away be- 
cause he was himself an applicant for 
office. 



Mr. Lincoln received us in the large 
room upstairs in the east wing of the White 
House, where he had his working office, 
and stood up while General Wadsworth, 
who was our principal spokesman, and Mr. 
Opdyke stated what was desired. After 
the interview was begun, a big Indianian, 
who was a messenger in attendance in the 
White House, came into the room and said 
to the President, 

" She wants you." 

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22 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



"Yes, yes," said Mr. Lincoln, without 
stirring. 

Soon afterward the messenger returned 
again, exclaiming, 

" I say she wants you! " 

The President was evidently annoyed, 
but, instead of going out after the messen- 
ger, he remarked to us: 

"One side shall not gobble up every- 
thing. Make out a list of places and men 
you want, and I will endeavor to apply 
the rule of give and take.*' 

General Wadsworth answered: 

"Our party will not be able to remain 
in Washington, but we will leave such a 
list with Mr. Carroll, and whatever he 
agrees to will be agreeable to us." 

Mr. Lincoln continued: " Let Mr. Car- 
roll come in to-morrow, and we will see 
what can be done.'* 

This is the substance of the interview, 
and what most impressed me was the evi- 
dent fairness of the President. We all 
felt that he meant to do what was right 
and square in the matter. While he was 
not the man to promote factious quarrels 
and difficulties within his party, he did not 
intend to leave in the lurch the special 
friends through whose exertions his nomi- 
nation and election had finally been brought 
about. At the same time he understood 
perfectly that we of New York and our 
associates in the Republican body had not 
gone to Chicago for the purpose of nomi- 
nating him, or of nominating any one in 
particular, but only to beat Mr. Seward, 
and thereupon to do the best that could be 
done regarding the selection of the can- 
didate. 

FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH STANTON. 

My acquaintance with Mr. Stanton had 
come about through an editorial which I 
had written for the " Tribune "* on his 
entrance to the War Department, and 
which I had sent to him with a letter call- 
ing his attention to certain facts with 
which, it seemed to me, the War Depart- 
ment ought to deal. In reply I received 
the following letter: 

Washington, January 24, '62. 

My dear Sir : — Yours of the 22d only reached me 
this evening. The facts you mention were new to 
me, but there is too much reason to fear they are 
true. But that matter will, I think, be corrected 
very speedily. 

You cannot tell how much obligation I feel myself 
under for your kindness. Every man who wishes 

* "The New Head of the War Department," New York 
"Tribune," January 21, 1862. Mr. Stanton became Secretary 
of War the middle of January, 1862. 



the country to pass through this trying hour should 
stand on watch, and aid me. Bad passions, and little 
passions, and mean passions gather around and hem 
in the great movements that should deliver this nation. 

Two days ago I wrote you a long letter — a three 
pager — expressing my thanks for your admirable 
article of the 21st, stating my position and purposes; 
and in that letter I mentioned some of the circum- 
stances of my unexpected appointment. But inter- 
rupted before it was completed, I will not inflict, or 
afflict, you with it. 

I know the task that is before us — I say us be- 
cause the ** Tribune" has its mission as plainly as I 
have mine, and they tend to the same end. But I 
am not in the smallest degree dismayed or disheart- 
ened. By Hod's blessing, we shall prevail. I feel a 
deep, earnest feeling growing up around me. We 
have no jokes or trivialities ; but all with whom I 
act show that they are now in dead earnest. 

I know you will rejoice to know this. 

As soon as I can get the machinery of the office 
working, the rats cleared out, and the rat-holes 
stopped, we shall more. This army has got to fight 
or run away ; and while men are striving nobly in 
the West, the champagne and oysters on the Potomac 
must be stopped. But patience for a short while 
only is all I ask, if you and others like you will rally 
around me. Yours truly, 

Edwin M. Stanton. 
C. A. Dana, Ksq. 

A few days after this I wrote Mr. Stan- 
ton a second letter, in which I asked him 
to give General Fremont a chance. At 
the breaking out of the war Fremont had 
been made a mafjor-general in the regular 
army and the command of the Western de- 
partment had been given him. His cam- 
paign in Missouri in the summer of 1861 
gave great dissatisfaction, and in Novem- 
ber, 1 86 1, he was relieved, after an inves- 
tigation by the Secretary of War. Since 
that time he had been without a command. 
I believed, as did many others, that politi- 
cal intrigue was keeping Fremont back, 
and I was anxious that he should have fair 
play, in order that the great mass of people 
who had supported him for the Presidency 
in 1856, and who still were his warm friends, 
might not be dissatisfied. To my letter 
Mr. Stanton replied: 

Washington, February 1, '62. 

Dear Sir: — If General Fremont has any fight in 
him he shall (so far as I am concerned) have a chance 
to show it, and I have told him so. The times re- 
quire the help of every man according to his gifts ; 
and having neither partialities nor grudges to indulge, 
it will l>e my aim to practice on the maxim * 4 the 
tools to him that can handle them."* 

There will be serious trouble between Hunter and 
Lane. What Lane's expedition has in view, how it 
came to be set on foot, and what is expected to be 
accomplished by it, I do not know and have tried in 
vain to find out. It seems to be a haphazard affair 
that no one will admit himself to be responsible for. 
But believing that Lane has pluck and is an earnest 

* A few weeks later, viz., March 1 ith. General Fremont was 
assigned to the command of the " Mountain Department," 
composed of parts of Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee. 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



2 3 



EDWIN M. STANTON. 

Secretary of War from January, 1863, to May, 1668. 



man, he shall have fair play. If you know anything 
about him or his expedition pray tell it to me. 

To bring the War Department up to the standard 
of the times, and work an army of five hundred 
thousand with machinery adapted to a peace estab- 
lishment of twelve thousand, is no easy task. This 
was Mr. Cameron's great trouble, and the cause of 
much of the complaints against him. All I ask is 
reasonable time and patience. The pressure of 
members of Congress for clerk and army appoint- 
ments, notwithstanding the most stringent rules, and 
the persistent strain against all measures essential to 
obtain time for thought, combination, and confer- 
ence, is discouraging in the extreme — it often tempts 
me to quit the helm in despair. The only consolation 
is the confidence and support of good and patriotic 
men — to their aid I look for strength. 

Yours truly, Edwin M. Stanton. 

C. A. Dana, Esq., "Tribune" Office. 



Very soon after Mr. Stanton went into 
office military affairs were energized, and 
a forward movement of the armies was 
apparent. It was followed by several vic- 
tories, notably those of Fort Henry and 
Fort Donelson. On different occasions 
the "Tribune" credited to the head of 
the War Department this new spirit which 
seemed to inspire officers and men. Mr. 
Stanton, fearful of the effect of this 
praise, sent to the paper the following de- 
spatch: 

To tmk Editor of the New York "Tribune." 
Sir : — T cannot suffer undue merit to be ascribed 
to my official action. The glory of our recent vic- 
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24 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



tories belongs to the gallant officers and soldiers that 
fought the battles. No share of it belongs to me. 

Much has recently been said of military combina- 
tions and organizing victory. I hear such phrases 
with apprehension. They commenced in infidel 
France with the Italian campaign, and resulted in 
Waterloo. Who can organize victory? Who can 
combine the elements of success on the battlefield ? 
We owe our recent victories to the Spirit of the Lord 
that moved our soldiers to rush into battle and filled 
the hearts of our enemies with dismay. The inspira- 
tion that conquered in battle was in the hearts of the 
soldiers and from on high ; and wherever there is 
the same inspiration there will be the same results. 
Patriotic spirit, with resolute courage in officers and 
men, is a military combination that never failed. 

We may well rejoice at the recent victories, for 
they teach us that battles are to be won now and by 
us in the same and only manner that they were ever 
won by any people, or in any age, since the days of 
Joshua, by boldly pursuing and striking the foe. 
What, under the blessing of Providence, I conceive 
to be the true organization of victory and military 
combination to end this war, was declared in a few 
words by General Grant's message to General Buck- 
ner — *' I propose to move immediately on your works.** 
Yours truly, 

Edwin M. Stanton. 

On receiving this I at once wired to our 
representative in Washington to know if 
Mr. Stanton meant to "repudiate" the 
"Tribune/' I received my answer from 
Mr. Stanton himself. 

Washington, February 19, '62. 
Dear Sir : — It occurred to me that your kind no- 
tice of myself might be perverted into a disparage- 
ment of the Western officers and soldiers to whom the 
merit of the recent victories justly belongs, and that 
it might create an antagonism between them and the 
head of the War Department. To avoid that mis- 
construction was the object of my despatch — leaving 
the matter to be determined as to publication to the 
better judgment of the " Tribune," my own mind 
not being clear on the point of its expediency. Mr. 
Hill * called to see me this evening, and from the 
tenor of your despatch it seemed to me that your 
judgment did not approve the publication or you 
would not speak of me as " repudiating" anything 
the *' Tribune" says. On reflection / am convinced 
the communication should not be published, as it 
might imply an antagonism between myself and the 
" Tribune. ' On this, as on any future occasion, I 
defer to your judgment. We have one heart and 
mind in this great cause, and upon many essential 
points you have a wider range of observation and 
clearer sight than myself ; I am therefore willing to 
be guided by your wisdom. 

Yours truly, 

Edwin M. Stanton. 
C. A. Dana, Esq. 

On receiving this letter we of course 
published his telegram at once.f 

When Mr. Stanton went into the War 
Department there was great dissatisfac- 
tion in the "Tribune" office with Mc- 

* Adams S. Hill, now professor of English literature in 
Harvard University. Then he was a correspondent of the 
** Tribune " in Washington. 

t ^ew York "Tribune," February ao, 1863, editorial page, 



Clellan. He had been placed In command 
of the Army of the Potomac in the preced- 
ing August, and since November 1st had 
been in command of all the armies of the 
United States; but while he had proved 
himself an excellent drill-master, he had, 
at the same time, proved that he was no 
general at all. His friends were loyal, 
however, and whatever success our armies 
met with was attributed to his generalship. 

When the capture of Fort Donelson was 
announced McClellan's friends claimed 
that he had directed it by telegraph from 
his headquarters on the Potomac. Now, 
the terminus of the telegraph toward Fort 
Donelson was many miles off from the 
battlefield. Besides, the absurdity of a 
general directing the movements of a 
battle a thousand miles off, even if he had 
fifty telegraph wires, leading to every part 
of the field, was apparent. Nevertheless, 
McClellan's supporters kept up their claim. 
On February 20th, the Associated Press 
agent at Washington, in reporting a meet- 
ing of a railroad convention at which Mr. 
Stanton had spoken, said: 

" Secretary Stanton, in the course of his 
address, paid a high compliment to the 
young and gallant friend at his sFde, Ma- 
jor-General McClellan, in whom he had 
the utmost confidence, and the results of 
whose military schemes, gigantic and well- 
matured, were now exhibited to a rejoicing 
country. The secretary, with upraised 
hands, implored Almighty God to aid 
them and himself, and all occupying posi- 
tions under the government, in crushing 
out this unholy rebellion." 

I did not believe Stanton had done any 
such thing, so I sent the paragraph to 
him. The secretary replied: 

[Private.] 

Washington, February 23, '62. 

Dear Sir : — The paragraph to which you called 
my attention was a ridiculous and impudently im- 
pertinent effort to puff the general by a false publica- 
tion of words I never uttered. Sam Barlow, one of 
the secretaries of the meeting, was its author, as I 
have been informed. It is too small a matter for me 
to contradict, but I told Mr. Kimlen, the other secre- 
tary, that I thought the gentlemen who invited me 
to be present at their meeting owed it to themselves 
to see that one of their own officers should not mis- 
represent what I said. It was for them, and due to 
their own honor, to see that an officer of the govern- 
ment might communicate with them in safety. And 
if it was not done, I should take care to afford no 
other opportunity for such practices. 

The fact is that the agents of the Associated 
Press and a gang around the Federal Capitol ap- 
pear to be oiganized for the purpose of magnifying 
their idol. 

And if such men as those who composed the rail- 
road convention in this city do not rebuke such a 
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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



25 



practice as that perpetrated in this instance, they can- 
not be conferred with in future. 

You will, of course, see the propriety of my not 
noticing the matter, and thereby giving it importance 
beyond the contempt it inspires. I think you are 
well enough acquainted with me to judge in future 
the value of any such statement. 

I notice the "Herald" telegraphic reporter an- 
nounces that I had a second attack of illness on Fri- 
day and could not attend the department. I was in 
the department, or in cabinet, from 9 a.m. until 9 
at night, and never 
enjoyed more per- 
fect health than on 
that day and at 
present. 

For your kind so- 
licitude accept my 
thanks. I shall not 
needlessly impair 
my means of use- 
fulness. 

Yours truly, 

Edwin M. 

Stanton. 



War Department, Washington City, D. C, 

June 16, 1862. 
Sir: — By direction of the President, a commis- 
sion has been appointed, consisting of Messrs. 
George S. Boutwell, Stephen T. Logan, and your- 
self, to examine and report upon all unsettled claims 
against the War Department, at Cairo, Illinois, that 
may have originated prior to the first day of April, 
1862. 

Messrs. Boutwell and Logan have been requested 
to meet with you at Cairo on the eighteenth day of 

June instant, in or- 
der that the com- 
mission may be or- 
ganized on that day 
and enter immedi- 
ately upon the dis- 
charge of its duties. 
You will be al- 
lowed a compensa- 
tion of eight dollars 
per day and mile- 
age. 

Mr. Thomas 
Means, who has 
been appointed so- 
licitor for the gov- 
ernment, has been 
directed to meet 
you at Cairo on the 
18th instant, and 
will act under the 
direction of the 
commission in 
the investigation of 
such claims as may 
be presented. 
Edwin M. 
Stanton, 
Secretary of War. 

Hon. Charles A. 
Dana of New 
York, 



C. A. Dana, Esq. 

P.S.— Was it not 
a funny sight to 
see a certain mili- 
tary hero in the tel- 
egraph office at 
Washington last 
Sunday organizing 
victory, and by sub- 
lime military com- 
binations capturing 
Fort Donelson six 
hours after Grant 
and Smith had tak- 
en it sword in hand 
and had victorious 
possession ! It 
would be a picture 
worthy of 

** Punch." 

FIRST CONN FAC- 
TION WITH 
THE WAR DE- 
PARTMENT. 

THURLOW WEED. 

Thus when 
the newspapers 
announced my 

unexpected retirement from the " Tri- friends, and Mr. 

bune," I was not unknown to either the setts— afterward governor of that State, 

President or the Secretary of War. Secretary of the Treasury, and a senator 

To Mr. Stanton's letter asking me to go — both present. We organized on the 

into the service of the War Department, I 18th, as directed. Two days after we met, 

replied that I would take anything he Judge Logan was compelled by illness to 

wanted me to, and in May he wrote me resign from the commission, and Shelby 

that I was to be appointed on a commis- M. Cullom, now United States Senator 

sion to audit unsettled claims against the from Illinois, was appointed in his place, 

quartermaster's department at Cairo, Illi- The main Union armies had by now 

nois. I was directed to be in Cairo on advanced far to the front, but Cairo was 

June 17th. My formal appointment, which still an important militarydepot — almostan 

I did not receive until after I reached outpost — in command of General William 

Cairo, read; K. Strong, whom I had known well in New 

Digitized by ' 



When Mr. Dana entered the War Department Mr. Weed was in Europe, trying to 
prevail on foreign governments to refrain from recognizing the Confederacy. 



Cairo, Illinois. 

On reaching 
Cairo on the 
appointed day, 
I found my as- 
sociates, Judge 
Logan of 
Springfield, Il- 
linois, one of 
Mr. Lincoln's 
Boutwell of Massachu- 



OT^gc^ 



26 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR, 



York as a Republican politician. There 
was a large number of troops stationed in 
the town, and from there the armies on the 
Mississippi, in Missouri, and Kentucky 
got all their supplies and munitions of war. 
The quartermaster's department there had 
been organized hastily, and the demands 
upon it had increased rapidly. Much of 
the business had been done by green vol- 
unteer officers who did not understand the 
technical duties of making out military 
requisitions and returns; the result was 
that the accounts were in great confusion, 
and hysterical newspapers were charging 
the department with fraud and corruption. 
The matter could not be settled by any 
ordinary means, and the commission went 
there as a kind of supreme authority, ac- 
cepting or rejecting claims, and paying 
them as we thought fit, after examining 
the evidence. 

Sixteen hundred and ninety-six claims, 
amounting to $599,219.36, were examined 
by us. Of those approved and certified 
for payment the amount was $451,105.80. 

Of the claims rejected a considerable 
portion were for losses suffered in the 
active operations of the army, either 
through departure from discipline on the 
part of soldiers, or from requisitions made 
by officers who failed to give receipts and 
certificates to the parties, who were thus 
unable to support their claims by sufficient 
evidence. Many claims of this description 
were also presented by persons whose loy- 
alty to the government was impeached by 
credible witnesses. In rejecting these the 
commission set forth the disloyalty of the 
claimants, in the certificates written on the 
face of their accounts. Other accounts, 
whose rightfulness was established, were 
rejected on proof of disloyalty. The 
commission regarded complicity in the re- 
bellion as barring all claims against the 
United States. 

A very small percentage of the claims 
were rejected because of fraud. In almost 
every case it was possible to suppose that 
the apparent fraud was accident. My ob- 
servation throughout the war was the 
same. I do not believe that so much busi- 
ness could be transacted with a closer 
adherence to the line of honesty. That 
there were frauds is a matter of course, 
because men, and even some women, are 
wicked, but they were the exception. 

FIRST MEETING WITH GRANT. 

All the leisure that I had at Cairo I spent 
in horseback riding up and down the river 



banks and in visiting the adjacent military 
posts. My longest and most interesting 
trip was on the Fourth of July, when I 
went down the Mississippi to attend a big 
celebration at Memphis. I remember it 
particularly because it was there that I 
first met General Grant. The officers sta- 
tioned in the city gave a dinner that day 
to which I was invited. At the table I 
was seated between Grant and Major John 
A. Rawlins of his staff. I remember dis- 
tinctly the pleasant impression Grant made 
— that of a man of simple manners, 
straightforward, cordial, and unpretend- 
ing. He had already fought the successful 
battles of Fort Donelson and Shiloh, and 
when I met him, was a major-general in 
command of the district of West Tennes- 
see, Department of the Missouri, under 
Halleck, with headquarters at Memphis. 
Although one would not have suspected it 
from his manners, he was really under a 
cloud at the time because of the opera- 
tions at Shiloh. Those who did not like 
him had accused him of having been taken 
by surprise there, and had declared that 
he would have been beaten if Buell had 
not come up. I often talked later with 
Grant's staff officers about Shiloh, and 
they always affirmed that he would have 
been successful if Buell had not come to 
his relief. I believe Grant himself thought 
so, although he never, in any one of the 
many talks I afterwards had with him 
about the battle, said so directly. 

RETURN TO WASHINGTON. 

We finished our labors at Cairo on the 
31st of July, 1862, and I went at once to 
Washington with the report, placing it in 
the hands of Mr. Stanton on August 5th. 
It was never printed, and the manuscript 
is still in the files of the War Depart- 
ment. 

There was a great deal of curiosity 
among officers in Washington about the 
result of our investigation, and all the 
time that I was in the city I was ques- 
tioned on the subject. It was natural 
enough that they should have been inter- 
ested in our report. The charges of fraud 
and corruption against officers and contrac- 
tors had become so reckless and general 
that the mere sight of a man in confer- 
ence with a high official led to the sus- 
picion and often the charge that he was 
conspiring to rob the government. That 
in this case, where the charges seemed so 
well based, so small a percentage of corrup- 
tion had been proved was a source of solid 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 



CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



27 




GSNRKAL CBORCR 1». MoCI. F.I.I. AN, COMMANDER OF TMK AKMIRS IN l8<2. 



satisfaction to everyone in the War De- 
partment. 

As Mr. Stanton had no immediate need 
of my services, I returned to New York in 
August, where I was occupied with vari- 
ous private affairs until the middle of No- 
vember, when I received a telegram from 
Assistant Secretary of War P. H. Watson, 
asking me to come immediately to Wash- 
ington to enter upon another investigation. 
I went, and was received by Mr. Stanton, 
who offered me the place of Assistant 
Secretary of War. I said I would accept. 



"All right," said he, "consider it set- 
tled." 

As I went out from the War Department 
into the street I met Major Charles G. 
Halpine (Miles O'Reilly) of the Sixty- 
ninth New York Infantry. I had known 
Halpine well as a newspaper man in New 
York, and I told him of my appointment 
as Mr. Stanton's assistant. He immedi- 
ately repeated what I had told him to 
some newspaper people; it was reported 
in the New York papers the next morning. 
The secretary was greatly offended, and 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 



28 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



withdrew the appointment. When I told 
Halpine I had, of course, no idea he was 
going to repeat it; besides I did not think 
there was any harm in telling. 

Immediately after this episode I formed 
a partnership with Roscoe Conk ling and 
George W. Chadwick to buy cotton. The 
outcry which the manufacturers had raised 
over the inability to get cotton for their 
industries had induced the government to 
permit trading through the lines of the 
army, and the business looked profitable. 
Conkling and I each put $10,000 into the 
firm, and Chadwick gave his services, 
which, as he was an expert in cotton, was 
considered equal to our capital. To facili- 
tate our operations, I went to Washington 
to ask Mr. Stanton for letters of recom- 
mendation to the generals on and near the 
Mississippi, where we proposed to begin 
our operations. Mr. Stanton and I had 
several conversations about the advisabil- 
ity of allowing such traffic, but he did not 
hesitate about giving me the letters I 
asked. There were several of them — one 
to General Hurlbut, then at Memphis, an- 
other to General Grant, who was planning 
his operations against Vicksburg, and an- 
other to General Curtis, who commanded 
in Arkansas. The general purport of them 
was: " Mr. Dana is my friend, you can 
rely upon what he says, and if you can be 
kind to him in any way you will oblige me.'* 
It was in January, 1863, that Chadwick 
and I went to Memphis, where we staid at 
the Gayoso Hotel, at that time the swell 
hotel of the town and the headquarters of 
several officers. 

It was not long after I began to study 
the trade in cotton before I saw it was a 
bad business and ought to be stopped. I 
at once wrote Mr. Stanton the following 
letter which embodied my observations and 
gave my opinion as to what should be 
done: 

Memphis, January 21, 1863. 

Dear Sir : — You will remember our conversations 
on the subject of excluding cotton speculators from 
the regions occupied by our armies in the South. I 
now write to urge the matter upon your attention as 
a measure of military necessity. 

The mania for sudden fortunes made in cotton, 
raging in a vast population of Jews and Yankees 
scattered throughout this whole country, and in this 
town almost exceeding the numbers of the regular 
residents, has to an alarming extent corrupted and 
demoralized the army. Every colonel, captain, or 
quartermaster is in secret partnership with some 
operator in cotton ; every soldier dreams of adding a 
bale of cotton to his monthly pay. I had no concep- 
tion of the extent of this evil until I came and saw 
for myself. 

Besides, the resources of the rebels are inordinately 
increased from this source. Plenty of cotton is 



brought in from beyond our lines, especially by the 
agency of Jewish traders, who pay for it ostensibly 
in treasury notes, but really in gold. 

What I would propose is that no private purchaser 
of cotton shall be allowed in any part of the occupied 
region. 

Let quartermasters buy the article at a fixed price, 
say twenty or twenty-five cents per pound, and for- 
ward it by army transportation to proper centers, say 
Helena, Memphis, or Cincinnati, to be sold at pub- 
lic auction on government account. Let the sales 
take place on regular fixed days, so that all parties 
desirous of buying can be sure when to be present. 

But little capital will be required for such an opera- 
tion. The sales being frequent and for cash will 
constantly replace the amount employed for the pur- 
pose. I should say that two hundred thousand dol- 
lars would be sufficient to conduct the movement. 

I have no doubt that this two hundred thousand 
dollars so employed would be more than equal to 
thirty thousand men added to the national armies. 

My pecuniary interest is in the continuance of the 
present state of things, for while it lasts there are 
occasional opportunities of profit to be made by a 
daring operator ; but I should be false to my duty 
did I, on that account, fail to implore you to put an 
end to an evil so enormous, so insidious, and so full 
of peril to the country. 

My first impulse was to hurry to Washington to 
represent these things to you in person ; but my en- 
gagements here with other persons will not allow me 
to return East so speedily. I beg you, however, to 
act without delay it possible. An excellent man to 
put at the head of the business would be General 
Strong. I make this suggestion without any idea 
whether the employment would be agreeable to him. 
Yours faithfully, 

Charles A. Dana. 
Mr. Stanton. 

P. S. — Since writing the above I have seen Gen- 
eral Grant, who fully agrees with all my statements 
and suggestions, except that imputing corruption to 
every officer, which of course I did not intend to be 
taken literally. 

I have also just attended a public sale by the 
quartermaster here of five hundred bales of cotton, 
confiscated by General Grant at Oxford and Holly 
Springs. It belonged to Jacob Thompson and other 
notorious rebels. This cotton brought to-day over a 
million and a half of dollars, cash. This sum alone 
would be five times enough to set on foot the system 
I recommend, without drawing upon the treasury at 
all. In fact there can be no question that by adopt- 
ing this system the quartermaster's department in 
this valley would become self-supporting, while the 
army would become honest again and the slave- 
holders would no longer find that the rebellion had 
quadrupled the price of their great staple, but only 
doubled it. 

As soon as I could get away from Mem- 
phis I went to Washington, where I had 
many conversations with Mr. Lincoln and 
Mr. Stanton about restricting the trade in 
cotton. They were deeply interested in my 
observations, and questioned me closely 
about what I had seen. My opinion that 
the trade should be stopped had the more 
weight because I was able to say, " Gen- 
eral Grant and every general officer whom I 
have seen hopes it will be done." 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 



CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



29 




KoSCOE CONKLINC. 

Mr. Conklinf was a Member of Congress from 1858 to 1869. In the latter year he was defeated of reflection, but was reelected in 1864. 



The result of our conferences was that 
on March 31, 1863, Mr. Lincoln issued 
a proclamation declaring all commercial 
intercourse with the States in insurrec- 
tion unlawful, except when carried on 
according to the regulations prescribed by 
the Secretary of the Treasury. These 
regulations Mr. Chase prepared at once. 
At the same time that Mr. Lincoln issued 
his proclamation, Mr. Stanton issued an 
order forbidding officers and all other 
members of the army to have anything to 
do with the trade. In spite of all these 
regulations, however, and the modifica- 



tions of them which experience brought, 
there was, throughout the war, more or 
less difficulty over cotton trading. 

SPECIAL COMMISSIONER IN GRANT'S ARMY. 

From Washington I went back to New 
York. I had not been there long before 
Mr. Stanton sent for me to come to Wash- 
ington. He wanted some one to go to 
Grant's army, he said, to report daily to 
him the military proceedings, and to give 
such information as would enable Mr. Lin- 
coln and him to settle their minds as to 
Digitized by VjOOQlC 



3° 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



Grant, about whom, at that time, there 
were many doubts, and against whom there 
was some complaint. 

•'Will you go?" Mr. Stanton asked. 
" Yes," I said. " Very well," he replied. 
" The ostensible function I shall give you 
will be that of a special commissioner of 
the War De- 
partment to 
investigate 
the pay de- 
par t m e n t 
in Western 
armies, but 
your real 
duty will be 
to report to 
me every day 
what you 
see. ' ' 

On March 
i 2 t h , Mr. 
Stanton 
wrote me the 
following let- 
ter: 



Department to investigate and report upon the con- 
dition of the pay service in the Western armies. All 
paymasters and assistant paymasters will furnish to 
the said commissioner for the Secretary of War in- 
formation upon any matters concerning which he 
makes inquiry of them as fully and completely and 
promptly as if 'directly called for by the Secretary of 
War. Railroad agents, quartermasters, and commis- 
sioners will give 



Army ) 

Anson > 

Action ) columns 



Message or division otSJTjfaZuTTZTlS 

COMMENCKMEHT WORDS. 

Astor ) Anderson \ 

Advance > Ambush 

Artillery ) columns Agree 



witfwi ft 1 1 ttsTsxtu***Mt*xrzfmtuj 



ROUTE t— Up the column— dowa the.C/7!— «p ttae.£?...— 

down tbe.<4f..— up the./*, —down tho../...— up the 



At/ \ 



OtrmtJ ! 






7 
f 

'0 
/' 



/*- 

/J 

//+ 



War Depart- 
ment, Wash- 
ington City, 
Alarch 12, 
1863. 

Dear Sir: — I 
enclose you a 
copy of your or- 
der of appoint- 
ment and the or- 
der fixing your 
compensation, 
with a letter to 
Generals Sum- 
ner,* Grant, and 
Rosecrans, and 
a draft for one 
thousand dol- 
lars. Having 
explained the 
purposes of your 
appointment to 
you personally, 
no further in- 
structions will be 
given unless 
special ly re- 
quired. Please 
acknowledge the 

receipt of this and proceed as early as possible to your 
duties. Yours truly, 

Edwin M. Stanton. 
C. A. Dana, Esq., New York. 

My commission read: 

Ordered, That C. A. Dana, Esq., be and he is 
hereby appointed special commissioner of the War 

* General E. V. Sumner, who had iust been relieved at his 
own reauest from the Army of the Potomac and appointed 
to the Department of the Missouri. He was on his way 
thither when he died on March iist. 




I/me<r „ 

C%/iJh/uaA/ 



&***/«£ \ AT J &4n**uJV 

PAGE FROM KEY TO THE DANA SPECIAL CIPHER. 

The key to the Dana Cipher bears Mr. Stanton's own mark, the words " Dana Special " being 
written in his hand on the first page. A duplicate key was kept at the War Department in Wash- 
ington. By changing the number of columns and their order of reading, three combinations of 
cipher were possible from this page alone. As there were eight similar pages the cipher could 
be varied frequently, though as a matter of fact Mr. Dana's cipher books show that he usually 
employed the " route " marked on the above page and cited in his text as an illustration. 



him transporta- 
tion and subsist- 
ence. All officers 
and persons in 
the service will 
aid him in the 
performance of 
his duties and 
will afford him 
assistance, cour- 
tesy, and protec- 
tion. The said 
commissioner 
will make report 
to this depart- 
ment as occasion 
may require. 

The letters 
of introduc- 
tion and ex- 
planation to 
the generals 
were identi- 
cal: 



General'. — 
Charles A. Dana, 
Esq., has been 
appointed a 
Special Commis- 
sioner of this 
Department to 
investigate and 
report upon the 
condition of the 
pay service in 
the Western ar- 
mies. You will 
please aid him 
in the perform- 
ance of his du- 
ties and com- 
municate to him 
fully your views 
and wishes in re- 
spect to that 
branch of the 
service in your 
command, and 
also give to him 
such information as you may deem beneficial to the 
service. He is specially commended to your courtesy 
and protection. Yours truly, 

Edwin M. Stanton. 

I at once started, for Memphis, going by 
way of Cairo and Columbus. 

THE DANA CIPHER. 

I sent my first despatch to the War De- 
partment from Colt 



ftaJc^uJ 

\fet 

\%/Ub 



XV ^&&38&§t 



CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



3i 



It was sent by a secret cipher furnished 
by the War Department, which I used my- 
self, for throughout the war I was my own 
cipher clerk. The ordinary method at the 
various headquarters was for the sender 
to write out the despatch in -full, after 
which it was translated from plain English 
into the agreed cipher by a telegraph oper- 
ator or clerk, retained for that exchisive 
purpose, who understood it, and by an- 
other retranslated back again at the other 
end of the line. So whatever military 
secret was transmitted was at the mercy 
always of at least two outside persons, be- 
sides running the gauntlet of other prying 
eyes. Despatches written in complex 
cipher codes were often difficult to unravel, 
unless transmitted by the operator with 
the greatest precision. A wrong word 
sometimes destroyed the sense of an en- 
tire despatch, and important movements 
were delayed thereby. This explains the 
oft-repeated 41 I do not understand your 
telegram " found in the official correspond- 
ence of the war period. 

I have, since the war, become familiar 
with a great many ciphers, but I never 
found one which was more satisfactory 
than that I used in my messages to Mr. 
Stanton. In preparing my message I first 
wrote it out in lines of a given number of 
words, spaced regularly so as to form 
five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten col- 
umns. My key contained various " routes " 
to be followed in writing out the messages 
for transmission. Thus a five-column 
message had one route, a six-column an- 
other, and so on. The route was indi- 
cated by a "commencement word." If I 
had put my message into five columns, I 
would write the word " army," or any one 
in a list of nine words, at the beginning. 
The receiver, on looking for that word in 
his key, would see that he was to write 
out what he had received in lines of five 
words, thus forming five columns, and 
then he was to read it down the fifth 
column, up the third, down the fourth, up 
the second, down the first. At the end of 
each column an "extra" or "check" 



word was added as a blind ; a list of 
"blind" words was also printed in the 
key, with each route, which could be in- 
serted if wished at the end of each line so 
as still further to deceive curious people 
who did not have the key. The key con- 
tained a large number of cipher words — 
thus, P. H. Sheridan was "soap" or 
" Somerset; " President was " Pembroke " 
or " Penfield; " instead of writing " there 
has been," I wrote " maroon ; " instead of 
secession, "mint; " instead of Vicksburg, 
" Cupid." My own cipher was " spunky " 
or "squad." The months, days, hours, 
numerals, and alphabet all had ciphers. 

The only message sent by this cipher to 
be translated by an outsider on the route, 
so far as I know, was that one of 4 p.m., 
September 20, 1863, in which I reported 
the Union defeat at Chickamauga. Gen- 
eral R. S. Granger, who was then at Nash- 
ville, was at the telegraph office waiting for 
news when my despatch passed through. 
The operator guessed out the despatch, as 
he afterward confessed, and it was passed 
around Nashville. The agent of the As- 
sociated Press at Louisville sent out a pri- 
vate printed circular quoting me as an 
authority for reporting the battle as a 
total defeat, and in Cincinnati Horace 
Maynard repeated, the same day of the 
battle, the entire second sentence of the 
despatch, "Chickamauga is as fatal a 
name in our history as Bull Run." 

This premature disclosure to the public 
of what was only the truth, well known at 
the front, caused a great deal of trouble. 
I immediately set on foot an investigation 
to discover who had penetrated our cipher 
code, and soon arrived at a satisfactory 
understanding of the matter, of which Mr. 
Stanton was duly informed. No blame 
could attach to me, as was manifest upon 
the inquiry; nevertheless, the sensation 
resulted in considerable annoyance all 
along the line from Chattanooga to Wash- 
ington. I suggested to Mr. Stanton the 
advisability of concocting a new and more 
difficult cipher; but it was never changed, 
so far as I now remember. 




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DREAMERS. 

By Rosalie M. Jonas. 
With drawing by Louise L. Heustis. 

Drums and trumpets thrown aside, 
Eyelids drooping, "arms at rest," 
Fast asleep on mother's breast. 

Lo! this dimpled warrior dreams 
Of far conquests that shall be 
When a " grown-up man" is he. 

And she dreams, who holds him close, 
" I shall always keep him so, 
Safely shielded from life's woe." 



Dreamers both! but bide ye, Fate, 
On the threshold of their door, 
For a little moment more. 



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ST. IVES 



THE ADVENTURES OF A FRENCH PRISONER IN ENGLAND. 

By Robert Louis Stevenson, 

Author of " Treasure Island," " Kidnapped," etc. 

CONCLUSION. 



CHAPTER XXVIII (Continued). 

EVENTS OF MONDAY : THE LAWYER'S 
PARTY. 

IT is a strange thing how young men in 
their teens go down at the mere wind 
of the coming of men of twenty-five and 
upwards! The vapid ones fled without 
thought of resistance before the major and 
me; a few dallied awhile in the neighbor- 
hood — so to speak, with their fingers in 
their mouths — but presently these also fol- 
lowed the rout, and we remained face to 
face before Flora. There was a draught in 
that corner by the door; she had thrown 
her pelisse over her bare arms and neck, 
and the dark fur of the trimming set them 
off. She shone by contrast; the light 
played on her smooth skin to admiration, 
and the color changed in her excited face. 
For the least fraction of a second she 
looked from one to the other of her rival 
swains, and seemed to hesitate. Then 
she addressed Chevenix: 

•*You are coming to the Assembly, of 
course. Major Chevenix ?" said she. 

" I fear not; I fear I shall be otherwise 
engaged," he replied. " Even the pleas- 
ure of dancing with you, Miss Flora, must 
give way to duty." 

For awhile the talk ran harmlessly on 
the weather, and then branched off to- 
wards the war. It seemed to be by no 
one's fault; it was in the air, and had to 
come. 

" Good news from the scene of opera- 
tions," said the major. 

"Good news while it lasts," I said. 
" But will Miss Gilchrist tell us her pri- 
vate thought upon the war ? In her admi- 
ration for the victors, does not there min- 
gle some pity for the vanquished ? " 

" Indeed, sir," she said, with animation, 
"only too much of it! War is a subject 
that I do not think should be talked of to 



a girl. I am, I have to be — what do you 
call it ? — a non-combatant ? And to remind 
me of what others have to do and suffer: 
no, it is not fair! " 

" Miss Gilchrist has the tender female 
heart," said Chevenix. 

" Do not be too sure of that! " she 
cried. " I would love to be allowed to 
fight, myself! " 

" On which side ? " I asked. 

"Can you ask?" she exclaimed. "I 
am a Scottish girl! " 

" She is a Scottish girl! " repeated the 
major, looking at me. " And no one 
grudges you her pity! " 

" And I glory in every grain of it she 
has to spare," said I. " Pity is akin to 
love." 

" Well, and let us put that question to 
Miss Gilchrist. It is for her to decide, 
and for us to bow to the decision. Is pity, 
Miss Flora, or is admiration, nearest love?" 

"Oh, come," said I, "let us be more 
concrete. Lay before the lady a com- 
plete case: describe your man, then I'll de- 
scribe mint, and Miss Flora shall decide." 

" I think I see your meaning," said he, 
** and I'll try. You think that pity — and 
the kindred sentiments — have the greatest 
power upon the heart. I think more no- 
bly of women. To my view, the man 
they love will first of all command their 
respect; he will be steadfast — proud, if 
you please; dry, possibly — but of all things 
steadfast. They will look at him in 
doubt; at last they will see that stern face 
which he presents to all the rest of the 
world soften to them alone. First, trust, 
I say. It is so that a woman loves who is 
worthy of heroes." 

" Your man is very ambitious, sir," said 
I, " and very much of a hero! Mine is a 
humbler and, I would fain think, a more 
human dog. He is one with no particular 
trust in himself, with no superior steadfast- 
ness to be admired for, who sees a lady's 
face, who hears her voice, and, without 



Copyright, 1897, by the S. S. McClure Co., New York. 



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34 



ST. IVES. 



any phrase about the matter, falls in love. 
What does he ask for, then, but pity ? — 
pity for his weakness, pity for his love, 
which is his life. You would make women 
always the inferiors, gaping up at your 
imaginary lover; he, like a marble statue, 
with his nose in the .air! But God has 
been wiser than you ; and the most stead- 
fast of your heroes may prove human, 
after all. We appeal to the queen for 
judgment," I added, turning and bowing 
before Flora. 

44 And how shall the queen judge ? " she 
asked. " I must give you an answer that 
is no answer at all. * The wind bloweth 
where it listeth ' : she goes where her 
heart goes." Her face flushed as she 
said it; mine also, for I read in it a declara- 
tion, and my heart swelled for joy. But 
Chevenix grew pale. 

44 You make of life a very dreadful kind 
of a lottery, ma'am," said he. " But I will 
not despair. Honest and unornamental 
is still my choice." And I must say he 
looked extremely handsome and very 
amusingly like the marble statue with its 
nose in the air to which I had compared 
him. 

44 1 cannot imagine how we got upon 
this subject," said Flora. 

" Madam, it was through the war," re- 
plied Chevenix. 

14 All roads lead to Rome," I com- 
mented. "What else would you expect 
Mr. Chevenix and myself to talk of ? " 

About this time I was conscious of a 
certain bustle and movement in the room 
behind me, but did not pay to it that de- 
gree of attention which perhaps would 
have been wise. There came a certain 
change in Flora's face ; she signaled re- 
peatedly with her fan; her eyes appealed 
to me obsequiously; there could be no 
doubt that she wanted something — as well 
as I could itiake out, that I should go away 
and leave the field clear for my rival, 
which I had not the least idea of doing. 
At last she rose from her chair with impa- 
tience. " I think it time you were saying 
good-night, Mr. Ducie! " she said. I could 
not in the least see why, and said so. 
Whereupon she gave me this appalling 
answer, 44 My aunt is coming out of the 
card-room." In less time than it takes to 
tell, I had made my bow and my escape. 

Looking back from the doorway, I was 
)rivileged to see, for a moment, the august 
profile and gold eyeglasses of Miss Gil- 
christ issuing from the card-room; and 
the sight lent me wings. I stood not on 
the order of my going; and a moment after, 



I was on the pavement of Castle Street, 
and the lighted windows shone down on 
me, and were crossed by ironical shadows 
of those who had remained behind. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

EVENTS ON TUESDAY: THE TOILS CLOSING. 

This day began with a surprise. I found 
a letter on my breakfast-table addressed 
to Edward Ducie, Esquire; and at first I 
was startled beyond measure. " Con- 
science doth make cowards of us all! " 
When I had opened it, it proved to be only 
a note from the lawyer, enclosing a card 
for the Assembly Ball on Thursday even- 
ing. Shortly after, as I was composing 
my mind with a cigar at one of the win- 
dows of the sitting-room, and Rowley, 
having finished the light share of work 
that fell to him, sat not far off tootling 
with great spirit and a marked preference 
for the upper octave, Ronald was suddenly 
shown in. 1 got him a cigar, drew in a 
chair to the side of the fire, and installed 
him there — I was going to say, at his ease, 
but no expression could be farther from 
the truth. He was plainly on pins and 
needles, did not know whether to take or 
to refuse the cigar, and, after he had 
taken it, did not know whether to light or to 
return it. I saw he had something to say; 
I did not think it was his own something; 
and I was ready to offer a large.bet it was 
really something of Major Chevenix's. 

44 Well, and so here you are! " I ob- 
served, with pointless cordiality, for I 
was bound I should do nothing to help 
him out. If he were, indeed, here running 
errands for my rival, he might have a fair 
field, but certainly no favor. 

44 The fact is," he began, " I would 
rather see you alone." 

44 Why, certainly," I replied. " Row- 
ley, you can step into the bedroom. My 
dear fellow," I continued, "this sounds 
serious. Nothing wrong, I trust." 

41 Well, I'll be quite honest," said he. 
I am a good deal bothered." 

44 And I bet I know why! " I exclaimed. 
" And I bet I can put you to rights, 
too." 

44 What do you mean! " he asked. 

14 You must be hard up," said I, "and 
all I can say is, you've come to the right 
place. If you have the least use for a 
hundred pounds, or any such trifling sum 
as that, please mention it. It's here, quite 
at your service." 



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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



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"I am sure it is most kind of you," 
said Ronald, "and the truth is, though 
I can't think how you guessed it, that I 
really am a little behind board. But I 
haven't come to talk about that." 

" No, I daresay! " cried I. " Not worth 
talking about! But remember, Ronald, 
you and I are on different sides of the 
business. Remember that you did me one 
of those services that make men friends 
forever. And since I have had the fortune 
to come into a fair share of money, just 
oblige me, and consider so much of it as 
your own." 

"No," he said, "I couldn't take it; I 
couldn't, really. Besides, the fact is, I've 
come on a very different matter. It's 
about my sister, St. Ives," and he shook 
his head menacingly at me. 

" You're quite sure ? " I persisted. " It's 
here, at your service — up to five hundred 
pounds, if you like. Well, all right; only 
remember where it is, when you do want 
it." 

" Oh, please let me alone! " cried Ron- 
ald. "I've come to say something un- 
pleasant; and how on earth can I do it, if 
you don't give a fellow a chance ? It's 
about my sister, as I said. You can see 
for yourself that it can't be allowed to go 
on. It's compromising; it don't lead to 
anything; and you're not the kind of man 
(you must feel it yourself) that I can al- 
low my female relatives to have anything 
to do with. I hate saying this, St. Ives; 
it looks like hitting a man when he's down, 
you know; and I told the major I very 
much disliked it from the first. However, 
it had to be said; and now it has been, 
and, between gentlemen, it shouldn't be 
necessary to refer to it again." 

" It's compromising; it doesn't lead to 
anything; not the kind of man," I re- 
peated thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe I 
understand, and shall make haste to put 
myself en regie.* 1 I stood up, and laid 
my cigar down. " Mr. Gilchrist," said I, 
with a bow, " in answer to your very nat- 
ural observations, I beg to offer myself as 
a suitor for your sister's hand. I am a 
man of title, of which we think lightly in 
France, but of ancient lineage, which is 
everywhere prized. I can display thirty- 
two quarterings without a blot. My ex- 
pectations are certainly above the aver- 
age: I believe my uncle's income averages 
about thirty thousand pounds, though I 
admit I was not careful to inform my- 
self. Put it anywhere between fifteen 
and fifty thousand ; it is certainly not 
less." 



"All this is very easy to say," said 
Ronald, with a pitying smile. " Unfortu- 
nately, these things are in the air." 

"Pardon me — in Buckinghamshire," 
said I, smiling. 

"Well, what I mean is, my dear St. 
Ives, that you can 7 prove them," he con- 
tinued. " They might just as well not be: 
do you follow me? You can't bring us 
any third party to back you up." 

" Oh, come! " cried I, springing up and 
hurrying to the table. " You must excuse 
me!" I wrote Romaine's address. 
"There is my reference, Mr. Gilchrist. 
Until you have written to him, and re- 
ceived his negative answer, I have a right 
to be treated, and I shall see that you 
treat me, as a gentleman." He was 
brought up with a round turn at that. 

" I beg your pardon, St. Ives," said he. 
" Believe me, I had no wish to be offen- 
sive. But there's the difficulty of this 
affair; I can't make any of my points 
without offence! You must excuse me, 
it's not my fault. But, at any rate, you 
must see for yourself this proposal of 
marriage is — is merely impossible, my 
dear fellow. It's nonsense! Our coun- 
tries are at war; you are a prisoner." 

" My ancestor of the time of the 
Ligue," I replied, "married a Huguenot 
lady out of the Saintonge, riding two 
hundred miles throujgh an enemy's- country 
to bring off his bride; and it was a happy 
marriage." 

"Well!" he began; and then looked 
down into the fire, and became silent. 

"Well ?" I asked. 

" Well, there's this business of — Gogue- 
lat," said he, still looking at the coals in 
the grate. 

"What!" I exclaimed, starting in my 
chair. " What's that you say ? " 

" This business about Goguelat," he re- 
peated. 

"Ronald," said I, "this is not your 
doing. These are not your own words. I 
know where they came from: a coward put 
them in your mouth." 

"St. Ives!" he cried, "why do you 
make it so hard for me ? and where's the 
use of insulting other people ? The plain 
English is, that I can't hear of any pro- 
posal of marriage from a man under a 
charge like that. You must see it for 
yourself, man ! It's the most absurd thing 
I ever heard of! And you go on forcing 
me to argue with you, too! " 

" Because I have had an affair of honor 
which terminated unhappily, you — a young 
soldier, or next-door to it — refuse my 



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36 



ST. IVES. 



offer? Do I understand you aright?" 
said I. 

11 My dear fellow!" he wailed, "of 
course you can twist my words, if you like. 
You say it was an affair of honor. Well, 
I can't, of course tell you that — I can't — 
I mean, you must see that that's just the 
point! Was it ? I don't know." 

" I have the honor to inform you," 
said I. 

"Well, other people say the reverse, 
you see! " 

" They lie, Ronald, and I will prove it 
in time." 

" The short and long of it is, that any 
man who is so unfortunate as to have such 
things said about him is not the man to be 
my brother-in-law," he cried. 

" Do you know who will be my first wit- 
ness at the court? Arthur Chevenix!" 
said I. 

"I don't care!" he cried, rising from 
his chair and beginning to pace outra- 
geously about the room. " VVhat do you 
mean, St. Ives ? What is this about ? 
It's like a dream, I declare ! You made 
an offer, and I have refused it. I don't 
like it, I don't want it; and whatever I 
did, or didn't, wouldn't matter — my aunt 
wouldn't hear of it, anyway! Can't you 
take your answer, man ? " 

"You must remember, Ronald, that 
we are playing with edged tools," said I. 
"An offer of marriage is a delicate sub- 
ject to handle. You have refused, and 
you have justified your refusal by several 
statements. First, that I was an impos- 
tor; second, that our countries were at 
war ; and third — no, I will speak," said 
I; " you can answer when I have done, — 
and third, that I had dishonorably killed 
— or was said to have done so — the man 
Goguelat. Now, my dear fellow, these 
are very awkward grounds to be taking. 
From any one else's lips I need scarce 
tell you how I should resent them; but 
my hands are tied. I have so much grati- 
tude for you, without talking of the love 
I bear your sister, that you insult me, 
when you do so, under the cover of a 
complete impunity. I must feel the pain 
— and I do feel it acutely — I can do nothing 
to protect myself." 

He had been anxious enough to inter- 
rupt me in the beginning; but now, and 
after I had ceased, he stood a long while 
silent. 

" St. Ives," he said at last, " I think I 
had better go away. This has been very 
irritating. I never at all meant to say 
anything of the kind, and I apologize to 



you. I have all the esteem for you that 
one gentleman should have for another. 
I only meant to tell you — to show you 
what had influenced my mind; and that, 
in short, the thing was impossible. One 
thing you may be quite sure of: /shall do 
nothing against you. Will you shake 
hands before I go away ? " he blurted out. 

" Yes," said I, " I agree with you — the 
interview has been irritating. Let by- 
gones be bygones. Good-by, Ronald." 

"Good-by, St. Ives!" he returned. 
" I'm heartily sorry." 

And with that he was gone. 

The windows of my own sitting-room 
looked toward the north; but the entrance 
passage drew its light from the direction of 
the square. Hence I was able to observe 
Ronald's departure, his very disheartened 
gait, and the fact that he was joined, 
about half-way, by no less a man than 
Major Chevenix. At this, I could scarce 
keep from smiling; so unpalatable an in- 
terview must be before the pair of them, 
and I could hear their voices, clashing 
like crossed swords, in that eternal antiph- 
ony of "I told you," and "I told you 
not." Without doubt, they had gained 
very little by their visit; but then I had 
gained less than nothing, and had been 
bitterly dispirited into the bargain. Ron- 
ald had stuck to his guns and refused me 
to the last. It was no news; but, on the 
other hand, it could not be contorted into 
good news. I was now certain that dur- 
ing my temporary absence in France, all 
irons would be put into the fire, and the 
world turned upside down, to make Flora 
disown the obtrusive Frenchman and ac- 
cept Chevenix. Without doubt she would 
resist these instances; but the thought of 
them did not please me, and I felt she 
should be warned and prepared for the 
battle. 

It was no use to try and see her now, 
but I promised myself early that evening 
to return to Swanston. In the meantime 
I had to make all my preparations, and 
look the coming journey in the face. Here 
in Edinburgh I was within four miles of 
the sea, yet the business of approaching 
random fishermen with my hat in one hand 
and a knife in the other, appeared so des- 
perate, that I saw nothing for it but to re- 
trace my steps over the northern counties, 
and knock a second time at the doors of 
Birchell Fenn. To do this, money would 
be necessary; and after leaving my paper 
in the hands of Flora I had still a balance 
of about fifteen hundred pounds. Or rather 
I may say I had them and I had them not; 



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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, 



37 



for after my luncheon with Mr. Robbie I 
had placed the amount, all but thirty 
pounds of change, in a bank in George 
Street, on a deposit receipt in the name of 
Mr. Rowley. This I had designed to be 
my gift to him, in case I must suddenly 
depart. But now, thinking better of the 
arrangement, I had despatched my little 
man, cockade and all, to lift the fifteen 
hundred. 

He was not long gone, and returned 
with a flushed face and the deposit receipt 
still in his hand. 

" No go," Mr. Anne," says he. 

" How's that ? " I inquired. 

" Well, sir, I found the place all right, 
and no mistake," said he. "But I tell 
you wot gave me a blue fright! There 
was a customer standing by the door, and 
I reckonized him! Who do you think it 
was, Mr. Anne ? W'y, that same Red- 
Breast — him I had breakfast with near 
Aylesbury." 

"You are sure you are not mistaken ? " 
I asked. 

" Certain sure," he replied. " Not Mr. 
Lavender, I don't mean, sir; I mean the 
other party. ' Wot's he doin' Here?' 
says I. ' It don't look right.' " 

" Not by any means," I agreed. 

I walked to and fro in the apartment 
reflecting. This particular Bow Street 
runner might be here by accident; but it 
was to imagine a singular play of coinci- 
dence that he, who had met Rowley and 
spoken with him in the " Green Dragon," 
hard by Aylesbury, should be now in Scot- 
land, where he could have no legitimate 
business, and by the doors of the bank 
where Rowley kept his account. 

" Rowley," said I, " he didn't see you, 
did he?" 

" Never a fear, "quoth Rowley. " W'y, 
Mr. Anne, sir, if he 'ad you wouldn't 
have seen me any more! I ain't a hass, 
sir!" 

" Well, my boy, you can put that receipt 
in your pocket. You'll have no more use 
for it till you're quite clear of me. Don't 
lose it, though; it's your share cf the 
Christmas-box: fifteen hundred pounds 
all for yourself." 

*' Begging your pardon, Mr. Anne, sir, 
but wot for ? " said Rowley. 

" To set up a public-house upon," said I. 

" If you'll excuse me, sir, I ain't got any 
call to set up a public-house, sir," he re- 
plied, stoutly. "And I tell you wot, sir, 
it seems to me I'm reether young for the 
billet. I'm your body-servant, Mr. Anne, 
or else I'm nothink." 



"Well, Rowley," I said, " I II tell you 
what it's for. It's for the good service 
you have done me, of which 1 don't care 
— and don't dare — to speak. It's for 
your loyalty ancl cheerfulness, my dear 
boy. I had meant it for you; but to tell 
you the truth, it's past mending now — it 
has to be yours. Since that man is wait- 
ing by the bank, the money can't be 
touched until I'm gone." 

"Until you're gone, sir?" reechoed 
Rowley. " You don't go anywheres with- 
out me, I can tell you that, Mr. Anne, 
sir!" 

" Yes, my boy," said I, " we are going 
to part very soon now; probably to-mor- 
row. And it's for my sake, Rowley! 
Depend upon it, if there was any reason 
at all for that Bow Street man being at the 
bank, he was not there to look out for 
you. How they could have found out 
about the account so early is more than I 
can fathom; some strange coincidence 
must have played me false! But there 
the fact is; and, Rowley, I'll not only 
have to say farewell to you presently, I'll 
have to ask you to stay indoors until I can 
say it. Remember, my boy, it's only so 
that you can serve me now." 

"W'y, sir, you say the word, and of 
course I'll do it! " he cried. " ' Nothink 
by 'alves,' is my motto! I'm your man, 
through thick and thin, live or die, I am! " 

In the meantime there was nothing to be 
done till towards sunset. My only chance 
now was to come again as quickly as pos- 
sible to speech of Flora, who was my only 
practicable banker; and not before even- 
ing was it worth while to think of that. 
I might compose myself as well as I was 
able over the " Caledonian Mercury," with 
its ill news of the campaign of France 
and belated documents about the retreat 
from Russia; and, as I sat there by the 
fire, I was sometimes all awake with anger 
and mortification at what I was reading, 
and sometimes again I would be three 
parts asleep as I dozed over the barren 
items of home intelligence. " Lately ar- 
rived " — this is what I suddenly stumbled 
on — "at Dumbreck's Hotel, the Viscount 
of Saint-Yves." 

"Rowley," said I. 

"If you please, Mr. Anne, sir," an- 
swered the obsequious, lowering his pipe. 

" Come and look at this, my boy," said 
I, holding out the paper. 

" My crikey! " said he. " That's 'im, 
sure enough! " 

" Sure enough, Rowley," said I. " He's 
on the trail. He has fairly caught up with 



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us. He and his Bow Street man have 
come together, 1 would swear. And now 
here is the whole field, quarry, hounds, and 
hunters, all together in this city of Edin- 
burgh." 

" And wot are you goin' to do now, sir ? 
Tell you wot, let me take it in 'and, please! 
Gimme a minute, and I'll disguise myself, 
and go out to this Dum — to this hotel, 
leastways, sir — and see wot he's up to. 
You put your trust in me, Mr. Anne: I'm 
fly, don't you make no mistake about it. 
I'm all a-growing and a-blowing, I am." 

" Not one foot of you," said I. " You 
are a prisoner, Rowley, and make up your 
mind to that. So am I, or next door to 
it. I showed it you for a caution; if you 
go on the streets, it spells death to me, 
Rowley." 

" If you please, sir," says Rowley. 

"Come to think of it," I continued, 
"you must take a cold, or something. 
No good of awakening Mrs. McRankine's 
suspicions." 

14 A cold ? " he cried, recovering imme- 
diately from his depression. " 1 can do 
it, Mr. Anne." 

And he proceeded to sneeze and cough 
and blow his nose, till I could not restrain 
myself from smiling. 

" Oh, I tell you, I know a lot of them 
dodges," he observed proudly. 

* 4 Well, they come in very handy, ' ' said I. 

"I'd better go at once and show it to 
the old gal, 'adn't I ? " he asked. 

I told him, by all means; and he was 
gone upon the instant, gleeful as though 
to a game of football. 

I took up the paper, and read carelessly 
on, my thoughts engaged with my imme- 
diate danger, till I struck on the next para- 
graph: 

" In connection with the recent horrid 
murder in the Castle, we are desired to 
make public the following intelligence. 
The soldier, Champdivers, is supposed to 
be in the neighborhood of this city. He 
is about the middle height or rather under, 
of a pleasing appearance and highly gen- 
teel address. When last heard of he wore 
a fashionable suit of pearl gray, and boots 
with fawn-colored tops. He is accompa- 
nied by a servant about sixteen years of 
age, speaks English without any accent, 
and passed under the alias of Ramor- 
nie. A reward is offered for his appre- 
hension." 

In a moment I was in the next room, 
stripping from me the pearl-colored suit! 

I confess I was now a good deal agi- 
tated. It is difficult to watch the toils 



closing slowly and surely about you and 
to retain your composure; and I was glad 
that Rowley was not present to spy on my 
confusion. 1 was flushed, my breath came 
thick; I cannot remember a time when I 
was more put out. 

And yet I must wait and do nothing, 
and partake of my meals, and entertain 
the ever-garrulous Rowley, as though I 
were entirely my own man. And if I did 
not require to entertain Mrs. McRankine 
also, that was but another drop of bitterness 
in my cup! For what ailed my landlady, 
that she should hold herself so severely 
aloof, that she should refuse conversation, 
that her eyes should be reddened, that I 
should so continually hear the voice of her 
private supplications sounding through the 
house ? I was much deceived, or she had 
read the insidious paragraph and recog- 
nized the comminated pearl-gray suit. I 
remembered now a certain air with which 
she had laid the paper on my table, and a 
certain sniff, between sympathy and defi- 
ance, with which she had announced it: 
" There's your ' Mercury ' for ye! " 

In this direction, at least, I saw no press- 
ing danger; her tragic countenance beto- 
kened agitation; it was plain she was 
wrestling with her conscience, and the 
battle still hung dubious. The question 
of what to do troubled me extremely. I 
could not venture to touch such an intri- 
cate and mysterious piece of machinery as 
my landlady's spiritual nature; it might 
go off at a word, and in any direction, like 
a badly-made firework. And while I 
praised myself extremely for my wisdom 
in the past, that I had made so much a 
friend of her, I was all abroad as to my 
conduct in the present. There seemed an 
equal danger in pressing and in neglecting 
the accustomed marks of familiarity. The 
one extreme looked like impudence, and 
might annoy; the other was a practical 
confession of guilt. Altogether it was a 
good hour for me when the dusk began to 
fall in earnest on the streets of Edinburgh 
and the voice of an early watchman bade 
me set forth. 

I reached the neighborhood of the cot- 
tage before seven ; and as I breasted the 
steep ascent which leads to the garden 
wall, I was struck with surprise to hear a 
dog. Dogs I had heard before, but only 
from the hamlet on the hillside above. 
Now, this dog was in the garden itself, 
where it roared aloud in paroxysms of 
fury, and I could hear it leaping and 
straining on the chain. I waited some 
while, until the brute's fit of passion had 



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ROBERT LOUTS STEVENSON. 



39 



roared itself out. Then, with the utmost 
precaution, I drew near again, and finally 
approached the garden wall. So soon as 
I had clapped my head above the level, 
however, the barking broke forth again 
with redoubled energy. Almost at the 
same time, the door of the cottage opened, 
and Ronald and the major appeared upon 
the threshold with a lantern. As they so 
stood, they were almost immediately below 
me, strongly illuminated, and within easy 
earshot. The major pacified the dog, who 
took instead to low, uneasy growling inter- 
mingled with occasional yelps. 

44 Good thing I brought Towzer! " said 
Chevenix. 

"Damn him, I wonder where he is!" 
said Ronald; and he moved the lantern 
up and down, and turned the night into a 
shifting puzzle-work of gleam and shadow. 

44 1 think I'll make a sally." 

44 I don't think you will," replied Che- 
venix. ** When I agreed to come out here 
and do sentry-go, it was on one condition, 
Master Ronald: don't you forget that! 
Military discipline, my boy! Our beat is 
this path close about the house. Down, 
Towzer! good boy, good boy — gently, 
then!" he went on, caressing his con- 
founded monster. 

44 To think! The beggar may be hear- 
ing us this minute! " cried Ronald. 

44 Nothing more probable," said the ma- 
jor. ** You there, St. Ives?" he added, 
in a distinct but guarded voice. *' I only 
want to tell you, you had better go home. 
Mr. Gilchrist and I take watch and 
watch." 

The game was up. 4I Beaucoup de plat- 
sir!* 9 I replied, in the same tones. **// 
fait un peu froid pour veiller ; gardez-vous 
des engelures / ' * 

I suppose it was done in a moment of 
ungovernable rage; but in spite of the ex- 
cellent advice he had given to Ronald the 
moment before, Chevenix slipped the 
chain, and the dog sprang, straight as an 
arrow, up the bank. I stepped back, 
picked up a stone of about twelve pounds' 
weight, and stood ready. With a bound 
the beast landed on the cope-stone of the 
wall; and, almost in the same instant, my 
missile caught him fair in the face. He 
gave a stifled cry, went tumbling back 
where he had come from, and I could hear 
the twelve-pounder accompany him in his 
fall. Chevenix, at the same moment, 
broke out in a roaring voice: 4< The hell- 
hound! If he's killed my dog!" and I 
judged, upon all grounds, it was as well 
to be off. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

EVENTS OF WEDNESDAY: THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CRAMOND. 

I awoke to much diffidence, even to a 
feeling that might be called the begin- 
nings of panic, and lay for hours in my bed 
considering the situation. Seek where I 
pleased, there was nothing to encourage 
me, and plenty to appal. They kept a 
close watch about the cottage; they had 
a beast of a watch-dog — at least, unless I 
had settled it; and if I had, I knew its 
bereaved master would only watch the 
more indefatigably for the loss. In the 
pardonable ostentation of love I had given 
all the money I could spare to Flora; I 
had thought it glorious that the hunted 
exile should come down, like Jupiter, in a 
shower of gold, and pour thousands in 
the lap of the beloved. Then I had in an 
hour of arrant folly buried what remained 
to me in a bank in George Street. And 
now I must get back the one or the other; 
and which ? and how ? 

As I tossed in my bed, I could see three 
possible courses, all extremely perilous. 
First, Rowley might have been mistaken; 
the bank might not be watched; it might 
still be possible for him to draw the money 
on the deposit receipt. Second, I might 
apply again to Robbie. Or, third, I might 
dare everything, go to the Assembly Ball, 
and speak with Flora under the eyes of 
all Edinburgh. This last alternative, in- 
volving as it did the most horrid risks, 
and the delay of forty-eight hours, I did 
but glance at with an averted head, and 
turned again to the consideration of the 
others. It was the likeliest thing in the 
world that Robbie had been warned to 
have no more to do with me. The whole 
policy of the Gilchrists was in the hands 
of Chevenix; and I thought this was a 
precaution so elementary that he was cer- 
tain to have taken it. If he had not, of 
course I was all right: Robbie would 
manage to communicate with Flora; and 
by four o'clock I might be on the south 
road and, I was going to say, a free man. 
Lastly, I must assure myself with my 
own eyes whether the bank in George 
Street were beleagured. 

I called to Rowley and questioned him 
tightly as to the appearance of the Bow 
Street officer. 

44 What s*ort of a looking man is he, 
Rowley ?" I asked, as I began to dress. 

44 Wot sort of a looking man he is?" 



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repeated Rowley. "Well, I don't very 
well know wot you would say, Mr. Anne. 
He ain't a beauty, any'ow." 

44 Is he tall?" 

44 Tall ? Well, no, I shouldn't say tall, 
Mr. Anne." 

44 Well, then, is he short?" 

44 Short? No, I don't think I would 
say he was what you would call short. 
No, not piticular short, sir." 

44 Then, I suppose he must be about the 
middle height ? " 

44 Well, you might say it, sir; but not 
remarkable so." 

I smothered an oath. 

44 Is he clean-shaved?" I tried him 
again. 

44 Clean-shaved ? " he repeated, with the 
same air of anxious candor. 

44 Good heaven, man, don't repeat my 
words like a parrot! " I cried. 44 Tell me 
what the man was like: it is of the first 
importance that I should be able to recog- 
nize him." 

44 I'm trying to, Mr. -Anne. But dean 
shaved? I don't seem to rightly get hold 
of that p'int. Sometimes it might appear 
to me like as if he was; and sometimes 
like as if he wasn't. No, it wouldn't sur- 
prise me now if you was to tell me he 'ad 
a bit o' whisker." 

44 Was the man red-faced?" I roared, 
dwelling on each syllable. 

44 1 don't think you need go for to get 
cross about it, Mr. Anne!" said he. 
44 I'm tellin' you every blessed thing I see! 
Red-faced ? Well, no, not as you would 
remark upon." 

A dreadful calm fell upon me. 

44 Was he anywise pale ? " I asked. 

44 Well, it don't seem to me as though he 
were. But I tell you truly, I didn't take 
much heed to that." 

44 Did he look like a drinking man ? " 

44 Well, no. If you please, sir, he 
looked more like an eating one." 

44 Oh, he was stout, was he ? " 

44 No, sir. I couldn't go so far as that. 
No, he wasn't not to say stout. If any- 
thing, lean rather." 

I need not go on with the infuriating in- 
terview. It ended as it began, except 
that Rowley was in tears and that I had 
acquired one fact. The man was drawn 
for me as being of any height you like to 
mention, and of any degree of corpulence 
or leanness; clean shaved or not, as the 
case might be; the color of his hair Row- 
ley 44 could not take it upon himself to put 
a name on; " that of his eyes he thought 
to have been blue — nay, it was the one 



point on which he attained to a kind of 
tearful certainty. 44 I'll take my davy on 
it," he asseverated. They proved to 
have been as black as sloes, very little, 
and very near together. So much for the 
evidence of the artless! And the fact, or 
rather the facts, acquired ? Well, they 
had to do not with the person but with his 
clothing. The man wore knee-breeches 
and white stockings; his coat was " some 
kind of a lightish color — or betwixt that 
and dark;" and he wore a 44 moleskin 
weskit." As if this were not enough, he 
presently hailed me from my breakfast in a 
prodigious flutter, and showed me an hon- 
est and rather venerable citizen passing in 
the square. 

44 That's him, sir," he cried, "the very 
moral of him! Well, this one is better 
dressed, and p'r'aps a trifle taller; and in 
the face he don't favor him no ways at all, 
sir. No, not when I come to look again, 
'e don't seem to favor him noways." 

44 Jackass!" said I, and I think the 
greatest stickler for manners will admit 
the epithet to have been justified. 

Meanwhile the appearance of my land- 
lady added a great load of anxiety to 
what I had already suffered. It was plain 
that she had not slept; equally plain that 
she had wept copiously. She sighed, she 
groaned, she drew in her breath, she shook 
her head, as she waited on table. In 
short, she seemed in so precarious a state, 
like a petard three times charged with hys- 
teria, that I did not dare to address her; 
and stole out of the house on tiptoe, and 
actually ran downstairs, in the fear that 
she might call me back. It was plain that 
this degree of tension could not last long. 
It was my first care to go to George 
Street, which I reached (by good luck) as 
a boy was taking down the bank shutters. 
A man was conversing with him; he had 
white stockings and a moleskin waistcoat, 
and was as ill-looking a rogue as you 
would want to see in a day's journey. This 
seemed to agree fairly well with Rowley's 
signalement : he had declared emphatically 
(if you remember), and had stuck to it be- 
sides, that the companion of the great 
Lavender was no beauty. 

Thence I made my way to Mr. Robbie's, 
where I rang the bell. A servant answered 
the summons, and told me the lawyer was 
engaged, as I had half expected. 

44 Wha shall I say was callin' ? " she pur- 
sued; and when I told her 44 Mr. Ducie," 
44 1 think this'll be for you, then?" she 
added, and handed me a letter from the 
hall table. It ran: 



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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



4i 



" Dear Mr. Ducie, 

•* My single advice to you is to leave quam pri- 
mum for the South. 

** Yours, 

T. Robbie." 

That was short and sweet. It emphat- 
ically extinguished hope in one direction. 
No more was to be gotten of Robbie; and 
I wondered, from my heart, how much had 
been told him. Not too much, I hoped, 
for I liked the lawyer who had thus de- 
serted me, and I placed a certain reliance 
in the discretion of Chevenix. He would 
not be merciful; on the other hand, I did 
not think he would be cruel without cause. 

It was my next affair to go back along 
George Street, and assure myself whether 
the man in the moleskin vest was still on 
guard. There was no sign of him on the 
pavement. Spying the door of a common 
stair nearly opposite the bank, I took it in 
my head that this would be a good point 
of observation, crossed the street, entered 
with a businesslike air, and fell immedi- 
ately against the man in the moleskin vest. 
I stopped and apologized to him; here- 
plied in an unmistakable English accent, 
thus putting the matter beyond doubt. 
After this encounter I must, of course, as- 
cend to the top story, ring the bell of a 
suite of apartments, inquire for Mr. Vav- 
asour, learn (with no great Surprise) that 
he did not live there, come down again, 
and, again politely saluting the man from 
Bow Street, make my escape at last into 
the street. 

I was now driven back upon the Assem- 
bly Ball. Robbie had failed me. The 
bank was watched; it would never do to 
risk Rowley in that neighborhood. All I 
could do was to wait until the morrow 
evening, and present myself at the Assem- 
bly, let it end as it might. But I must 
say I came to this decision with a good 
deal of genuine fright; and here I came 
for the first time to one of those places 
where my courage stuck. I do not mean 
that my courage boggled and made a bit 
of a bother over it, as it did over the es- 
cape from the Castle; I mean, stuck, like 
a stop watch or a dead man. Certainly I 
would go to the ball; certainly I must see 
this mo nin r about my clothes. That was 
all decided. But the most of the shops 
were on the other side of the valley, in 
the Old Town ; and it was now my strange 
discovery that I was physically unable to 
cross the North Bridge! It was as though 
a precipice had stood between us, or the 
deep sea had intervened. Nearer to the 
Castle my legs refused to bear me. 



I told myself this was mere super- 
stition; I made wagers with myself — and 
gained them; I went down on the esplan- 
ade of Princes Street, walked and stood 
there, alone and conspicuous, looking 
across the garden at the old gray bastions 
of the fortress, where all these troubles 
had begun. I cocked my hat, set my hand 
on my hip, and swaggered on the pave- 
ment, confronting detection. And I 
found I could do all this with a sense of 
exhilaration that was not unpleasing and 
with a certain cranerie of manner that 
raised me in my own esteem. And yet 
there was one thing I could not bring my 
mind to face up to, or my limbs to execute; 
and that was to cross the valley into the 
Old Town. It seemed to me I must be 
arrested immediately if I had done so; I 
must go straight into the twilight of a 
prison cell, and pass straight thence to the 
gross and final embraces of the nightcap 
and the halter. And yet it was from no 
reasoned fear of the consequences that I 
could not go. I was unable. My horse 
baulked, and there was an end! 

My nerve was gone: here was a discov- 
ery for a man in such imminent peril, set 
down to so desperate a game, which I 
could only hope to win by continual luck 
and unflagging effrontery! The strain 
had been too long continued, and my 
nerve was gone. I fell into what they call 
panic fear, as I have seen soldiers do on 
the alarm of a night attack, and turned 
out of Princes Street at random as though 
the devil were at my heels. In St. An- 
drew's Square, I remember vaguely hear- 
ing some one call out. I paid no heed, 
but pressed on blindly. A moment after, 
a hand fell heavily on my shoulder, and I 
thought I had fainted. Certainly the 
world went black about me for some sec- 
onds; and when that spasm passed I found 
myself standing face to face with the 
"cheerful extravagant," in what sort of 
disarray I really dare not imagine, dead 
white at least, shaking like an aspen, and 
mowing at the man with speechless lips. 
And this was the soldier of Napoleon, and 
the gentleman who intended going next 
night to an Assembly Ball! I am the 
more particular in telling of my break- 
down, because it was my only experience 
of the sort; and it is a good tale for offi- 
cers I will allow no man to call me cow- 
ard; I have made my proofs; few men 
more. And yet I (come of the best blood 
in France and inured to danger from a 
child) did, for some ten or twenty minutes, 
make this hideous exhibition of myself on 



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42 



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the streets of the New Town of Edin- 
burgh. 

With my first available breath I begged 
his pardon. I was of an extremely ner- 
vous disposition, recently increased by 
late hours; I could not bear the slightest 
start. 

He seemed much concerned. " You 
must be in a devil of a state!" said he; 
'• though of course it was my fault — dam- 
nably silly, vulgar sort of thing to do! 
A thousand apologies! But you really 
must be run down; you should consult a 
medico. My dear sir, a hair of the dog 
that bit you is clearly indicated. A touch 
of Blue Ruin, now ? Or, come: it's early, 
but is man the slave of hours ? what do 
you say to a chop and a bottle in Dum- 
breck's Hotel ?" 

I refused all false comfort; but when he 
went on to remind me that this was the 
day when the University of Cramond 
met; and to propose a five-mile walk into 
the country and a dinner in the company 
of young asses like himself, I began to 
think otherwise. I had to wait until to- 
morrow evening, at any rate; this might 
serve as well as anything else to bridge 
the dreary hours. The country was the 
very place for me; and walking is an ex- 
cellent sedative for the nerves. Remem- 
bering poor Rowley, feigning a cold in 
our lodgings and immediately under the 
guns of the formidable and now doubtful 
Bethiah, I asked if I might bring my ser- 
vant. *' Poor devil! it is dull for him," I 
explained. 

" The merciful man is merciful to his 
ass," observed my sententious friend. 
" Bring him by all means! 

* The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy ; ' 

and I have no doubt the orphan boy can 
get some cold victuals in the kitchen, 
while the Senatus dines." 

Accordingly, being now quite recovered 
from my unmanly condition, except that 
nothing could yet induce me to cross the 
North Bridge, I arranged for my ball dress 
at a shop in Leith Street, where I was not 
served ill, cut out Rowley from his seclu- 
sion, and was ready along with him at the 
trysting-place, the corner of Duke Street 
and York Place, by a little after two. 
The University was represented in force: 
eleven persons, including ourselves, By- 
field the aeronaut, and the tall lad, Forbes, 
whom I had met on the Sunday morning, 
bedewed with tallow, at the " Hunter's 
Tryst." I was introduced; and we set off 



by may of Newhaven and the sea beach; 
at first through pleasant country roads, 
and afterwards along a succession of bays 
of a fairylike prettiness, to our destination 
— Cramond on the Almond — a little ham- 
let on a little river, embowered in woods, 
and looking forth over a great flat of 
quicksand to where a little islet stood 
planted in the sea. It was miniature 
scenery, but charming of its kind. The 
air of this good February afternoon was 
bracing, but not cold. All the way my 
companions were skylarking, jesting, and 
making puns, and I felt as if a load had 
been taken off my lungs and spirits, and 
skylarked with the best of them. 

Byfield I observed, because I had heard 
of him before and seen hjs advertise- 
ments, not at all because I was disposed 
to feel interest in the man. He was dark 
and bilious and very silent; frigid in his 
manners, but burning internally with a 
great fire of excitement; and he was so 
good as to bestow a good ,deal of his 
company and conversation (such as it was) 
upon myself, who was not in the least 
grateful. If I had known how I was to 
be connected with him in the immediate 
future, I might have taken more pains. 

In the hamlet of Cramond there is a 
hostelry of no very promising appearance, 
and here a room had been prepared for us, 
and we sat down to table. 

" Here you will find no guttling or gor- 
mandising, no turtle or nightingales' 
tongues," said the extravagant, whose 
name, by the way, was Dalmahoy. " The 
device, sir, of the University of Cramond 
is Plain Living and High Drinking." 

Grace was said by the Professor of Di- 
vinity, in a macaronic Latin, which I 
could by no means follow, only I could 
hear it rhymed, and I guessed it to be 
more witty than reverent. After which 
the Senatus Academicus sat down to rough 
plenty in the shape of rizzar'd haddocks 
and mustard, a sheep's head, a haggis, and 
other delicacies of Scotland. The dinner 
was washed down with brown stout in 
bottle, and as soon as the cloth was re- 
moved, glasses, boiling water, sugar, and 
whisky were set out for the manufacture 
of toddy. I played a good knife and 
fork, did not shun the bowl, and took 
part, so far as I was able, in the continual 
fire of pleasantry with which the meal was 
seasoned. Greatly daring, I ventured, 
before all these Scotsmen, to tell Sim's 
tale of Tweedie's dog ; and I was held 
to have done such extraordinary justice to 
the dialect, "for a Southron," that I was 



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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



43 



immediately voted into the Chair of Scots, 
and became, from that moment, a full 
member of the University of Cramond. 
A little after, I found myself entertaining 
them with a song; and a little after — per- 
haps a little in consequence — it occurred 
to me that I had had enough, and would 
be very well inspired to take French leave. 
It was not difficult to manage, for it was 
nobody's business to observe my move- 
ments, and conviviality had banished sus- 
picion. 

I got easily forth of the chamber, which 
reverberated with the voices of these 
merry and learned gentlemen, and breathed 
a long breath. I had passed an agreeable 
afternoon and evening, and I had appar- 
ently escaped scot free. Alas! when I 
looked into the kitchen, there was my 
monkey, drunk as a lord, toppling on the 
edge of the dresser, and performing on 
the flageolet to an audience of the house 
lasses and some neighboring ploughmen. 

I routed him promptly from his perch, 
stuck his hat on, put his instrument in his 
pocket, and set off with him for Edin- 
burgh. His limbs were of paper, his mind 
quite in abeyance; I must uphold and 
guide him, prevent his frantic dives, and 
set him continually on his legs again. At 
first he sang wildly, with occasional out- 
bursts of causeless laughter. Gradually 
an inarticulate melancholy succeeded; he 
wept gently at times; would stop in the 
middle of the road, say firmly, " No, no, 
no," and then fall on his back; or else 
address me solemnly as "M'lord," and 
fall on his face by way of variety. I am 
afraid I was not always so gentle with the 
little pig as I- might have been, but really 
the position was unbearable. We made 
no headway at all, and I suppose we were 
scarce gotten a mile away from Cramond, 
when the whole Senatus Academicus was 
heard hailing and doubling the pace to 
overtake us. 

Some of them were fairly presentable; 
and they were all Christian martyrs com- 
pared to Rowley; but they were in a frol-. 
icsomeand rollicking humor that promised 
danger as we approached the town. They 
sang songs, they ran races, they fenced 
with their walking-sticks and umbrellas; 
and, in spite of this violent exercise, the 
fun grew only the more extravagant with 
the miles they traversed. Their drunk- 
enness was deep-seated and permanent, 
like fire in a peat; or rather — to be quite 
just to them — it was not so much to be 
called drunkenness at all, as the effect of 
youth and high spirits — a fine night, and 



the night young, a good road under foot, 
and the world before you! 

I had left them once somewhat uncere- 
moniously; I could not attempt it a sec- 
ond time; and, burthened as I was with 
Mr. Rowley, I was really glad of assist- 
ance. But I saw the lamps of Edinburgh 
draw near on their hill-top with a good 
deal of uneasiness, which increased, after 
we had entered the lighted streets, to posi- 
tive alarm. All the passers-by were ad- 
dressed, some of them by name. A wor- 
thy man was stopped by Forbes. " Sir," 
said he, " in the name of the Senatus of 
the University of Cramond, I confer upon 
you the degree of LL.D.," and with the 
words he bonneted him. Conceive the 
predicament of St. Ives, committed to the 
society of these outrageous youths, in a 
town where the police and his cousin were 
both looking for him! So far, we had 
pursued our way unmolested, although 
raising a clamor fit to wake the dead; but 
at last, in Abercromby Place, I believe — 
at least it was a crescent of highly respec- 
table houses fronting on a garden — Byfield 
and I, having fallen somewhat in the rear 
with Rowley, came to a simultaneous halt. 
Our ruffians were beginning to wrench off 
bells and doorplates! 

" Oh, I say ! " says Byfield, " this is too 
much of a good thing! Confound it, I'm 
a respectable man — a public character, by 
George! I can't afford to get taken up 
by the police." 

" My own case exactly," said I. 

" Here, let's bilk them," said he. 

And we turned back and took our way 
down hill again. 

It was none too soon: voices and alarm- 
bells sounded; watchmen here and there 
began to spring their rattles; it was plain 
the University of Cramond would soon be 
at blows with the police of Edinburgh! 
Byfield and I, running the semi-inanimate 
Rowley before us, made good despatch, 
and did not stop till we were several 
streets away, and the hubbub was already 
softened by distance. 

" Well, sir," said he, " we are well out 
of that! Did ever any one see such a 
pack of young barbarians?" 

"We are properly punished, Mr. By- 
field; we had no business there," I re- 
plied. 

" No, indeed, sir, you may well say 
that! Outrageous! And my ascension 
announced for Saturday, you know!" 
cried the aeronaut. "A pretty scandal! 
Byfield the aeronaut at the police-court! 
Tut-tut! Will you be able to get your 



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rascal home, sir? Allow me to offer you 
my card I am staying at Walker and 
Poole's Hotel, sir, where I should be 
pleased to see you." 

"The pleasure would be mutual, sir," 
said I; but I must say my heart was not 
in my words, and as I watched Mr. By- 
field departing, I desired nothing less than 
to pursue the acquaintance. 

One more ordeal remained for me to 
pass. I carried my senseless load up- 
stairs to our lodging, and was admitted by 
the landlady in a tall white night-cap and 
with an expression singularly grim. She 
lighted us into the sitting-room; where, 
when I had seated Rowley in a chair, she 
dropped me a cast-iron courtesy. I smelt 
gunpowder on the woman. Her voice 
tottered with emotion. 

"I give ye nottice, Mr. Ducie," said 
she.. " Dacent folks' houses ..." 

And at that, apparently, temper cut off 
her utterance, and she took herself off 
without more words. 

I looked about me at the room, the 
goggling Rowley, the extinguished fire; 
my mind reviewed the laughable inci- 
dents of the day and night; and I laughed 
out loud to myself — lonely and cheerless 
laughter! 

At this point the story breaks off, hav- 
ing been laid aside by the author some 
weeks before his death. The argument of 
the few chapters remaining to be written 
was known to his stepdaughter and aman- 
uensis, Mrs. Strong, who has been good 
enough to supply materials for the follow- 
ing summary: 

Anne goes to the Assembly Ball, and 
there meets Chevenix, Ronald, Flora, and 
Flora's aunt. Anne is very daring and 
impudent, Flora very anxious and agita- 
ted. The Bow Street runner is on the 



stairs, and presently the Vicomte de St. 
Yves is announced. Anne contrives to 
elude them and to make an appointment 
with Flora that she should meet him with 
his money the next day at a solitary place 
near Swanston. They keep the appoint- 
ment, and have a long interview, Flora 
giving him his money packet. They are 
disturbed by a gathering crowd in the 
neighborhood, and learn accidentally that 
a balloon ascent is about to take place 
close at hand. Perceiving Ronald and 
Chevenix, Anne leaves Flora and forces 
his way into the thickest of the crowd, 
hoping thus to evade pursuit. But the 
Bow Street runner and the rest of his pur- 
suers follow him up to the balloon itself. 
The ropes are about to be cut when Anne, 
after a moment's whispered conversation 
with the aeronaut, leaps into the car as the 
balloon rises. The course of the balloon 
takes it over the British channel, where it 
descends, and the voyagers are picked up 
by an American privateer and carried to 
the United States. Thence St. Ives 
makes his way to France. 

Meanwhile Rowley, with the help of 
Mr. Robbie, busies himself successfully 
at Edinburgh to bring about an investiga- 
tion into the circumstances attending Gog- 
uelat's death. Chevenix, conceiving that 
Anne would never return, and wishing to 
appear in a magnanimous light before 
Flora, comes forward as the principal 
witness, and, by telling what he knows of 
the duel, clears his rival of the criminal 
charge hanging over him. 

Upon the restoration of the monarchy, 
the Vicomte de St. Yves being discred- 
ited and ruined, Anne comes into posses- 
sion of his ancestral domains, and returns 
to Edinburgh in due form and state to 
claim and win Flora as his bride. 

S. C. 



THE END. 



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45 



A MODERN MIRACLE. 



By H. G. Prout. 



TN the second volume of Kipling's 
* " Jungle Book" appears a story, which 
is not a jungle story, entitled " The Mir- 
acle of Purun Bhagat." The main facts 
told are that a great landslip one mile long 
and 2,000 feet high came down into a val- 
ley and overwhelmed a village, and that 
the villagers were warned by a holy man, 
Purun Bhagat, and fled across the valley 
and up the other slope and were all saved. 
The only life lost was that of Purun Bhagat 
himself. 

I propose to telf the real story, very 
briefly, for much of this did happen, and 
the facts are to be found in official docu- 
ments lately made public. It is quite pos- 
sible, however, that the landslip of which 
Kipling tells and that of which I shall tell 
were not identical. 

There was what might indeed seem to the 
ignorant a miracle, but it was only an exhi- 
bition of applied knowledge and intelli- 
gence and of official zeal and devotion. 
An appalling landslip did occur villages 
were swept away, a valley was devastated, 
and the only lives lost were those of a 
fakir (religious beggar) and his family. 

On the northwestern frontier of India, 
in the flanks of the Himalayas, is a small 
stream, the Birahi Gunga, a tributary of 
the Ganges. High up on this stream is 
the little village of Gohna, and that is 
where the miracle took place. 

In September, 1893, an enormous bulk 
of rock and earth slid down the mountain 



side into the river, and in October of the 
same year was another great landslide. 
The mountain from which this material 
came down rises 4,000 feet above the bed 
of the stream. The dam which the mate- 
rial formed across the valley was about 
900 feet high and 3,000 feet long, as meas- 
ured across the gorge. Of course the for- 
mation of this dam would convert the 
stream above it into a lake, and it was cal- 
culated that when the water should reach 
the level of the top of the dam, it would 
cover an area of about one and one-third 
square miles and would contain about 
16,650 million cubic feet of water, about 
as much water as could be carried in 500,- 
000 of the bijggest freight trains. 

All of this was apparent to every one; 
but back of all this the British officers, 
civil and military, who were in charge of 
the affairs of that region, saw certain other 
truly awful facts. Some time the lake 
would fill and the water would begin to 
rise over the crest of the dam. But there 
being no masonry protection, the water 
would begin at once to cut away the crest 
and the face of the dam, and the breach 
started, it would increase by swift leaps, 
as greater and greater volumes of water 
were let loose, till the whole lake would 
be released, to sweep in one vast wave 
down the valley. This process of break- 
ing down begun, the end would not be 
a matter of days, but of hours. Be- 
tween the first trickling overflow and the 




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A MODERN MIRACLE. 



escape of the mass of the water, probably 
less than a day would elapse, possibly 
only a very few hours. In fact, seventeen 
hours after the first overflow did take place 
the great flood was let loose. 

That all this would happen was not 
speculation; it was human experience. It 
was exactly what happened at Johnstown, 
Pennsylvania, in 1889, when several towns 
were wrecked and 5,000 lives were lost; 
only the Gohna dam was fourteen times as 
high and three and one-quarter times as 
long as the Johnstown dam, and the water 
held back was twenty-six times as much. 
All this the British officers knew was be- 
fore them. What could they do to save 
lives and property, and how much time had 
they to do it ? 

From surveys they knew the area of 
the watershed from which the water would 
come to fill the lake, and from records 
they knew the ordinary rainfall; and so in 
the autumn of 1893 they calculated that 
the overflow would begin August 15, 1894. 
It actually began August 25th. No doubt 
the officers intended to make the error 
on the safe side, and hardly expected the 
overflow to take place as early as August 
15th. 

Having satisfied themselves when the 
flood would take place, they began to pre- 
pare for it. They built a telegraph line 
from Gohna, down the river, 150 miles, and 
established stations at all important points. 
They put up pillars of masonry on the 
slopes of the valley: in the upper part 200 
feet above ordinary flood level, and far- 
ther down the valley, 100 feet above floods. 
These pillars were established near all 
villages and camping-grounds, and at in- 
tervals of half a mile down the river. 
The people were directed to retire above 
the line of pillars when they should re- 
ceive warning of the flood. The valley 
is not thickly peopled, but it contains sev- 
eral villages, and one town which has a 
population of 2,000. It is, however, a fa- 
mous resort for pilgrims, and is studded 
with shrines, and streams of devotees 
pass back and forth. 

The protection of the people was pro- 
vided for by these precautions, but it re- 
mained to save such property as might be 
saved. The permanent bridges along the 
valley were taken down and stored high 
up the slopes and replaced by temporary 
rope bridges. In two cases the local au- 
thorities requested that the bridges should 
be left, and these two were completely 
destroyed. 

Below Hardwar, which is 150 miles be- 



low Gohna, at the mouth of the valley, are 
situated the headworks of the great Gan- 
ges Canal. A flood coming down the val- 
ley might destroy these and greatly injure 
the works farther down. This in itself 
would be a terrible calamity, for the agri- 
culture of vast regions depends upon this 
canal. Therefore, measures were taken to 
protect the canal works by dams and other 
constructions more or less substantial. 

When they had done all they could the 
officers waited for the flood. At half past 
six on the morning of August 25th, a little 
stream began to trickle over the dam. At 
two o'clock in the afternoon a message 
was sent down the valley, saying that the 
flood would come during the night. A 
thick mist overhung the lake and the 
dam. At half past eleven at night a loud 
crash was heard, a cloud of dust rose 
through the mist and rain, and the flood 
roared down the valley. 

Just below the dam the wave rose 260 
feet above the ordinary flood level. If 
this wave had swept down Broadway, it 
would have risen to the cornices of some 
of the recent twenty-story buildings. 
Thirteen miles below the dam the wave 
was 160 feet high; and seventy-two miles 
below, at Srinagar, it was forty-two feet 
above ordinary flood level ; and at Hard- 
war, 150 miles down the stream, at the 
mouth of the valley, the wave was still 
eleven feet high. The average speed of 
the flood going down the valley, in the 
first seventy miles of its course, was esti- 
mated at about eighteen miles an hour; 
but in the upper twelve miles it must have 
moved at a rate of over twenty-seven 
miles an hour. In four and a half hours 
10,000 million cubic feet of water, almost 
two-thirds of the whole contents of the 
lake, were discharged. This mass weighed 
more than 300 million tons. Nothing 
could withstand that weight moving at 
such a speed. Rocks were ground to dust. 
The town of Srinagar was entirely de- 
stroyed, with the rajah's palace and the 
public buildings; and a thick bed of stones, 
sand, and mud was deposited where the 
town had stood. All the villages of the 
valley were swept away; but, wonderful 
to relate, there was absolutely no loss of 
life, except the Gohna fakir and his fam- 
ily. This old fellow scorned the warning 
of the Christians, and he and his family 
were twice forcibly moved up the slope, 
but each time they returned, to be finally 
overwhelmed in the flood. 

So efficient were the preparations for 
protecting the headworks of the Ganges 



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AN UNJUST ACCUSATION. 



47 



Canal that these were but slightly injured. 
The whole cost of the protective work 
and the value of bridges and public prop- 
erty destroyed amounted to 2,500,000 ru- 
pees. The official value of the rupee in 
1894 was thirty-two cents, and, therefore, 
this sum was equal to $800,000. This 
does not include the destruction of pri- 
vate property, of which no estimate has 
been made. 

To save the people of the valley and to 
save the Ganges Canal required more than 
mere knowledge. It required moral cour- 
age and resolution. The officers had to 
reckon with the ignorance and incredulity 
of the people, as shown in the case of the 
old fakir. They had also to meet opposi- 



tion in high places, for there were men in 
the government who did not believe that 
the dam would fail even when the lake over- 
flowed, and there were others who wanted 
plans tried which, as events proved, would 
have been useless. 

The annals of the British conquest and 
government of India are full of instances 
of the fitness of our race to govern, but 
this little tale illustrates, perhaps as well 
as any of them, those qualities of faith in 
acquired knowledge, zeal in the perform- 
ance of duty, and courage and efficiency 
in action which have made it possible for 
the English-speaking people to govern 
one-third of the habitable globe and one- 
fourth of the population of the earth. 



AN UNJUST ACCUSATION. . 



By Robert Barr, 
Author of " In the Midst of Alarms," ** The Mutable Many," etc. 



THERE are houses in London which 
seem to take upon themselves some 
of the haracteristics of their inmates. 
Down the steps of a gloomy-looking dwell- 
ing you generally see a gloomy-looking 
man descend, and from the portal of a 
bright-red brick facade, incrusted with 
terra-cotta ornaments, there emerges a 
fashionably dressed young fellow twirling 
a jaunty cane. The house in which a ter- 
rible murder has been committed, usually 
looks the exact place for such a crime, and 
ancient maiden ladies live in peaceful 
semi-detached suburban villas. 

In like manner famous club buildings 



give forth to the observant public some 
slight indication of the quality of their 
collective members. The Athenaeum Club 
looks for all the world like a respectable 
massive book-Case, made last century and 
closed up. One would expect, were the 
walls opened out, to see row upon row of 
stately useful volumes, like encyclopedias, 
and solid works of reference, strongly 
bound in sober leather. The Reform and 
the Carleton, standing together, resemble 
two distinguished portly statesmen, of op- 
posing politics, it is true, but, neverthe- 
less, great personal friends. The clubs 
where good dinners are to be had seem to 



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AN UNJUST ACCUSATION. 



bulge out in front, and you can almost 
imagine a phantom hand patting a dis- 
tended waistcoat with supreme satisfaction. 
The university clubs remind one 
of the architecture of Oxfor ' 
Cambridge. A benignant ant 
calm pervades the clerical < 
and the hall porters look 
like vergers; while there 
are wide-awake and up-to- 
date clubs on Piccadilly, 
frequented by dashing 
young sparks, and the 
windows of these clubs 
almost wink at you as you 
pass by. 

Of no edifice in London 
can this theory be held 
more true than of the s 
gloomy, scowling build- 
ing that houses the Royal 
Ironside Service Club. It 
frowns upon the innocent 
passer-by with an air of 
irascible superiority, not 
unmixed with disdain. If ^ 
you hail a hansom and say 
to the cabman : " Drive 
me to the Royal Ironside 
Service Club,." the man 
will likely lean over towards you and ask 
with puzzled expression: 

"To where, sir?" 

But if, instead, you cry in snarly, snappy 
tones : 

" The Growlers! " he will instantly whip 
along towards St. James's quarter, and 



-Like Admired Sir Stonage Gradbum. 



draw up at the somber entrance of the 
Ironsides, expecting with equal certainty 
to be well paid and found fault with. 

The membership of the Growl- 
is made up entirely of ve(er- 
from the army and navy, all 
yhom have seen active service 
most of whom have records 
exceptional bravery. There 
many armless sleeves in the 
>, and it has been stated that 
>ng the five hundred members 
there are only seven hun- 
dred and twenty-three 
legs, although this can- 
not be definitely proved, 
for some cases of gout 
may have been mistaken 
for a patent leg. This 
question might be solved 
if all the members were 
like Admiral Sir Stonage 
Gradburn, who wears in 
plain sight an oaken leg 
strapped to his left knee, 
just as if he were a Ports- 
mouth sailor, and on this 
he stumps sturdily in and 
out of the club, the thump 
of his wooden leg carrying 
terror to every official of the place within 
hearing distance. The old man will have 
nothing to do with modern artificial con- 
trivances in the way of patent legs, and 
when a well-known firm in London offered 
him one for nothing if he would but wear it, 
the angry admiral was only prevented from 
inflicting personal chastisement upon the 
head of the firm by the receipt of the 
most abject apology from that very much 
frightened individual. 

Membership in the Growlers is an honor 
that may be legitimately aspired to, but it 
is very seldom attained, for the blackballing 
in the Growlers is something fearful. The 
committee seems to resent applications for 
membership as if they were covert insults. 
It is a tradition of thex:lub that, shortly 
after the battle of Waterloo, the Duke of 
Wellington was elected without opposi- 
tion, but members speak apologetically of 
this unusual unanimity, holding that the 
committee of the day was carried away by 
public feeling and that the duke should 
not have been admitted until he was at 
least ten years older. 

The junior member of the club 

is Colonel Duxbury, who, being 

but sixty-five years old, neither 

expects nor receives the slightest 

* »•//•• consideration for anv views he 




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ROBERT BARR. 



49 



may express within the walls of the club 
building. 

It is not precisely known how this col- 
lection of warlike antiques came to select 
James C. Norton, a person of the compara- 
tively infantile age of forty, to be manager 
of the club. Some say that his age was 
not definitely known to the committee at 
the time he was appointed. Others insist 
that, although the club dues are high, the 
finances of the institution got into disorder, 
and so an alert business man had to be 
engaged to set everything straight. Out- 
siders again allege that the club had got so 
into the habit of grumbling, that at last it 
thought it had a real grievance, and thus 
they brought in a new man, putting him 
over the head of the old steward, who, 
however, was not dismissed nor reduced 
in pay, but merely placed in a subordinate 
position. Scoffers belonging to other 
clubs, men who were doubtless blackballed 
at the Growlers, libelously state that the 
trouble was due to the club whisky, a 
special Scotch of peculiar excellence. In 
all other clubs in London, whisky, being 
a precious fluid, is measured out, and a 
man gets exactly so much for his three- 
pence or his sixpence, as the case may be. 
No such custom obtains at the Growlers. 
When whisky is called for, in the smok- 
ing-room, for instance, the ancient servi- 
tor, Peters, comes along with the decanter 
in his hand and pours the exhilarating 
fluid into a glass until the member who 
has ordered it says " Stop! " The scoffers 
hold, probably actuated by jealousy and 
vain longing, that this habit of unmeas- 
ured liquor is enough to bankrupt ? nv ^ lnh 
in London. 

Peters, whose white head has be 
out protest under many fierce cc 
ings poured out upon it by irascib 
bers, is said to be the most expert 
London so far as the decanting < 
ky is concerned. The exactitudi 
knowledge respecting the temperan 
requirements of each member is 
most admirable. When Sir Ston- 
age Gradburn projects the word 
••Stop" like a bullet, not an- 
other drop of the precious liquid 
passes the lip of the decanter. 
When Colonel Duxbury, with 
the modesty of a youthful mem- 
ber, says " Stop " in quite a dif- 
ferent tone of voice, Peters allows 
about an ounce more of whisky 
to pour into the glass, and then 
murmurs with deferential humil- — -* 

it y : "Notice to quit, sirt" 



" Oh, I beg your pardon, sir." 

Whereupon the colonel replies with 
chastened severity: 

" I will overlook it this time, Peters, 
but be more careful in future." Where- 
upon the respectful Peters departs, with 
the decanter in his hand, saying, " Thank 
you, sir." 

Shortly after the installation of the 
new manager, Admiral Sir Stonage Grad- 
burn drove up to the Growlers' Club in his 
brougham, and stumped noisily through 
the hall, looking straight ahead of him, 
with a deep frown on his face. His for- 
bidding appearance caused every one with- 
in sight to know that the British empire 
was going on all right, for if the admiral 
had ever entered with a smile on his face, 
such an unusual event would have con- 
vinced them that at last the peace of Eu- 
rope had been broken. 

The stump of the admiral's wooden leg 
was lost in the depths of the carpet that 
covered the smoking-room floor, and the 
old man seated himself with some caution 
in one of the deep, comfortable, leather- 
covered chairs that stood beside a small 
round table, Peters waiting upon him ob- 
sequiously to take his hat and stick, which 
the admiral never left in the cloak-room, 
as an ordinary mortal might have done. 
When the respectful Peters came back, Sir 
Stonage ordered whisky and the " Times," 
a mixture of which he was exceedingly 
fond. Peters hurried away with all the 
speed that the burden of eighty-six years 
upon his shoulders would allow, and return- 




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AN UNJUST ACCUSATION. 



ing, gave the admiral the newspaper, while 
he placed a large glass upon the table and 
proceeded to pour the whisky into it. 

"That will do!" snapped the admiral 
when a sufficient quantity of "Special" 
had been poured out. Then an amazing, 
unheard-of thing happened, that caused 
the astonished admiral to drop the paper 
on his knee and transfix the unfortunate 
Peters with a look that would have made 
the whole navy quail. The neck of the 
decanter had actually jingled against the 
lip of the glass, causing a perceptible 
quantity of the fluid to flow after the per- 
emptory order to cease pouring had been 
given. 

" What do you mean by that, Peters ? " 
cried the enraged sailor, getting red in the 
face. " What is the meaning of this care- 
lessness ? " 

" I am very sorry, Sir Stonage, very 
sorry, indeed, sir," re- 
plied Peters, cringing. 

"Sorry! Sorry!" 
cried the admiral. "Say- 
ing you are sorry does 
not mend a mistake, I 
would have you know, 
Peters." 

"Indeed, Sir Ston- 
age, * * faltered Peters, 
with a gulp in his throat, 
" I don't know how it 
could have happened, 
unless — " he paused, 
and the admiral, look- 
ing up at him, saw there 
were tears in his eyes. 
The frown on the brow 
of Sir Stonage deepened 
at the sight, and, al- 
though he spoke with 
severity, he nevertheless 
moderated his tone. 

"Well, unless what, 
Peters?" 

" Unless it is because I have notice, sir." 

" Notice ! Notice of what — a birth, a 
marriage, a funeral ? " 

" Notice to quit, sir." 

" To quit what, Peters ? To quit drink- 
ing, to quit gambling, or what ? Why 
don't you speak out ? You always were a 
fool, Peters." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," replied 
Peters, with humility. " I am to leave the 
service of the club, Sir Stonage." 

" Leave the club!" cried the admiral 
with amazement. " Now, Peters, that 
simply proves the truth of what I have 
been saying. You are a fool, and no mis- 



take. You may get higher wages, which 
I doubt; you may better yourself, as the 
detestable modern phrase goes, but where 
will you meet such kindly treatment as 
you receive in this club ? " 

Sir Stonage Gradburn glared at the ser- 
vitor so fiercely that Peters feared for a 
moment the admiral had forgotten he was 
not on the quarterdeck and about to 
order the culprit before him to receive a 
certain number of lashes ; but the eyes of 
the aged waiter refilled as the last words 
of the admiral brought to his mind the 
long procession of years during which he 
had been stormed at, gruffly ordered about, 
and blamed for everything that went wrong 
in the universe. Still, all this had left no 
permanent mark on Peters's mind, for there 
had never been a sting in the sometimes 
petulant complaints flung at him, and he 
recognized them merely as verbal fire- 
works playing innocently about his head, 
relieving for a moment the irritation of 
some old gentleman who had been accus- 
" his life to curt command and in- 
lience. Peters actually believed 
that the members had in- 
variably been kind to 
him, and when he 
y v thought of how munifi- 

\> cently they had remem- 
^^ ' bered him Christmas 
^ after Christmas, a lump 

came into his throat that 
made articulation diffi- 
cult. Although the 
members gave no audi- 
ble token of their liking 
for him, nevertheless the 
old man well knew they 
~ ^> would miss him greatly 
reatment.** when he was gone, and 
Peters of tea pictured to 
le heroic ordeal that awaited his 
te successor in office. So the 
admiral's remark about the kindness of the 
club to him touched a tender chord in 
the heart of the old menial, and the vibra- 
tion of this chord produced such an agita- 
tion within him that it was some moments 
before he could recover sufficient control 
over his voice to speak. An impatient 
"Well, sir?" from the scowling admiral 
brought him to his senses. 

" The new manager has dismissed me, 
Sir Stonage," replied Peters. 

44 Dismissed you!" cried the admiral. 
" What have you been doing, Peters ? Not 
infringing any of the rules of the club, I 
hope ? You have been with us, man and 
boy, for forty-two years, and should have 



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ROBERT BARR. 



5i 



a reasonable knowledge of our regula- 
tions by this time." 

Peters had become a servitor of the club 
at the age of forty-four, and therefore 
every member looked upon him as having 
spent his infancy within the walls of the 
Ironside Service Club. 

*' Oh, no, Sir Stonage, I have broken 
none of the rules. I leave the club with- 
out a stain on my character," replied 
Peters, mixing in his reply a phrase that 
lingered in his mind from the records of 
the courts. " Mr. Norton dismisses me, 
sir, because I am too old for further ser- 
vice." 

M What! " roared the admiral in a voice 
of thunder. 

Several members in different parts of 
the room looked up with a shade of an- 
noyance on their countenances. Most of 
them were 

deaf, and noth- . 

ing less than 
the firing of a 
cannon in the 
room would 
ordinarilyhave 
disturbed 
them, but the 
admiral's 
shout of aston- 
ishment would 
have been 
heard from the 
deck of the 
flagship to the 
most remote 
vessel in the 
fleet. 

" Too old ! 
Too old!" he continued, "too old for 
service! Why, you can't be a day more 
than eighty-six ! " 

" Eighty-six last March, sir," corrobo- 
rated Peters, with a sigh. 

•' This is preposterous! " cried the ad- 
miral, with mounting rage. " Go and get 
my stick at once, Peters. We shall see 
if servants are to be discharged in the 
very prime of their usefulness." 

Peters shuffled off, and returned from the 
cloak-room with the stout cane. The ad- 
miral took a gulp of his liquor without 
diluting it, and Peters, handing him his 
stick, stood by, not daring to make any 
ostentatious display of assisting Sir Ston- 
age to rise, for the old warrior resented 
any suggestion that the infirmities natural 
tr> his time of life were upon htm, or even 
approaching him. But on this occasion, 
to Peters's amazement, the admiral, firmly 



* Why, you can't be a day mere than eighty- six t 



planting his stick on the right-hand side of 
the deep chair, thrust his left hand within 
the linked arm of Peters, and so assisted 
himself to his feet, or rather to his one 
foot and wooden slump. Peters followed 
him with anxious solicitude as he thumped 
towards the door; then the admiral, appar- 
ently regretting his temporary weakness 
in accepting the arm of his underling, 
turned savagely upon him, and cried in 
wrath : 

" Don't hover about me in that disgust- 
ingly silly way, Peters. You'll be saying 
I'm an old man next." 

"Oh, no, sir," murmured the abject 
Peters. 

The admiral 
stumped into the 
committee room of 
the club, and rang a 
hand-bell which was 
upon the table, for 
no such modern im- 
provement as elec- 
tricity was anywhere 
to be found 

within the club. 

When the bell 

was answered 

the admiral 

— said shortly: 

"Send Mr. 

* A, * % Norton to me, here." 

Mr. Norton came pres- 
ently in, a clean-cut, 
smooth - shaven, alert 
man, with the air of one 
who knew his business. 
Nevertheless, Mr. Nor- 
ton seemed to have the 
uneasy impression that he was a man out of 
place. He looked like a smug, well-con- 
tented, prosperous grocer, who was trying 
to assume the dignified air of a Bank of 
England porter. He bowed to so important 
a person as the chairman of the House 
Committee with a deference that was not 
unmixed with groveling; but the admiral 
lost no time in preliminaries, jumping at 
once to the matter that occupied his mind. 
" I understand, sir, that you have dis- 
missed Peters." 

"Yes, Sir Stonage," replied the man- 
ager. 

" And I have heard a reason given of 
such absurdity that I find some difficulty in 
crediting it; so I now give you a chance to 
explain. Why have you dismissed Peters?" 
"On account of hage, Sir Stonage," 
replied the manager, cowering somewhat, 
fearing stormy weather ahead. 



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52 



AN UNJUST ACCUSATION. 



T-* 



.*L. 



i 



M Don't haver atout me in that disgustinffy silly way, Peters.** 

" Hage, sir!" roared the admiral, who 
for some unexplained reason always felt 
like striking a man who misplaced his 
" h's." " I never heard of such a word." 

"Peters is hold, sir," said the mana- 
ger, in his agitation laying special stress 
on the letter " h " in this sentence. 

"Hold! Hold! Are you talking of a 
ship ? Haven't you been taught to speak 
English ? I have aske 
you can give for the d 
Will you be so good as 
use only words to 
which I am accus- 
tomed ?" 

The badgered man- 
ager, remember- 
ing that he had 
a legal contract 
with the club * 
which that body &) 
could not break 
without giving 
him, at least, a 
year's notice or 
bestowing upon 
him a year's pay, pluck 
answered with some asp 

" Peters is in his dot< 
heighty-six years hold, 

Lucky for Mr. Nor 
committee table was between him and the 



angry admiral. The latter began stump- 
ing down the room, rapping on the table 
with the knob of his stick as he went, as 
if he had some thought of assaulting the 
frightened manager. 

"In his dotage at eighty-six! " he ex- 
claimed. " Do you intend to insult the 
whole club, sir, by such an idiotic remark ? 
How old do you think I am, sir? Do 
you think I am in my dotage ? " 

The manager, his grasp on the handle 
of the door, attempted to assure the ap- 
proaching admiral that he had no intention 
whatever of imputing anything to any- 
body except to old Peters, but he main- 
tained that if he was. to reform the club, 
he must be allowed to make such changes 
as he thought necessary, without being 
interfered with. This remark, so far from 
pouring oil on the troubled waters, added 
to the exasperation of the admiral. 

"Reform! The club has no need of 
reform." 

So the conference ended futilely in the 
manager going back to his den and the 
admiral stumping off to call a meeting of 
the House Committee. 

When the venerable relics of a bygone 
age known as the House Committee as- 
sembled in the room set apart for them, 
their chairman began by explaining that 
they were called upon to meet a crisis, which 
it behooved them to deal with in that calm 
and judicial frame of mind that always 
characterized their deliberations. Although 
he admitted that the new manager had suc- 
ceeded in making him angry, still he would 

now treat the 
case with that 
equable temper 
which all who 
knew him were 
well aware he 
possessed. 
Whereupon he 
disclosed to 
them the reason 
for their being 
called together, 
waxi ng more 
and more vehe- 
ment as he con- 
tinued, his voice 
becoming loud- 
er and louder ; 
and at last he 
emphasized his 
remarks by 
pounding on the 
table with the 
•• Peters is in his d*tmgt % sir." head of his stick 



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ROBERT BARR. 



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" A waiting of the House Committee.' 



until it seemed likely that he would split 
the one or break the other. 

The members of the committee were 
unanimously of the opinion that the new 
manager had cast an aspersion on the club, 
which was not to be tolerated; so the sec- 
retary was requested to write out a check, 
while the manager was sent for, that he 
might at once hear the decision of the 
committee. 

The chairman addressed Mr. Norton, 
beginning in a manner copied somewhat 
after the deliberative style of our best 
judges while pronouncing sentence, but 
ending abruptly, as if the traditions of the 
bench hampered him. 

"Sir, we have considered your case 
with that tranquillity in which any measure 
affecting the welfare of our fellow-crea- 
tures should be discussed, and, dash me, 
sir, we've come to the conclusion that we 
don't want you any longer. Go! " 

The chairman at the head of the table 
scanned malevolently the features of the 
offending manager, while the different 
heads of the committee, gray and bald, 
nodded acquiescence. The manager, see- 
ing the fat was in the fire in any case, now 
stood up boldly for his rights. He de- 
manded a year's notice. 

'* You shall have nothing of the kind, 
sir," replied the admiral. " It is not the 
custom of the club to give a year's notice." 

" I don't care what the custom of the 
club his," rejoined Norton. " My con- 
tract calls for a year's pay if I ham dis- 
missed." 

"I don't care that for your contract," 



cried the admiral, bringing his stick down 
with a whack on the table. "The club 
will not change its invariable rule for you 
or your contract." 

"Then I shall sue the club in the law 
courts. You will 'ear from my solicitor." 

Here the admiral, rising, poured forth a 
stream of language which it is impossible 
to record, and the members of the com- 
mittee also rose to their feet, fearing a 
breach of the peace. 

" In heaven's name," whispered the sec- 
retary to the manager, " don't anger the 
admiral further, or there will be trouble. 
Take the check now and go away with- 
out saying any more; then if you don't 
want the other year's salary, bring it back 
and give it quietly to our treasurer." 

" The hother year's salary! " cried Nor- 
ton. 

" Certainly. It is a habit of the Growl- 
ers to pay two years' salary to any one 
whom they dismiss." 

" Oh, I beg your pardon," said Norton, 
seizing the check, which he found was for 
double the amount which he expected. 
Whereupon he retired quickly to his den, 
while the committee set itself the task 
of soothing the righteous anger of the 
admiral. 

And thus it comes about that Peters, 
who is, as Sir Stonage Gradburn swears, 
still in the prime of his usefulness, serves 
whisky in the smoking-room of the 
Growlers as usual, and the old steward 
of the club has taken the place so sud 
denly left vacant by the departure of th- 
energetic Mr. Norton. 



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By Anna A. Rogers. 



MRS. ENNIS was writing as usual on 
the bulging old atlas laid in her 
lap, the traveling-inkstand at her elbow on 
the low window-sill. She was entirely ab- 
sorbed and curiously exhilarated as she 
rapidly filled, numbered, and tossed aside 
sheet after sheet of the thinnest note-paper. 

All the thought, sentiment, and passion 
of her being found their outlet in her let- 
ters to her absent husband. More than 
all else, the pathos of her starved, unnat- 
ural existence was shown by the pages she 
wrote of homely details that strove to make 
real their marriage, to keep it from becom- 
ing to them both a sort of dream — an al- 
most fierce determination to hold him close 
to her daily life, hers and the children's. 

It was almost three years since she and 
her boy had stood on the beach at Fort 
Monroe, up near the soldiers' cemetery, 
and watched the ship "all hands up an- 
chor," swing round, and head for the 
Capes. Sometimes she had heard every 
two weeks, sometimes the silence was 
unbroken for three dreary months, during 
a long cruise to some remote island of 
the Southern Archipelago. Then again, 
while in dock at Mare Island, the letters 
came daily. The repairs once finished, he 
was again blotted from her life for weeks, 
and a cablegram in the papers, a mere line 
to say the " Mohican " had arrived at Val- 
paraiso or Callao, with the added brief 
" all well," was what she lived on till the 
long sea letter, often a month old, came 
to gladden her heart once more. 

She was answering a letter that had 
come that morning unexpectedly, brought 
north by a tramp steamer. 

As she began to re-read it the third 
time in search of fresh stimulus, she sud- 
denly started and raised her flushed face. 
A woman's voice was singing, as it ap- 
proached along the narrow hotel corridor, 
a series of soft trills ending in a chro- 
matic run that had the effect of a low, 
sweet laugh. There was a pause, and 
then a sharp tattoo on the door-panel, and 
the voice sang to its accompaniment: 

44 Un beau matin on voit la, 
Un beau vaisseau rapprocher, 

Et voila ce cher Pedro, 
Que la Vierge a protege* 1 — " 

54 



Mrs. Ennis pounced upon the foreign- 
stamped envelope lying at her feet, piled 
helter-skelter into her lap the many loose 
sheets about her, and, throwing over all 
her long sewing-apron, cried: 

" Come in, Alice! " 

The door was thrown wide, a voice an- 
nounced pompously, "Miss Blithe," and 
a tall, beautiful girl swept in with a bur- 
lesque grand air and courtesy. Then she 
exclaimed natural'y, laughing and running 
to Mrs. Ennis: 

"I'm so insanely happy to-day, please 
don't mind anything I do. Are you 
happy, too, to-day?" She looked atten- 
tively at Mrs. Ennis, who nodded her 
head, returning the girl's sharp scrutiny. 
Then they both looked hastily away. Mrs. 
Ennis caught up a little jacket, holding it 
away from her lest Alice should detect the 
rustle of the hidden letter, and both wo- 
men talked at random about the best way 
to darn an obtuse-angled rent. 

"Mrs. Ennis," began Miss Blithe with 
a rising inflection. Then she took a deep 
breath, and began again with a falling in- 
flection: 

" Mrs. Ennis," again a pause, and then 
she said rapidly: 

"We ought to hear by the same mail, 
oughtn't we, now that Archie has been 
transferred to your husband's ship ?" 

Mrs. Ennis looked up quickly. The girl's 
head was on one side, critically admiring 
the polish of her pretty finger-nails, her 
hand extended. Mrs. Ennis went on with 
her sewing. 

"As a rule, yes; but you must learn, 
Alice, to make allowances at this distance. 
A mail might go off very suddenly, and 
Mr. Endicott might not hear the call; be 
on some special duty, asleep after a watch, 
or ashore. You must remember the possi- 
bilities." 

"Yes? How about Dr. Ennis in all 
this? Doesn't any of it hold good in 
your case?" Alice asked with dancing 
eyes. Mrs. Ennis laughed nervously. 
Presently Miss Blithe wandered to the 
window that looked out toward the col- 
lege, across the tree-tops. 

"Oh, Mrs. Ennis! There goes Pres- 
ton again, on the end of the longest kind 



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SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES, 



55 



of a whip-lash! What shall we do with 
that— " 

Alice heard an exclamation behind her, 
and, turning quickly, found her friend 
standing amidst a great flutter of flying 
papers, her face full of distress. The young 
girl danced up to her and exclaimed: 

" Oh, how delicious! You had it under 
your apron all the time — and look! " She 
dived into her pocket and pulled out a 
letter, waving it aloft as she waltzed around 
the room; and then the two women fell 
into each other's arms, laughing, and Alice 
cried in a breath: 

■• Mine came an hour ago, and I was so 
afraid you hadn't got one — the doctor 
might have been asleep, you know; so I 
wouldn't teil till I knew, and you had it all 
the time! And we were both trying to be 
so deep and sly! Isn't it lovely! Now 
let's sit down and compare notes." 

They gathered up the scattered sheets, 
and were once more on a natural and ap- 
parently perfectly frank footing; but Mrs. 
Ennis said nothing of a paragraph in the 
doctor's letter, near the end, which read: 
" Endicott has suddenly gone to pieces. 
I can't quite make it out — heart, I'm 
afraid. Our time is up, and orders for 
home have not yet come. Of course we're 
all a good deal rattled, but it's downright 
poison for him in his present state." 

And when Alice read extracts of her 
letter to Mrs. Ennis, she, too, passed over 
a sentence with a gasp that made the other 
smile. It read: "Doctor Ennis told me 
there were two cases of yellow fever on 
this ship before I joined her, and she was 
in quarantine for weeks. He did not write 
his wife about it ; and you, sweetheart mine, 
are to say nothing to her, unless exagger- 
ated accounts get into the papers." 

When the letters were tenderly folded 
and put away, Mrs. Ennis took up her 
work again, and Alice sat down on a stool 
at her feet, putting her «lbows on her 
knees and resting her chin on the palms 
of her hands, watching the quiet, busy 
mother. 

" I wish I could be more like you, Mrs. 
Ennis. I do get so utterly weary of the 
endless see-saw of my moods. You are so 
strong and brave, and, above all, sane." 

" Not always, Alice." 

" Well, then it's all the more admirable, 
for no one ever sees the other side." 

" I had a temperament very like yours 
when I married the doctor, and I've been 
frozen into what you call sanity by the 
strain of this life of ours. He and I have 
been separated six years out of eleven. 



Of course nowadays that is unusual, but 
he is not a 4 Coburger ' ; we have no house 
in Washington, neither political nor so- 
cial influence. When George is ordered to 
sea, after three years' shore duty, he goes. 
It's the old story of the willing horse." 

" I should think you would have gone 
to San Francisco or Honolulu, as Mrs. 
French and Mrs. Atherton did. They 
saw their husbands twice, and had such 
lovely times, they wrote. Why didn't 
you, Mrs. Ennis? " 

" We have nothing but the doctor's pay, 
Alice." 

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I am so 
thoughtless," cried the girl. 

" Don't distress yourself, my dear child. 
Fortunately, expense is the last thing you 
ever have to think about. I don't in the 
least object to telling you my little affairs. 
He has to help his mother in a small way, 
and my father has his hands full. Then, 
because we can't save anything, my hus- 
band carries a rather heavy — for us, of 
course — life insurance; and so we always 
sail very close to the wind." And, to 
Alice's bewilderment, Mrs. Ennis smiled 
as she went on: 

" I can't be too thankful I stumbled on 
this little nook — fresh air for Dorothy and 
a good school for Preston, and, between 
the college sessions, the hotel practically 
to ourselves. And then you followed me 
here, and behold my own opera on de- 
mand, like a queen ; your lovely rooms, 
and all the books, and you and your 
gowns, neither ever twice the same — a con- 
stant source of delight to me." 

" Oh, really! " and the girl's white face 
flushed with pleasure, and her eager young 
eyes drooped shyly like a child's. 

There was a short silence, and Mrs. 
Ennis sewed buttons on a pile of little 
shabby shoes, and Alice put a liquid black- 
ing on them, and laid them one by one on 
a newspaper to dry. Finally, the latter 
said: 

" I was so glad to come, for Aunty is 
not very sympathetic about my engage- 
ment to Archie, you know. She doesn't 
object to the Mr. Endicott, but the Lieu- 
tenant Endicott. She declares she doesn't 
understand anything about the navy — 
never even heard of it before — and she's 
much too old to begin! " 

"I fancy Mrs. Percy thinks it a little 
vulgar, Alice; many people do until — well, 
there's a war scare." 

"You won't breathe it, will you, Mrs. 
Ennis, even to the doctor, if I tell you 
something?" Alice took a deep breath. 



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56 



SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES. 



" I fairly hurled myself at Archie before 
he would propose! " 

"I fancy you," said the other, with a 
laugh. 

41 Of course that sounds worse than it 
really was, because I knew perfectly well, 
ever since that winter in Washington, that 
he — liked me ; and that it was only all 
this horrid money poor papa left that 
came between us — that and his stupid 
pride. You see, Aunty and I were at home 
in New York before the * Mohican ' sailed, 
and he kept coming to the house, and 
sometimes he would only stay ten minutes 
and then rush off, saying he had a watch 
to stand, or was on a board of survey, or 
had promised to take somebody's relief — 
whatever that means. He was so irritating, 
you can't believe! Well, one day those 
lawyers wrote me one of their tiresome 
legal letters that take four sheets to say 
one little simple thing that I can say in 
two sentences. I groped around in the 
slough of words awhile, and finally discov- 
ered I was being scolded for spending too 
much money to suit them — I had to give 
things to Aunty, you see, to make Archie's 
path more smiling — and that gave me an 
idea. I closed the house and dragged her 
off to the boarding-house in Gramercy 
Park, where I met you. It was before 
Dorothy came, and my heart ached so 
for you and the poor doctor." Alice, 
holding off a tiny wet shoe, stooped over 
and kissed the hand pulling the linen 
thread back and forth through a button- 
loop. 

The mother looked up and smiled. 

" Aunty vowed she'd take me before the 
Commission in Lunacy. She couldn't 
understand why I took to wearing old 
traveling-dresses, and packed away all my 
rings and furbelows. When Archie came 
I assumed an anxious, careworn look, and 
pretended to be nervous and absent- 
minded. I never worked so hard over 
anything in all my life. And he was so 
bewildered, poor boy! Only a fortnight 
before the * Mohican * sailed, he came one 
afternoon and I was more pathetic than 
ever. I was simply determined ! Finally, 
he burst out with: * Miss Blithe, what is it ? 
I can't stand this sort of thing any 
longer. Won't you tell me ? ' And Mrs. 
Ennis, what do you think I said ? I an- 
swered in a husky sort of way — I'd been 
practicing for a month — ' Money! ' And 
then — well — there was a lovely scene. 
Don't you like scenes ? " 

" My dear, I'm a woman! " 

'* Then what do you suppose I did ? " 



" You asked him to give you till to- 
morrow, and so forth, and so forth." 

"Exactly! Wasn't it too dreadful?" 
cried Alice. 

"Oh! we all do it. We suggest, as it 
were, and then retreat. You must never 
quote me as saying so, but I shouldn't like 
to tell what I think would become of the 
question of matrimony if we didn't." 

The children dashed in, and Alice ran 
away, singing as she went: 

** Ecoutez, Sainte Marie, 
Je donnerai mon beau collier. 

Si vous ferez rapporter, 
Revenir mon cher Pedro." 

Several weeks later, one evening after 
the children had gone to sleep, Mrs. En- 
nis sat at the table covered with a temple- 
cloth, absorbed in the worship of the 
god called Daikoku in the land whence 
came the glittering brocade. 

There, should have been a thread of in- 
cense burning and the tinkle of a bell to 
rouse the ever-drowsy god of wealth; but 
the supplicant had much the same attitude 
and expression here as there, of hunger 
and weariness, as she sat with clasped 
hands and head bowed over several little 
piles of postal receipts from the Navy 
Mutual Aid Association. There had been 
two extra assessments that month, and 
that was a financial tragedy in her life. A 
feminine panic had seized upon her; she 
must go over it all once more. It meant 
so much just then. She had planned so 
closely, and had hoped to meet her hus- 
band dressed as he liked to see her, all in 
brown from head to foot — as if he really 
cared ; but it would have been one of 
those ultra-happinesses that all her life 
long had been denied her. 

There was a soft tap at the door, and 
Alice's maid handed her a note, a mere 
line: 

" Please come down and be audience. 
Aunty will not keep awake, and I must 
sing to-night or die! Maggie will stay 
with the children." 

So she went, and found Alice in her 
maddest mood and Mrs. Percy gone to 
bed in her grumpiest. 

Alice had felt like making a toilet that 
evening, and wore a beautiful gown of 
soft clinging gray, with white chiffon at 
the fair throat and wrists, that fluttered 
like a seagull's wings against a dull sky 
as she flew to the door and greeted her 
friend. 

" You angel of mercy! I was so afraid 
you couldn't, or you wouldn't, or you 



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SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES. 



57 



mustn't, or something — that subjunctive 
of yours is the bane of my existence." 
And she laughed and pushed Mrs. Ennis 
into an arm-chair, and placed a footstool 
for her, lifting each square-toed, heavy- 
soled boot and putting it down on the soft 
plush cover, one at a time, with a tender- 
ness that did not escape her friend. Then 
a cushion was laid under her head, and 
Alice exclaimed: 

"There! It's the thing nowadays to 
make even hanging as comfortable as pos- 
sible, so it's the very least I can do for 
my little victim." 

Mrs. Ennis gave herself up to the girl's 
whim, folding her busy hands on her lap. 

Always of an exquisite timbre and cul- 
tivated up to the limit of the social law in 
such matters, Alice's voice had in it that 
night an additional passionate throb that 
sent the tears at once to Mrs. Ennis's eyes, 
and they stayed there through song after 
song. 

Then the girl suddenly stopped, and 
wheeled round on the stool. The soft, 
yellow light from the shaded piano-lamp 
fell about her like a radiance in the other- 
wise darkened room. 

"Isn't that enough? I never know 
when to stop when I have you at my 
mercy; you're just the dear old gallery, 
which doesn't know one note from another, 
and yet has critical emotions, fresh and 
honest, with none of the pedantry of the 
orchestra nor the -subdivided interest of 
the boxes. I know there are tears in 
your eyes, and I'm afraid I can't sing any- 
thing to-night to drive them away. Life 
seems all in a minor key — I mean as Wag- 
ner manages it — not thinly sentimental and 
genteelly pathetic, but harsh and terrible, 
with clashing discords that make one want 
to scream with the agony of it all. There! 
my singing's better than this sort of thing, 
at least. I'll spare you." 

She turned again to the piano and sang, 
without the music, Grieg, Franz, Lassen; 
then once more back to Grieg. Then her 
voice was still, and her fingers played over 
and over again a curious succession of 
chords, that ended in a sort of interroga- 
tion. Finally she said, softly: 

"There's something I haven't sung 
since Archie went away. I feel like sing- 
ing it to-night for you. You see it ends 
in a long, rather high note, held endlessly 
with a slight tremolo, dying out and com- 
ing back in a sort of echo. One evening 
he said it carried him back to Japan. 
There's a park called Shiba, near Tokio, 
I think he said, where there's a huge statue 



of Buddha, and a temple near by with a 
bell whose notes go ringing on and on, 
dying away and then returning in a won- 
derful way; so he called the song 4 Shiba,' 
and this is the way it goes — " A sharp 
knock at the door startled them both. 

"Let me. go!" cried Mrs. Ennis, for 
what reason she never knew as long as 
she lived. 

"The idea!" said Alice, opening the 
door with a laugh. A telegraph-boy stood 
outside, and he inquired: 

"Miss Alice Blithe?" 

There was a flash from her jeweled hand 
as she tore open the envelope the boy 
handed to her. An instant's silence, and 
with only a moan of, " Oh, my God! " the 
girl threw out her arms as if pushing some- 
thing back from her, and fell backwards 
as if struck. The paper and envelope 
fluttered to the floor more slowly. Mrs. 
Ennis sprang to her feet, closed the door, 
calling Mrs. Percy again and again. She 
rang the bell and sent for a doctor — she 
was so sure of the contents of that hideous 
yellow paper — working meanwhile over 
the senseless girl, who lay as one dead. 
Mrs. Percy came in frightened and be- 
wildered. 

"What's the matter? I was sound 
asleep; I thought it was fire. Why doesn't 
Alice get up ? What is it ? " 

" I don't know any more than you do," 
Mrs. Ennis found herself saying coldly. 
" A telegram came, and this is the result. 
I beg you to go at once for Maggie; I must 
have help." 

Mrs. Percy read the telegram aloud 
first: 

" From Montevideo. ' Lieutenant Endi- 
cott died March twentieth. Buried at 
sea.' Signed ' Westcott, Commander.'" 

Mrs. Percy laid the paper down gently, 
and left the room instantly and in silence. 
It was then the first week in April, and 
they had not known. 

For two days Alice was happily oblivi- 
ous to everything, and the doctor made 
those three visits a day that represent so 
many fights with death. Mrs. Ennis stayed 
by her day and night, the children going 
to a neighbor's, until there was some 
change in the stricken girl. When the dry, 
white lips first moved, Mrs. Ennis bent 
closely and caught: 

'* Un beau matin on voit la 
Un beau vaisseau— Pedro," 

and after that there were days of delirium, 
with terrible bursts of singing and pitiful 
laughter. 



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53 



SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES. 



Two trained nurses came, and Mrs. 
Ennis took up her own life again, and with 
it a terror that would not leave her for an 
hour. The children tiptoed and whis- 
pered about their rooms, three floors re- 
moved. 

After a fortnight Alice was better, free 
from fever, and conscious, lying almost 
pulseless, following with wide-stretched, 
vacant eyes the figures moving about her 
room. 

Dr. Knutt did not like the looks of 
things, and he sent for Mrs. Ennis and 
told her as much, as they walked up and 
down together in the hall outside the sick- 
room. 

44 1 want you to use your woman's wits 
— stir her up, wake her up, shake her up, 
somehow. I consider it pure philanthropy 
to force her to live, willy-nilly. There are 
plenty of good women in the world — a 
doctor knows that; and there are entirely 
too many clever ones. But beauty like 
Miss Blithe's is rare and owes its leaven 
to the lump. I know, I know!" he ex- 
claimed, in response to a deprecatory move- 
ment of Mrs. Ennis's hands. "All the 
same, I'll stick to it, and a big dose of 
statistics once a day wouldn't hurt the 
whole lot of you. Well, good-night," 
and he stamped off down the long corridor. 

Then there came the bright May morn- 
ing and the telegram for Mrs. Ennis from 
Staten Island, which said: 

" Arrived daybreak. Am well. Pack everything. 
Come immediately. Wire your train. Address 
Stapleton. George Ennis." 

Not until then did the woman's brave 
heart falter, much as an infant's tiny feet 
totter as they near the open arms at the 
end of their first little journey in the 
world. But she managed to say, quietly: 

44 The ship's in, Preston. Papa wants 
us. Take Dorothy into the other room 
and get her toys together." 

Behind the closed door she gave way 
completely, and kneeling at her bedside 
she laid her head on her pillow — that wo- 
man's Gethsemane — which had known of 
her lonely, wakeful nights, the tears of 
weariness, and later that agony of sus- 
pense. 

41 It is over — it is over, thank God! Oh, 
my love, my love, no one will ever know 
what it has been," she whispered. Then 
she arose and walked up and down the little 
room, nervously patting her left hand with 
her right in unconscious self-pity, as she 
would have soothed Dorothy's woes. 

The instinct of motherhood in some 



women even encompasses themselves. A 
smile came slowly to her lips, a happy 
light to her eyes that took ten years from 
her age; then she stood and laughed 
aloud, called the children to her and 
kissed them, answering twenty excited 
questions in a breath. 

They had three hours before the express 
train left for New York. She had studied 
it out long ago, and did not lose a mo- 
ment. The delight of her stinted life, the 
Indian rug given by the wardroom of the 
44 Marion" as a wedding present, was 
rolled up and slipped into the canvas bag, 
and with a score of strong stitches across 
the end it stood ready. The diagonal 
flights of Havana fans came down from 
the walls with a rush. The children's joy, 
the Chinese flag with its green-backed 
dragon reaching out with almost vegetable 
ardor for the fiery sun, fell without parley. 
Eight little gilt -headed tacks in each 
room were wrenched out, and down slid 
the blue Japanese chijimi curtains. Walls, 
tables, and closets were stripped in a flash, 
the trunks packed, and in less than two 
hours after the glad news came, the little 
high-perched rooms that had been their 
home for so long were bare, cheerless, 
characterless — a home no more; simply 
number seventy, fourth floor. 

Mrs. Ennis stood ready, dressed, as ever, 
two years behind the fashions, but with a 
glow on her plain, strong face that made 
her almost beautiful. 

The children, in a mood for exalted obe- 
dience, sat holding hands, wide-eyed. The 
mother drew a deep breath of relief; then 
suddenly she started and exclaimed: 

44 Alice!" 

She took off her hat, and in two minutes 
was standing by the girl's bedside. Her 
hands were cold and trembled so, she dared 
not give the accustomed caress. She sat 
where her face could not be seen, and 
then said gently, fighting down the throb 
in her voice: 

"Alice, I'm going away for a little 
while; but, of course, if you need me or 
even want me — you see how conceited 
you've made me! — you must let me know 
at once. You'll do that, won't you ? " 

At the first word the girl turned her 
head with an effort, so that she could see 
her friend's profile. 

44 Your father ill?" she asked faintly, 
in the voice that had changed even more 
than her face. 

44 Oh, no — that is, I hope not; although 
you remember I told you I feel very 
anxious about him, and — " Mrs. Ennis 



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59 



was too honest, too simple, for the task. 
Alice watched her intently, detecting at 
once, with the invalid's quickened sensibil- 
ity, first the repressed excitement, then the 
false note. 

44 Are you going there?" she asked in 
the same slow, expressionless way. 

44 Oh, yes! later — that is, I must go 
first — elsewhere. Now, Alice, I'll write a 
line every day, and I've arranged with Mrs. 
Percy to — " 

44 1 know what it is! I know just what 
it is!" suddenly exclaimed Alice excit- 
edly, dragging herself up on the pillows. 
Mrs. Ennis's heart gave a bound, and then 
seemed to stop. 

44 It's our ship — it has come! Our ship 
has come in! " She sat erect, with dilated 
eyes looking ahead. Mrs. Ennis threw 
herself on her knees, with her arms about 
the girl, and buried her face. 

44 I'd be so glad if I could only feel any- 
thing; but you know I'm glad, don't you, 
'way down under it all ? I can see it, I can 
see it! . You said it would be this way; I 
remember every word: First the tiny 
streamer of smoke 'way down the bay — it's 
not like other smoke, somehow; we can 
always tell it, can't we ? And the tugs 
and the other things get out of the way, 
don't they?" and she laughed a little. 
44 And then she comes in sight, so slowly, 
just creeping along, and she looks so dingy 
and tired, somehow, from the long, long 
way she's come. And then we can see 
the long, homeward-bound pennant flutter- 
ing, and the big black bunches of sailors 
in the front, and the little dark knots of 
officers at the back, and each one looks 
exactly like the one — the one we — " She 
stopped, and then, with a terrible cry, she 
threw herself forward on the bed, and broke 
into wild, heartrending sobs. 

Mrs. Ennis struggled to her feet and ran 
to the door, which she found ajar, and Dr. 
Knutt standing there smiling. He drew 
her outside, shut the door, and shook her 
hand till it ached. 

•* Nothing could be better! I'm simply 
delighted. I knew you'd find a way. 
We'll have her as right as a trivet in two 
weeks — you'll see. Trust me a little and 
nature a great deal. I tell you this has 
saved her life. Haven't you got to plow 
before new seeds are sown ? Well! Now 



you run away, and I'll send old Maggie in 
to her. All she needs is a little Irish 
babying. Confound these sailors, any- 
how, for the way they have with the 
womenkind!" he muttered to himself 
when alone. 

As the express train went slowly into 
the station at Jersey City, Mrs. Ennis ex- 
claimed: 

44 Don't miss a single face, Preston! " 

44 Did you say a beard, mamma? I've 
forgotten. Maybe I won't know him; I'm 
so sorry," and the boy's voice broke. 

14 The last letter said no beard. Never 
mind, dear; mamma isn't at all sure she'll 
know him herself," and she laughed ex- 
citedly. 

The train stopped, and they got out, but 
no one greeted them. They stood out of 
the line of people hurrying towards the 
ferries. Mrs. Ennis gripped Preston's 
hand and cried to him pitifully: 

44 Oh, my boy! do you think anything 
can be wrong? " 

41 It's all right, I'm just as sure as sure 
can be," the little man kept saying bravely, 
swallowing the rising lumps in his throat. 
Then a deep voice behind them said: 

44 Isn't this Mrs. Ennis — the wife of Sur- 
geon Ennis of the — " 

44 Yes, yes; what is it ? Why can't you 
speak ?" she cried, turning fiercely. She 
was white to the lips, and moisture stood 
out on her face in beads. 

44 Why, mamma, it's Frohman!" ex- 
claimed Preston, recognizing his old 
friend, the ship's apothecary, who said 
quickly: 

44 Dr. Ennis is perfectly well. He was 
detained on board, and told me to give you 
this," handing her a note, which she tore 
open, reading hungrily the hastily pen- 
ciled lines: 

44 My darling, I'm so sorry not to meet 
you! You cannot feel it more than I do. 
The navigator is ill — there's a consulta- 
tion — I had to be here. Think of his wife, 
and have courage for a few hours more. 
Seven o'clock, sure! Frohman will look 
after you. Go to the Gramercy Park 
House. Get nice rooms. Don't stint 
yourself. Saved a pile on the home run. 
Love to my babies, and God bless you — 
the best, bravest, truest, bonniest wife in 
the world!" 



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A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



By Ella Higginson, 
Author of " The Takin' in of Old Miss Lane," and Other Stories. 



MR. DAWSON stood at the dining 
room window. His hands were 
deep in his trousers pockets. He was 
jingling some pieces of silver money, and 
swearing silently with closed lips. 

The room looked more like a business 
office than a dining-room in a house. It 
was furnished handsomely, but with ex- 
treme plainness. There was an air of 
stiffness about everything. There were 
no plants in the windows; there was not 
a flower on the table, which stood ready 
for breakfast. In a word, there were no 
feminine touches anywhere. 

Precisely at eight o'clock a strong, 
quick step came down the stairs and 
through the hall. Mr. Dawson turned 
with a quelled impatience in his manner. 
His wife entered. 

"Oh," she said. She glanced at him, 
smiling mechanically, as one would at a 
child. Then she walked rapidly to a little 
table, and began to look over the morning 
mail. "Have you been waiting?" she 
added, absent-mindedly. 

"It is not of the least consequence." 
Mr. Dawson spoke with a fine sarcasm. 
It was wasted. She did not even hear the 
reply. 

"Ah," she said, tossing down a letter 
and turning to ring for breakfast. " I 
must run up to Salem on the noon train." 

An untidy servant entered. 

"Breakfast, please," said Mrs. Dawson, 
without looking at the girl. She seated 
herself at the breakfast-table, and opened 
the morning paper, which had been laid at 
her place. Mr. Dawson sat down opposite 
her. There was silence, save for the oc- 
casional rustle of the paper as Mrs. Daw- 
son turned it sharply. Her eyes glanced 
alertly from heading to heading, pausing 
here and there to read something of inter- 
est. Her husband looked at her from 
time to time. At last he said, again with 
fine sarcasm, " Any news ? " 

Mrs. Dawson finished the article she 
was reading. Then, with a little start, as 
if she had just heard, she said: " Oh, no, 
no; nothing of consequence, my dear." 
But she read on, more intently than before. 
60 



"Well," said her husband presently, 
with a touch of sharpness, " here are the 
strawberries. Can you take time to eat 
them?" 

She sighed impatiently. Three deep 
lines gathered between her brows. She 
folded the paper slowly, and put it in an 
inside pocket of her jacket. She wore a 
street dress, made with a very full skirt 
which reached a few inches below the 
knees. The jacket was short, and had 
many pockets. She wore, also, a tan-silk 
shirt, rolled collar and tie, and leggings. 
Her hair was arranged very plainly. In 
spite of her unbecoming attire, however, 
she was a beautiful woman, and her hus- 
band loved her and was proud of her. 

This did not prevent him, though, from 
saying, with something like a feminine 
pettishness, " Mrs. Dawson, I wish you 
would remember to leave the paper for 
me. 

Mrs. Dawson looked at him in surprised 
displeasure. " I have not finished reading 
it myself," she said coldly. "Besides, 
there is nothing in it that will interest 
you. It is mostly political news. If I 
had time to read it before I go down town, 
it would be different; but I am out so late 
every night, I must sleep till the last min- 
ute in the morning to keep my strength 
for the campaign. You cannot complain 
that I forget to bring it home for you in 
the evening." 

Mr. Dawson coughed scornfully, but 
made no reply for some minutes. Finally 
he said, in a taunting tone, " It's all very 
well for you. You are down town all day, 
among people, hearing everything that is 
going on — while I sit here alone, without 
even a paper to read! " 

For a moment Mrs. Dawson was angry. 
Here she was with an invalid husband and 
two children, working early and late to 
support them comfortably. She had been 
successful — so successful that she had re- 
ceived the nomination for State Senator on 
the Republican ticket. She loved her hus- 
band. She was proud of herself for her 
own sake, but certainly more for his sake. 
She thought he ought to make her way 



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A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



61 



V 



". . . WHILE I SIT HERE ALONE WITHOUT EVEN A PAPEE 
TO READ." 

easier for her. He was not strong, and it 
was her wish that he should not exert him- 
self in the least. All she asked of him 
was to look after the servants, order the 
dinners, entertain the children when the 
nurse was busy, and be cheerful and pleas- 
ant the short time she was at home. Surely, 
it was little enough to ask of him; and it 
was hard that he should fail even in this. 

When, two years previous, equal suf- 
frage had been graciously granted to 
women, Mr. Dawson, being then in failing 
health, had most cheerfully turned his real- 
estate business over to his wife. At first 
she managed it under his advice and in- 
structions. He was simply amazed at the 
ease with which she "caught on." In 
less than six months she ceased to ask for 
suggestions, and his proffered advice was 
received with such a chill surprise that it 
soon ceased altogether. 

At first the change had seemed like 
heaven to Mr. Dawson. It was a delight- 
ful novelty to give orders about dinners 
and things to maids who giggled prettily 
at his mistakes; to have the children 
brought in by the respectfully amused 
nurse for an hour's romp; to entertain 
his gentlemen friends at afternoon " smok- 
ers" (Mrs. Dawson's dainty afternoon 
tea-table had been removed to the garret ; 
a larger table, holding cigars, decanters, 



etc., had taken its place); to saunter down 
to his wife's office whenever he felt inclined. 

But the maids soon grew accustomed to 
the change. They received some of his 
more absurd orders with more insolence 
than merriment. He began to have an 
uneasy feeling in their presence. They 
really were not respectful. The nurse no 
longer smiled when she brought the chil- 
dren. What was worse, she left them with 
him much more than at first. 

The children themselves, somehow, 
seemed to be getting out of clothes and 
out of manners. He told the nurse to 
have some clothes made for them. She 
asked what seamstress he preferred, and 
what material. 

" I don't know," he answered, helplessly. 
" Get any good seamstress, and let her 
select the materials." 

The nurse brought a friend from the 
country. She asked him how he wished 
them made. 

" How ? " he repeated, with some anger. 
"Why, in the fashion, of course." She 
made them in the style then in vogue in 
Stumpville. When he saw them, he 
swore. When he spoke to his wife about 
it, she replied, with an impatience that 
strove to be good-natured, "Why, my 
dear, I don't trouble you about my busi- 
ness perplexities, do I ? Really, I haven't 
time to think of so much — with this cam- 
paign on my shoulders, too. You must 
try to manage better. Find stylish seam- 
stresses — and don't trust even them. 
Study the magazines and styles yourself. 
It is quite a study — but I am sure you 
have time. And while I think about it, 
dear, I wish you would see that the roasts 
are not overdone." 

The smokers and little receptions among 
the men became bores. 

So many women now being in business, 
their husbands were compelled to maintain 
the family position in society. Mr. Daw- 
son submitted. But he considered it an 
infernal nuisance to carry his wife's cards 
around with him. Sometimes he could 
not remember how many gentlemen there 
were in a family. 

There was something worse than all 
this. He could not fail to perceive, in 
spite of the usual masculine obtuseness in 
such matters, that he was no longer wel- 
come at his wife's office. She received him 
politely but coldly. Then she ignored 
his presence. If she chanced to be busy, 
she at once became very busy — aggres- 
sively so, in fact. If idle, she immediately 
found something to engross her attention. 



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62 



A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



In anger, one day, he taunted her with 
it. She replied, without passion, but with 
cutting coldness, that it was not good for 
business to have one's husband sitting 
around the office; that women did not 
come in so readily, feeling afraid that 
something might be overheard and re- 
peated. 

"You have a young gentleman type- 
writer,' ' sneered Mr. Dawson. 

"That is different," said his wife, 
smiling good-naturedly. 

So the two years had gone by. Some 
things had improved; others had grown 
worse. Ill health and the narrow world 
he moved in seemed to have affected Mr. 
Dawson's mind. He felt that his wife 
neglected him. At times he was proud 
of her brilliant success, financial and po- 
litical; her popularity, her beauty and 
grace. At others he was violently jealous 
of — everything and everybody, even the 
young man who musically took down her 
thoughts in the office. 

It was absurd, of course, but he was such 
a beastly good-looking young fool! What 
business had he to put fresh flowers in her 
vase every day ? Mr. Dawson asked her 
once furiously if she paid him for that. She 
looked at him in cold displeasure. Then 
she left the house, and scarcely spoke to 
him for a week. At the end of the week 
she remembered his invalidism, and re- 
lented. On the way home she bought a 
pretty trifle, a jeweled scarf-pin, 
and gave it to him with a little 
show of affection. He was 
deeply touched. Then she really 
loved him, after all! 

Thereafter she permitted her- 
self to become angry with him 
more readily. The temporary 
estrangement furnished a rea- 
sonable excuse to spend several 
nights down town with the girls; 
and, when she was tired of it, 
she had only to carry home some 
pretty jewel — and peace was 
restored. Mr. Dawson's life 
was becoming such a narrow, 
walled-in one that he was losing 
his spirit. 

It is not surprising that Mrs. 
Dawson looked at him angrily 
over the breakfast-table. How- 
ever, she made no answer to his 
unreasonable complaint. 

" Is it necessary that you 
should make so many trips to 
Salem?" he asked, presently. u . . . 

" Yes, my dear," she replied, 



coldly. "Unless you wish to see me de- 
feated." 

" And is it necessary that you should 
remain out until one or two o'clock every 
night?" 

" It is." Mrs. Dawson spoke firmly to 
convince herself as well as her husband. 
" My dear, I have had enough of this. 
You were pleased — I repeat, pleased — with 
the idea of my running for senator, or I 
should not have accepted the nomination. 
Now, already, you annoy me with petty 
complaints and jealousies. I prefer being 
at home with you and the children, cer- 
tainly; but I cannot neglect my business, 
or we should soon be in the poor-house. 
Nor can I make anything of a canvass 
without spending some time with the 
girls." 

"And money," sneered Mr. Dawson. 

"Yes, and money" — more coldly. 
" God knows I do not enjoy it; my tastes 
are domestic." 

Mr. Dawson got up suddenly. He 
lifted his chair, and set it down with a 
crash. 

" Mrs. Dawson," he said, "I don't care 
whether you make a good canvass or a 
poor one. When I gave my consent to 
our going into this thing, I supposed you'd 
run it differently. You women have been 
talking and ranting for the last fifty years 
about the way you'd purify politics when 
you got the ballot — and here you are run- 



THK CHILDREN BROUGHT IN BY THE RESPECTFULLY AMUSED 
NURSE. . . ." 



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A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



63 



ning things just as men have been doing 
ever since the United States were born." 

44 Oh, my dear! " interrupted Mrs. 
Dawson, with a little, aggravating laugh. 
44 That is wrong, isn't it ? was born would 
be better. Besides, why not say the earth 
at once? " 

44 And I don't care if you are defeated! 
I'm tired of being cooped up here with 
a lot of children and servants! Ordering 
puddings, and leaving cards on fools be- 
cause you happen to know their wives in a 
business way, and doctoring measles and 
mumps! And you down town canvassing 
with the girls! What a home, where the 
wife only comes to eat! " 

Mrs. Dawson arose silently and, putting 
on her hat in the hall, left the house. She 
was furious. Her face was very white. 
She shook with passion. What a life! 
What a home! What a husband for a 
rising woman to have dragging her down! 
Not even willing to help her socially! 
Why, it had been only two years, and here 
he was sunk to the shoulders in the narrow 
groove it had taken women centuries to 
struggle out of! Had she ever been 
proud of him ? Impossible! He was un- 
just, contemptible, mean! Why — why — 
could he not be like John Darrach ? There 
was a man, strong, fearless, a politician. 
He had not lost his grip. If she won, it 
would be because of his earnest support. 

She went into her private office, and laid 
her head upon her desk and wept passion- 
ately. 

Presently a knock came upon the door. 
She did not hear. The door opened, but 
she did not hear that either. But she felt 
a hand close firmly around her wrist; and 
then she heard a voice say, "Why, what 
does this mean ?" 

She lifted her head, and looked through 
her tears into John Darrach's eyes. 

There was unmistakable tenderness in 
the look and in the pressure of his strong 
fingers. A warm color flamed over her 
face and throat. She controlled her feel- 
ing and smiled through her tears, slowly 
drawing her arm from his clasp. 

44 Forgive me," he said, instantly, re- 
turning to his usual manner toward her. 
44 When I saw you were in trouble, I — 
forgot." 

44 It is nothing," she said, with an exag- 
gerated cheerfulness. **Only, sometimes 
I fear this campaign is making me ner- 
vous. I hate nervous people," she added 
passionately. 

" My carriage is at the door," said 
Darrach. He looked away from her with 



a visible effort. * 4 Shall we drive out to 
see that piece of property now ? " 

" Oh, yes, indeed; I had forgotten that. 
How good of you to always remind me! 
I am afraid I depend upon you too much." 

44 Not as much as I wish," he answered 
her in a low voice. He stood holding the 
door open while she rapidly drew on her 
gloves. Then seeing the color coming to 
her face again, he added, grimly: 44 1 must 
earn my salary as your attorney, you 
know." 

That was a delightful morning. The 
road ran along the Willamette from Port- 
land to Vancouver. The perfect blue of 
an Oregon sky bent softly over them. 
The long, silver curves of the slow-moving 
river wound before them. There were 
green fields and bits of emerald wood 
and picturesque islands. Farther away 
were the heavily timbered hills, purple in 
the distance; and grand and white and 
glistening against the sky were the superb 
snow mountains, majestic in their far lone- 
liness. 

The air was fragrant with wild syringa, 
which grew by the roadside, flinging long, 
slender sprays of white, gold-hearted 
flowers in all direction's. The soft, caress- 
ing winds let free about them a breath 
from the far ocean. 

Mrs. Dawson leaned back in the car- 
riage and forgot domestic cares — forgot 
ill - bred servants and over - done roasts, 
shabbily dressed children and an unreason- 
able, fault-finding husband. She loved the 
soft sway of the carriage, the spirited 
music of the horses' feet on the hard road, 
the sensuous, compelling caresses of the 
wind on her face and throat. 

Darrach stopped the horses in a shady 
spot. 

44 We must have some of this syringa," 
he said, putting the reins in her hands. 
He broke a great armful, snapping the 
stems almost roughly. He bore them to 
the carriage, and piled them upon her 
knees until they covered her bosom and 
shoulders with their snowy drifts — some 
of the scented sprays curling even about 
her throat and hair. 

44 Do you know," said Darrach, looking 
at her, 44 these cool, white sprays always 
make me think of a woman's arms." He 
reached for the reins, and for a second his 
hand rested upon hers. She turned very 
pale. 

44 By the way," said Darrach, instantly, 
in a light tone, 44 is the canvass going on 
satisfactorily?" 

" Not quite as I could wish," she replied. 



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6 4 



A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



44 As I expected, the lower classes are solid 
for — my opponent. It is a bitter thing to 
run against such a woman. It will be 
more bitter to be defeated by her." 

44 You must not be." 

44 I cannot help it. How can I get such 
votes ? " 

Darrach shrugged his shoulders. 

44 Put up more money," he said, coldly, 
but in a low tone. 

44 Ah," said Mrs. Dawson, with deep 
contempt. 44 It is dishonorable — disgust- 
ing! Sell my birthright for a mess of pot- 
tage ? " 

44 Nonsense," said Darrach. He turned 
and smiled at her. "Am I to be disap- 
pointed in you ? Have I not guided you 
with a careful hand through dangers and 
pitfalls ? Have I not helped you to suc- 
cess ? It is wrong to spend money for 
such a purpose — I confess it, of course. 
We want all that changed. We can change 
it only by getting good women into power. 
We can get them into power only through 
money. We must ourselves stoop at 
first, to elevate politics eventually. Mrs. 
Dawson, you owe it to the State — to your 
country — you owe it to yourself — to sacri- 
fice your noble principles and ideals this 
time, in view of the powerful reform you, 
and such women as you, can bring about 
in politics, once you are in power." 

He turned the horses into a long, locust- 
bordered lane. At the end of it was a 
large, white farm-house. A woman sat on 
the front steps. She was tall and thin. 
Her face and hands were wrinkled and 
harsh. Her eyes were narrow and faded. 
Her sandy hair, gray in places, was 
brushed straight back from her face, and 
wound in a knot with painful tightness. 
She sat with her sharp elbows on her knees, 
her chin sunk in her palms. 

She arose with a little country flurry of 
embarrassment at their approach. She 
stood awkwardly, looking at them, keep- 
ing her shabbily clad feet well under her 
scant skirt. 

44 Are you the lady who wishes to bor- 
row money on a farm ? " asked Darrach. 

44 Yes," she said, 44 1 be." She did not 
change her expression. Her only emotion 
seemed to be excessive self-consciousness. 
She put her hands behind her to feel if 
her apron-strings were tied. Then she 
rested her right elbow in her left hand, 
and began to smooth her hair nervously 
with her right hand. 44 Yes, I want to 
git $500 on this here farm. Land knows 
it's worth twicet thet." 

44 Yes," said Darrach, politely. 



44 It is too bad to mortgage it," said 
Mrs. Dawson, feeling a sudden pity. " Is 
it absolutely necessary ? " 

44 Yes," said the woman, closing her 
thin lips together firmly; 44 my mind's 
set. My man's one o' them kind o' easy- 
goin's thet you can't never git worked up 
to the pitch o' doin' anythin'. I'm tired 
of it. We've set here on this here place 
sence we crossed the plains, an' we ain't 
got anythin' but land an' stawk an' farm 
machin'ry. We ain't got a buggy, ner a 
drivin' horse, ner a side-saddle; we ain't 
got 'n org'n, ner a fiddle, ner so much's a 
sewin'-machine — an' him a-gettin' new 
rakes, an' harrers, an' drills, an' things 
ev'ry year, all of 'em with seats to ride on. 
I ain't even got a washin'-machine! " 

"But why do you mortgage your 
farm?" asked Mrs. Dawson, quietly. 

44 Because I've got my dose," said the 
woman, fiercely. "The place's in my 
name, an' now thet we've got our rights, 
I'm goin' to move to town. I'll show 
him! I'll git a job 's street commish'ner 
— er somepin. He can let the place out er 
run it hisself, jist 's he's a mind, but I'jj 
goin' to take that money an' hire a house 
'n town an' buy furniture. My mind's 
set. I didn't sense what a fool I be tell 
we got our rights. If he'd a half give 
me my rights afore, I'd give him his'n 
now; but I've got the whip-hand, an' 1 
guess I'll git even. He never even let me 
hev the hen money — consarn his ugly 
picter!" 

44 Oh, I am sure it is wrong to mortgage 
your farm," said Mrs. Dawson, looking 
distressed. "Your husband must have 
trusted you, or he would not have put it in 
your name." 

The woman laughed harshly, but with- 
out mirth. 

44 Oh, I've played my game cute," she 
said. " I've schemed and laid low. Back 
'n Kanzus we hed a fine place out 'n the 
rollin' kentry, all 'n his name, an' he made 
me sign a mortgage on 't to buy machin'ry 
with — said he'd leave me 'f I didn't, an' 
the hull place went. Mebbe I ain't worked 
to lay his sphish'uns, though! Mebbe I 
ain't laid awake nights a-plannin' to git 
this place 'n my name! Mebbe I didn't 
git it, too! " 

44 But will he sign the mortgage?" 
asked Darrach. 

44 He'll hev to." She spoke with some- 
thing like a snarL " If he don't — I'll do 
what he threatened me with back *n Kan- 
zus! I'll leave him! " Her tone was ter- 
rible now. 



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A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



65 



"Let us go," said Mrs Dawson, turn- color mounted into his face. " Oh, I 
ing a pale face to Darrach. didn't mean Dawson. I was still think- 

He made an appointment to meet the ing of that woman's husband." But he 
woman in town. Then they returned to was trembling under strength of the feel- 
the carriage. Looking back, they saw ing he was endeavoring to control, 
that she had " We 

reseated her- 
s e 1 f in the 
same listless 
attitude on 
the steps, her 
chin sunken 
in her hand, 
wa t c h i n g 
them with 
those dull, 
narrow eyes. 

Darrach 
sent the 
horses down 
the lane at a 
lively pace. 
Mrs. Dawson 
sat erect. 
Her face was 
paleand trou- 
bled. 

"Well, 
that's awful, 
isn't it?" said 
Darrach, 
cheerfully. 
44 It makes me 
suspect that 
this suffrage 
business isn't 
all it is rep- 
resented to 
be." 

" Oh, it is terrible," said Mrs. Dawson, 
earnestly. " That a woman should have 



*SHE SEATED HERSELF AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE, 
PAPER, ..." 



AND OPENED THE MORNING 



must 
hasten," said 
she, "or I 
shall be too 
late for the 
Salem train." 

Once on the 
train, Mrs. 
Dawson had 
three hours of 
hard and bit- 
ter reflection. 
There are cer- 
tain crises in 
the lives of all 
of us when a 
word, a look, 
a gesture, is 
sufficient to 
awaken us to 
a full realiza- 
tion of some 
wrong that we 
have been 
committing 
with shut eyes 
and dulled 
conscience. 
Mrs. Dawson 
had reached 
the crisis in 
her life. Her 
awakening 
; but it was 



such a feeling" — she pressed her hands 
together upon her knees — " I cannot help 
feeling sorry for her. She is wrong, all 
wrong, now; yet I think I understand 
what a miserable, starved life she has had. 
I believe that the hearts of millions of 
women would have leaped could they have 
heard those words: ' If he'd a half given 
me my rights before! ' You men have 
been wrong; you have not been wise. 
You brought this revolution on your own 
heads. Why, what can one expect of 
the kind of man that woman's husband 
must be, when my own husband — a man 
of refinement and culture — treated me like 
a dependent in money matters ? 



was sudden and complete 
crushing. 

She sat with her burning cheek in her 
hand, looking out the window. She saw 
nothing — neither wide green fields, nor 
peaceful village, nor silver, winding river. 
The events of the past two years were 
marching, panorama-wise, before her ach- 
ing eyes. Her heart beat painfully under 
its burden of self-accusation. Oh, blind, 
foolish, wicked! 

She did not care for Darrach. He was 
an attentive, congenial companion; that 
was all. But how wrong, how loathsome, 
now seemed her association with him! 

She felt a great choke coming into her 
throat. She detested her campaign, wo- 
man suffrage, and, most of all, herself as 



The beast! " said Darrach. She she had been in these two years. 

turned a white, startled face upon him. Suddenly she sat erect. " I will give it 

•* What ? " she stammered. all up," she said. " I will go back to my 

He laughed instantly, although a thick husband and 



m * ^iigfeb/^b^gPe 1 



66 



A TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN. 



have wandered — oh, God, how far! Other 
women may do as they choose — I shall 
make a home again, and stay therein. I 
believe active life will restore my hus- 
band's health. We will try all over again 
to forget, and 
just be happy. 
Oh, I have been 
walking in my 
sleep for two 
years ! I have 
awakened — in 
time, thank 
God! Every 
act, al most 
every thought, 
of these two 
years is loath- 
some to me now. 
But I shall 
atone. I shall 
make my hus- 
band and my 
children hap- 

py" 

Mr. Dawson 
had spent a 
wretched day. 
Upon reflec- 
tion, he was 
heartily 
ashamed of the 
way he had 
spoken to his 
wife. Notwith- 
standing their 
deep love for 

each other, he felt that they were grow- 
ing farther apart each day. He blamed 
himself bitterly. He even thought of go- 
ing down to the office and apologizing; 
but he remembered that she was going to 
Salem. 

Mrs. Dawson returned with a violent 
headache and fever. She had had a chill 
on the train. She took a cab and drove 
straight home. Her husband opened the 
door for her. " Dearest," he said. She 
threw herself upon his breast, and clung 
to him in her old dependent, girlish way, 
that was indescribably sweet to him. 

" I am ill, dear," she sobbed, "so ill. 
And oh, I am so tired of it all! I have 
given it all up. I don't want to be a sen- 
ator, nor a business woman, nor even a 
progressive woman; I just want to be your 
wife again. I want to take care of my 
children and my home, and I want you to 
be a man again! " 

"Why, God bless my soul!" said Mr. 
Dawson. He was looking down at the 



back of her head with the most amazed 
eyes imaginable. 

Mrs. Dawson went to bed without her 
dinner. In the morning the doctor came, 
and said it was typhoid fever. 

It was six weeks before Mrs. Dawson 

was able to go about the house and to hear 

orld. Then, one 

conveyed to her 

licacy and caution 

that woman suf- 

declared unconsti- 

d been abolished. 

he had considered 

it his duty to 

take her place, 

and he was now 

running for the 

Senate. 

" How lovely 
of you, dear- 
est! " she said, 
with a sphinx- 
like smile. 

Then she in- 
quired for Dar- 
rach. 

" Oh, he went 
off on a wild- 
goose chase to 
Australia soon 
after you were 
taken ill," said 
Dawson, lightly. 
"Oh," said 
Mrs. Dawson. 
"And my type- 
writer ? Is he still with you ? " 

44 Why — er — no," said Dawson. He 
looked with deep attention at an old Chi- 
naman going along the street on a trot 
with two baskets of vegetables dangling 
at the ends of a pole on his shoulder. 
44 The fact is — I didn't just like him. He 
wasn't competent. 1 — " he jingled some 
coins in his pocket — " I have a very speedy 
young woman — er — a Miss Standish." 
" Oh," said Mrs. Dawson. 
When Mr. Dawson started for the office 
the following morning his wife followed 
him to the hall door. She looked charm- 
ing in her long, soft house-dress. Her 
lovely arms shone out of the flowing 
sleeves. Her hair was parted in the mid- 
dle, and waved daintily. A red rose glowed 
on her breast. The color was coming 
back to her cheeks, and her eyes were 
bright. 

Her husband put his arm around her, and 
drew her to him with affection and satis- 
faction. He was fully restored to health, 
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HE WAS NO LONGER WELCOME AT HIS WIFE S OFFICE. 



A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



67 



and thoroughly pleased with himself. 
Mrs. Dawson put one arm around his 
shoulder, and as she kissed him, with the 
other hand deftly extracted the morning 
paper from his inside pocket — at the same 
time giving him a most charming and ador- 
able smile. 

Dawson's countenance fell. But he 
decided instantly not to remonstrate — 



this time. By and by, when she was 
stronger. 

At the steps he paused and said, lightly, 
"Oh, I forgot: I'll not be home to din- 
ner. Have to dine with some of the boys 
at the club. Infernal nuisance, this cam- 
paign! M 

It requires so many exhausting lessons 
to teach a man anything. 



A FRENCH CRITICS IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 

By Ferdinand BrunetiSre, 
Editor of the '* Revue des Deux Mondes." 

NEW YORK AND BALTIMORE.— AMERICAN UNIVERSITIES.— AMERICAN 

CHARACTERISTICS. 



AJEW YORK, March 22d.— My great- 
I V est surprise is Ao be surprised so 
little; and in the mila atmosphere, under 
a brilliant sun, it does not seem to me that 
I have changed climates. 

Nevertheless I am in America. 

But what can you expect ? My eyes 
and my mind are so fashioned that wher- 
ever I have journeyed I have found men 
more like each other than their vanity 
might be willing to admit; and doubtless 
that is not a favorable temper for " ob- 
serving/' but who knows whether it be 
not an excellent one for seeing better? 
How many travelers there are whose 
accounts have aroused in me nothing but 
a great astonishment at their ingenuity! 
They discover differences everywhere, and 
to my eyes these differences do not exist. 
Europeans or Americans, yellow men or 
white, Anglo-Saxons or Latins, we all 
have specimens at home of all the vices; 
let us add that the same is true of all the 
qualities and virtues, and repeat with the 
poet: 

" Humani generis mores tibi nosse volenti \ 
Sufficit una domus. . . ." 

I am walking along Fifth 
Avenue, making these reflections and be- 
ginning to fear lest a spice of vexation 
at not possessing a more traveled soul 
may creep into them, when it suddenly 
occurs to me that this avenue is very 
long. I also perceive that all the streets 



cross each other at right angles, and that, 
motley as the crowd may be which fills 
them with commotion, numerous as are 
the car lines by which they are furrowed, 
unlike and sumptuous as are the shops 
which line them, the impression they pro- 
duce is, after all, a trifle monotonous. 
Fortunately, some tall houses come to 
dispel this at the very nick of time — very 
tali houses, of from twelve to fourteen 
stories; cubical houses with flat roofs; 
pierced with innumerable windows; stone 
houses whose crude whiteness enlivens at 
last this decoration which hitherto has 
been all in brick. I take pains to note, 
then, that in New York there are houses 
of fourteen stories, and, must it be said ? 
they are not uglier than if they had only 
fis^. Where is it that I have seen uglier 
ones, not so tall, but in the same style, or 
the same taste, which proceeded less from 
the art of Bramante or Palladio than from 
the science of Eiffel the engineer ? Was it 
not perchance at Rome, in the new quar- 
ters ? What astonishes me most, however, 
and what I can scarcely account for to 
myself, is that, positively, these enormous 
houses do not seem to be embedded in the 
ground; one would say they were placed 
upon its surface. 

I go on to the right, and the aspect of the 
scene has suddenly changed. The flooring 
of an aerial railway, supported by enormous 
cast-iron pillars, has robbed me of sun- 
light, and the trains which momentarily 



Editor's Note.— The author of this paper, M. Brunetiere, besides being the editor of one of the most important 
periodicals in the world, is, perhaps, the foremost of living French critics. In it and two that are to follow (one in 
December and one in January) is collected whatever has particular interest for American readers in a series which M. 
Brunetiere is now publishing in his own magazine, the " Revue des Deux Mondes." 



1 senes wmcn m. 

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68 



A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



succeed each other make a deafening 
racket over my head. Now the streets 
are. lined with popular shops, saloons, 
oyster houses, and also with boot-blacks. 
Pedlars of Italian aspect offer me bananas, 
oranges, apples, and sticks of marshmal- 
low. These are no longer the smells of 
Paris, but those of Marseilles and Genoa; 
in fact, they make me remember that I am 
in a maritime city. Did I say in a mari- 
time city ? I should have said in an 
island, where I ought to have found it 
quite natural that the manners and insti- 
tutions should be " floating " (it is the 
remark of an ancient who had not seen 
America), and that the very houses should 
not yet succeed in " fixing themselves." 
A great maritime city always has a little 
the air of having been born yesterday; its 
monuments can be counted ; and how often 
I have been surprised that of all our 
French cities the most ancient, the one 
that existed before there was a France, 
and even before Gaul had a name — I mean 
Marseilles — should also be one of the most 
modern, where one finds least of the his- 
torical and detects the least of what is past. 
. . . There are from sixty to eighty 
thousand Italians at Marseilles, and for- 
merly there were many Greeks and Levan- 
tines; this doubtless gave it the cosmopoli- 
tan aspect. Here at New York there are 
from four hundred to five hundred thou- 
sand Germans, and how many Irish ? To 
say nothing of Italians, French, Greeks, 
Chinese, Japanese, etc. I am not surprised 
that all this makes a mixture, a medley in 
which one would be troubled to find any- 
thing very " American." The business 
streets, Twenty-third, Fourteenth, Broad- 
way, are filled with a crowd, neither very 
noisy nor very bustling; numerous loiterers 
are seated on benches in the squares — a 
great "cosmopolitan" city; a very large 
city ; a gigantic city ; where I seem to 
recognize some traits of Paris and Mar- 
seilles, of Genoa, Antwerp, and Amster- 
dam; where certain slight differences, sus- 
pected rather than felt, fancied rather than 
experienced, indefinable for the moment, 
melt and are effaced in the multiplicity of 
resemblances and analogies: such did New 
York appear to me at first. And also as an 
" amusing" city, since 1 had been walking 
in it for four hours without either my curi- 
osity or my legs having grown weary of it. 

IMPRESSIONS OF 1UI.TIMORK. 

Baltimore, March 24th. — I have "de- 
scended," but only to "mount" at once 



to the sixth or seventh story in a fine 
hotel, entirely new, and in which there is 
nothing " American," or at least more 
" American " than in any other hotel, un- 
less its being admirably kept. I cannot 
refrain from noting that in a city where 
the negro population is not less than sev- 
enty or eighty thousand souls, the hotel 
service is performed exclusively by whites. 
Strange fatality! All other travelers have 
lodged in extraordinary hotels. They 
were inundated with electric light! They 
were drenched with ice water! They 
could not make a step nor even a gesture, 
without setting in motion all sorts of very 
complicated machinery or mobilizing a 
whole army of negroes. Not one of these 
favors has yet fallen to my lot. 

. . . If one excepts five or six larg*» 
streets, Baltimore does not seem to be 
very animated, or, above all, very busy — 1 
just now had to consult my guide-book to 
assure myself that it contains four or five 
hundred thousand souls. Have the taler- 
of travelers positively misled me concern- 
ing the activity of Americans ? What sort 
of epicurean or dilettante existence can 
they have led in Europe who find that 
people live so fast here, or even in New 
York? Or rather — and it is this doubt- 
less which is more probable — are there not 
two, three, four Americas, of which it 
would be wrong to be unwilling to sec 
only one ? I shall not see Chicago, or St. 
Louis, or San Francisco, or even New 
Orleans; but here, in the Eastern States, 
1 do not find myself at all perplexed, and 
the reason appears to me very simple. 
The habits of European civilization are 
daily becoming the foundation of Ameri- 
can, and, reciprocally, if America makes 
an improvement in these habits, we hasten 
to adopt it in Europe. 

For instance, these interminable streets 
crossing each other at right angles are mo- 
notonous; the picturesque, the unexpected, 
the variety of perspectives is absent. 
But has not this rectilinear ideal become 
ours also within the last half century 
and in the name of science and hygiene ? 
Here, moreover, much more than in New 
York, where all the houses in a locality re- 
semble each other, the diversity of archi- 
tecture puts an element of gaiety into the 
monotony of the street. A touch of even- 
style blends into a disorder which amuses 
the eyes. The brick is less somber, newer, 
and of a more vivid red ; clambering green- 
ery and the whiteness of marble steps at- 
tenuate its crudity. Stone alternates with 
brick. Here are houses of "colonial" 



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A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



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aspect, one especially which is unfailingly 
pointed out to Frenchmen — the old Patter- 
son house, where that young prodigal of a 
Jerdme Bonaparte, as his great brother 
styled him, married Miss Elizabeth Patter- 
son. . . 

The general impression of Baltimore was 
very well rendered by Mr. George Cable, 
when he said that its "aspect is quite 
meridional." And when he was asked to 
explain himself more fully, he insisted on 
the air of ease and the agreeable, non- 
chalant bearing of the promenaders in the 
streets — a city of leisure, a city of " resi- 
dences," where the negro looks happy and 
the negro girls still more so. . . . 

Nevertheless, I must think about my 
first lecture. . . . 

March 25th. — My eyes wander over my 
audience, ascertaining in the first place that 
the students of the Johns Hopkins Univer- 
sity, more courteous than our own, have 
not excluded women from these lectures. 
Doubtless they do not believe in Balti- 
more that the words of a professor are 
the exclusive property of male students, 
or that these words must necessarily be 
empty or superficial if women comprehend 
them. Neither do they believe, and I 
make the remark with singular pleasure, 
that the instruction given in a Protestant 
university should be interdicted to Catho- 
lic seminarians. 

It is a short history of French poetry 
which I have promised to condense into 
nine lectures, and during the three months 
in which I have been thinking of my sub- 
ject I have learned a good deal myself. 
Hence I have decided that it is especially 
necessary to avoid taking a purely French 
point of view, which evidently could not 
be that of either Englishmen or Ameri- 
cans. Something of Shakespeare, of Shel- 
ley, always escapes us; and, similarly, 
foreigners will never relish what we find 
particularly exquisite in Racine or Andr6 
Ch£nier. Consideration of form or of 
pure art, which I might be tempted to 
put in the first rank if I were speaking in 
France, I relegate here to the second, and 
there results an arrangement or disposition 
of the subject which I confess I did not 
expect. Imperfect as are our Chansons de 
gestes and our Romans de la Table Ronde y I 
find it impossible not to give them in these 
lectures a place which answers to the ex- 
tended influence which they once exerted 
in European literature and which they still 
exert. And where in the world should I feel 
myself more strattly obliged to this than 
here, where the sovereignly noble 'poet of 



the " Idyls of the King " has doubtless no 
fewer admirers than in England, and where 
the author' of "Tristan and Iseult " may 
have more than in Germany ? I know very 
well that the invention of the subject, the 
theme, is of small moment; and I remem- 
ber most opportunely that no one, to my 
knowledge, has shown this better than 
Emerson in his essay on Shakespeare. 
But there is more than the subject in our 
" Heroic Ballads " or our " Romances of 
the Round Table " : there is the sentiment 
of the subject; and nothing, to tell the 
truth, is lacking to them but the sentiment 
of form and art. I cannot devote less than 
three lectures to the French poetry of the 
Middle Ages. 

On the other hand, if there should be 
such a thing as French classic poetry, we 
doubtless find it, and foreigners can hardly 
do otherwise, in the tragedies of Corneille 
and Racine, the comedies of Molifere, and 
the fables of La Fontaine — these are 
really our poets — and not, I imagine, 
Clement Marot or Malherbe, Jean Bap- 
tiste Rousseau or Voltaire. Jean Bapiiste 
is only a declaimer, and the other three 
are merely excellent prose writers who 
have rhymed their prose. I would still be 
too French — I mean too narrowly con- 
fined within the limits of our national taste 
— if I should try to make Americans take 
Boileau for a poet. Nurtured as they are 
in Shakespeare, I fear I should find diffi- 
culty in explaining to them and making 
them understand what there is "poetic," 
in the absolute sense of the word, in Cor- 
neille's tragedies or Moliere's comedies. 
On this point, therefore, I will concentrate 
my forces. I shall bring together in one 
lecture all that has been attempted among 
us from Ronsard to Malherbe, and I will 
show that, as all these efforts had no other 
tendency, even in poetry, and perhaps 
especially there, than to make the court 
and the social spirit predominate over the 
spirit of individualism, this could only 
result "poetically" in the formation of 
the dramatic style on the ruins of the lyric 
and epic styles. I will then endeavor to 
show what the pure dramatic style, inde- 
pendent of all addition or mixture of lyri- 
cism, admits of in the way of true "poetry." 
And finally from Racine to the other Rous- 
seau, Jean Jacques, putting together all of 
our prosateurs of the eighteenth century 
who fancied they were poets, I will point 
out in the long decline of our dramatic 
poetry and the corresponding development 
of individualism the near revival of lyri- 
cism. 



70 



A FRENCH CRITICS IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



But how am I to divide the nineteenth 
century in its turn ? And here in Balti- 
more, the city of which Edgar Poe was a 
native and where he rests, shall I make 
the concession of encouraging the sym- 
pathy I am told they feel for the Baude- 
laires and the Verlaines ? Heaven for- 
bid! On the contrary, what I have said 
of Verlaine and Baudelaire in France I 
will repeat, merely taking account of the 
fact that in the conception they have 
formed of poetry there is something 
vaguely analogous to the idea, at once 
mystic and sensual, which the Anglo-Sax- 
on genius seems to have formed of it now 
and again. And, moreover, as this idea 
has been developed amongst us in con- 
trast, or even in declared hostility, to the 
Parnassian idea, I will explain what has 
been intended by the poets who have been 
designated in France as Parnassians. And 
necessarily, the far too large part granted 
nowadays to romanticism, in the move- 
ment of the times, will be proportionately 
reduced. All Europe, however, has had 
its *• Romanticists; " and to show what 
analogy Musset bears to Byron will not 
require a long discourse. Besides, what- 
ever one may think respectively of the 
Pocmes Barbares or the Poltnes Antiques and 
the L/gende des siecles, there are at least as 
many "novelties" in the Parnassian the- 
ory as in the Romantic. And that will 
answer for my three final lectures, in the 
first of which I will attempt to define the 
romantic movement in itself and in rela- 
tion to English or German romanticism; 
in the second I will show how and why the 
" Parnassians" have so far differed from 
the "Romanticists" as to become their 
living contradiction; and, finally, in the 
third, I will connect with symbolism the 
new tendencies I think I discern in con- 
temporary poetry. . . . 

HIGHER EDUCATION IN FRANCE AND IN 
AMERICA. 

. . . In what relates to the organi- 
zation of universities, the professors, whose 
kindness is inexhaustible, are here to rectify 
or redress what, without them, might be 
superficial or erroneous in my observation. 
It is by the aid of their conversations and 
their publications that I wish to say a few 
words on a subject which has its impor- 
tance and its difficulties. 

Concerning this subject, let us remem- 
ber, in the first place, that institutions of 
superior instruction are not all of the same 
type in France, whatever the Germans 



appear to think about it, when one finds 
the editors of their Minerm jumbling in 
the uniformity of one continuous enumera- 
tion the Polytechnic School, the University 
of Paris, and the Museum of Natural His- 
tory. The Museum of Natural History, 
the former Jardin du Rot\ from which the 
great name of Buffon is inseparable, is one 
of the very rare institutions which are de- 
voted amongst us to the cult of pure and 
disinterested science. No examinations 
are passed there, no diplomas or certifi- 
cates are conferred; and it neither con- 
ducts nor leads to anything but an ac- 
quaintance with natural history. This is 
also the originality of the College de 
France. One learns nothing immediately 
practical there, and even the Chinese 
which is taught is not the Chinese which is 
spoken. Our universities are already 
more " utilitarian; " they grant diplomas, 
and these diplomas, which may have a 
great scientific value, have before all else 
a state valuation. They are at once — and 
this is their great vice — the official sanc- 
tion of studies and a title to a career. 
Our universities form lawyers, physicians, 
and professors, and it is all the better if 
savants or learned men issue from them; 
but thus far they have not been adapted 
for that purpose. Finally, the great 
schools, such as the £cole polyteehnique or 
the £cole Normale SupMeure, are not, 
properly speaking, anything but profes- 
sional schools, whose first object, whose 
principal object, is to provide for the re- 
cruiting of certain great public employ- 
ments, so that if their regulations should 
be heedlessly altered, the quality of this 
recruitment would be compromised and 
the entire category of great employments 
modified in its foundations. 

There are likewise different types of 
American universities. There are State 
universities — like the University of Vir- 
ginia, for instance; or the University of 
Michigan (Ann Arbor) — which are inde- 
pendent, no doubt, in the sense that they 
manage themselves absolutely, and yet 
whose independence is in some respect 
limited by the grant they receive from the 
States. Their principal obligations are to 
admit to the .university course, without 
previous examination, pupils who come 
from the high schools of Michigan or Vir- 
ginia, and to establish alongside of their 
liberal instruction, technical training — 
scientific agriculture, for example — or 
legal or medical courses. 

Other universities, generally the oldest 
ones, like Harvard, 1655; Yale, 1701; 

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A FRENCH CM TIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



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Columbia, 1754; Princeton, 1757, or, 
again, the University of Pennsylvania, are 
free from any obligation of the sort. 
They began as simple colleges, such as we 
had under the old regime, the College des 
GrassinSy the College £ Har court y the Col- 
lege des Godrans at Dijon, where Bossuet 
and the great Cond£ made their first 
studies, and if I make these comparisons, 
it is because a pious intention, a sectarian 
intention, if I may say so, formerly pre- 
sided in America, as amongst ourselves, 
at the foundation of these establishments. 
Episcopalians, Presbyterians, baptists, or 
Quakers bore their first expenses, and 
some traces of their origin may still be 
recognized. . . • Lastly, of the other 
universities, the most recent are perhaps 
in certain respects the most interesting: 
these are Cornell University (Ithaca, New 
York), Johns Hopkins (Baltimore), Leland 
Stanford (California), and the University 
of Chicago. They owe their existence to 
the generosity of the founder whose name 
they bear, and under the supervision of an 
administrative council, a board of trus- 
tees which itself depends solely on the 
terras of a will or a donation, they are 
masters of their budget, of the matter of 
their instruction, and the choice of their 
professors. Why should I conceal the 
fact that in writing these last words I am 
thinking of our own universities, which 
may be anything you please, but which 
will not, in my sense of the word, be uni- 
versities really worthy of that name so 
long as their professors are appointed by 
the state, and, above all, so long as the 
examinations to which candidates are sub- 
jected are state examinations whose pro- 
gramme is determined by the state, and 
whose diplomas constitute, so to say, state 
titles. I do not like false names to be 
given to things. 

JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY. 

The Johns Hopkins University, which I 
naturally take as a type, since I am 
speaking there, and also because it is as 
yet the only one that I have seen for my- 
self, has existed only twenty-one years, 
but it long ago attained its majority. 
When Johns Hopkins died, bequeathing to 
Baltimore 34,000,000 francs for the founda- 
tion of a hospital and a university, the 
friends whom he had charged with the exe- 
cution of his last will did not waste much 
time in long discussions over what con- 
cerned the organization of the university. 
They went to the remotest part of Cali- 



fornia, where for three years he had been 
exercising the functions of president of a 
university, — in France we would say of 
both dean and rector, — to look for a former 
professor of Yale, Mr. Daniel C. Gilman, 
who had very early gained a great reputa- 
tion in America as an administrator. 

With the correctness of eye and the 
rapidity of decision which are his charac- 
teristic traits and make him an eminent 
man, Mr. Gilman acknowledged that the 
occasion was unique. He saw that in a city 
like Baltimore, if one had the good sense 
to waste nothing on the empty luxury of 
buildings, nor on the petty vanity of copy- 
ing Yale or Harvard at a distance, a type 
of university such as America had never 
seen might be realized, and he set to 
work. Means were lacking to organize 
faculties of law, medicine, arid theology; 
they were dispensed with, and the Johns 
Hopkins University was composed at first 
of nothing but a faculty of philosophy; 
the name under which, in the United 
States and Germany, is included what we 
distinguish into faculties of literature and 
science. Ancient languages (that is to 
say, Hebrew, Sanscrit, Greek, and Latin), 
modern languages (English, German, 
French, Italian, Spanish), history, polit- 
ical economy, philosophy, on one hand; 
and on the other, mathematical sciences, 
physics, and chemistry, geology, natural 
history, biology, pathology; such was the 
programme of the nascent university. 
"Laboratories" and " seminaries " were 
its organs. The diffusion of " methods " 
promptly became its object, and the re- 
sults are not far to seek, since within the 
twenty-one years of its existence the Johns 
Hopkins University has given not less 
than a hundred professors to the other 
universities of America. It has become a 
sort of normal school where the personnel 
of higher instruction is recruited. And it 
is a proof, if one were needed, that di- 
plomas, titles, and grades, under the regime 
of liberty, are worth not at all, as some 
suppose, the stamp of the state or the 
notoriety of establishments, but precisely 
what the juries which deliver them are 
worth. 

It is also a proof of what can be accom- 
plished by the activity of a single man, for 
there is no room for error, and I am sure 
that not one of the professors here will 
accuse mo o£ exaggeration, — the Johns 
AlMr. Daniel Gilman. 
itended it to be; 
to say that he 
great body, he 




72 



A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



is truly its soul. It would be impossible 
— how shall I say it ? — not to conceal, and 
still less to dissimulate, but to envelop 
under a more seductive affability of man- 
ners, more of character, or to place an 
ingenuity of resources at the source of ideas 
more precise, more settled, or more ample. 
I wish I could reproduce entirely his Open- 
ing Address, delivered nearly four years 
ago, in 1893, at the inauguration of the 
Congress of Superior Instruction at Chi- 
cago. " The first function of a uni- 
versity," said he, "is the conservation of 
knowledge;" and could the fact that the 
very condition of scientific progress is re- 
spect for tradition be condensed into a 
better phrase ? " The second function of 
a university," Mr. Gilman went on to say, 
" is to extend the bounds of human knowl- 
edge; " and it is the fixity of this ambition 
which has characterized the Johns Hopkins 
among all the other American universities. 
" And the third function of a university," 
he added, " is to disseminate knowledge." 
And truly it is not for ourselves, but in 
order to transmit them, that we have in- 
herited the treasures of tradition or the ac- 
quisitions of experience — which is exactly 
what they are seeking to do here. By pub- 
lications, by lectures, by review and maga- 
zine articles, by letters to the daily press, 
Mr. Gilman has desired the Johns Hopkins 
University always to keep in touch with 
public opinion. In France we form a 
more mystical, and at the same time a more 
practical, notion of science; more "prac- 
tical" because many of our young men 
see little in it but a matter of examina- 
tions or an occasion of diplomas; and 
more " mystical " because we too often 
affect to be afraid lest we should vulgarize 
it by dissemination. . . . 

THE COMING ARISTOCRACY IN AMERICA. 

. . . And if, moreover, I have thought 
I ought to dwell at some length on this 
question of the American universities, it is 
because I have no better way of thanking 
them for their welcome than to do my best 
to make them better known ; and also 
because, from all that I see and hear and 
read, there gradually emerges a lesson for 
ourselves. Permit me, in order to express 
myself clearly, to use a barbarism, and to 
say that, by means of these great univer- 
sities, much of America is in the way of 
aristocratizing itself. While in France — 
what with our "modern education," the 
"specialization of our sciences," "the 
spirit of regionalism" with which we are 



trying to inocculate our universities — we 
are diminishing the part of general instruc- 
tion, in America, on the contrary, they are 
seeking to extend, to increase, and to con- 
solidate it. While we are insensibly de- 
taching ourselves from our traditions, the 
Americans — who are inconsolable for not 
having an ancient history — are precisely 
essaying to attach themselves to the tra- 
ditions we are forsaking. Of all that we 
affect to consider too useless or superan- 
nuated of the history of Greek institutions, 
or the examination of the books of the Old 
Testament, they are composing for them- 
selves, as one might say, an intellectual 
past. And if, perhaps, the catalogues 
of their universities do not keep all their 
promises, which is often the case with our 
own, that is unimportant. The function 
always ends by creating its organ, and it 
is tendencies which must be regarded. 
The universitarian tendencies in America 
are on the way to constitute an aristocracy 
of intelligence in that great democracy ; 
and, which is almost ironical, of that form 
of intelligence which we are so wrong- 
headed and stupid as to dread as the most 
hostile to the progress of democracy. 

AMERICAN COSMOPOLITANISM. 

April 4th. — . . . Before entering on 
my great week, and, pending eight days, of 
functioning for two days, one at Baltimore 
and the next at Bryn Mawr, I would like to 
summarize certain reflections. What ren- 
ders this difficult is that with what there is 
original and local here, and of which I 
catch a glimpse now and again in glance 
or gesture, there is always blended, as in 
New York, a substratum of cosmopolitan- 
ism. If, having taken him for an Ameri- 
can, or at least an Englishman, I wish to 

make a little portrait of Professor A , 

I am informed that he is a German; it was 
not Germany that I came to look for in 
America. In the manner, the language, 
the countenance of Mrs. B , some- 
thing decided, precise, and energetic has 
struck me, but it appears that she is of 
French extraction. I cannot make a note 
of what seems to me indigenous in the man- 
ners of Mr. C if he spends rather more 

than half the year in Europe, at Paris or 
in Switzerland. Another person asks me 
what I think of Baltimore; I tell him; we 
become confidential; we chat; I question 
him; he answers me; it was a Russian ! 
There are Italians also; there are English; 
there are Israelites, among whom, in truth, 
I am puzzled to meet an American, born 



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A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 



73 



in America, of American parents. And 
have I not heard say that if one in three 
of the seventeen or eighteen hundred thou- 
sand inhabitants of Chicago were born on 
American soil — not merely in Chicago, 
nor in Illinois, nor in the Western States, 
but in America — it would be a great deal ? 
Talk after that of the characters of races ! 
Not to mention that all, or nearly all, of 
them have traveled, have run over the 
world; they know France and they know 
Paris; they have spent months or years 
there; they know Rome and Florence! No, 
evidently "race" has not the importance 
here that is given it, any more than it has in 
Europe; or, rather, — and fYom the moment 
that one is neither Chinese, negro, nor red- 
skin, — it is habitudes, civilization, history 
that make "races;" and in our modern 
world, on both sides of the Atlantic, if the 
economists can say that the universal 
movement tends toward the "equaliza- 
tion of fortunes," it is still more true that 
it tends toward the effacement of all 
peculiarities which are not individual. An 
Englishman or an American does not 
greatly differ, as such, from a Frenchman 
or a German, and he differs only by hav- 
ing inherited a different civilization; and 
thanks to the facility of communications 
and exchanges, the development of indus- 
try, the internationalism of science and the 
solidarity of interests, these very differ- 
ences may be reduced to differences of 
time and moment. The Americans are 
younger than we are, and that is evident 
first of all in their curiosity to know what 
we think about them. 

AMERICAN YOUTHFULNESS. 

They are also less " complicated," and 
by that I mean that they show what they 
are more nafvely, more frankly, more 
courageously than we do. Here one is 
what he is, and as he is so by decision or 
by choice he shows it. . . . 

Nor is any astonishment felt because 
women, like men, have their clubs, where 
they meet to lunch, to talk about things 
that interest them — chiffons, housekeep- 
ing, cooking — to exchange ideas, and, at 
a pinch, when they are philosophers, "to 
comment on the Book of Job considered 
as an example of the miseries of human- 
ity." Here all this appears natural. A 
woman belongs to herself in the first place, 
and, moreover, it is not required of her, 
as it is among us, that she should keep, 
so to say, four or five personages together. 
She is not compelled by prejudices to con- 



ceal her aptitudes or disguise her tastes. 
She has the right to herself, and she 
makes use of it. 

No doubt there is some relation between 
this liberty to be oneself and certain 
independence in reference to " airs, waters, 
and places," and to habitudes which in 
Europe we convert into so many fetters, 
generally with regard to physical and moral 
surroundings. Omnia mecum porto y said the 
sage of antiquity: the American resembles 
this sage. Baltimore, as I have noted, is 
a city of residences, a city where the 
people are less mobilizable. They do not 
camp out here, they dwell; the very 
houses look as if they were bedded more 
deeply in the ground. And yet, were it 
necessary, one feels absolutely certain that 
the inhabitant would transport, ought I to 
say his home 1 but in any case his domicile, 
his habitudes, and his life to St. Louis or 
Chicago more easily than we Frenchmen 
would go from Paris to St. Germain. And 
the reason is not a need of change, an im- 
patience of remaining in the same place, an 
inquietude, an agitation which is unable to 
settle down, but, in my opinion, the confi- 
dence which an American feels of being 
himself wherever he goes. The personality 
of a true American is interior. He is at 
home everywhere because he is everywhere 
himself. The displacement, the removal, 
which helps us to escape ourselves, gives 
him the sensation of his identity. Again 
a proof of youth and force! He will grow 
older; I hope he may, since he desires it; 
and already I can easily understand that if 
I should penetrate into the West, every 
turn of the wheels would carry me from 
an older to a newer world. But mean- 
while, and even here where there is a little 
history in the atmosphere, it is certainly 
that which distinguishes them from us. 
They are younger; and is not that precisely 
what certain observers dislike in them ? 

I would not push the metaphor too far, 
and I do not care to report all my impres- 
sions concerning this youthfulness of the 
American people. It would be too easy, 
and, like everything which is so easy, more 
specious than correct. An Irishman, a 
German, brings to America the tempera- 
ment due to long heredity. But the very 
circumstances into which he is plunged 
are such that he is obliged to adapt him- 
self to them promptly, and a somewhat 
brutal selection quickly eliminates those 
whom it must " Americanize." One com- 
prehends that this is because they have a 
good deal of pride and very little vanity. 
It is because they are what they are. A 



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A FRENCH CRITIC'S IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA, 



German priest whom I did not know ac- 
costed me in the street the other day to 
complain of the condition of American 
workingmen, and to say, in substance, 
that America, no more than Europe, had 
solved the social question. I had no diffi- 
culty in believing him. But he forgot two 
points; namely, that competition is "the 
rule of the game," so to say, the agree- 
ment which a man signed in embarking for 
America — I might almost say in being born 
here — and he also forgot that this competi- 
tion has it compensations. The distinc- 
tions which establish themselves between 
men here are real and solid; they do not 
depend, or, at any rate, they depend less 
than in Europe, on any caprice or despot- 
ism. Assuredly there are " Colonial 
Dames," but there is no old aristocracy. 
There are enormous fortunes; there are no 
" governing classes." There are profes- 
sors, doctors, lawyers; there are no " lib- 
eral professions." A doctor is a man who 
attends others in sickness, and an uphol- 
sterer is a man who furnishes other men's 
houses. A rich man is a rich man, who 
can do a great deal as he can everywhere, 
but who can do only what his money can 
dOj and an educated man is measured by 
the idea he gives of his merit. From this 
it results that every one feels himself the 
sole architect of his own fate, the artisan 
of his destiny, and generally he blames no 
one but himself for his failure. . . . 
And these observations are in the wrong by 
being too general . . . and what there 
is true in them will be modified daily; and 
in a fortnight, in a month, I shall no longer 
recognize them myself. But if I record 
others which seem to contradict them, I 
have an idea that they will all come back 
to this: that there being more youth in 
America, the civilization, the country, the 
very climate being newer, one breathes 
more deeply, one moves more freely, one 
lives more independently than elsewhere. 
It is a privilege of age: the future will 
tell whether it can be transformed into a 
social character, and what American experi- 
ence is worth as gain or loss to ancient 
humanity. 

Bryn Mawr, April 8th. — One could not 
imagine a college better situated than that 



of Bryn Mawr, in the open country, "on 
the slope of a verdant hill," — of several 
hills, in fact, — and with horizons " made as 
one would have them, to please the eye." 
The vast buildings which compose it give 
me an impression of solidity which I have 
not before experienced. This year the 
number of students is 285, and not a hun- 
dred of these, I am told, intend to teach. 
That makes, then, in one establishment, 
more than 200 young girls who love knowl- 
edge for itself, and assuredly it is not I 
who will reproach them for it. " Learn 
Latin, Mesdemoiselles, and, in spite of a 
certain Moliere, learn Greek; learn it for 
yourselves; and also for the little Euro- 
peans who are forgetting it every day." 
But I will explain myself on that point 
when I have time. For the moment I have 
duties to fulfill, for I am the hero of a 
reception in the " American style," which 
consists in being introduced, as on this 
evening, to two or three hundred persons, 
to whose obliging compliments one tries 
to respond as best he can by energetically 
shaking their hands. However, I have 
been practising this exercise for a fort- 
night, and I take pleasure in it when, in 
the midst of this march past, a gentleman 
who is watching me bends over and says 
in my ear: " Isn't it true that they are no 
uglier than if they did something else?" 
He was right! and I thanked him for hav- 
ing translated my thought so wittily. 
"They are not uglier." These eyes are 
not dimmed by reading Greek or even He- 
brew, nor have they lost any of that mock- 
ing lustre which one loves to see shining 
in the eyes of young girls. Nor have 
these faces grown pale, nor these figures 
bent; nor, in fine, has any of that airy 
gaiety disappeared which was given to 
women, as the good Bernardin says, "to 
enliven the sadness of man." . . . 

Baltimore, April idlh. — I have just 
quitted Baltimore, and I own it was not 
without a touch of melancholy. Eighteen 
days, that is very short; but speaking in 
public establishes so many ties, and so 
quickly, between an audience and a lec- 
turer, that I seem to be leaving a beloved 
city. To-morrow I shall wake up in Bos- 
ton. 




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W. S. Mallory. Theodor* Waters. Thomas A. Edison. 



MK. EDISON AND MR. MALLORY IN FRONT OP THE OFFICE AT ROISON. 

From a photograph taken for MCCLURR'S MAGAZINE on August a6, 1807. 



EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 

By Theodore Waters. 
Illustrated from drawings and photographs made expressly for McClurr's Magazine. 

MILLS THAT GRIND UP MOUNTAINS AND PICK OUT FROM THE HEAP OF 
DUST THE SMALLEST GRAIN OF IRON ORE. — A NEW APPLICATION OF 
ELECTRICITY. 

Editor's Note. — The deposits of iron ore in New Jersey are sufficient to supply 
the needs of the United States for half a century. The problem that Mr. Edison 
undertook to solve eight years ago was how to get the iron ore out of these moun- 
tains of rock. Any one can take a piece of magnetite, pulverize it with a hammer, 
then hold a little magnet over it and draw up from it little black particles which are 
iron ore, leaving the sand undisturbed. But to be of practical service it was necessary 
to do this on a scale as colossal as the phenomena of nature. Mountains must be 
reduced to dust, and the iron ore in this dust must be separated from four or five 
times its weight of sand, and then this iron-ore dust must be put into such form that 
it could be shipped and smelted. To ship dust in open cars would involve great 
waste, and the dust when thrown into furnaces would choke them, or it would be 
blown out by the tremendous blast of air necessary in smelting and so be wasted. 
Mr. Edison, therefore, had three great problems to solve. He has constructed 
machinery which will reduce ten tons of rock to dust every minute. He has invented 
apparatus whereby the particles of iron ore are separated from this dust; and after six 
months of almost hopeless experimenting he has been able to compress this dust into 

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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



briquettes which are thoroughly porous and at the same time absolutely waterproof. 
By the solution of tremendous engineering and physical problems he has unlocked 
fabulous sources of wealth from the New Jersey mountains. He has rendered possible 
a continuance of great prosperity to the blast-furnace of the East. He has laid bare 
supplies of iron ore which, before many years, will be called upon to supply England's 
manufactories. 

This article explains how Mr. Edison achieved the inventions which solve this 
immense problem, and which have occupied almost exclusively the past eight years of 
his life and have cost several million dollars. 



NE day, about six- 
teen years ago, 
while Thomas A. 
Edison was stroll- 
ing along the sea- 
shore at a point on 
Long Island, he 
came upon a pile 
of sand which the 
breakers had 
banked high up on 
the beach. He 
stopped and re- 
garded it with curiosity, for it was different 
from any sand he had ever before seen. It 
was black sand. He delved into it with 
both hands, allowed it to run through his 
fingers, and even tasted it; but the reason 
for its inky hue remained hidden. Then, 
with the zeal of the scientific investigator, 
he took some of the sand to his laboratory 
and tested it. He was on the point of 
putting it aside, when suddenly he be- 
came possessed of an idea. He procured 
an electro-magnet and held it near the 
mass. Immediately the material became 
highly affected. Little dark grains sepa- 
rated themselves from the heap and scur- 
ried across, like so many black ants, to the 
spot over which the magnet was held. 

The little ants were really grains of iron 
ore ; and, strange as it may seem, Edison 
had discovered a bed of finely divided iron 
ore cast up by the sea. The black sand 
covered the shore in spots for fifteen miles 
along the coast. It was due to the erosion 
of Connecticut rocks by water, magnetite 
being one of the constituents of the primal 
rocks found in Connecticut. The sea, 
constantly eating into the heart of the 
rocks, had carried their scattered frag- 
ments across the Sound and cast them up 
on the Long Island shore. With his in- 
ventive propensities always uppermost, 
there entered Mr. Edison's head a scheme 
of conquest such as had not before been 
attempted. He calculated that the de- 
posits must contain millions of tons of 
iron, which, could it be smelted, would be 
a sure relief from hard conditions then 



prevailing in the Eastern iron market. He 
worked out his ideas, and evolved his 
magnetic ore-separating machine, which he 
exhibited at the last Paris Exposition. 
Then he let out the privilege of using it to 
a contractor, who set up a plant just out 
of reach of the waves and proceeded to 
separate the iron ore from the sand, with 
every prospect of developing an extensive 
industry. But the sea proved to be less 
generous than it at first promised to be; 
for one dark night there came a storm 
such as had not visited the coast in many 
years, and when the contractor came to 
view his plant the next morning not a ves- 
tige of black sand remained. It had been 
all swept into the sea whence it came. 
This was the real beginning of a great in- 
dustry. The final development of it, how- 
ever, was due to a second discovery, quite 
as unexpected as the first. For some years 
past the bulk of the Bessemer-steel trade 
had been drifting westward, by reason of 
the discovery and opening up of immense 
deposits of high-grade ore in the Upper 
Peninsula of Michigan, suitable for making 
Bessemer steel, cheaply produced, and car- 
ried at small cost by water transportation to 
furnaces contiguous to the lake ports. The 
furnaces east of the Alleghanies were com- 
pelled to depend on a few small, isolated 
deposits of Bessemer ore in the East and 
ores imported from foreign countries. 
The ore deposits of the Southern States, 
as well as the magnetic ores of New Jer- 
sey and New York, are unsuitable for 
making Bessemer steel. 

For a time the cost of the ore at the East- 
ern furnaces was not greatly different from 
the cost in the Pittsburg district; but in the 
last few years the cost of foreign ores, 
which are approaching exhaustion, has 
reached the prohibitory point. Then the 
discovery of the great deposits in the 
Masaba range of Minnesota in the last three 
years, and the tremendous cheapening in 
the cost of mining and transportation of 
these deposits, have apparently raised in- 
surmountable obstacles in the way of the 
Eastern iron mills meeting the competition 
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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



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S*nd 



of the great mills of the central West, even 
in the Eastern market, and many mills have 
ceased to operate. The condition is not 
a trivial one, for many thousands of per- 
sons depend upon these mills and furnaces 
for a living. 

Mr. Edison had familiarized himself with 
these changing conditions 
and become impressed 
that here was a problem 
that ought to be solved, 
and perhaps could be. It 
occurred to him to inves- 
tigate the mountain re- 
gions of New Jersey, 
where the iron mines are 
situated, with the idea 
that there might be some 
extensive deposits of low- 
grade magnetic ore not 
suitable for shipping di- 
rect to the furnaces, but 
from which, by crushing, 
he might obtain pure ore 
of high grade and suitable 
for steel-making. Recon- 
structed a very sensitive 
magnetic needle, which 
would dip towards the 
earth whenever brought 
over a large body of mag- 
netic iron ore. What fol- 
lowed is best reported in 
his own words. 

** One of my laboratory 
men and myself," says Mr. Edison," visited 
nearly all the mines in New Jersey, with- 
out finding any deposits of magnitude, but 
the extent of the deposits was clearly indi- 
cated by the needle. One day we were driv- 
ing across a mountain range to visit an 
isolated mine shown on the maps of the geo- 
logical survey. I had the magnetic instru- 
ment on my lap, and my mind was drifting 
away from the subject in hand, when I no- 
ticed that the needle was strongly attracted 
to the earth and remained in this condition 
over a large area. I thought it must be out 
of order, as no mines were known to be any- 
where near us. We were riding over gneiss 
rock at the time; so we went down in a lime- 
stone valley, where magnetic iron seldom 
occurs, but we found the needle went back 
to zero; it was correct. As we returned 
and traveled over an immense area the nee- 
dle continued to be pulled strongly to the 
earth; our amazement grew and grew, and 
I asked, at last, ' Can this whole mountain 
be underlaid with magnetic iron ore?' If so, 
then I knew, if the grade was not too low, 
the Eastern ore problem might be solved. 




" It was evident from the movement of 
the needle that vast bodies of magnetic 
ore, or rock impregnated with ore, lay un- 
der our feet. 

' ' I thought of the ill-favored Long Island 
enterprise, and I knew it was a commercial 
question to solve the problem of the pro- 
duction of high-grade Bes- 
semer ore in unlimited 
quantities. 

"I determined to find 
out for myself the exact 
extent of all the deposits. 
I planned a great mag- 
netic survey of the East, 
and it remains, I believe, 
the most comprehensive 
of its kind yet performed. 
I set several corps of men 
at work surveying the 
whole strip from Lower 
Canada to the Great 
Smoky Mountains of 
North Carolina. We used 
no theodolite or other in- 
struments generally famil- 
iar to the civil engineer. 
A magnetic needle was our 
eye — our magnetic eye, so 
to speak. Starting in 
Lower Canada, with our 



C=: vho & £Jtu 



MK. KDISON'S DIAGRAM (MADE FOR THIS 
ARTICLE) SHOWING THE PRINCIPLE OF THE 
MAGNETIC SEPARATOR. 



final objective point in 
North Carolina, we trav- 
eled across our line of 
march twenty-five miles. 
Then we advanced south one thousand 
feet; then back across the line of march 
again twenty-five miles; then south an- 
other thousand feet, and so on, varying 
the cross-country marching from two miles 
to twenty-five, depending on the geologi- 
cal features of the country, as we went 
along. We kept records of the peculiar- 
ities of the invisible mass of magnetite 
indicated by the movements of our needle, 
until, when we finished, we knew exactly 
what State, county, or district had the 
biggest deposit; how wide, how long, and 
approximately how deep it all was. 

" The deposits are enormous. In 3,000 
acres immediately surrounding our mills 
there are over 200,000,000 tons of low-grade 
ore; and I have 16,000 acres in which the 
deposit is proportionately as large. The 
world's annual output of iron ore at the 
present time does not reach 60,000,000 
tons, and the annual output of the United 
States is about 15,000,000 tons; so that in 
the paltry two miles square surrounding the 
village of Edison there is enough iron ore 
in the rocks to keep the whole world sup- 

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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



plied for one year, or the United States for 
three years, even with the natural increase 
in demand. Sixteen thousand acres, or 
twenty-five square miles of land, contain 
enough iron ore to keep the whole world 
supplied for seventeen years, allowing, of 
course, for all natural increase of demand 
due to the needs of a growing population. 
These acres would more than supply the 
United States with iron, even including 
necessary exports, for the next seventy 
years ; and they contain more than has 
been mined heretofore in this country since 
its discovery." 

Here was a remarkable condition. 
Smelting works shutting down for want of 
iron ore at low prices when billions of 
tons of it lay idle in a strip of land which 
in most places was within seventy-five 
miles of the great iron mills of the Atlan- 
tic coast. Mr. Edison saw an opportunity 
which would enable him, in his own words, 
" with modern methods and the application 
of modern science to machinery, to trans- 
form a product having no natural value 
into a product when mined which had a 
spot value on the car." The idea entailed 
no child's play in the final carrying out. 
Unless it could be carried out on a gigan- 
tic scale, it practically could not be car- 
ried out at all. To make the separation 
of this finely divided oie from its native 



rock on a scale equal to the need, the only 
scale commercially possible, it would be 
necessary to do the work at the rate of 
thousands of tons daily. This, at least, 
was Mr. Edison's judgment, and the com- 
prehensive mind of the man is well shown 
in the manner in which he planned what 
has now developed into the most gigantic 
of enterprises. There was to be no hurry, 
no half-formed ideas, no untimely an- 
nouncement of the great work to be done. 
Every cent which the inventor earned 
thereafter, and every year of his life, if 
necessary, were to be utilized in carrying 
the project to a perfect fulfillment. Dis- 
couragements and embarrassments of every 
nature would very likely be encountered, 
but these, being part of the history of 
every great achievement, must be taken 
quite as a matter of course. For them 
the end, fully accomplished, would more 
than compensate. 

So while the public perhaps thought Mr. 
Edison to be resting upon the laurels won 
by the electric light, the kinetoscope, or 
the phonograph, his mind was really occu- 
pied with a busy little scene on a mountain 
top in New Jersey. A rude little building 
had been erected, and in it some trusted 
employees were engaged in breaking 
pieces of the rock from the surrounding 
hills, and, by the use of small electro-mag- 



THE WILDERNESS ABOUT EDISON. 



Before the timber bad been felled, previous to the blasting and steam -shore ling. 

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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



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THE STRAM SHOVEL LAVING BARE THE VEIN OF ORE-BEARING ROCK. 

After the timber has been felled the ground is surveyed with a magnetic needle. The concealed ore-bearing rock is then staked off. The shovel 
works around the ledge, cleaning away the underbrush, the dirt, and the clay. Then the rock is blasted Into boulders. The shovel picks up these 
boulders, which sometimes weigh as much as six tons, and loads them into trays, or " skips," resting on flat cars. The cars convey the rock to the 
crushing-plant. This shovel is the biggest in the world ; it weighs aoojno pounds, and will clear away rock at an average rate often tons a minute. 



nets, sorting out the iron ore which these 
rocks contained. After a while the little 
building lost the distinction of being the 
only house so occupied, for other small 
buildings were erected; and then a steam 
plant began to make the surrounding hills 
echo with the puff of its engines and the 
continual churning sound of rock-crushers. 
Out of this humble beginning has grown 
the present great establishment. All the 
original machinery has now disappeared; 
and all the first buildings, except one small 
one now used as an office, have been torn 
down. The first steam plant and the first 
crushers have proved inadequate to the 
work. 

Mr. Edison had planned the work upon 
a comprehensive scale, but he had reck- 
oned upon finding equal to his needs crush- 
ing-machinery already devised. At last, 
however, the conviction forced itself upon 
him that he must invent a new method of 
extracting the ore from the mountain-side; 
construct crushing-machinery larger than 
had ever been used before; introduce a 



magnetic separating system of his own; 
devise some way of cementing the iron 
dust into lumps, so that it could be used 
in the blast furnace; and, altogether, to 
re-create the entire enterprise on a plan 
even more gigantic than his first concep- 
tion. Engineers, tried engineers, used to 
large operations, smiled incredulously. 
Some of them spoke of the enterprise as 
Edison's "hobby;" others, less chari- 
table, called it his "folly." Those of 
a calculating turn of mind showed him on 
paper that no machine could be constructed 
powerful enough to crush successfully five, 
six, and seven ton rocks; or if such a ma- 
chine could be constructed, that it would 
never withstand the terrific jar which 
would result. This particular difficulty, 
it may be said in passing, Mr. Edison sur- 
mounted so completely that less than one 
hundred horse-power is required to reduce 
rocks weighing six and seven tons to dust 
in less than three seconds from the time 
they are thrown into the crushing-machine. 
Other difficulties were overcome as corn- 
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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



pletely, none proving too much for Mr. the ore from the sand; magnetism does it 
Edison's indomitable will and rare con- all. Except for the elevators which raise 
centration of mind and energy. the ore to the cupolas of the buildings, 

Yet what Mr. Edison really has done there is in many of them no machinery; 
is a very simple matter; simple, that is, gravity does all the work. In fact the 
in its entirety. It may be explained in a whole plant is a wonderful example of au- 
few words. Mr. Edison is now doing on tomatic action. Every part is connected 
a gigantic scale just what he did at first with the other parts, and the aggregate is 
with a hammer and a horse-shoe magnet, as compact and as self-sustaining as a 
He is crushing rocks, and then dropping modern rotary printing-press, and is even 
the resulting powder past powerful electro- less dependent on human agency for as- 
magnets. The saud is not affected by the sistance. 

magnetism and passes straight on; the iron From the time the ore is blasted with its 
ore is attracted, to one side and falls in a native rock out of the mountain-side until 
heap of its own. This is the whole prin- it is loaded in the form of commercially 
ciple. But in tlie actual working out.it pure iron briquettes on the cars, it is not 
becomes one of the most tremendous pro- touched by human hands. - The never- 
cesses in the world. It is, afte ever-resting stream of mate- 

small matter to crush the very v ly circulates through the vari- 

of a big mountain and then extrc £s, crushed by the stored 

the ore from millions, of tons c f gigantic rolls; hoisted sky- 

In the middle distance between m; pulled earthward Uy grav- 

simple experiment and the practic I by magnetism; dried, sifted, 

ing plant is a vast region full of e ged, conveyed; changed from 

detail, commercial reckoning, and t, and from dust into compre- 

ical devising, dependent on the difference herisive lumps, mixed with a due propor- 
between breaking up small-rocks with a tion of adhesive material; chjrned, baked, 
hammer and breaking up whole mountains counted, and sent flying to the furnaces by 
with heavy machinery. What Mr. Edison fast freight; and not once in its course is 
has done has been to subdue to his service it arrested or jogged onward by human 
three great natural forces — momentum, agency. The noise of the crushing, the 
magnetism, and gravity. The big rocks grind of the machinery, the dust and the 
are not, strictly speaking, crushed by the onrushing stream of this "most precious 
direct power of an engine or dynamo; metal" and its by-product, separate the 
momentum alone turns them into dust. 145 attendants as with the breadth of con- 
No mechanism assists in the separation of tinents. Yet these men, merely watchers 

to see that all goes well, are 
within signal distance of one 
another in spite of the noise, 
the dust, and the grind; and 
the touch of a button quells 
the monstrous disturbance in 
the smallest fraction of time. 
The complete subjection 
and masterful control of great 
natural forces is one of the 
most impressive aspects of the 
whole enterprise. It is one 
thing to set the ball in motion; 
it is quite another to control 
its velocity or direct its course. 
The crushing capacity of all 
the stamp-mills in California 
is about 5,000 tons a day. 
., , .. , .p, The crushing capacity of Edi- 

son's giant and lesser rolls is 
twenty per cent, greater than 
that of all these mills com- 
bined; enough to level in an 
ordinary life-time the proud- 
est of mountain peaks. The 
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AN ACCIDENT TO THE STEAM SHOVEL. 

The steam shovel seems to be as voracious as a treat animal. Sometimes it attacks rocks 
which arc too big even for its own great maw. In its effort to overcome a great rock it lost 
its balance and tipped over. 



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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



THE STEAM SHOVEL WORKING AT NIGHT. 

In the great chasm which Is being cut across the summit of Mount Musconetcong the 
work of taking out the ore-bearing rock goes on night and day. As much as 32,000 tons 
are taken off at a blast. 



long line of magnet faces have, popu- 
larly speaking, enough combined pulling 
capacity to raise a modern great gun clear 
from its deck facing and drop it over the 
side of the vessel into the sea. The great 



ment if ever there was one. Yet 
behind it all, with not in the least 
the demeanor of a conqueror, is 
the personality which planned it 
all, with forces arranged to con- 
tinue indefinitely this compre- 
hensive demolition of mountains, 
but with invisible wires out- 
stretched, so that if necessary 
the whole vast turmoil of ma- 
chinery may be silenced on the 
instant. 

The way to the plant leads up 
the steep sides of one of the 
back spurs of the Musconetcong 
Mountains; past Lake Hopat- 
cong, with its crowd of pleasure- 
seekers • beyond Hurd, with its 
iron mines, from which ore was 
taken more than a hundred years 
ago; through virgin forest un- 
dergrown with rank, dank masses 
of fern ; upward, always upward, 
until the 1,200-foot level is 
reached; and the snorting, puff- 
ing little engine darts forward 
into a nest of tall red buildings 
from which a dull booming noise 
sounds forth and a choking white 
dust blows out. The activity 
roundabout is of that massive 
order which reduces one to a 
condition of awe and helpless- 
ness similar to that experienced 
in an earthquake-ridden country. 
One feels that the very ground 
under one's feet may suddenly 
yawn at the displeasure of the 
master mind which created the 
community. On all sides the roar 
and whistle of machinery, the 
whir of conveyers, and the chok- 
ing white dust proclaim this to 
be some quite extraordinary enterprise. 
The workmen look like millers, so coated 
do their clothes become with the flying 
white particles, and everyone wears a pat- 
ent muzzle. The effect of the pig-like 



steam shovel which so ruthlessly tears the snout which the muzzle closely resembles 



underbrush, the rock, the dirt, and the ore 
from the mountain side, is already famous, 
for it has done extraordinary work else- 
where, having been the excavator of the 
larger part of the earth that was removed 
from the Chicago drainage canal, and hav- 
ing served also in the great ore mines of 
the Masaba range. The conveyers that 
carry the rock, the sand, and the ore from 
mill to mill, covering a mile in transit, lift 
in sections 100,000 cubic feet of mountain- 
side every day — a Herculean accomplish- 



is often very amusing. The magnet-house 
and some of the other buildings are almost 
as tall and as narrow as city "sky-scrap- 
ers." Others are flat and squatty, cover- 
ing considerable areas. Big wheels re- 
volve in the engine-houses; big dynamos 
transmit their heavy currents through 
overhead wires to the various parts of the 
plant. Little narrow-gauge locomotives 
puff their way in and out between the 
buildings; a line of freight cars moves 
slowly along, with shrieking and whistling 



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EDISON'S DEVOLUTION IN IRON MINING, 



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wheels and brakes. Far off one can see than which there is no more human-like 
a great bridge-crane, its top lifted above piece of mechanism in the world. Edison 
the tree-line; and presently the cry of a looks up pleasantly as you approach. His 
child startles one into a quick view of manner is encouraging. There is, as some 
44 Summerville," a hamlet where the min- one has said, the assurance of honesty in his 
ers live. strong, round face, and an attitude of de- 

This is Edison the place; where is Edi- mocracy in his dirty duster, which makes 
son the man ? " Probably over watching you friends with him at once. There is no 
the steam shovel. He is always there. 
It seems to fascinate him. Follow the 
water-pipe through the cut," says one of 
his men. The iron water-pipe lies on the 
surface, and it leads in a tortuous manner 



air of self-importance, which, after all, 
one could easily pardon in the man for 
whom the French people played our own 
National anthem on his entrance to the 
Paris Opera House — honored him, in fact, 



between the numerous buildings and out as they only honor kings. As you talk, he 



into the open country. On the way over 
we receive our first impressions of this 
great system of ore production. Over to 
the right, lumbermen are cutting down 
trees and making the land ready for the 
steam shovel, which is tearing away at 
the rocks half a mile distant. Further 
over, on a half-cleared section, a great 
stream of water rushing through a hose 
with mighty force from a hydraulic pump 
is washing the de'bris free from the rock 
and leaving the latter bare of all vegeta- 
tion. Still further along, the rattle of 
steam drills and the boom of dynamite 
tell where the rock is being riven into 
boulders and loaded on the five-ton skips, 
or trays, prior to being transmitted to 
the crushing-plant. The steam shovels 
do the work of loading, and as they have 
a capacity for lifting ten tons of free rock 
a minute, the local activity is tremendous; 
and the flat cars, carrying 
two skips each, move 
along at a lively speed. 
A long line of them is 
constantly leading up to 
the crushing-plant, where 
the big electric cranes rid 
them of their loads and a 
little switching engine 
pushes them around a loop 
and allows them to run 
down an incline into the 
cut again. 

Edison, descried in the 
distance by means of his 
historic linen duster and 
his great country straw 
hat, is found sitting on a 
stone, peering earnestly 
down into a great trench 
from which the most sur- 
prising grunts, shrieks, 
whistlings, and queer 
noises generally are being 
emitted. It is the com- 
plaint of the steam shovel, 



places his hand to his ear; but it is not to 
exclude the roar of the crushers, the whir 
of the conveyers, or the noise of the 
shovel. He is slightly deaf; a condition, 
however, which he regards more in the 
way of a boon than as a misfortune, for it 
excludes the small talk of those about him 
and enables him to concentrate his mind 
on whatever problem he may have in 
hand. His face, when his mind is bent 
on serious matters, reflects the deep im- 
port of his thoughts ; but he is always ready 
to unbend, and his change of demeanor 
when some lighter vein of conversation is 
struck seems to come as a relief. He is 
as ready for a funny story as was Lincoln, 
and several of his best jokes are decidedly 
on himself. A query on a scientific sub- 
ject reforms the wrinkles of thought on 
his face, and he becomes lost completely to 
all sight, sound, and feeling of the out- 



's»ri i«t i> 



BXTKKIOK VIKW OP CRUSHING-MILL. 



The skip-loads of blasted rock are conreyed on flat cars to the mill. Great electric cranes lift them 
at the rate of one a minute up into the second story of the mill, where their contents are dumped into 
the roll-pit 



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ED/SON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



THE ELECTRIC CR\NE Dl'MPINC A SKIP-LOAD OF ROCK INTO THE KOLI.-PIT. 

Ten feet below the flooring two immense rolls, with surfaces studded with teeth and weighing over 100 tons, are constantly revolving. 



side world. A laborer, dressed even more 
shabbily than Edison himself, comes up, 
and from a distance of ten or a dozen feet 
growls out a question about some new 
braces which are being put in. Edison 
grunts back his answer in quite the same 
tone of voice, and a moment later is off, 
with short, quick steps, and an intense 
look, towards a group of men holding a 
consultation over some mechanical diffi- 
culty connected with the plant. Edison 
solves the problem almost as soon as it is 
laid before him, and presently is back 
again, gazing down at the first object of 
his attention. 

" We are making a Yosemite of our own 
here," he says; " we will soon have one of 
the biggest artificial canons in the world. " 



This remark is occasioned by the fact that 
the steam shovel is operating at a point 
three-quarters of a mile from the works 
proper. It is somewhat down the hillside, 
but it is eating its way on a level straight 
into the hill. "It will take us a year 
to reach the mills," says the inventor; 
" but when we do get that far in, we will 
have a trench with walls one hundred feet 
deep. I suppose we will take out over 
600,000 tons of rock before we get there. 
Then when the trench is completed, we can 
blast off the walls with dynamite, taking 
off 32,000 tons at a time. But look at this 
fellow," he continues, pointing to the 
steam shovel. " Wouldn't you think he 
was alive ? Always seems to me like one 
of those old-time monsters or dragons we 

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EDISON S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



85 



read about in children's books. I like to 
sit and watch it." 

Monster! Indeed it is a true monster, 
both in shape and attitude. Its body is 
represented in the car; its thick neck has 
all the stockiness of invincibility; and its 
great square head, with the three steel teeth 
protruding like the fangs of an undershot 
bulldog, give it quite the air of a great 
animal, even in repose. But it is when it is 
in action that the personality of the thing 
becomes apparent. The beams of the 
derrick slide against one another like the 
sinewy tendons in the neck of a mastodon, 
the great head lowers itself for the charge, 
and the teeth fairly glisten as they attack 
the hillside. Then when some hidden ob- 
stacle is encountered and the way be- 
comes temporarily blocked, the pent-up 
steam within it breaks forth as from its 
nostrils, and the great thing trembles all 
over and shrieks out its rage, the shrill 
tones only dying down to a satisfied grunt 
when the obstruction has been conquered. 



It weighs 200,000 pounds, and is the big- 
gest steam shovel in the world. Once it 
encountered a rock which was too big even 
for it, and the way it throbbed, screamed, 
hissed, whistled, and shook when the ob- 
ject of its wrath refused to budge was a 
moving spectacle indeed. 

The man who operates this great piece 
of mechanism bears the limited distinction 
of being one of the best steam-shovel 
workers in the world. He" is certainly a 
perfect master of the machine. The 
shovel is used, in places, to clean off a ledge 
preparatory to blasting. Edison, with his 
sensitive needle, or "magnetic eye,'* as 
he calls it, went over the ground above 
the ledge before it was uncovered, and was 
able to determine its exact shape. Above 
the edge of the rock, stakes were driven, 
and the shovel operator was told to clean 
it off. So accurate was his work that the 
channel cut by the great machine did not 
at any point vary twelve inches from the 
wall of rock bordering the ore. 



END VIEW OF THE GIANT ROLLS. 

After passing through the big rolls, an end view of which is here shown, the pieces of rock drop through to the smaller rolls beside which the 
workman is standing. Five and six ton rocks go through in about three seconds. A constant stream of rock is kept falling into the pit from die 
floor above, and the crushed rock can be seen rising upward in the elevator on the right, to be dumped into other and smaller sets of rolls, which soon 
reduce h to dust. 



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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



From the steam shovel the rocks, weigh- 
ing five and six tons, are conveyed to the 
crushing-plant. The crushing-plant is a 
large eccentric building, from the open 
sides of which extends massive iron frame- 
work upon which electric cranes are oper- 
ated. To the casual observer the build- 
ing seems to be little more than a large 
platform, the un- 
der part of which 
is closed in, and 
the upper part of 
which seems to 
contain nothing 
more than an ex- 
pectant group of 
men whose busi- 
ness it is to anx- 
iously watch big 
boulders as they 
are swung inward 
by the cranes and 
dropped into a 
large square hole 
in the floor. As 
each rock disap- 
pears, the strained 
facial expression of 
each man is envel- 
oped in a cloud of 
white dust, and a 
dull boom! boom! 
announces that 
some convincing 
change has taken 
place in the mate- 
rial. As a matter 
of fact, the giant, 
or largest, rolls of 
the crushing-plant 
are made to re- 
volve in the first 
story of the build- 
ing, and the rock 
is dumped into the 
pit which 1 eads 
down to them from 
the second story. 

This remarkable crushing-apparatus con- 
sists primarily of two immense rollers over 
six feet in diameter and five in width. 

The rounded surfaces are studded with 
great teeth, and the great rolls themselves 
run within eighteen inches of each other. 
Looked at from above, these monster 
crushers, revolving with a surface speed of 
a mile a minute, and weighing 237,000 
pounds, form probably the most awe-com- 
pelling abyss in the world. The relentless 
fangs, constantly traveling inward and 
downward, impress the mind more strongly 



END VIEW OF SBPARAT1NG-MAGNBTS. 

After having been reduced to dust the ore-bearing material is elevated to 
the cupola of the magnet house. It is dumped into a chute, and allowed to 
work its way down past the magnet faces, of which there are 480. The sand, 
being unattracted, passes straight on, and is conveyed by an elevator out of 
the building and dumped on the sand pile. The ore, attracted by the mag- 
nets, is deflected into a chute of its own, and conveyed away to the mixing* 
house. 



than could any bottomless pit, and the 
feeling becomes all the more intense when 
one learns that beneath them is another 
set of rollers somewhat nearer together, 
with a serrated surface, more wicked if any- 
thing in its action than the teeth above. 
These giant rolls will receive and grind up 
five and six ton rocks as fast as they can 
be unloaded from 
the skips. A skip- 
load of rock every 
forty-five seconds 
was the rate at 
which the plant 
was operated for 
the purpose of test- 
ing the capacity of 
the rolls, but an 
average of 300 tons 
an hour is consid- 
ered a fair running 
capacity. 

It may surprise 
the superficial ob- 
server to learn that 
the great Corliss 
engine which oper- 
ates the rolls takes 
no part whatever in 
the crushing pro- 
cess. There is 
something of a 
trick in it, but it is 
an effective answer 
to the engineers 
who declared that 
no machine could 
be made strong 
enough to stand the 
strain of crushing 
these great bould- 
ers. It is the mo- 
mentum of the sev- 
enty tons of metal 
contained in the 
moving parts of 
the rolls which 
does the crushing. 
The engine supplies just power enough 
to run the rolls at a very high speed. 
If anything — a rock, for instance — drops 
in between the rolls so as to in any way 
impede their progress, a clutch by which 
the rolls are connected to the engine 
allows the latter to let go its hold. 
After that the momentum of the rolls does 
the work of crushing, the engine, of course, 
immediately catching hold again the mo- 
ment the impeding rock has been crushed 
and passed through to the next set of roll- 
ers. One might think for the moment 

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EDISON' S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



87 



that these rolls would be suddenly stopped 
by the obstructing rock the moment the 
power of the engine was withdrawn. But 
it is only necessary to imagine how that 
same rock would suffer if allowed to bear 
the brunt of a head-on collision of two 
express trains. Only the fastest train 



into the next set, its final pulverization is 
accomplished, for the slightly serrated sur- 
faces of these rolls fit into each other like 
two cogwheels, and ore which is not re- 
duced to dust cannot accomplish the pas- 
sage between them. Here, as before, an 
elevator catches the crushed product, and 



rapidly 
roll is 
great 



travels with the velocity attained by these carries it to the top of an immense dryer 

(forthework 
goes on in wet as 
well as dry 
weather), and 
thence to the roof 
of a mammoth 
stock-house, cap- 
able of holding 
16,000 tons, and 
dumps it therein 
for future use. 

From this point 
the ore and sand 
go on a wild ca- 
reer which never 
stops till one has 
reached the cars 
and the other has 
reached the sand 
pile. In the cel- 
lar of the stock- 
house is a deep, 
long trench. The 
sloping sides of 
the house lead to 
this trench, so 
that the tendency 
of the crude ore 
contained therein 
is to slide into it. 
Working in the 
trench is a con- 
veyer which car- 
ries the crude 
material across 
the road and up 
a covered way to 
the big barn-like 
structure known 
locally as the refining mill. The building 
is most interesting because it is herein 
that the ore is separated from the sand. 
It is, on the other hand, uninteresting 
from the view point of the spectator, 
because most of the interior mechanism 
is encased. Nevertheless there are won- 
derful processes constantly in operation 
within. It is the perfection of auto- 
matic action. No automaton of old ever 
worked out a more intricate movement 
than do the sand and ore within this 
building. Better still, no ensemble of 
springs or other paraphernalia is required 
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rolls ; and, be- 
sides, it is sev- 
enty tons of iron 
and steel against 
five or six tons of 
ore-bearing rock-. 
Again, the rock 
is dropped over 
ten feet into the 
pit before it 
strikes the rolls, 
and the impact 
on the 
moving 
often 

enough to break 
the boulder in 
two. In short, it 
is the kinetic en- 
ergy of the rolls 
that does the real 
work of crushing. 
To illustrate the 
process, it is, ac- 
cording to Mr. 
Edison, the 
plication of 
principle of 
pile-driver. 

Far down 
neath the 
sets of rolls 
scribed above, a 
conveyer, or end- 
less chain of iron 
baskets, catches 
the crushed 
rock and carries 
it up into another 

part of the building. The rock has now 
been reduced to pieces the size of a 
man's head. The conveyer carries these 
pieces up above three more sets of rolls, 
and dumps them with a rattle and a bang 
in between the topmost set of rollers. The 
rock at this point is reduced more than half, 
or, let us say, to pieces the size of the 
fist; and as it falls through in a steady 
stream it encounters the still more relent- 
less teeth of the next set of rolls, directly 
underneath. Having passed through these, 
it has almost reached the fineness of gran- 
ulated sugar; but when it drops through 



ap- 
the 
the 

be- 
two 
de- 



THE ORE ON ITS WAY TO THE MIXING-HOUSE. 

A leather belt carries the finely divided ore to a blower-room, where the small 
percentage of remaining' foreign substances is removed from it. Another belt- 
conveyer then carries it to the mixing-house, where it is dropped into great cyl- 
inders and by means of iron paddles is mixed with an adhesive substance. 



88 



EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



for the work. The building is over six sand passes straight on downward, and is 
stories high, and the conveyer which brings carried away, through chutes, out of the 



the crude ore from the cellar of the stock- 
house elevates it to the very cupola, 
dumps it into space, and allows it to 
work out its own salvation on its way to 
the basement. Incidentally it performs 
several feats on its way downward. It 
screens itself several times, separates from 
the sand, divides its coarse grains from the 



building. The ore, on the other hand, is 
deflected from the course taken by the 
sand, and drops into a chute of its own. It 
falls on a conveyer which carries it out of 
the building to another stock-house. On 
the way out of the building the ore passes 
through a blowing-room in which such 
dust as may have passed through the 



fine, and finally wends its way out of the screens with it is blown from it. None of 



building to do great things later on. But 
all of this is done with hardly any other 
aid than that of gravity. 

The ore passes altogether 480 magnets. 
The first set of magnets has the least pull- 
ing or deflecting power, to use a popular 
term. The third set has the greatest pull- 
ing power, and the second set is interme- 
diate in strength. On its way down, the 
crushed rock falls past the lines of mag- 
nets in the form of a fine curtain. The 



THE RRIQUKTTING MACHINES. 

By means of conveyers the now sticky mass of ore is brought to the briquetting machines to be made into 
bricks, or briquettes. There are thirty briquetting machines, and a constant stream of ore pours into the ends 
of the machines. The proper amount of ore falls into an orifice about three inches wide and one inch deep, 
and a plunger then comes forward and exerts thousands of pounds pressure on the ore. As the plunger 
recedes, the cylinder holding the briquette turns downward, and the newly-made briquette drops out into 
another conveyer, to be carried into baking-ovens. 



the iron ore is lost, and even the dust is 
sold — to be used in paint and other sub- 
stances. The ore is finally conveyed to 
another stock-house, which contains noth- 
ing but pure, powdered iron. 

Five thousand tons of iron, fine enough 
almost to go through a *flour sieve ! It 
looks like a great pile of black sand, and 
one cannot help but marvel at it when the 
thought of what the fire will change it into 
forces itself upon one's mind; for while as 
it lies it is probably 
the heaviest mass of 
powder in the world, 
in the hands of the 
smelter it will be 
changed, twisted, re- 
shaped, and re- 
formed into objects 
which ultimately be- 
come associated with 
our daily lives. 

But this ore, how- 
ever pure, however 
well calculated to take 
its place in the busi- 
ness of life, cannot be 
smelted in its present 
form. If thrown into 
the furnace in the 
form of dust, a large 
part would be blown 
out by the powerful 
blast. It must be 
made up into lumps 
or cakes, so that when 
placed in the furnace 
the gases can circu- 
late freely through 
and around it. For 
this purpose it is con- 
veyed to the briquet- 
ting mill by means of 
another of those con- 
veyers which seem to 
reach out of the 
ground in all direc- 
tions. In fact, you 
might start in any 
building in Edison, 



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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



89 



and, by going into the cellar, walk through 
the conveyer way up to the top story of 
the next building, descend to the cellar 
as before, and so on until you had com- 
pleted the circuit of every house in the 
place. 

The ore is mixed with an adhesive ma- 
terial which binds every particle to its 
neighbors. The mixing-machines are long 
iron cylinders in which a succession of 
curved iron paddles, or dashers, sitting on 
springs, are constantly revolving. The ore 
is supplied from an endless rope conveyer 
to the mixers, while the binding material 
is conveyed in pipes, both passing into 
the cylinders. The ore passes into one 
end of the cylinder, and is thoroughly 
mixed before it passes out of the other 
end. Again is the now sticky mass of ore 
dropped into a con- 
veyer, and carried into 
another building. In 
this last structure are 
the briquetting ma- 
chines. They are de- 
vised by Edison, and 
consist primarily of a 
plunger which forces the 
sticky ore into a small 
round orifice, subjecting 
it in the meantime to 
thousands of pounds 
pressure. The nicely 
rounded briquettes, 
ranging from two and 
one-half to three and 
one-half inches in diam- 
eter, drop into another 
conveyer, and are car- 
ried into ovens in which 
they are baked, the con- 
veyer itself traveling 
five times up and down 
the interior of the ovens 
before they reappear. 
There are thirty 
briquette-making ma- 
chines and fifteen ovens, 
built side by side. The 
baking is necessary in 
order to make the 
briquettes sufficiently 
hard when cold to stand 
shipment. The baking 
also prevents them from 
disintegrating under the 
action of heat in the 
blast-furnaces, and 
leaves them so that, al- 
though very porous, 
they will not absorb 



water. Having left the ovens, the bri- 
quettes are transported by iron-rope con- 
veyers to the railway and loaded on to cars. 

Six thousand tons of crude ore are 
changed into 1,500 tons of briquettes in 
each day's run of twenty hours. Twenty- 
eight hundred briquettes are contained 
in one ton, and an average freight car 
will hold twenty tons. This means that 
seventy-five carloads of pure iron ore are 
wrested daily from heretofore worthless 
rock and sent furnaceward to be made into 
objects which will be useful to all the 
world. 

This is all there is in the process. But 
how much that is! A small conception of 
the labor involved may be had from an 
inkling obtained from Mr. W. S. Mallory, 
Mr. Edison's second in command. 44 When 



THE GREAT OVENS IN THE BRIQUETTING PLANT. 



A conveyer carries the briquettes of pure iron ore into the ovens, where they are baked to prevent them 
from disintegrating when exposed to the atmosphere during transportation. The conveyer travels five 
times around the ovens, and the briquettes are exposed to a very high temperature before they reappear 
to be loaded on the cars. 

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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



it was found necessary," says Mr. Mallory, 
"to make the concentrates (iron ore) into 
briquettes, there were five things to be ac- 
complished : First, the binding material 
must be very cheap. Second, it must be of 
such a nature that very little of it would 
be required per ton of concentrates. 
Third, the briquettes must be very porous, 
to permit the gases of the furnace to enter; 
and yet must not absorb water, else they 
could not be shipped in open cars. Fourth, 
it must make the briquettes hard enough 
when cold to stand transportation. Fifth, 
it must make the briquettes such that 
they would not disintegrate by action 
of the heat in the blast-furnace. To get 
the above five conditions, Mr. Edison was 
compelled to try several thousand experi- 
ments. At the time of the discovery of 
X-rays, Mr. Edison made 1,800 experi- 
ments before he hit upon tungstate of cal- 
cium for the fluoroscope, and the news- 
papers said that a man who would try that 
many experiments ought to succeed. But 



LOADING FREIGHT CARS WITH BRIQUETTES. 

From the ovens the briquettes are conveyed to the railroad and dumped into cars. Twenty eight hundred 
briquettes are contained in one ton. Each car holds twenty tons, and an average of seventy-five car loads of 
pure iron ore are produced daily. 



here the labor and patience involved was 
many times greater, and this, please un- 
derstand, represents but one feature of the 
plant." 

One intricate piece of mechanism used 
in the crushing-plant illustrates the genius 
of Edison in making a benefit of what 
otherwise would prove a detriment. The 
process of crushing is very dusty, and at 
first the dust got into the bearings of the 
elevators and cut everything badly, and 
the same trouble was experienced through- 
out the mill, notwithstanding every precau- 
tion. Mr. Edison immediately devised a 
system of oiling all bearings (of which there 
are 4,200) which depends upon, and will 
not work without, grit and dust. This is 
only an item, but the plant is full of these 
items. 

Again, the three high rolls in the magnet- 
house are wonderful examples of how fric- 
tion may be rendered almost nothing. The 
friction of ordinary crushing-rolls at the 
high efficiency and pressure necessary for 
this work amounts 
under ordinary condi- 
tions to about eighty 
per cent, of the horse- 
power applied, leav- 
ing only twenty per 
cent, to do the actual 
work on the rock. 
On the three high 
rolls invented by Mr. 
Edison, the friction 
is only sixteen per 
cent., leaving eighty- 
four per cent, of the 
horse-power applied 
available for the work 
of crushing. The 
principle involved is 
too intricate to ex- 
plain, but it means the 
beginning of a new 
era in crushing-ma- 
chinery. This princi- 
ple can be applied in 
every industry where 
crushing is a feature, 
from gold extracting 
to sugar manufactur- 
ing. The reduction 
of friction in the 
mechanism simply 
means that machinery 
of small power can be 
used in work which 
heretofore has re- 
quired machinery of 
very great power. 
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EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 



9 1 



THE SAND TOW BR. 

When the sand has been separated from the ore a conveyer carries it out of the building and up an immense craneway, from which it is dumped on 
a pile. The large arm from which the sand is dropped is movable. One pile is made, then another. Cars carry the first one away, then the arm is 
swung back and the gap is filled up. The sand is valuable for building purposes, and long train-loads of it are carried away from the village of Edison 
every day. 



Over on one side of the works a very 
beautiful sight may be viewed. It is a 
cataract of sand, fine, even, and pure, and 
different from any other sand in the world. 
From the magnet-house extends a der- 
rick-like structure holding a conveyer. 
Projecting far out into the air from the 
end of this structure is a giant arm. The 
arm, like its support, holds a conveyer. 
This contrivance spouts sand. A stream 



of it, shimmering and shining in the sun- 
light, descends and mixes with the great 
cone already piled up beneath. Nothing 
could be more beautiful than this gorgeous 
cataractof powdered rock falling likea veil, 
and noiselessly adding to the great mass 
below. Nor is it a useless accumulation. It 
is sold for various purposes to builders and 
manufacturers, who seek it more eagerly 
than they do the sand of the seashore or 
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9 2 



EDISON'S REVOLUTION IN IRON MINING. 

Crushing: Plant Magnet-House. Briquctting Plant 



GENERAL VIEW OF EDISON IN WINTER. 

Taken from Summerville, the village where the miners live- 



of the bank. Seashore or bank sand has, 
in the course of centuries, lost its edges, 
because the particles have constantly 
rubbed against one another. Broken rock 
sand, however, is very sharp, and for 
cement and lime-work is very desirable. 
And in many other directions it is also 
valuable, and the demand promises an aid 
in cheapening the production of the ore. 

44 I want to say," says Mr. Mallory, 
" and I know whereof I speak, for I have 
been with him night and day for several 
years, that ninety-nine per cent, of the 
credit of all the invention and new work of 
this establishment is due personally to Mr. 
Edison. I have heard it stated that Mr. 
Edison is an organizer who uses the 
brains of other men. Nothing could be 
further from the truth than this. If this 
place was preserved as a monument for 
him, his memory would be placed upon no 
false pedestal. I have seen him by night 
and by day, in all weathers, and under all 
conditions, and I have found him always 
the same, the personification of concentra- 
tion of purpose, and with a long-distance 
judgment at his beck and call which, how- 
ever strained it may seem at the time, we 
have all learned to respect as being sure 
to prove right in the end. And what has 
been said of his personal magnetism has 
not been overstated. I doubt if there 
is another man living for whom his men 
would do as much. I suppose it is the 
power of example. We have here many 



men who have left well-kept homes to 
come up into the backwoods and toil day 
and night mainly out of loyalty to Mr. Ed- 
ison. The fact that the ' old man ' does it 
seems to be sufficient reason for them to do 
it; for what is good enough for the 'old 
man ' is good enough for them. This, at 
least, is the spirit that prevails." 

That this is the spirit which pervades the 
community can be easily seen by anyone 
who visits the place. Up on the hilltop, in 
the shanties of Summerville, dwell laborers 
of the poorer class. Far over on the other 
side of the mine stands the "White House." 
It is a little dwelling in which Edison lives 
with his chief men. At intermediate spots 
stand the shanties in which live the work- 
men of intermediate class. But from all 
of these dwellings comes a reverence for 
the master which is quite as strong and 
healthy in one place as in the other. As 
he moves among them all, none of them 
can have a true conception of the great 
things he is constantly planning, but they 
all know it is for their good and for the 
good of the world at large. No man has 
done more than Edison to benefit his gen- 
eration. He essentially is the man of his 
time. Other men may do great things in 
the time to come, but whatever these 
things may be, they can never create more 
radical changes in the conduct of human 
life than have Edison's inventions. His 
old duster and his older straw hat can be 
seen flitting hither and thither about the 

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HALCYON DAYS. 03 

works, iheir owner apparently inte.it upon Mr. Edison's mind will revtrt to even 

nothing out of the ordinary; but the con- greater schemes of conquest; and at this 

stant suggestions which he makes to the moment it is safe to say that he is plan- 

he.uls of the various departments show ning out some great achievement which 

that the wonderful brain is never inactive, will take the world more by storm than 

The present enterprise was planned years have the great things he has already 

ago, and now that it is finally completed, accomplished. 



HALCYON DAYS. 

By Walt Whitman. 

Not from successful love alone, 

Nor wealth, nor honor'd middle age, nor victories of politics or war; 

But as life wanes, and all the turbulent passions calm. 

As gorgeous, vapory, silent hues cover the evening sky, 

As softness, fulness, rest, suffuse the frame, like freshier, balmier air, 

As the days take on a mellower light, and the apple at last hangs really finish'd 

and indolent-ripe on the tree, 
Then for the teeming, quietest, happiest days of all ! 
The brooding and blissful halcyon days ! 



From " November Boughs," by Walt Whitman. 
Small. Maynard & Co., Publishers, Boston. 
By special permission. 



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PRIZE DRAWINGS. 



A TYPE OF AMERICAN HEAD. PAINTED UY MISS LILLIB O RYAN. 

The above drawing received the first prire, and the drawing reproduced on the opposite page received the second 
prize, offered by McCluke's Magazine, at the suggestion of Dr. Wallace Wood, of the University of New York, in a com- 
petition for drawings of ideal and typical American heads. Though this competition was announced entirely through 
circulars sent to art teachers and students and a single notice in " The Art Student," and the time given was quite short. 



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PRIZE DRAWINGS. 




A TYPE OF AMERICAN HEAD. DRAWN BY J. HARRISON MILLS. 

about ninety drawings and paintings in all mediums were submitted. All were exhibited in Dr. Wood's lecture room in 
the University Building, New York. The prizes were awarded by a committee composed of Dr. Wallace Wood. Mr. Ernest 
Knaupft, editor of " The Art Student," and a representative of McClure's Magazine. Honorable mention was also made 
of the contributions of W. D. Parrish, Vincent Aderente, Katherine S. Valas, and William Forsyth. 



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SAY NOT THE STRUGG 
NOUGHT AVAILETH. 

By Arthur High Clough. 

Say not, the struggle nought availeth, 
The labor and the wounds are vain, 

The enemy faints not, nor faileth, 
And as things have been they remain. 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars ; 

It may be, in yon smoke concealed. 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, 

And, but for you, possess the field. 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, 
Seem here no painful inch to gain, 

Far back, through creeks and inlets making. 
Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 

And not by eastern windows only, 

When daylight comes, comes in the light; 

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 
But westward, look, the land is bright. 



TO R. T. H. B. 

By William Ernest Henley. 

Oil of the night that covers me. 
Black as the pit from pole to pole, 

I thank whatever gods may be 
For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 

Under the bludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the Horror of the shade. 

And yet the menace of the years 
Finds and shall find me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 

How charged with punishments the scroll, 

I am the master of my fate : 
I am the captain of my soul. 



LIFE IS STRUGGLE. 

By Arthur High Clouu.h. 

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain 
And give oneself a world of pain ; 
Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot, 
Imperious, supple — God knows what, 
For what's all one to have or not ; 
O false, unwise, absurd, and vain ! 
For 'tis not joy, it is not gain. 
It is not in itself a bliss, 
Only it is precisely this 

That keeps us all alive. 



To say we truly feel the pain, 
And quite are sinking with the strain ;— 
Entirely, simply, undeceived. 
Believe, and say we ne'er believed 
The object, e'en were it achieved, 
A thing we e'er had cared to keep ; 
With heart and soul to hold it cheap, 
And then to go and try it again ; 
O false, unwise, absurd, and" vain ! 
O, 'tis not joy, and 'tis not bliss, 
Only it is precisely this 

That keeps us still alive. 



From •* Poem*," by Arthur Hugh Clough 
(Macmlllan * Co., Publishers, New York,) ; 
and " A Book of Verses," by William Ernest Henley 
(Charles Scribner's Sons. Publishers. New York). 



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Anthony Hope's New Zenda Novel 

Dealing with the love and adventures of Rudolf Rassendyll and the Princess Flavia 



r 



M C CL RES 
MAGAZII IE 

FOR DECEMBER 





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CHARLES A. DANA IN HIS OFFICE AT THE "SUN." 
Painted from life by C. K. Linson ; engraved on wood by Henry Wolf. 

This, probably the most characteristic portrait of Mr. Dana, was painted for illustration of Mr. Edward P. Mitchell's biographical article on 
Mr. Dana (McClure's Magazine, October, 1894). Mr. Wolfs new engraving of it reproduces the original with remarkable vigor and faith- 
fulness. 



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McClure's Magazine. 



Vol. X. 



DECEMBER, 1897. 



No. 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANXESTORS. 



By Rudyard Kipling, 

Author of "The Jungle Book," " The Seven Seas," "Captains Courageous," etc. 




jOME people will tell you that if 

there were but a single loaf of 

bread in all India it would be 

divided equally between the 

Plowdens, the Trevors, the 

Beadons, and the Rivett-Car- 

nacs. That is only one way of 

saying that certain families serve India 

generation after generation as dolphins 

follow in line across the open sea. 

To take a small and obscure case. 
There has always been at least one repre- 
sentative of the Devonshire Chinns in or 
near Central India since the days of Lieu- 
tenant-Fireworker Humphrey Chinn, of 
the Bombay European Regiment, who as- 
sisted at the capture of Seringapatam in 
1799. Alfred Ellis Chinn, his younger 
brother, commanded a regiment of Bom- 
bay grenadiers from 1804 to 18 13, when 
he saw some mixed fighting; and in 1834, 
one John Chinn of the same family — we 
will call him John Chinn the First — came 
to light as a level-headed administrator in 
time of trouble at a place called Mundesur. 
He died young, but he left his mark on the 
new country, and the Honorable the Board 
of Directors of the Honorable the East 
India Company embodied his virtues in a 
stately resolution, and paid for the expenses 
of his tomb among the Satpura hills. 

He was succeeded by his son, Lionel 
Ciiinn, who left the little old Devonshire 
home just in time to be severely wounded 
in the Mutiny. He spent his working life 
within a hundred and fifty miles of John 
Chinn's grave, and rose to the command 
of a regiment of little, wild hill-men, 
most of whom had known his father. 
His son, John, was born in the small 
thatched-roofed, mud-walled cantonment, 
which is to-day eighty miles from the 



nearest railway, in the heart of a scrubby, 
rocky, tigerish country. Colonel Lionel 
Chinn served thirty years before he re- 
tired. In the Canal his steamer passed 
the outward bound troopship, carrying his 
son eastward to take on the family routine. 

The Chinns are luckier than most folk, 
because they know exactly what they must 
do. A clever Chinn passes for the Bom- 
bay Civil Service, and gets away to Cen- 
tral India, where everybody is glad to see 
him; a dull Chinn enters the Police De- 
partment or the Woods and Forest, and 
sooner or later he, too, appears in Central 
India, and that is what gave rise to the 
saying, "Central India is inhabited by 
Bhils, Mairs, and Chinns, all very much 
alike." The breed is small-boned, dark, 
and silent, and the stupidest of them are 
good shots. John Chinn the Second was 
rather clever, but as the eldest son he en- 
tered the army, according to Chinn tradi- 
tion. His duty was to abide in his father's 
regiment for the term of his natural life, 
though the corps was one which most men 
would have paid heavily to avoid. They 
were irregulars, small, dark, and blackish, 
clothed in rifle green with black leather 
trimmings ; and friends called them the 
44 Wuddars," which means a race of low- 
caste people who dig up rats to eat; but 
the Wuddars did not resent it. They were 
the only Wuddars, and their points of pride 
were these: 

Firstly, they had fewer English officers 
than any native regiment; secondly, their 
subalterns were not mounted on parade, as 
is the rule, but walked at the head of their 
men. A man who can hold his own with 
the Wuddars at their quick-step must be 
sound in wind and limb. Thirdly, they 
were the most pukka shikar ries (out and out 



Copyright, 1897, by the S. S. McClure Co. 



All rights reserved. 

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IOO 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



hunters) in all India. Fourthly — up to 
one hundredthly — they were the Wuddars 
— Chinn's Irregular Bhil Levies of the old 
days, but now, henceforward, and for ever, 
the Wuddars. 

No Englishman entered their mess ex- 
cept for love or through family usage. 
The officers talked to their soldiers in a 
tongue not two hundred folk in India un- 
derstood; and the men were their children, 
all drawn from the Bhils, who are, per- 
haps, the strangest of the many strange 
races in India. They were, and at heart 
are, wild men; furtive, shy, full of untold 
superstitions. 

The races whom we call natives of the 
country found the Bhil in possession of 
the land when they first broke into that 
part of the world thousands of years ago. 
The books call them Pre-Aryan, Aborig- 
inal, Dravidian, and so forth; and in other 
words that is what the Bhils call them- 
selves. 

When a Rajput chief, who can sing his 
pedigree backwards for twelve hundred 
years, is set on the throne, his investiture 
is not complete or lawful till he has been 
marked on the forehead with blood from 
the veins of a Bhil. The Rajputs say the 
ceremony has no meaning, but the Bhil 
knows that it is the last, last shadow of his 
old rights, as the long-ago owner of the 
soil. 

Centuries of oppression and massacre 
made the Bhil a cruel and half-crazy thief 
and cattle-stealer, and when the English 
came he seemed to be almost as open to 
civilization as the tigers of his own jungles. 
But John Chinn the First, with two or 
three other men, went into his country, 
lived with him, learned his language, shot 
the deer that stole his poor crops, and won 
his confidence, so that some Bhils learned 
to plow and sow, while others were coaxed 
into the Company's service to police their 
friends. 

When they understood that standing in 
line did not mean instant murder, they 
accepted soldiering as a cumbrous but 
amusing kind of sport, and were zealous 
to keep the wild Bhils under control. That 
was the thin edge of the wedge. John 
Chinn the First gave them written promises 
that, if they were good from a certain 
date, the Government would overlook 
previous offenses; and since John Chinn 
was never known to break his word — he 
promised once to hang a Bhil locally es- 
teemed invulnerable, and hanged him in 
front of his tribe for seven proved murders 
— the Bhils settled down as much as they 



knew how. It was slow, unseen work, of 
the sort that is being done all over India 
to-day, and, though John Chinn's only re- 
ward came, as I have said, in the shape of 
a grave at Government expense, the people 
of the hills never forgot him. 

Colonel Lionel Chinn knew and loved 
them too, and they were very fairly civil- 
ized, for Bhils, before his service ended. 
Many of them could hardly be distin- 
guished from low-caste Hindu farmers; 
but in the south, where John Chinn was 
buried, the wildest of them still clung to 
the Satpura ranges, cherishing a legend 
that some day Jan Chinn, as they called 
Irim, would return to his own, and in the 
meantime mistrusting the white man and 
his ways. The least excitement would 
stampede them at random, plundering, 
and now and then killing ; but if they were 
handled discreetly they grieved like chil- 
dren, and promised never to do it again. 

The Bhils of the regiment were virtuous 
in many ways, but they needed humoring. 
They felt bored and homesick unless taken 
after tiger as beaters; and their cold- 
blooded daring — all Wuddars shoot tigers 
on foot: it is their caste-mark — made even 
the officers wonder. They would follow 
up a wounded tiger as unconcernedly as 
though it were a sparrow with a broken 
wing; and this through a country full of 
caves, and rifts, and pits, where a wild 
beast could hold a dozen men at his mercy. 
They had their own methods of smoking 
out a tigress with her cubs, and would shout 
and laugh while the furious beast charged 
home on the rifles. Now and then some 
little man was brought to barracks with his 
head smashed in or his ribs torn away ; but 
his companions never learnt caution. They 
contented themselves with settling the 
tiger. 

Young John Chinn was decanted at the 
veranda of the lonely mess-house, from 
the back seat of a two-wheeled cart; his 
gun-cases cascading all round him. The 
slender, little, hookey-nosed boy looked as 
forlorn as a strayed goat, when he slapped 
the white dust off his knees, and the cart 
jolted down the glaring road. But in his 
heart he was contented. After all this was 
the place where he had been born, and 
things were not much changed since he 
had been sent to England, a child, fifteen 
years ago. 

There were one or two new buildings, 
but the air, and the smell, and the sun- 
shine were the same ; and the little green 
men who crossed the parade-ground looked 
very familiar. Three weeks ago John 

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RUDYARD KIPLING. 101 

Chinn would have said he did not remem- " Hope he'll shoot as close,'* said the 

ber a word of the Bhil tongue, but at the Major. " He's brought enough ironmon- 

mess door he found his lips moving in sen- gery with him." 

tences that he did ncrt understand— bits of "Wouldn't be a Chinn if he didn't, 

old nursery rhymes and tail-ends of such Watch him blowin' his nose. Regular 

orders as his father used to give the Chinn beak. Flourishes his handkerchief 

men. like his father. It's the second e,dition — 

The Colonel watched him come up the line for line." 
steps and laughed. '• Fairy tale, by Jove! " said the Major, 

44 Look! " he said to the Major. " No peering through the slats of his jalousies, 

need to ask the young un's breed. He's 44 If he's the lawful heir, he'll . . . Old 

& pukka Chinn. Might be his father in the Chinn could no more pass that chick with- 

Fifties over again." out fiddling with it than ..." 



J 



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102 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



The Tomb towards sunset. 



44 His son! " said the Colonel 



jumping 



up. 

44 Well, I be blowed! " said the Major. 
The boy's eye had been caught by a split 
reed screen that hung on a slue between 
the veranda pillars, and, mechanically, he 
had tweaked the edge to set it level. Old 
Chinn had sworn three times a day at that 
screen for many years; he could never get 
it to his satisfaction ; and his son entered 
the anteroom in the middle of a five-fold 
silence. They made him welcome for his 
father's sake, and, as they took stock of 
him, for his own. He was ridiculously 
like the portrait of the Colonel on the wall, 
and when he had washed a little of the 
dust from his throat he went to his quar- 
ters with the old man's short, noiseless 
jungle-step. 

44 So much for heredity," said the Major. 
44 That comes of four generations among 
the Bhils." 

44 And the men know it," said a Wing 
officer. 4i They've been waiting for this 
youth with their tongues hanging out. I 
am persuaded that, unless he absolutely 
beats 'em over the head, they'll lie down 
by companies and worship him." 



44 Nothin' like havin' a father before 
you," said the Major. "I'm a parvenu 
with my chaps. I've only been twenty 
years in the regiment, and my revered 
parent was a simple squire. There's no 
getting at the bottom of a Bhil's mind. 
Now, why is the superior Mahommedan 
bearer that young Chinn brought with him 
fleeing across country with his bundle?" 
He stepped into the veranda and shouted 
after the man — a typical new-joined sub- 
altern's servant who speaks English and 
cheats in proportion. 

44 What is it?" he called. 

44 Plenty bad man here. I going, sar," 
was the reply. 44 Have taken my Sahib's 
keys, and say will shoot." 

44 Doocid lucid — doocid convincin'. 
How those up-country thieves can leg it! 
Johnny's been badly frightened by some 
one." The Major strolled to his quarters 
to dress for mess. 

Young Chinn, walking like a man in a 
dream, had fetched a compass round the 
entire cantonment before going to his own 
tiny cottage. The captain's quarters in 
which he had been born delayed him for a 
little; then he looked at the well on the 



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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



*°3 



parade - ground, where he had sat of 
evenings with his nurse, and at the ten- 
by-fourteen church where the officers went 
to service if a chaplain of any official 
creed happened to come along. It seemed 
very small as compared with the gigantic 
buildings he used to look up at, but it was 
the same place. 

From time to time he passed a knot of 
silent soldiers, who saluted, and they 
might have been the very men who had 
carried him on their backs when he was 
in his first knickerbockers. A faint light 
burned in his room, and as he entered, 
hands clasped his feet, and a voice mur- 
mured from the floor. 

"Who is it?" said young Chinn, not 
knowing he spoke in the Bhil tongue. 

" I bore you in my arms, Sahib, when I 
was a strong man and you were a small 
one — crying, crying, crying! I am your 
servant, as I was your father's before you. 
We are all your servants." 

Young Chinn could not trust himself to 
reply, and the voice went on: 



" I have taken your keys from that fat 
foreigner, and sent him away; and the 
studs are in the shirt for mess. Who 
should know, if I do not know? And so 
the baby has become a man, and forgets 
his nurse, but my nephew shall make a 
good servant, or 1 will beat him twice a 
day." 

Then there rose up, with a rattle, as 
straight as a Bhil arrow, a little white- 
haired wizened ape of a man, with chain 
and medals and orders on his tunic, stam- 
mering, saluting, and trembling. Behind 
him, a young and wiry Bhil, in uniform, 
was taking the trees out of Chinn's mess- 
boots. 

Chinn 's eyes were full of tears. The 
old man held out his keys. 

" Foreigners are bad people. He will 
never come back again. We are all ser- 
vants of your father's son. Has the Sahib 
forgotten who took him to see the trapped 
tiger in the village across the river when 
his mother was so frightened and he was so 
brave ? " 



• Marked on the forehead with blood from the veins of the Bhil. ' 



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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



The scene came back to him in great 
magic-lantern flashes. " Bukta," he cried, 
and all in a breath, " You promised nothing 
should hurt me. Is it Bukta ? " 

The man was at his feet a second time. 
" He has not forgotten. He remembers 
his own people as his father remembered. 
Now can I die. But first I will live and 
show the Sahib how to kill tigers. That 
that yonder is my nephew. If he is not a 
good servant, beat him and send him to 
me, and I will surely kill him, for now the 
Sahib is with his own people. Ai, Jan 
baba. Jan baba ! My Jan baba ! I will stay 
here and see that this ape does his work 
well. Take off his boots, fool. Sit down 
upon the bed, Sahib, and let me look. It 
is Jan Baba." 

He pushed forward the hilt of his sword 
as a sign of service, which is an honor paid 
only to viceroys, governors, generals, or 
to little children whom one loves dearly. 
Chinn touched the hilt mechanically with 
three fingers, muttering he knew not what. 
It happened to be the old answer of his 
childhood, when Bukta in play called him 
the little General Sahib. 

The Major's quarters were opposite 
Chinn's, and when he heard his servant 
gasp with surprise he looked across the 
room. Then the Major sat on the bed and 
whistled, for the spectacle of the senior 
native commissioned officer of the regi- 
ment, an "unmixed" Bhil, a Companion 
of the Order of British India, with thirty- 
five years' spotless service in the army, 
and a rank among his own people superior 
to that of many Bengal princelings, valet- 
ing the last-joined subaltern, was a little 
too much for his nerves. 

The throaty bugles blew the Mess-call 
that has a long legend behind it. First a 
few piercing notes like the shrieks of beat- 
ers in a far-away cover, and next, large, 
full, and smooth, the refrain of the wild 
song: "And oh, and oh the green pulse 
of Mundore — Mundore! " 

" All little children were in bed when 
the Sahib heard that call last," said Bukta, 
passing Chinn a clean handkerchief. The 
call brought back memories of his cot 
under the mosquito-netting, his mother's 
kiss, and the sound of footsteps growing 
fainter as he dropped asleep among his 
men. So he hooked his new mess-jacket, 
and went to dinner like a prince who has 
newly inherited his father's crown. 

Old Bukta swaggered forth curling his 
whiskers. He knew his own value, and 
no money and no rank within the gift of 
the Government would have induced him 



to put studs in young officers' shirts, or to 
hand them clean ties. Yet, when he took 
off his uniform that night, and squatted 
among his fellows for a quiet smoke, he 
told them what he had done, and they said 
that he was entirely right. Thereat Bukta 
propounded a theory which to a white mind 
would have seemed raving insanity; but 
the whispering, level-headed little men of 
war considered it from every point of 
view, and thought that there might be a 
great deal in it. 

At mess under the oil lamps the talk 
turned as usual to the unfailing subject of 
shikar — big game shooting of every kind 
and under all sorts of conditions. Young 
Chinn opened his eyes when he understood 
that each one of his companions had shot 
several tigers in the Wuddar style — on 
foot, that is — and made no more of the 
business than if the brute had been a dog. 

" In nine cases out of ten," said the 
Major, " a tiger is almost as dangerous as 
a porcupine. But the tenth time you come 
home feet first." 

That set all talking, and long before 
midnight Chinn's brain was in a whirl 
with stories of tigers — man-eaters and cat- 
tle-killers each pursuing his own business 
as methodically as clerks in an office; new 
tigers that had lately come into such-and- 
such a district; and old, friendly beasts 
of great cunning, known by nicknames in 
the mess — such as " Puggy," who was lazy, 
with huge paws, and "Mrs. Malaprop," 
who turned up when you never expected 
her, and made female noises. Then they 
spoke of Bhil superstitions, a wide and 
picturesque field, till young Chinn hinted 
that they must be pulling his leg. 

" 'Deed we aren't," said a man on his 
left. "We know all about you. You're 
a Chinn and ail that, and you've a sort 
of vested right here ; but if you don't 
believe what we're telling you, what will 
you do when old Bukta begins his stories ? 
He knows about ghost tigers, and tigers 
that go to a hell of their own; and tigers 
that walk on their hind feet; and your 
grandpapa's riding-tiger as well. Odd he 
hasn't spoken of that yet." 

" You know you've an ancestor buried 
down Satpura way, don't you ?" said the 
Major, as Chinn smiled irresolutely. 

"Of course I do," said Chinn, who 
knew the chronicle of the Book of Chinns 
by heart. 

" Well, I wasn't sure. Your revered 
ancestor, my boy, according to the Bhils, 
has a tiger of his own — a saddle-tiger that 
he rides round the country whenever he 



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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



*°5 



* Ufn his bat* 



ail men had seen the same angry Flying Cloud that the high Gods had set on the .flesh of Jan Chinn the First." 



feels inclined. I don't call it decent in an 
ex-collector's ghost; but that is what the 
Southern Bhils believe. Even our men, 
who might be called moderately rash, don't 
care to beat that country if they hear that 
Jan Chinn is running about on his tiger. 
It is supposed to be a clouded animal — 
not stripy, but blotchy, like a tortoise- 
shell tom-cat. No end of a brute, it is, and 
a sure sign of war or pestilence or — or 
something. There's a nice family legend 
for you." 



•• What's the origin of it, d'you sup- 
pose ? " said Chinn. 

"Ask the Satpura Bhils. Old Jan 
Chinn was a mighty hunter before the 
Lord. Perhaps it was the tiger's revenge, 
or perhaps he's huntin' 'em still. You 
must go to his tomb one of these days 
and inquire. Bukta will probably attend 
to that. He was asking me before you 
came whether by any ill-luck you had 
already bagged your tiger. If not, he is 
going to enter yo^u.nd^r ©tfjggfiBg- 



io6 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS, 



Of course, for you of all men, it's impera- 
tive. You'll have a first-class time with 
Bukta." 

The Major was not wrong. Bukta kept 
an anxious eye on young Chinn at drill, 
and it was noticeable that the first time 
the new officer lifted up his voice in an 
order the whole line quivered. Even the 
Colonel was taken aback, for it might have 
been Colonel Lionel Chinn returned from 
Devonshire with a new lease of life. Bukta 
had continued to develop his peculiar 
theory, and it was almost accepted as a 
matter of faith in the lines, since every 
word and gesture on young Chinn's part 
so confirmed it. 

The old man arranged early that his 
darling should wipe out the reproach of 
not having shot a tiger; but he was not 
content to take the first or any beast that 
happened to arrive. In his own villages 
he dispensed the high, low, and middle 
justice, and when his people — naked and 
fluttered — came to him with word of a 
beast marked down, he bade them send 
spies to the kills and the watering-places 
that he might be sure the quarry was such 
an one as suited the dignity of such a 
man. 

Three or four times the reckless track- 
ers returned, most truthfully saying that 
the beast was mangy, undersized; a tigress 
worn with nursing or a broken-toothed old 
male, and Bukta would curb young Chinn's 
impatience. 

At last, a noble animal was marked 
down — a ten-foot cattle-killer with a huge 
roll of loose skin along the belly, glossy- 
hided, full-frilled about the neck, whisk- 
ered, frisky, and young. He had slain a 
man in sport, they said. 

44 Let him be fed," quoth Bukta, and the 
villagers dutifully drove out a cow to amuse 
him, that he might lie up near by. 

Princes and potentates have taken ship 
to India, and spent great moneys for the 
mere glimpse of beasts one-half as fine as 
this of Bukta's. 

44 It is not good," said he to the Colo- 
nel, when he asked for shooting-leave, 
44 that my Colonel's son who may be — that 
my Colonel's son should lose his maiden- 
head on any small jungle beast. That may 
come after. I have waited long for this 
which is a tiger. He has come in from 
the Mair country. In seven days we will 
return with the skin." 

The mess gnashed their teeth enviously. 
Bukta, had he chosen, might have asked 
them all. But he went out alone with 
Chinn, two days in a shooting-cart and a 



day on foot tili they came to a rocky, 
glary valley, with a pool of good water in 
it. It was a parching day, and the boy 
very naturally stripped and went in for a 
bathe, leaving Bukta by the clothes. A 
white skin shows far against brown jungle, 
and what Bukta beheld on Chinn's back 
and right shoulder dragged him forward 
step by step with staring eyeballs. 

44 I'd forgotten it isn't decent to strip 
before a man of his position," said Chinn, 
flouncing in the water. " How the little 
devil stares! What is it, Bukta ? " 

44 The Mark!" was the whispered an- 
swer. 

44 It is nothing. It was born on me. 
You know how it is with my people! " 
Chinn was annoyed. The dull red birth- 
mark on his shoulder, something like the 
conventionalized Tartar cloud, had slipped 
his memory or he would not have bathed. 
It appeared, so they said at home, in alter- 
nate generations, and was not pretty. He 
hurried ashore, dressed again, and went 
on till they met two or three Bhils, who 
promptly fell on their faces. 4 4 My people, ' ' 
grunted Bukta, not condescending to 
notice them. 44 And so your people, 
Sahib. When I was a young man we were 
fewer but not so weak. Now we are many, 
but poor stock. As may be remembered. 
How will you shoot him, Sahib ? From a 
tree; from a shelter which my people shall 
build; by day or by night ? " 

44 On foot and in the daytime," said 
Young Chinn. 

44 That was your custom, as I have 
heard," said Bukta to himself. 44 I will 
get news of him. Then you and I will go 
to him. I will carry one gun. Y'ou have 
yours. There is no need of more. What 
tiger shall stand against thee" 

He was marked down by a little water- 
hole at the head of a ravine; full-gorged 
and half asleep in the May sunlight. He 
was walked up like a partridge, and he 
turned to do battle for his life. Bukta 
made no motion to raise his rifle, but kept 
his eyes on Chinn, who met the shattering 
roar of the charge with a single shot — it 
seemed to him hours as he sighted — 
which tore through the throat, smashing 
the backbone below the neck and between 
the shoulders. The brute couched, 
choked, and fell, and before Chinn knew 
well what had happened Bukta bade him 
stay still while he paced the distance be- 
tween his feet and the ringing jaws. 

44 Fifteen," said Bukta. <4 Short paces. 
No need for a second shot, Sahib. He 
bleeds cleanly where he lies, and we need 



ne< 

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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



107 



not spoil the skin. I said there would be 
no need of these, but they came in case." 

Suddenly the sides of the ravine were 
crowned with the heads of Bukta's peo- 
ple — a force that could have blown the 
ribs out of the beast had Chinn's shot 
failed; but their guns were hidden, and 
they appeared as interested beaters; some 
five or six waiting the word to skin. 
Bukta watched the life fade from the eyes, 
lifted one hand, and turned on his heel. 

44 No need to show we care," said he. 
•' Now, after this, we can kill what we 
choose. Put out your hand, Sahib." 

Chinn obeyed. It was entirely steady, 
and Bukta nodded. " That also was your 
custom. My men skin quickly. They 
will carry the skin to cantonments. Will 
the Sahib come to my poor village for the 
night and, perhaps, forget I am his offi- 
cer ? ' ' 

44 But those men — the beaters. They 
have worked hard, and perhaps — " 

44 Oh, if they skin clumsily, we will skin 
them. They are my people. In the lines 
I am one thing. Here I am another." 

This was very true. When Bukta doffed 
uniform and reverted to the fragmentary 
dress of his own people, he left his civili- 
zation of drill in the next world. That 
night, after a little talk with his subjects, 
he devoted to an orgie; and a Bhil orgie 
is a thing not to be safely written about. 
Chinn, flushed with triumph, was in the 
thick of it, but the meaning of the mys- 
teries was hidden. Wild folk came and 
pressed about his knees with offerings. 
He gave his flask to the elders of the vil- 
lage. They grew eloquent, and wreathed 
him about with flowers: gifts and loans, 
not all seemly, were thrust upon him, and 
infernal music rolled and maddened round 
red fires, while singers sang songs of the 
ancient times, and danced peculiar dances. 
The aboriginal liquors are very potent, and 
Chinn was compelled to taste them often, 
but, unless the stuff had been drugged, 
how came he to fall asleep suddenly, and 
to waken late the next day — half a march 
from the village ? 

44 The Sahib was very tired. A little be- 
fore dawn he went to sleep," Bukta ex- 
plained. 4 * My people carried him here, 
and now it is time we should go back to 
cantonments." 

The voice, smooth and deferential, the 
step steady and silent, made it hard to be- 
lieve that only a few hours before Bukta 
was yelling and capering with naked fel- 
low-devils of the scrub. 

'■ My people were very pleased to see the 



Sahib. They will never forget. When 
next the Sahib goes out recruiting, he will 
go to my people, and they will give him 
as many men as we need." 

Chinn kept his own counsel except as to 
the shooting of the tiger, and Bukta em- 
broidered that tale with a shameless 
tongue. The skin was certainly one of 
the finest ever hung up in the mess, and 
the first of many. If Bukta could not 
accompany his boy on shooting-trips, he 
took care to put him in good hands, and 
Chinn learned more of the mind and desire 
of the wild Bhil in his marches and camp- 
ings; by talks at twilight or at wayside 
pools; than an uninstructed man could 
have come at in a lifetime. 

Presently his men in the regiment grew 
bold to speak of their relatives — mostly 
in trouble — and to lay cases of tribal 
custom before him. They would say, 
squatting in his veranda at twilight, after 
the easy, confidential style of the Wrddars, 
that such-and-such a bachelor had run away 
with such-and-such a wife at a far-off vil- 
lage. Now, how many cows would Chinn 
Sahib consider a just fine? Or, again, if 
written order came from the Government 
that a Bhil was to repair to a walled city 
of the plains to give evidence in a law 
court, would it be wise to disregard that 
order ? On the other hand, if it were 
obeyed, would the rash voyager return 
alive ? 

44 But what have I to do with these 
things?" Chinn demanded of Bukta im- 
patiently. "I am a soldier. I do not 
know the law." 

44 Hoo! Law is for fools and white 
men. Give them a large and loud order, 
and they will abide by it. Thou art their 
law." 

44 But wherefore ? " 

Every trace of expression left Bukta's 
countenance. The idea might have smit- 
ten him for the first time. " How can I 
say ? " he replied. " Perhaps it is on ac- 
count of the name. A Bhil does not love 
strange things. Give them orders, Sahib 
— two, three, four words at a time such as 
they can carry away in their heads. That 
is enough." 

Chinn gave orders, then, valiantly; not 
realizing that a word spoken in haste be- 
fore mess became the dread unappealable 
law of villages beyond the smoky hills 
— was in truth no less than the Law of Jan 
Chinn the First; and who, so the whispered 
legend ran, had come back to earth, to 
oversee the third generation, in the body 
and bones of his grandscn. r 

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io8 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



There could be no sort of doubt in this 
matter. All the Bhils knew that Jan 
Chinn reincarnated had honored Bukta's 
village with his presence after slaying his 
first — in this life — tiger. That he had 
eaten and drunk with the people, as he 
was used; and — Bukta must have drugged 
Chinn's liquor very deeply — upon his back 
and right shoulder all men had seen the 
same angry red Flying Cloud that the high 
Gods had set on the flesh of Jan Chinn the 
First when first he came to the Bhil. As 
concerned the foolish white world which 
has no eyes, he was a slim and young officer 
in the Wuddars; but his own people knew 
he was Jan Chinn who had made the Bhil a 
man ; and, believing, they hastened to carry 
his words, careful never to alter them on 
the way. 

Because the savage and the child who 
plays lonely games have one horror of 



being laughed at or questioned, the little 
folk kept their convictions to themselves, 
and the Colonel, who thought he knew his 
regiment, never guessed that each one of 
the six hundred quick-footed, beady-eyed 
rank-and-file, to attention beside their 
rifles, believed serenely and unshakenly 
that the subaltern on the left flank of the 
line was a demi-god twice born ; a tutelary 
deity of their land and people. The Earth- 
gods themselves had stamped the incarna- 
tion, and who would dare to doubt the 
handiwork of the Earth-gods ? 

Chinn, being practical above all things, 
saw that his family name served him well 
in the lines and in camp. His men gave 
no trouble — one does not commit regi- 
mental offenses with a god in the chair of 
justice — and he was sure of the best beat- 
ers in the district when he needed them. 
They believed that the protection of Jan 



" Bukta salaamed reverently as they affroatked. 



Chinn bared his head and began to pick out the blurred inscri/ti 

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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



109 



Chinn the First cloaked them, and were 
bold in that belief beyond the utmost 
daring of excited Bhils. 

Chinn's quarters began to look like an 
amateur natural history museum, in spite 
of the heads and horns and skulls he sent 
home to Devonshire. The people, very 
humanly, learned the weak side of their 
god. It is true he was unbribable, but 
bird skins, butterflies, beetles, and, above 
all, news of big game pleased him. In 
other respects, too, he lived up to the 
Chinn tradition. He was fever-proof. A 
night's sitting out over a tethered goat in 
a damp valley, that would have filled the 
Major with a month's malaria, had no 
effect on him. He was, as they said, 
" salted before he was born." 

Now in the autumn of his second year's 
service an uneasy rumor crept out of the 
earth and ran about among the Bhils. 
Chinn heard nothing of it till a brother 
officer said across the mess table: " Your 
revered ancestor's on the rampage in the 
Satpura country. You'd better look him 
up." 

" 1 don't want to be disrespectful, but 
I'm a little sick of my revered ancestor. 
Bukta talks of nothing else. What's the 
old boy supposed to be doing now ? " 

44 Riding cross-country by moonlight on 
his processional tiger. That's the story. 
He's been seen by about two thousand 
Bhils, skipping along the tops of the Sat- 
puras and scaring people to death. They 
believe it devoutly, and all the Satpura 
chaps are worshiping away at his shrine 
— tomb, I mean — like good *uns. You 
really ought to go down there. Must be 
a queer thing to see your grandfather 
treated as a god." 

44 What makes you think there's any 
truth in the tale ?" said Chinn. 

" Because all our men deny it. They 
say they've never heard of Chinn's tiger. 
Now that's a manifest lie, because every 
Bhil&w." 

44 There's only one thing you've over- 
looked," said the Colonel thoughtfully. 
" When a local god reappears on earth, 
it's always an excuse for trouble of some 
kind; and those Satpura Bhils are about 
as wild as your grandfather left them, 
young 'un. It means something." 

" Meanin' the Satpura Bhils may go on 
the war-path ? " said Chinn. 

" Can't say — as yet. Shouldn't be sur- 
prised a little bit." 

" I haven't been told a syllable." 

" Proves it all the more. They are 
keeping something back." 



"Bukta tells me everything, too, as 
a rule. Now, why didn't he tell me 
that?" 

Chinn put the question directly to the 
old man that night, and the answer sur- 
prised him. 

11 Why should I tell what is well known ? 
Yes, the Clouded Tiger is out in the Sat- 
pura country." 

44 What do the wild Bhils think that it 
means ? " 

44 They do not know. They wait. Sa- 
hib, what is coming ? Say only one little 
word, and we will be content." 

44 We ? What have tales from the South, 
where the jungly Bhils live, to do with 
drilled men ? " 

44 When Jan Chinn wakes is no time for 
any Bhil to be quiet." 

44 But he has not waked, Bukta." 

44 Sahib," the old man's eyes were full 
of tender reproof, "if he does not wish 
to be seen, why does he go abroad in the 
moonlight ? We know he is awake, but 
we do not know what he desires. Is it a 
sign for all the Bhils, or one that concerns 
the Satpura folk alone ? Say one little 
word, Sahib, that I may carry it to the 
lines, and send on to our villages. Why 
does Jan Chinn ride out ? Who has done 
wrong ? Is it pestilence ? Is it murrain ? 
Will our children die? Is it a sword? 
Remember, Sahib, we are thy people and 
thy servants, and in this life I bore thee in 
my arms — not knowing." 

44 Bukta has evidently looked on the cup 
this evening," Chinn thought; "but if I 
can do anything to soothe the old chap I 
must. It's like the Mutiny rumors on a 
small scale." 

He dropped into a deep wicker chair, 
over which was thrown his first tiger-skin, 
and his weight on the cushion flapped the 
clawed paws over his shoulders. He laid 
hold of them mechanically as he spoke, 
drawing the painted hide cloak-fashion 
about him. 

44 Now will I tell the truth, Bukta," he 
said, leaning forward, the dried muzzle on 
his shoulder, to invent a specious lie. 

44 1 see that it is the truth," was the an- 
swer in a shaking voice. 

44 Jan Chinn goes abroad among the 
Satpuras, riding on the Clouded Tiger, ye 
say ? Be it so. Therefore the sign of the 
wonder is for the Satpura Bhils only, and 
does not touch the Bhils who plow in the 
north and east, the Bhils of the Khan- 
desh, or any others, except the Satpura 
Bhils, who, as we know, are wild and fool- 
ish." 



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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



" It is, then, a sign for them. Good or 
bad?" 

44 Beyond doubt, good. For why should 
Jan Chinn make evil to those whom he has 
made men ? The nights over yonder are 
hot; it is ill to lie in one bed over long 
without turning, and Jan Chinn would 
look again upon his people. So he rises, 
whistles his Clouded Tiger, and goes 
abroad a little to breathe the cool air. 
If the Satpura Bhils kept to their vil- 
lages, and did not wander after dark, 
they would not see him. Indeed, Bukta, 
it is no more than that he would see the 
light again in his own country. Send this 
news south, and say that it is my word." 

Bukta bowed to the floor. " Good 
Heavens!" thought Chinn, "and this 
blinking pagan is a first-class officer and 
as straight as a die! I may as well round 
it off neatly." He went on: 

"And if the Satpura Bhils ask the 
meaning of the sign, tell them that Jan 
Chinn would see how they kept their old 
promises of good living. Perhaps they 
have plundered, perhaps they mean to dis- 
obey the orders of the Government; per- 
haps there is a dead man in the jungle, 
and so Jan Chinn has come to see." 

44 Is he then angry ? " 

"Bah! Am / ever angry with my 
Bhils ? I say angry words, and threaten 
many things. Thou knowest, Bukta. I 
have seen thee smile behind the hand. I 
know, and thou knowest. The Bhils are 
my children. I have said it many times." 

44 Ay. We be thy children," said Bukta. 

44 And no otherwise is it with Jan Chinn, 
my father's father. He would see the land 
he loved and the people once again. It is 
a good ghost, Bukta. I say it. Go and 
tell them. And I do hope devoutly," he 
added, "that it will calm 'em down." 
Flinging back the tiger-skin, he rose with 
a long, unguarded yawn that showed his 
well - kept teeth. Bukta fled, to be re- 
ceived in the lines by a knot of panting 
inquirers. 

44 It is true," said Bukta. " He wrapped 
himself in the skin, and spoke from it. 
He would see his own country again. The 
sign is not for us; and, indeed, he is a 
young man. How should he lie idle of 
nights ? He says his bed is too hot and 
the air is bad. He goes to and fro for the 
love of night-running. He has said it." 

The gray-whiskered assembly shud- 
dered. 

44 He says the Bhils are his children. 
Ye know he does not lie. He has said it to 
me." 



44 But what of the Satpura Bhils ? What 
means the sign for them ? " 

44 Nothing. It is only night-running, as 
I have said. He rides to see if they obey 
the Government, as he taught them in his 
first life." 

44 And what if they do not ? " 

44 He did not say." 

The light went out in Chinn's quarters. 

44 Look," said Bukta. " Now he goes 
away. None the less it is a good ghost, 
as he has said. How shall we fear Jan 
Chinn who made the Bhil a man ? His 
protection is on us; and ye know Jan 
Chinn never broke a protection spoken or 
written on paper. When he is older and 
has found him a wife he will lie in his bed 
till morning." 

A commanding officer is generally 
aware of the regimental state of mind a 
little before the men ; and this is why 
the Colonel said, a few days later, that 
some one had been putting the Pear of 
God into the Wuddars. As he was the 
only person officially entitled to do this, it 
distressed him to see such unanimous vir- 
tue. "It's too good to last," he said. 
44 I only wish I could find out what the 
little chaps mean." 

The explanation, as it seemed to him, 
came at the change of the moon, when 
he received orders to hold himself in readi- 
ness to " allay any possible excitement" 
among the Satpura Bhils, who were, to put 
it mildly, uneasy because a paternal Gov- 
ernment had sent up against them a Mah- 
ratta State-educated vaccinator, with lan- 
cets, lymph, and an officially registered 
calf. In the language of State they had 
44 manifested a strong objection to all 
prophylactic measures," had " forcibly 
detained the vaccinator," and "were on 
the point of neglecting or evading their 
tribal obligations." 

44 That means they are in a blue funk — 
same as they were at census time," said 
the Colonel; "and if we stampede them 
into the hills we'll never catch 'em, in the 
first place, and in the second they'll whoop 
off plundering till further orders. Wonder 
who the God-forsaken idiot is who is trying 
to vaccinate a Bhil. I knew trouble was 
coming. One good thing is they'll only 
use local corps, and we can knock up some- 
thing we'll call a campaign and let them, 
down easy. Fancy us potting our best 
beaters because they don't want to be vac- 
cinated! They're only crazy with fear." 

44 Don't you think, sir," said Chinn the 
next day, "that, perhaps, you could give 
me a fortnight's shooting-leave ? " 



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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



WaV SOUth " VMcinatittg the Satpura Bkils. 

" I'd like to take Bukta with me." " I think so, sir; but if — if they should 

"Of course, yes. I think that will be accidentally put an arrow through me — 

the best plan. You've some kind of hered- make asses of 'emselves — they might, you 

itary influence with the little chaps, and know — I hope .you'll represent that they 

they may listen to you when a glimpse of were only frightened. There isn't an ounce 

our uniforms would drive them wild, of real vice in 'em, and I should never for- 

You've never been in that part of the world give myself if anyone of — of my name got 

before, have you ? Take care they don't them into trouble." 

send you to your family vault in your The Colonel podded, but said nothing, 

youth and innocence. I oelieve you'll be Chinn and Bukta departed at once, 

all right if you can get 'em to listen to Bukta did not say that, ever since the 

you." official vaccinator had been dragged into 



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112 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



the hills by in- 
dignant Bhils, 
runner after run- 
ner had skulked 
up to the lines, 
entreating, with 
forehead in the 
dust, that Jan 
Chinn should 
come and ex- 
plain this un- 
known horror 
that hung over 
his people. 

The portent of 
the Clouded Ti- 
ger was now too 
clear. Let Jan 
Chinn comfort 
his own, for vain 
was the help of 
mortal man. 
Bukta toned 
down these be- 
seech in gs to a 
simple request 
for Chinn's pres- 
ence. Nothing 
would have 
pleased the old 
man better than 
a rough and 
tumble cam- 
paign against 
the Satpuras, 
whom he, as an 
" unmixed " 
Bhil, despised ; 
but he had a 
duty to all his 
nation as Jan 
Chinn's inter- 
preter ; and he 
devoutly be- 
lieved that forty 
plagues would 
fall on his vil- 
lage if he tam- 
pered with that 
obligation. Be- 
sides, Jan Chinn 
knew all things, 
and he rode the 
Clouded Tiger. 

They covered 
thirty miles a 
day on foot and 
pony, raising 
the blue wall- 
like line of 
the Satpuras as 



• One climbed into a tree and stuck the letter in a cleft forty feet from the ground." 



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RUDYARD KIPLING. 113 

swiftly as might be. Bukta was very little share. He must have been a man 

silent. worth knowing . . . Bukta, where are my 

They began the steep climb a little after people ? " 

noon, but it was near sunset ere they " Not here, Sahib. No man comes here 

reached the stone platform clinging to the except in full sun. They wait above, 

side of a rifted, jungle-covered hill, where Let us climb and see." 

Jan Chinn the First was laid, as he had de- But Chinn, remembering the first law of 

sired, that he might overlook his people. Oriental diplomacy, in an even voice an- 

All India is full of neglected graves that swered: "I have come this far only be- 

date from the beginning of the eight- cause the Satpura folk are foolish, and 

eenth century — tombs of forgotten colo- dared not visit our lines. Now bid them 

nels of corps long since disbanded; mates wait on me here. I am not a servant, but 

of East Indiamen who went on snooting a master of Bhils." 

expeditions and never came back; factors; "I go — I go," clucked the old man. 

agents; writers; and ensigns of the Hon- Night was falling, and at any moment Jan 

orable the East India Company by hun- Chinn might whistle up his dreaded steed 

dreds and thousands and tens of thou- from the darkening scrub. 

sands. English folk forget quickly, but Now for the first time in a long life 

natives have long memories, and if a man Bukta disobeyed a lawful command and 

has done good in his life it is remembered deserted his leader; for he did not come 

after his death. The weathered marble back, but pressed to the flat table-top of 

four-square tomb of Jan Chinn was hung the hill and called softly. Men stirred all 

about with wild flowers and nuts, packets about him; little trembling men with bows 

of wax and honey, bottles of native spirits and arrows who had watched the two 

and infamous cigars, with buffalo horns since noon. 

and plumes of dried grass. At one end " Where is he ?" whispered one. 

was a rude clay image of a white man, in "At his own place. He bids you 

the old-fashioned top-hat, riding on a come," said Bukta. 

bloated tiger. " Now ? " 

Bukta salaamed reverently as they ap- "Now." 

proached. Chinn bared his head and be- " Rather let him loose the Clouded 

gan to pick out the blurred inscription. Tiger upon us. We do not go." 

So far as he could read it ran thus — word " Nor I, though I bore him in my arms 

for word, and letter for letter: when he was a child in this his life. Wait 

here till the day." 

To the memory of John Chinn, Esq. " But surely he will be angry." 

vu . L n. e J^ ol i ec ^ torof ;V\u •♦ " He w»H "be very angry, for he has 

ithout Bloodshed or ... error of Authority _«.u- * «. t> i u u -j*. 

Employ.only..eansofConciliat...andconnden. nothing to eat. But he has said to me 

accomplished the... tire Subjection... many times that the Bhtls are his chil- 

a Lawless and Predator}' Peop. .. dren. By sunlight I believe this, but — by 

taching them to ish Government moonlight I am not so sure. W r hat folly 

T , ^^T'^'.S 5 r n • • have >' e Satpura pigs compassed that ye 

The most perma .and rational Mode of Domini. . 1 / « 1 • m - 1 »» 

. . .Governor General and Counc. . .engal should need him at all ? 

have ordered thi erected "One came to us in the name of the 

. . .arted this Life Aug. 19, 1844. Ag. . . Government with little ghost-knives and a 

magic calf, meaning to turn us into cattle 

On the other side of the grave were an- by the cutting off of our arms. We were 

cient verses, also very worn. As much as greatly afraid, but we did not kill the man. 

Chinn could decipher said: He is here; bound; a black man, and we 

think he comes from the West. He said it 

., . . . „ ....the savage band was an or d er t0 cut ns a ji w j t h knives— 

Forsook their Haunts and b....is Command • n *i. j .i i_-u 

... .mended, .rate check a... st for spoil f^™ 11 )' the women and the children. 

And.s.ing Hamlets prove his gene .... toil »>e did not hear that it was an order, 

II umanit.. .survey ights restore . . so we were afraid, and kept to our hills. 

A Nation.. ield.. subdued without a Sword. Some of our men have taken ponies and 

bullocks from the plains, and others pots 

For some little time he leant on the and cloths, and earrings." 

tomb thinking of this dead man of his *' Are any slain ? " 

own blood, and of the house in Devon- "By our men? Not yet. But the young 

shire; I hen nodding to the plains: " Yes, men are blown to and fro by many rumors 

it's a' big work. All of it. Even my like flames upon a hill, I^spa tenners 



"4 



THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



asking for Jan Chinn lest worse should 
come to us. It was this fear that he fore- 
told by the sign of the Clouded Tiger." 

" He says it is otherwise," said Bukta, 
and he repeated with amplifications all 
that Young Chinn had told him at the con- 
ference of the wicker chair. 

"Think you," said the questioner at 
last, " that the Government will lay hands 
on us? " 

" Not I," Bukta rejoined. " Jan Chinn 
will give an order, and ye will obey. 
The rest is between the Government and 
Jan Chinn. I myself know something of 
the ghost-knives and the scratching. It is 
a charm against the Smallpox, but how it 
is done I cannot tell. Nor need that con- 
cern you." 

" If he stands by us and before the anger 
of the Government we will most strictly 
obey Jan Chinn, except — except we do 
not go down to that place to-night." 

They could hear young Chinn below them 
shouting for Bukta, but they cowered and 
sat still, expecting the Clouded Tiger. 
The tomb had been holy ground for nearly 
half a century. If Jan Chinn chose to 
sleep there, who had better right ? But 
they would not come within eyeshot of the 
place till broad day. 

At first Chinn was exceedingly angry, 
till it occurred to him that Bukta most 
probably had a reason (which, indeed, he 
had), and his own dignity might suffer if 
he yelled without answer. He propped 
himself against the foot of the grave, lit 
a cheroot, and, alternately dozing and 
smoking, came through the warm night 
proud that he was a lawful, legitimate 
fever-proof Chinn. 

He prepared his plan of action much 
as his grandfather would have done; and 
when Bukta appeared in the morning with 
a most liberal supply of food, said nothing 
of the scandalous desertion over night. 
Bukta would have been relieved by an 
outburst of human anger, but Chinn fin- 
ished his victual leisurely and a cheroot, 
ere he made any sign. 

"They are very much afraid," said 
Bukta, who was not too bold himself. 
" It remains only to give orders. They 
said they will obey if thou wilt only stand 
between them and the Government." 

"That I know," said Chinn, strolling 
slowly to the table-land. A few of the 
elder men stood in an irregular semicircle 
in an open glade; but the ruck of people 
— women and children — were hidden in the 
thicket. They had no desire to face the 
first anger of Jan Chinn the First. 



Seating himself on a fragment of split 
rock, he smoked his cheroot to the butt, 
hearing men breathe hard all about him 
Then he cried, so suddenly that they 
jumped: 

" Bring the man that was bound!" 

A scuffle and a cry were followed by the 
appearance of a Hindu vaccinator, quak- 
ing with fear, bound hand and foot, as the 
Bhils of old were accustomed to bind 
their human sacrifices. He was pushed 
cautiously before the presence, but young 
Chinn did not look at him. 

"I said — the man that was bound. Is 
it a jest to bring me one tied like a buf- 
falo ? Since when could the Bhils bind folk 
at their pleasure ? Cut! " 

Half a dozen hasty knives cut away the 
thongs, and the man crawled to Chinn, 
who pocketed his case of lancets and 
tubes of lymph. Then, sweeping the 
semicircle with one comprehensive fore- 
finger, and in the voice of compliment, he 
said, clearly and distinctly: *' Pigs!" 

"Ai!" whispered Bukta. "Now he 
speaks. Woe to foolish people! " 

" I have come on foot from my house" 
(the assembly shuddered) "to make clear 
a matter which any other than a Satpura 
Bhil would have seen with both eyesfroma 
distance. Ye know the Smallpox, who pits 
and scars your children so that they look 
like wasp-combs. It is an order of the 
Government, that whoso is scratched on the 
arm with these little knives which I hold 
up is charmed against Her. All Sahibs 
are thus charmed, and very many Hindus. 
This is the mark of the charm. Look!" 

He rolled back his sleeve to the arm- 
pit and showed the dimples of the vac- 
cination mark on the white skin. "Come 
all, and look." 

A few daring spirits came up and nod- 
ded their heads wisely. There was cer- 
tainly a mark, and they knew well what 
other dread marks were hidden by the 
shirt. Merciful was Jan Chinn that be 
had not then and there proclaimed his god- 
head. 

" Now all these things the man whom 
ye bound told you." 

"I did — a hundred times, but they an- 
swered with blows," groaned the operator, 
chafing his wrists and ankles. 

" But, being pigs, ye did not believe; 
and so came I here to save you first from 
Smallpox, next from a great folly of fear, 
and lastly, it may be, from the rope and 
the jail. It is no gain to me: it is no 
pleasure to me: but for the sake of that 
one who is yonder, who made the Bhil a 
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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



"5 



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" It is thy horse— as it has been these three generations ." 



man" — he pointed down the hill — "I, 
who am of his blood, the son of his son, 
come to turn your people: and I speak the 
truth, as did Jan Chinn." 

The crowd murmured reverently, and 
men stole out of the thicket by twos and 
threes to join it. There was no anger in 
their god's face. 

** These are my orders. (Heaven send 
they'll take 'em, but I seem to have im- 
pressed 'em so far !) I myself will stay 
among you while this man scratches your 
arms with the knives after the order of the 
Government. In three, or it may be five 
or seven days, your arms will swell and itch 
and burn. That is the power of Smallpox 
fighting in your base blood against the 
orders of the Government. I will therefore 
stay among you till I see that Smallpox is 
conquered, and I will not go away till the 
men and the women and the little children 
show me upon their arms such marks as I 
have even now showed you. I bring with 
me two very good guns and a man whose 
name is known among beasts and men. 
We will hunt together, I and he, and your 
young men and the others shall eat and lie 
still. This is my order." 

There was a long pause while victory 
hung in the balance. A white-haired old 
sinner, standing on one uneasy leg, piped 
up: 

** There are ponies and some few bul- 
locks and other things for which we need 
a kowl [protection]. They were not taken 
in the way of trade." 

The battle was won, and John Chinn 
drew a breath of relief. The young Bhils 
had been raiding, but if taken swiftly all 
could be put straight. 

•* I will write a kowl so soon as the 
ponies, the bullocks, and the other things 
are counted before me and sent back 



whence they came. But first we will put 
the Government mark on such as have not 
been visited by Smallpox." In an under- 
tone to the vaccinator: " If you show you 
are afraid you'll never see Poona again, 
my friend." 

" There is not sufficient ample supply of 
vaccine for all this population," said the 
man. " They have destroyed the offeecial 
calf." 

"They won't know the difference. 
Scrape 'em all round, and give me a couple 
of lancets. I'll attend to the elders." 

The aged diplomat who had demanded 
protection was the first victim. He fell 
to Chinn's hand and dared not cry out. 
As soon as he was freed he dragged up 
a companion and held him fast, and the 
crisis became, as it were, a child's sport; 
for the vaccinated chased the unvaccinated 
to treatment, vowing that all the tribe 
must suffer equally. The women shrieked, 
and the children ran howling, but Chinn 
laughed and waved the pink-tipped lancet. 

"It is an honor," he cried. "Tell 
them, Bukta, how great an honor it is that 
I myself should mark them. Nay, I can- 
not mark every one — the Hindu must also 
do his work — but I will touch all marks 
that he makes, so there will be an equal 
virtue in them. Thus do the Rajputs stick 
pigs. Ho, brother with one eye! Catch 
that girl and bring her to me. She need 
not run away yet, for she is not married, 
and I do not seek her in marriage. She 
will not come ? Then she shall be shamed 
by her little brother, a fat boy, a bold 
boy. He puts out his arm like a soldier. 
Look! He does not flinch at the blood. 
Some day he shall be in my regiment. 
And, now, mother of many, we will lightly 
touch thee, for Smallpox has been before us 
here. It is a true thing indeed that this 
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



charm breaks the power of Mata. There 
will be no more pitted faces among the 
Satpuras, and so ye can ask many cows 
for each maid to be wed." 

And so on and so on— quick-poured 
showman's patter, sauced in the Bhil hunt- 
ing proverbs and tales of their own brand 
of coarse humor — till the lancets were 
blunted and both operators worn out. 

But, nature being the same the world 
over, the unvaccinated grew jealous of 
their marked comrades, and came near to 
blows about it. Then Chinn declared 
, himself a Court of Justice, no longer a 
medical board, and made formal inquiry 
into the late robberies. 

"We are the thieves of Mahadeo," 
said the Bhils simply. " It is our fate 
and we were frightened. When we are 
frightened we always steal." 

Simply and directly as children, they 
gave in the tale of the plunder, all but 
two bullocks and some spirits that had 
gone amissing (these Chinn promised to 
make good out of his own pocket), and ten 
ringleaders were despatched to the low- 
lands, with a wonderful document written 
on the leaf of a note-book, and addressed 
to an Assistant District Superintendent of 
Police. There was warm calamity in that 
note, as Jan Chinn warned them, but any- 
thing was better than loss of liberty. 

Armed with this protection the repentant 
raiders went downhill. They had no de- 
sire whatever to meet Mr. Dundas Fawne 
of the Police, aged twenty-two, and of a 
cheerful countenance, nor did they wish to 
revisit the scene of their robberies. Steer- 
ing a middle course, they ran into the 
camp of the one Government chaplain al- 
lowed to the various Irregular Corps in a 
district of some fifteen thousand square 
miles, and stood before him in a cloud of 
dust. He was by way of being a priest, 
they knew; and, what was more to the 
point, a good sportsman, who paid his 
beaters generously. 

When he read Chinn's note he laughed, 
which they deemed a lucky omen, till he 
called up policemen, who tethered the 
ponies and the bullocks by the piled house 
gear, and laid stern hands upon three of 
that smiling band of the thieves of Ma- 
hadeo. The chaplain himself addressed 
them magisterially with a riding-whip. 
That was painful, but Jan Chinn had proph- 
esied it. They submitted, but would 
not give up the written protection, fear- 
ing the jail. On their way back they met 
Mr. D. Fawne, who had heard about the 
robberies, and was not pleased. 



"Certainly," said the eldest of the 
gang, when the second interview was at an 
end, "certainly, Jan Chinn's protection 
has saved us our liberty, but it is as though 
there were many beatings in one small 
piece of paper. Put it away." 

One climbed into a tree and stuck the 
letter into a cleft forty feet from the 
ground, where it could do no harm. 
Warmed, sore, but happy, the ten returned 
to Jan Chinn next day, where he sat 
among uneasy Bhils, all looking at their 
right arms, and all bound under terror of 
their god's disfavor not to scratch. 

" It was a good kowl" said the leader. 
" First the chaplain, who laughed, took 
away our plunder, and beat three of us, as 
was promised. Next, we meet Fawne 
Sahib, who frowned, and asked for the 
plunder. We spoke the truth, and so he 
beat us all one after another, and called us 
chosen names. He then gave us these two 
bundles," they set down a bottle of whisky 
and a box of cheroots, " and we came away. 
The kowl is left in a tree, because its virtue 
is that so soon as we show it to a Sahib we 
are beaten." 

"But for that kowl" said Jan Chinn 
sternly, "ye would all have been march- 
ing to jail with a policeman on either side. 
Ye come now to serve as beaters for me. 
These people are unhappy, and we will go 
hunting till they are well. To-night we 
will make a feast." 

It is written in the chronicles of the Sat- 
pura Bhils, together with many other mat- 
ters not fit for print, that through five 
days, after the day that he had put his mark 
upon them, Jan Chinn the First hunted 
for his people; and on the five nights 
of those days the tribe was gloriously and 
entirely drunk. Jan Chinn bought country 
spirits of an awful strength and slew wild 
pig and deer beyond counting, so that if 
any fell sick they might have two good 
reasons. 

Between head and stomach aches they 
found no time to ti ink of their arms, but 
followed Jan Chinn obediently through the 
jungles, and with each day's returning 
confidence men, women, and children stole 
away to their villages as the little army 
passed by. They carried news that it was 
good and right to be scratched with ghost- 
knives; that Jan Chinn was indeed rein- 
carnated as a god of free food and drink, 
and that of all nations the Satpura Bhils 
stood first in his favor, if they would only 
refrain from scratching. Henceforward 
that kindly demi-god would be connected 
in their minds with great gorgings and the 
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RUDYARD KIPLING. 



117 



" Lastly, as a gorged snake, he dragged himself out 0/ the cave" 



vaccine and lancets of a paternal Govern- 
ment. 

"And to-morrow I go back to my 
home/* said Jan Chinn to his faithful few, 
whom neither spirits, over-eating, nor 
swollen glands could conquer. It is hard 
for children and savages to behave rever- 
ently at all times to the idols of their 
make-belief, and they had frolicked exces- 
sively with Jan Chinn. But the reference 
to his home cast a gloom on the people. 

" And the Sahib will not come again ? " 
said he who had been vaccinated first. 

"That is to be seen," said Chinn wa- 
rily. 

" Nay, but come as a white man — come 
as a young man whom we know and love, 
for as thou alone knowest, we are a weak 
people. If we again saw thy — thy 
horse — " They were picking up their 
courage. 

" I have no horse. I came on foot — 
with Bukta, yonder. What is this ? " 

" Thou knowest — the thing that thou 
hast chosen for a night-horse." The little 
men squirmed in fear and awe. 



" Night-horses ? Bukta, what is this last 
tale of children ? " 

Bukta had been a silent leader in Chinn's 
presence, since the night of his desertion, 
and was grateful for a chance-flung ques- 
tion. 

"They know, Sahib," he whispered. 
" It is the Clouded Tiger. That that comes 
from the place where thou didst once 
sleep. It is thy horse — as it has been these 
three generations." 

" My horse! That was a dream of the 
Bhils." 

"It is no dream. Do dreams leave the 
tracks of broad pugs on earth ? Why 
make two faces before thy people? They 
know of the night-ridings, and they — and 
they — " 

" Are afraid and would have them 
cease." 

Bukta nodded. " If thou hast no fur- 
ther need of him. He is thy horse." 

" The thing leaves a trail, then ? " said 
Chinn. 

" We have seen it. It is like a village 
road under the tomb." 



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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



" Can ye find and follow it for me?" 

" By daylight — if one comes with us, and 
above all stands near by." 

" I will stand close, and we will see to 
it that Jan Chinn does not ride any more." 

And the Bhils shouted the last words 
again and again. 

From Chinn's point of view the stalk 
was nothing more than an ordinary one 
— down hill, through split and crannied 
rocks; unsafe perhaps if a man did not 
keep his wits by him, but no worse than 
twenty others he had undertaken. Yet his 
men — they refused absolutely to beat and 
would only trail — dripped sweat at every 
move. They showed the marks of enor- 
mous pugs that ran, always down hill, to a 
few hundred feet below Jan Chinn's tomb, 
and disappeared in a narrow-mouthed 
cave. It was an insolently open road, a 
domestic highway beaten without thought 
of concealment. 

" The beggar might be paying rent and 
taxes," Chinn muttered ere he asked 
whether his friend's taste ran to cattle or 
man. 

" Cattle," was the answer. " Two heif- 
ers a week. We drive them for him at 
the foot of the hill. It is his custom. If 
we did not, he might seek us." 

"Blackmail and privacy," said Chinn. 
" I can't say I fancy going into the cave 
after him. What's to be done ? " 

The Bhils fell back as Chinn lodged 
himself behind a rock with his rifle ready. 
Tigers, he knew, were shy beasts, but one 
who had been long cattle-fed in this sump- 
tuous style might prove overbold. 

" He speaks! " some one whispered from 
the rear. " He knows too." 

" Well, of all the infernal cheek! " said 
Chinn. There was an angry growl from 
the cave — a direct challenge. 

"Come out, then," Chinn shouted. 
41 Come out of that. Let's have a look at 
you." 

The brute knew well enough that there 
was some connection between brown nude 
Bhils and his weekly allowance, but the 
white helmet in the sunlight annoyed him; 
and he did not approve of the voice that 
broke his rest. Lazily, as a gorged snake, 
he dragged himself out of the cave, and 
stood yawning and blinking at the en- 
trance. The sunlight fell upon his flat 
right side, and Chinn wondered. Never 
had he seen a tiger marked after this 
fashion. Except for his head, which was 
staringly barred, he was dappled — not 
striped, but dappled like a child's rocking- 
horse in rich shades of smoky black on 



red gold. That portion, of his belly and 
throat which should have been white was 
orange; and his tail and paws were black. 

He looked leisurely for some ten seconds 
and then deliberately lowered his head, his 
chin dropped and drawn in, staring intently 
at the man. The effect of this was to 
throw forward the round arch of his skull, 
with two broad bands across it, while be- 
low the bands glared the unwinking eyes; 
so that, head on, as he stood, he looked 
something like a diabolically scowling pan- 
tomime mask. It was a piece of natural 
mesmerism that he had practiced many 
times on his quarry, and, though Chinn was 
by no means a terrified heifer, he stood for 
awhile held by the extraordinary oddity of 
the attack. The head — the body seemed 
to have been packed away behind it — the 
ferocious skull-like head crept nearer to the 
switching of an angry tail-tip in the grass. 
Left and right the Bhils had scattered 
to let John Chinn subdue his own horse. 

" My word! " he thought. " He's trying 
to frighten me like a bogy," and fired 
between the saucer-like eyes, leaping aside 
upon the shot. He feared he had left it too 
long. 

A big coughing mass, reeking of carrion, 
bounded past him up the hill, and he fol- 
lowed discreetly. The tiger made no at- 
tempt to turn into the jungle; he was 
hunting for sight and breath — nose up, 
mouth open — the tremendous fore-legs 
scattering the gravel in spurts. 

" Scuppered! " said John Chinn, watch- 
ing the flight. " Now if he was a partridge 
he'd tower. Lungs must be full of 
blood." 

The brute had jerked himself over a 
boulder and fallen out of sight the other 
side. John Chinn looked over with a ready 
barrel. But the red trail led straight as 
an arrow even to his grandfather's tomb, 
and there, among the smashed spirit-bottles 
and the fragments of the mud image, the 
life left with a flurry and a grunt. 

"If my worthy ancestor could see 
that," said John Chinn, "he'd have been 
proud of me. Eyes, lower jaw, and lungs. 
A very nice shot. ' ' He whistled for Bukta 
as he drew the tape over the stiffening 
bulk. 

1 ' Ten — six — eight — by Jove ! It's nearly 
eleven — call it eleven. Fore-arm, twenty- 
four — five — seven and a half. A short 
tail, too: three feet one. But what a skin! 
O Bukta! Bukta! The men with the 
knives swiftly." 

"Is he beyond question dead ? " said an 
awe-stricken voice behind a rock. 



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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS. 



44 That was not the way I killed my first 
tiger," said China. *' I did not think that 
Bukta would run. I had no second gun." 

44 It — it is the Clouded Tiger," said Buk- 
ta, unheeding the taunt. 44 He is dead." 

Whether all the Bhils, vaccinated and 
unvaccinated, of the Satpuras had lain by to 
see the kill, Chinn could not say; but the 
whole hill's flank rustled with little men, 
shouting, singing, and stamping. And 
yet, till he had made the first cut in the 
splendid skin, not a man would take a 
knife; and, when the shadows fell, they 
ran from the red-stained tomb, and no 
persuasion would bring them back till 
dawn. So Chinn spent a second night in 
the open, guarding the carcass from jack- 
als, and thinking about his ancestor. 

He returned to the lowlands to the 
triumphal chant of an escorting army 
three hundred strong, the Mahratta vac- 
cinator close at his elbow, and -the rudely 
dried skin, a trophy, before him. When 
that army suddenly and noiselessly disap- 
peared, as quail in high corn, he argued 
he was near civilization, and a turn in the 
road brought him upon the camp of a 
wing of his own corps. He left the skin 
on a cart-tail for the world to see, and 
sought the Colonel. 

44 They're perfectly right," he explained 
earnestly. 44 There isn't an ounce of vice 
in 'em. They were only frightened. I've 
vaccinated the whole boiling, and they 
like it awfully. What are — what are we 
doing here, sir ? " 

44 That's what I'm trying to find out," 



said the Colonel. 4i I don't know yet 
whether we're a piece of a brigade or a 
police force. However, I think we'll call 
ourselves a police force. How did you 
manage to get a Bhil vaccinated ? " 

44 Well, sir," said Chinn, " I've been 
thinking it over, and, as far as I can make 
out, I've got a sort of hereditary pull over 
'em." 

44 So I know, or I wouldn't have sent 
you; but what exactly ? " 

44 It's rather rummy. It seems, from 
what I can make out, that I'm my own 
grandfather reincarnated, and I've been 
disturbing the peace of the country by rid- 
ing a pad-tiger of nights. If i hadn't 
done that I don't think they'd have ob- 
jected to the vaccination; but the two 
together were more than they could stand. 
And so, sir, I've vaccinated 'em and shot 
my tiger-horse as a sort o' proof of good 
faith. You never saw such a skin in your 
life." 

The Colonel tugged his mustache 
thoughtfully. *' Now, how the deuce," said 
he, 44 am I to include that in my report ? " 

And, indeed, the official version of the 
Bhils' anti-vaccination stampede said 
nothing about Lieutenant John Chinn his 
godship. But Bukta knew, and the corps 
knew, and every Bhil in the Satpura hills 
knew. And now Bukta is zealous that 
John Chinn should swiftly be wedded and 
impart his powers to a son, for if the 
Chinn succession fails and the little Bhils 
are left to their own imaginings, there will 
be fresh trouble in the Satpuras. 




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Madonna and Child y and St. John. 



Botticelli. 



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THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 

A Personal Recollection by General John M. Thayer. 



PASSING the winter in Washington in 
1848, I was a daily attendant upon 
either the Senate or the House. The ob- 
ject to which my eyes instinctively turned 
on entering the House was the form of the 
ex-President, John Quincy Adams. And so 
it was with all strangers. Their first ques- 
tion was, '* Which is John Quincy Adams? " 
He lived in his own house on F Street, 
directly opposite the Ebbitt House. The 
house is now used for stores and offices. 
I frequently saw him walking along F 
Street on pleasant days, on his way to the 
Capitol, and I noticed that whoever met 
him, whether an acquaintance or not, 
lifted his hat to him as he passed. 

The House met in the hall now used for 
statuary. The Whigs occupied the space 
on the right of the main aisle, as the Re- 
publicans do in the present hall; and the 
Democrats occupied the space on the left, 
as they do now. The uesk of Mr. Adams 
was a little to the right of the center of 
the Whig side of the house. I entered the 
chamber a couple of hours after the ses- 
sion began on Monday, February 21, 1848, 
and stood back of the outside row of seats, 
looking directly at the ex-President. The 
subject before the House was a resolution 
granting medals to some officers in the 
Mexican War. The resolution had been 
read, the previous question was ordered, 
and on that vote Mr. Adams answered to 
his name in a clear, distinct voice. The 
Speaker arose, and was about to put the 
question, " Shall the bill pass?" when to 
his left there was a quick, sudden move- 
ment, a stifled exclamation, and the mem- 
bers nearest to Mr. Adams rushed toward 
him. I saw him rising, as I supposed 
to address the Speaker, and I think he 
uttered the words " Mr. Speaker ;" then 
he staggered and fell back over the left 
arm of his chair. He would have fallen 
to the floor if the member sitting nearest 
to him had not caught and held him up. 
He had been seized with paralysis. He 
was immediately laid upon a sofa and car- 
ried into the area in front of the Speaker's 
desk. 

Intense excitement at once pervaded the 
hall. The Speaker, the Hon. R. C. Win- 
throp, suggested that some member move 



for an adjournment, which was done. 
Members sitting in the outside row of seats 
did not realize what had occurred till the 
words passed from mouth to mouth, " Mr. 
Adams is dying." Then an awful solem- 
nity settled down over the whole assem- 
blage. Members walked noiselessly from 
desk to desk, and gathered in little groups, 
talking of what had just befallen. It was 
frequently remarked that this was just the 
way the ex-President would have desired 
to die. 

A member who was a physician now had 
him removed to the rotunda. He lay there 
for a short time, and then was borne just 
through the eastern door, that he might 
have fresh air. But it being too chilly 
there, he was removed to the Speaker's 
room, from which he never emerged till he 
was borne away in his casket. 

The news that Mr. Adams had been 
stricken was communicated to the Senate 
through Senator Benton, who immedi- 
ately moved an adjournment, observing 
that the Senate could not be in a condition 
to transact business while such a solemn 
scene was transpiring in the other wing of 
the Capitol. Mrs. Adams was notified, 
and with her nephew hastened to her hus- 
band^ bedside. He had left her but a 
few hours previously, in apparent good 
health. He did not recognize her or any- 
one in attendance, and he continued un- 
conscious, except for a moment, till the 
end came. 

The next day, in the House, the Speaker 
announced the continued illness of the 
ex-President, and Mr. Burt of South Caro- 
lina moved an adjournment. The Senate 
also adjourned, and adjournments followed 
in both houses on the third day. 

While sitting at her husband's bedside 
on Tuesday, Mrs. Adams was taken sud- 
denly ill and fainted, and was carried 
to her residence. Once Mr. Adams par- 
tially recovered consciousness, and feebly 
uttered the words, now historic: *' It is 
the end of earth; I am content." He ex- 
pired on Wednesday evening, about an 
hour after sunset. He had been for nearly 
sixty years in the public service ; had 
passed a large portion of his life in the 
glare of thrones and the splendors of 



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THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 



127 



courts ; had tasted the sweets of power 
and position ; and now, as the end ap- 
proached, he was content to pass on. 

As the members gathered in session the 
next day at the usual hour, they moved 
noiselessly to their seats; the hum of 
voices and the noisy greetings usually at- 
tendant upon such occasions had given 
way to an impressive stillness. The 
Speaker, in a subdued voice and with deep 
emotion, announced the death of Mr. 
Adams in these words: 

44 A seat on this floor has been vacated, towards 
which our eyes have been accustomed to turn with 
no common interest. 

44 A voice has been forever hushed in this hall, to 
which all ears have been accustomed to listen with 
profound reverence. 

44 A venerable form has faded from our sight, 
around which we have daily clustered with an affec- 
tionate regard. 

44 A name has been stricken from the roll of living 
statesmen of our land, which has been associated for 
more than a half a century with the highest civil 
service and the loftiest civil renown." 

All the public buildings were shrouded 
with crape, and most of the private edifices. 
The obsequies took place in the hall of the 
House. Both branches of Congress, the 
President and Cabinet, the Judges of the 
Supreme Court, the foreign ministers, and 
the high officers of the army and navy 
were in attendance. The cold form of 
the dead statesman lying in the coffin in 
front of the Speaker's desk, the somber 
shading given to the hall by the emblems 
of mourning, the reverential visages of 
all in the assembly, the solemn notes of 
the funeral dirge by the Marine Band, 
united to make it a scene truly awe- 
inspiring. T.he Rev. Dr. Gurley, pastor 
of the New York Avenue Presbyterian 
Church and Chaplain of the House, 
preached the funeral discourse, from the 
words: "And thine age shall be clearer 
than the noonday; thou shalt shine forth, 
thou shalt be as the morning. And thou 
shalt be secure, because there is hope." 

The body was borne, for the time, to the 
Congressional Cemetery; John C. Calhoun 
was one of the pallbearers. Afterwards it 
was removed to Quincy, Massachusetts, 
under the escort of a Congressional com- 
mittee of which Abraham Lincoln was a 
member, and laid to rest in the burying- 
ground of Mr. Adams's ancestors, by the 
side of his father, John Adams. And thus 
they rest, father and son, both ex-Presi- 
dents of the United States, side by side, 
till the ushering in of the new morn. 

The correspondence between Mr. Adams 



and his father, after the former's election 
as President by the House of Representa- 
tives, is interesting. There having been no 
choice in the Electoral College, it devolved 
upon the House to elect from the three 
candidates having the highest number of 
votes in the Electoral College. General 
Jackson had received ninety-nine votes, 
J. Q. Adams eighty-four, W. H. Crawford 
forty-one, and Henry Clay thirty-seven. 
Adams received the votes of thirteen 
States, Jackson of seven, and Crawford 
of four. There was indescribable excite- 
ment in the House, about the Capitol, 
and in the city, shortly preceding and 
during the taking of the vote. As soon 
as the vote was declared, Senator Rufus 
King of New York sent a brief note of 
congratulation to Mr. Adams at the State 
Department, informing him of the result. 
Mr. Adams immediately enclosed the same 
to his father, with the following letter: 

Washington, February 9, 1825. 
My Dear Father : The enclosed letter from Mr. 
King will inform you of the event of this day, upon 
which I can only offer you my congratulations and 
ask your blessing and prayers. 

Your affectionate son, 

John Quincy Adams. 

The following was the answer: 

My Dear Son ; I have received your letter of the 
9th inst. Never did I feel so much solemnity as on 
this occasion. The multitude of my thoughts and 
the intensity of my feelings are too much for a mind 
like mine in its ninetieth year. May the blessing of 
God Almighty continue to protect you to the end 
of your life, as it has heretofore protected you in so 
remarkable a manner from your cradle. I offer the 
same prayer for your lady and for your family, and 
am your affectionate father, 

John Adams. 

Quincy, Mass., February 17, 1825. 

The following, written by Mr. Adams 
the night after his inauguration, shows 
with what dread and anxiety he assumed 
the responsibility of the Presidency: 

44 After two successive sleepless nights, I entered 
upon this day with a supplication to heaven, first, 
for my country, secondly, for myself and for those 
connected with my good name and fortunes, that the 
last results of its events may be auspicious and 
blessed." 

His last public service in the House of 
Representatives, his vindication of the 
right of petition and the freedom of de- 
bate, his unselfish devotion to the inter- 
ests of humanity and the cause of the 
slave must ever entitle him to the grati- 
tude of mankind. 

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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 

FROM THE MEMOIRS OF FRITZ VON TARLENHEIM. 

By Anthony Hope. 
Being the sequel to a story by the same writer entitled " The Prisoner of Zenda." 



INTRODUCTION. 



" The Prisoner of Zenda," it may be worth while 
to explain, relates the adventures of a young Eng- 
lishman, Rudolf Rassendyll, while impersonating his 
distant relative Rudolf Fifth, King of Ruritania. At 
the instigation of the king's half brother, the Duke of 
Strelsau, known as 4i Black Michael," the king was 
drugged on the eve of his coronation, and would 
have lost his crown to the duke but that, in the nick 
of time and by a series of strange chances, Rassen- 
dyll, who resembled him so closely that few could 
tell them apart, appeared and, in his name, assumed 
the crown tor him. Meanwhile the king fell a pris- 
oner to the duke, and some time passed before his 
friends could set him free and defeat the duke's plots. 
Through this time Rassendyll, under the guise of 
the king, continued to hold the throne and exercise 



all the royal functions, even to falling ardently in love 
with the Princess Flavia, and provoking her to love 
him as ardently in return. Public expectation and 
policy had designated this lady to become the new 
king's wife. The duke, ** Black Michael," was 
finally killed in a quarrel with one of his accomplices, 
Rupert of Hentzau. The Princess Flavia had felt 
from the first a difference between the assumed and 
the real king ; and before the end the truth was 
fully discovered to her. She dutifully married the 
real king, but her heart hardly went with her hand. 
In his adventures as king, Rudolf Rassendyll was 
guided and aided chiefly by Fritz von Tarlenheim, 
who tells the present story, and that bold, bluff 
Colonel Sapt, with whom readers gratefully make or 
renew acquaintance here. — Editor. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE QUEEN'S GOOD-BY. 

A MAN who has lived in the world, 
marking how every act, although in 
itself perhaps light and insignificant, may 
become the source of consequences that 
spread far and wide, and flow for years 
or centuries, could scarcely feel secure in 
reckoning that with the death of the 
Duke of Strelsau and the restoration of 
King Rudolf to liberty and his throne, 
there would end, for good and all, the 
troubles born of Black Michael's daring 
conspiracy. The stakes had been high, 
the struggle keen; the edge of passion 
had been sharpened, and the seeds of en- 
mity sown. Yet Michael, having struck 
for the crown, had paid for the blow 
with his life: should there not then be an 
end ? Michael was dead, the Princess her 
cousin's wife, the story in safe keeping, 
and Mr. Rassendyll's face seen no more 
in Ruritania. Should there not then be 
an end ? So said I to my friend the Con- 
stable of Zenda, as we talked by the bed- 
side of Marshal Strakencz. The old 
man, already nearing the death that soon 
after robbed us of his aid and counsel, 
bowed his head in assent; in tin aged and 
ailing the love 




But Colonel Sapt tugged at his gray 
moustache, and twisted his black cigar in 
his mouth, saying, "You're very san- 
guine, friend Fritz. But is Rupert of 
Hentzau dead ? I had not heard it." 

Well said, and like old Sapt! Yet the 
man is little without the opportunity, and 
Rupert by himself could hardly have 
troubled our repose. Hampered by his 
own guilt, he dared not set his foot in the 
kingdom from which by rare good luck he 
had escaped, but wandered to and fro 
over Europe, making a living by his 
wits, and, as some said, adding to his re- 
sources by gallantries for which he did 
not refuse substantial recompense. But 
he kept himself constantly before our eyes, 
and never ceased to contrive how he 
might gain permission to return and enjoy 
the estates to which his uncle's death had 
entitled him. The chief agent through 
whom he had the effrontery to approach 
the king was his relative, the Count of 
Luzau-Rischenheim, a young man of high 
rank and great wealth who was devoted 
to Rupert. The count fulfilled his mis- 
sion well: acknowledging Rupert's heavy 
offences, he put forward in his behalf the 
pleas of youth and of the predominant 
influence which Duke Michael had exer- 
cised over his adherent, and promised, in 
words so significant as to betray Rupert's 



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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



own dictation, a future fidelity no less 
discreet than hearty. "Give me ray 
price and I'll hold my tongue," seemed 
to come in Rupert's off-hand accents 
through his cousin's deferential lips. As 
may be supposed, however, the king and 
those who advised him in the matter, 
knowing too well the manner of man the 
Count of Hentzau was, were not inclined 
to give ear to his ambassador's prayer. 
We kept firm hold on Master Rupert's rev- 
enues, and as good watch as we could on 
his movements; for we were most firmly 
determined that he should never return to 
Ruritania. Perhaps we might have ob- 
tained his extradition and hanged him on 
the score of his crimes; but in these days 
every rogue who deserves no better than 
to be strung up to the nearest tree must 
have what they call a fair trial; and we 
feared that, if Rupert were handed over 
to our police and arraigned before the 
courts at Strelsau, the secret which we 
guarded so sedulously would become the 
gossip of all the city, aye, and of all 
Europe. So Rupert went unpunished 
except by banishment and the impounding 
of his rents. 

Yet Sapt was in the right about him. 
Helpless as he seemed, he did not for an 
instant abandon the contest. He lived in 
the faith that his chance would come, and 
from day to day was ready for its coming. 
He schemed against us as we schemed to 
protect ourselves from him; if we watched 
him, he kept his eye on us. His ascend- 
ancy over Luzau-Rischenheim grew mark- 
edly greater after a visit which his cousin 
paid to him in Paris. From this time the 
young count began to supply him with re- 
sources. Thus armed, he gathered instru- 
ments round him and organized a system 
of espionage that carried to his ears all 
our actions and the whole position of 
affairs at court. He knew, far more ac- 
curately than anyone else outside the 
royal circle, the measures taken for the 
government of the kingdom and the con- 
siderations that dictated the royal policy. 
More than this, he possessed himself of 
every detail concerning the king's health, 
although the utmost reticence was ob- 
served on this subject. Had his discov- 
eries stopped there, they would have been 
vexatious and disquieting, but perhaps of 
little serious harm. They went further. 
Set on the track by his acquaintance with 
what had passed during Mr. Rassendyll's 
tenure of the throne, he penetrated the 
secret which had been kept successfully 
from the king himself. In the knowledge 



of it he found the opportunity for which 
he had waited; in its bold use he discerned 
his chance. I cannot say whether he were 
influenced more strongly by his desire to 
reestablish his position in the kingdom or 
by the grudge he bore against Mr. Rassen- 
dyll. He loved power and money; dearly 
he loved revenge also. No doubt both 
motives worked together, and he was re- 
joiced to find that the weapon put into his 
hand had a double edge; with one he 
hoped to cut his own path clear; with the 
other, to wound the man he hated through 
the woman whom that man loved. In fine, 
the Count of Hentzau, shrewdly discern- 
ing the feeling that existed between the 
queen and Rudolf Rassendyll, set his 
spies to work, and was rewarded by dis- 
covering the object of my yearly meetings 
with Mr. Rassendyll. At least he conjec- 
tured the nature of my errand; this was 
enough for him. Head and hand were 
soon busy in turning the knowledge to ac- 
count; scruples of the heart never stood 
in Rupert's way. 

The marriage which had set all Rurita- 
nia on fire with joy and formed in the 
people's eyes the visible triumph over 
Black Michael and his fellow-conspirators 
was now three years old. For three years 
the Princess Flavia had been queen. I am 
come by now to the age when a man should 
look out on life with an eye undimmed 
by the mists of passion. My love-mak- 
ing days are over; yet there is nothing 
for which I am more thankful to Almighty 
God than the gift of my wife's love. In 
storm it has been my anchor, and in clear 
skies my star. But we common folk are 
free to follow our hearts; am I an old 
fool for saying that he is a fool who fol- 
lows anything else ? Our liberty is not 
for princes. We need wait for no future 
world to balance the luck of men; even 
here there is an equipoise. From the 
highly placed a price is exacted for their 
state, their wealth, and their honors, as 
heavy as these are great; to the poor, 
what is to us mean and of no sweet- 
ness may appear decked in the robes of 
pleasure and delight. Well, if it were not 
so, who could sleep at nights ? The bur- 
den laid on Queen Flavia I knew, and 
know, so well as a man can know it. I 
think it needs a woman to know it fully; 
for even now my wife's eyes fill with 
tears when we speak of it. Yet she bore 
it, and if she failed in anything, I wonder 
that it was in so little. For it was not 
only that she had never loved the king 
and had loved another with all her heart. 



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ANTHONY HOPE, 



131 



The king's health, shattered by the hor- 
ror and rigors of his imprisonment in the 
castle of Zenda, soon broke utterly. He 
lived, indeed; nay, he shot and hunted, 
and kept in his hand some measure, at 
least, of government. But always from 
the day of his release he was a fretful in- 
valid, different utterly from the gay and 
jovial prince whom Michael's villains had 
caught in the shooting-lodge. There was 
worse than this. As time went on, the 
first impulse of gratitude and admiration 
that he had felt towards Mr. Rassendyll 
died away. He came to brood more and 
more on what had passed while he was a 
prisoner; he was possessed not only by a 
haunting dread of Rupert of Hentzau, at 
whose hands he had suffered so greatly, 
but also by a morbid, half-mad jealousy 
of Mr. Rassendyll. Rudolf had played 
the hero while he lay helpless. Rudolf's 
were the exploits for which his own people 
cheered him in his own capital. Rudolf's 
were the laurels that crowned his impatient 
brow. He had enough nobility to resent 
his borrowed credit, without the fortitude 
to endure it manfully. And the hateful 
comparison struck him nearer home. 
Sapt would tell him bluntly that Rudolf 
did this or that, set this precedent or that, 
laid down this or the other policy, and 
that the king could do no better than fol- 
low in Rudolf's steps. Mr. Rassendyll's 
name seldom passed his wife's lips, but 
when she spoke of him it was as one 
speaks of a great man who is dead, belit- 
tling all the living by the shadow of his 
name. I do not believe that the king 
discerned that truth which his wife spent 
her days in hiding from him; yet he was 
uneasy if Rudolf's name were mentioned 
by Sapt or myself, and from the queen's 
mouth he could not bear it. I have seen 
him fall into fits of passion on the mere 
sound of it; for he lost control of himself 
on what seemed slight provocation. 

Moved by this disquieting jealousy, he 
sought continually to exact from the 
queen proofs of love and care beyond 
what most husbands can boast of, or, in 
my humble judgment, make good their 
right to, always asking of her what in his 
heart he feared was not hers to give. 
Much she did in pity and in duty; but in 
some moments, being but human and 
herself a woman of high temper, she 
failed; then the slight rebuff or involuntary 
coldness was magnified by a sick man's 
fancy into great offence or studied insult, 
and nothing that she could do would 
atone for it. Thus they, who had never 



in truth come together, drifted yet further 
apart; he was alone in his sickness and 
suspicion, she in her sorrows and her 
memories. There was no child to bridge 
the gulf between them, and although she 
was his queen and his wife, she grew 
almost a stranger to him. So he seemed 
to will that it should be. 

Thus, worse than widowed, she lived for 
three years; and once only in each year 
she sent three words to the man she loved, 
and received from him three words in an- 
swer. Then her strength failed her. A 
pitiful scene had occurred in which the 
king peevishly upbraided her in regard 
to some trivial matter — the occasion es- 
capes my memory — speaking to her before 
others words that even alone she could 
not have listened to with dignity. I was 
there, and Sapt; the colonel's small eyes 
had gleamed in anger. " I should like to 
shut his mouth for him," I heard him 
mutter, for the king's waywardness had 
well nigh worn out even his devotion. The 
thing, of which I will say no more, hap- 
pened a day or two before I was to set out 
to meet Mr. Rassendyll. I was to seek him 
this time at Wintenberg, for I had been 
recognized the year before at Dresden; 
and Wintenberg, being a smaller place and 
less in the way of chance visitors, was 
deemed safer. I remember well how she 
was when she called me into her own room, 
a few hours after she had left the king. 
She stood by the table; the box was on 
it, and I knew well that the red rose and 
the message were within. But there was 
more to-day. Without preface she broke 
into the subject of my errand. 

41 1 must write to him," she said. "I 
can't bear it, I must write. My dear 
friend Fritz, you will carry it safely for 
me, won't you ? And he must write to me. 
And you'll bring that safely, won't you ? 
Ah, Fritz, I know I'm wrong, but I'm 
starved, starved, starved ! And it's for 
the last time. For I know now that if I 
send anything, I must send more. So 
after this time I won't send at all. But I 
must say good-by to him; I must have 
his good-by to carry me through my life. 
This once, then, Fritz, do it for me." 

The tears rolled down her cheeks, which 
to-day were flushed out of their paleness 
to a stormy red ; her eyes defied me even 
while they pleaded. I bent my head and 
kissed her hand. 

" W T ith God's help I'll carry it safely and 
bring his safely, my queen," said I. 

"And tell me how he looks. Look at 
him closely, Fritz. See if he is well and 
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132 



RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



seems strong. Oh, and make him merry 
and happy! Bring that smile to his lips, 
Fritz, and the merry twinkle to his eyes. 
When you speak of me, see if he — if he 
looks as if he still loved me." But then 
she broke off, crying, " But don't tell 
him I said that. He'd be grieved if I 
doubted his love. I don't doubt it; I 
don't, indeed; but still tell me how he 
looks when you speak of me, won't you, 
Fritz ? See, here's the letter." 

Taking it from her bosom, she kissed it 
before she gave it to me. Then she added 
a thousand cautions, how I was to carry her 
letter, how I was to go and how return, and 
how I was to run no danger, because my 
wife Helga loved me as well as she would 
have loved her husband had Heaven been 
kinder. "At least, almost as I should, 
Fritz," she said, now between smiles and 
tears. She would not believe that any 
woman could love as she loved. 

I left the queen and went to prepare for 
my journey. I used to take only one ser- 
vant with me, and I had chosen a different 
man each year. None of them had known 
that I met Mr. Rassendyll, but supposed 
that I was engaged on the private business 
which I made my pretext for obtaining 
leave of absence from the king. This 
time I had determined to take with me a 
Swiss youth who had entered my service 
only a few weeks before. His name was 
Bauer; he seemed a stolid, somewhat stu- 
pid fellow, but as honest as the day and 
very obliging. He had come to me well 
recommended, and I had not hesitated to 
engage him. I chose him for my compan- 
ion now, chiefly because he was a for- 
eigner and therefore less likely to gossip 
with the other servants when we returned. 
I do not pretend to much cleverness, but 
I confess that it vexes me to remember 
how that stout, guileless-looking youth 
made a fool of me. For Rupert knew 
that I had met Mr. Rassendyll the year 
before at Dresden; Rupert was keeping a 
watchful eye on all that passed in Strel- 
sau; Rupert had procured the fellow his 
fine testimonials and sent him to me, in 
the hope that he would chance on some- 
thing of advantage to his employer. My 
resolve to take him to Wintenberg may 
have been hoped for, but could scarcely 
have been counted on; it was the added 
luck that waits so often on the plans of a 
clever schemer. 

Going to take leave of the king, I 
found him huddled over the fire. The 
day was not cold, but the damp chill of 
his dungeon seemed to have penetrated 



to the very core of his bones. He was 
annoyed at my going, and questioned me 
peevishly about the business that occa- 
sioned my journey. I parried his curios- 
ity as I best could, but did not succeed in 
appeasing his ill-humor. Half-ashamed 
of his recent outburst, half-anxious to 
justify it to himself, he cried fretfully: 

" Business! Yes, any business is a good 
enough excuse for leaving me! By 
Heaven, I wonder if a king was ever 
served so badly as I am! Why did you 
trouble to get me out of Zenda ? Nobody 
wants me, nobody cares whether I live or 
die." 

To reason with such a mood was impos- 
sible. I could only assure him that I 
would hasten my return by all possible 
means. 

"Yes, pray do," said he. "I want 
somebody to look after me. Who knows 
what that villain Rupert may attempt 
against me ? And I can't defend myself, 
can I ? I'm not Rudolf Rassendyll, am I ? " 

Thus, with a mixUire of plaintiveness 
and malice, he scolded me. At last I 
stood silent, waiting till he should be 
pleased to dismiss me. At any rate I was 
thankful that he entertained no suspicion 
as to my errand. Had I spoken a word of 
Mr. Rassendyll he would not have let me 
go. He had fallen foul of me before on 
learning that I was in communication with 
Rudolf; so completely had jealousy de- 
stroyed gratitude in his breast. If he had 
known what I carried, I do not think that 
he could have hated his preserver more. 
Very likely some such feeling was natural 
enough; it was none the less painful to 
perceive. 

On leaving the king's presence, I sought 
out the Constable of Zenda. He knew 
my errand; and, sitting down beside him, 
I told him of the letter I carried, and 
arranged how to apprise him of my for- 
tune surely and quickly. He was not in 
a good humor that day: the king had 
ruffled him also, and Colonel Sapt had no 
great reserve of patience. 

14 If we haven't cut one another's throats 
before then, we shall all be at Zenda by 
the time you arrive at Wintenberg," he 
said. "The court moves there to-mor- 
row, and I shall be there as long as the 
king is." 

He paused, and then added: " Destroy 
the letter if there's any danger." 

I nodded my head. 

44 And destroy yourself with it, if that's 
the only way," he went on with a surly 
smile. " Heaven knows why she must 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



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send such a silly message at all; but since 
she must, she'd better have sent me with 
it." 

I knew that Sapt was in the way of jeer- 
ing at all sentiment, and I took no notice 
of the terms that he applied to the queen's 
farewell. I contented myself with an- 
swering the last part of what he said. 

44 No, it's better you should be here," I 
urged. " For if I should lose the letter 
— though there's little chance of it — you 
could prevent it from coming to the king." 

44 1 could try," he grinned. "But on 
my life, to run the chance for a letter's 
sake! A letter's a poor thing to risk the 
peace of a kingdom for! " 

"Unhappily," said I, "it's the only 
thing that a messenger can well carry." 

44 Off with you, then," grumbled the 
colonel. " Tell Rassendyll from me that 
he did well. But tell him to do something 
more. Let 'em say good-by and have 
done with it. Good God, is he going to 
waste all his life thinking of a woman he 
never sees?" Sapt's air was full of in- 
dignation. 

44 What more is he to do?" I asked. 
•* Isn't his work here done ? " 

44 Ay, it's done. Perhaps it's done," 
he answered. " At least he has given us 
back our good king." 

To lay on the king the full blame for 
what he was would have been rank injus- 
tice. Sapt was not guilty of it, but his 
disappointment was bitter that all our 
efforts had secured no better ruler for 
Ruritania. Sapt could serve, but he 
liked his master to be a man. 

" Ay, I'm afraid the lad's work here is 
done," he said, as I shook him by the 
hand. Then a sudden light came in his 
eyes. " Perhaps not," he muttered. 
•'Who knows?" 

A man need not, I hope, be deemed 
uxorious for liking a quiet dinner alone 
with his wife before he starts on a long 
journey. Such, at least, was my fancy ; and 
I was annoyed to find that Helga's cousin, 
Anton von Strofzin, had invited himself to 
share our meal and our farewell. He 
conversed with his usual airy emptiness 
on all the topics that were supplying 
Strelsau with gossip. There were rumors 
that the king was ill; that the queen was 
angry at being carried off to Zenda; that 
the archbishop meant to preach against 
low dresses; that the chancellor was to be 
dismissed; that his daughter was to be 
married; and so forth. I heard without 
listening. But the last bit of his budget 
caught my wandering attention. 



44 They were betting at the club," said 
Anton, 44 that Rupert of Hentzau would 
be recalled. Have you heard anything 
about it, Fritz ?" 

If I had known anything, it is needless 
to say that I should not have confided it 
to Anton. But the suggested step was so 
utterly at variance with the king's inten- 
tions that I made no difficulty about con- 
tradicting the report with an authoritative 
air. Anton heard me with a judicial 
wrinkle on his smooth brow. 

44 That's all very well," said he, "and 
I dare say you're bound to say so. All I 
know is that Rischenheim dropped a hint 
to Colonel Markel a day or two ago." 

41 Rischenheim believes what he hopes," 
said I. 

44 And where's he gone ? " cried Anton, 
exultantly. " Why has he suddenly left 
Strelsau ? I tell you he's gone to meet 
Rupert, and I'll bet you what you like he 
carries some proposal. Ah, you don't 
know everything, Fritz, my boy! " 

It was indeed true that I did not know 
everything. I made haste to admit as 
much. "I didn't even know that the 
count was gone, much less why he's 
gone," said I. 

44 You see! " exclaimed Anton. And he 
added, patronizingly, "You should keep 
your ears open, my boy; then you might 
be worth what the king pays you." 

44 No less, I trust," said I, " for he 
pays me nothing." Indeed, at this time I 
held no office save the honorary position 
of chamberlain to Her Majesty. Any 
advice the king needed from me was 
asked and given unofficially. 

Anton went off, persuaded that he had 
scored a point against me. I could not see 
where. It was possible that the Count of 
Luzau-Rischenheim had gone to meet his 
cousin, equally possible that no such busi- 
ness claimed his care. At any rate, the 
matter was not for me. I had a more 
pressing affair in hand. Dismissing the 
whole thing from my mind, I bade the 
butler tell Bauer to go forward with my 
luggage and to let my carriage be at the 
door in good time. Helga had busied 
herself, since our guest's departure, in 
preparing small comforts for my 'journey; 
now she came to me to say good-by. Al- 
though she tried to hide all signs of it,. I 
detected an uneasiness in her manner. 
She did not like these errands of mine, 
imagining dangers and risks of which I 
saw no likelihood. I would not give in 
to her mood, and, as I kissed her, I bade 
her expect me back in a few days' time. 

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Not even to her did I speak of the new 
and more dangerous burden that I car- 
ried, although I was aware that she en- 
joyed a full measure of the queen's con- 
fidence. 

" My love to King Rudolf, the real 
King Rudolf," said she. "Though you 
carry what will make him think little of 
my love." 

44 1 have no desire he should think too 
much of it, sweet," said I. 

She caught me by the hands, and looked 
up in my face. 

"What a friend you are, aren't you, 
Fritz?" said she. "You worship Mr. 
Rassendyll. I know you think I should 
worship him too, if he asked me. Well, 
I shouldn't. I am foolish enough to have 
my own idol." All my modesty did not 
let me doubt who her idol might be. Sud- 
denly she drew near to me and whispered 
in my ear. I think that our own happiness 
brought to her a sudden keen sympathy 
with her mistress. 

" Make him send her a loving message, 
Fritz," she whispered. "Something that 
will comfort her. Her idol can't be with 
her as mine is with me." 

11 Yes, he'll send something to comfort 
her," I answered. " And God keep you, 
my dear." 

For he would surely send an answer to 
the letter that I carried, and that answer 
I was sworn to bring safely to her. So I 
set out in good heart, bearing in the 
pocket of my coat the little box and the 
queen's good-by. And, as Colonel Sapt 
said to me, both I would destroy, if need 
were — aye, and myself with them. A man 
did not serve Queen Flavia with divided 
mind. 

CHAPTER II. 

A STATION WITHOUT A CAB. 

The arrangements for my meeting with 
Mr. Rassendyll had been carefully made 
by correspondence before he left England. 
He was to be at the Golden Lion Hotel at 
eleven o'clock on the night of the 15th of 
October. I reckoned to arrive in the 
town between eight and nine on the same 
evening, to proceed to another hotel, and, 
on pretence of taking a stroll, slip out and 
call on him at the appointed hour. I 
should then fulfil my commission, take his 
answer, and enjoy the rare pleasure of 
a long talk with him. Early the next 
morning he would have left Wintenberg, 
and I should be on my way back to Strel- 



sau. I knew that he would not fail to 
keep his appointment, and 1 was perfectly 
confident of being able to carry out the 
programme punctually; I had, however, 
taken the precaution of obtaining a week's 
leave of absence, in case any unforeseen 
accident should delay my return. Con- 
scious of having done all I could to guard 
against misunderstanding or mishap, I got 
into the train in a tolerably peaceful 
frame of mind. The box was in my inner 
pocket, the letter in a porte-monnaie. I 
could feel them both with my hand. I 
was not in uniform, but I took my revolver. 
Although I had no reason to anticipate 
any difficulties, I did not forget that what 
I carried must be protected at all hazards 
and all costs. 

The weary night journey wore itself 
away. Bauer came to me in the morning, 
performed his small services, repacked my 
hand-bag, procured me some coffee, and 
left me. It was then about eight o'clock ; 
we had arrived at a station of some impor- 
tance and were not to stop again till mid- 
day. I saw Bauer enter the second-class 
compartment in which he was traveling, 
and settled down in my own coup£. I 
think it was at this moment that the 
thought of Rischenheim came again into 
my head, and I found myself wondering 
why he clung to the hopeless idea of com- 
passing Rupert's return and what busi- 
ness had taken him from Strelsau. But I 
made little of the matter, and, drowsy 
from a broken night's rest, soon fell into 
a doze. I was alone in the carriage and 
could sleep without fear or danger. I was 
awakened by our noon-tide halt. Here I 
saw Bauer again. After taking a basin of 
soup, I went to the telegraph bureau to 
send a message to my wife; the receipt of 
it would not merely set her mind at ease, 
but would also ensure word of my safe 
progress reaching the queen. As I en- 
tered the bureau I met Bauer coming out 
of it. He seemed rather startled at our 
encounter, but told me readily enough that 
he had been telegraphing for rooms at 
Wintenberg, a very needless precaution, 
since there was no danger of the hotel 
being full. In fact I was annoyed, as I 
especially wished to avoid calling atten- 
tion to my arrival. However, the mischief 
was done, and to rebuke my servant might 
have aggravated it by setting his wits at 
work to find out my motive for secrecy. 
So I said nothing, but passed by him with 
a nod. When the whole circumstances 
came to light, I had reason to suppose 
that besides his message to the inn-keeper, 

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ANTHONY HOPE, 



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Bauer sent one of a character and to a 
quarter unsuspected by me. 

We stopped once again before reaching 
Wintenberg. I put my head out of the win- 
dow to look about me, and saw Bauer 
standing near the luggage van. He ran to 
me eagerly, asking whether I required 
anything. I told him "nothing"; but 
instead of going away, he began to talk 
to me. Growing weary of him, I returned 
to my seat and waited impatiently for the 
train to go on. There was a further delay 
of five minutes, and then we started. 

" Thank goodness! " I exclaimed, lean- 
ing back comfortably in my seat and 
taking a cigar from my case. 

But in a moment the cigar rolled un- 
heeded on to the floor, as I sprang eagerly 
to my feet and darted to the window. For 
just as we were clearing the station, I saw 
being carried past the carriage, on the 
shoulders of a porter, a bag which looked 
very much like mine. Bauer had been in 
Charge of my bag, and it had been put in 
the van under his directions. It seemed 
unlikely that it should be taken out now 
by any mistake. Yet the bag I saw was 
very like the bag I owned. But I was not 
sure, and could have done nothing had I 
been sure. We were not to stop again 
before Wintenberg, and, with my luggage 
or without it, I myself must be in the 
town that evening. 

We arrived punctual to our appointed 
time. I sat in the carriage a moment or 
two, expecting Bauer to open the door 
and relieve me of my small baggage. He 
did not come, so I got out. It seemed 
that I had few fellow-passengers, and 
these were quickly disappearing on foot or 
in carriages and carts that waited outside 
the station. I stood looking for my ser- 
vant and my luggage. The evening was 
mild; I was encumbered with my hand- 
bag and a heavy fur coat. There were no 
signs either of Bauer or of baggage. I 
stayed where I was for five or six minutes. 
The guard of the train had disappeared, 
but presently I observed the station-mas- 
ter; he seemed to be taking a last glance 
round the premises. Going up to him I 
asked whether he had seen my servant; 
he could give me no news of him. I had 
no luggage ticket, for mine had been in 
Bauer's hands ; but I prevailed on him to 
allow me to look at the baggage which 
had arrived; my property was not among 
it. The station-master was inclined, I 
think, ta be a little skeptical as to the ex- 
istence both of bag and of servant. His 
only suggestion was that the man must 



have been left behind accidentally. I 
pointed out that in this case he would not 
have had the bag with him, but that it 
would have come on in the train. The 
station-master admitted the force of my 
argument; he shrugged his shoulders and 
spread his hands out; he was evidently at 
the end of his resources. 

Now, for the first time and with sud- 
den force, a doubt of Bauer's fidelity 
thrust itself into my mind. I remembered 
how little I knew of the fellow and how 
great my charge was. Three rapid move- 
ments of my hand assured me that letter, 
box, and revolver were in their respec- 
tive places. If Bauer had gone hunting 
in the bag, he had drawn a blank. The 
station-master noticed nothing; he was 
staring at the dim gas lamp that hung 
from the roof. I turned to him. 

" Well, tell him when he comes — " I be- 
gan. 

" He won't come to-night, now," inter- 
rupted the station-master, none too po- 
litely. " No other train arrives to-night." 

" Tell him when he does come to follow 
me at once to the Wintenbergerhof. I'm 
going there immediately." For time was 
short, and I did not wish to keep Mr. 
Rassendyll waiting. Besides, in my new- 
born nervousness, I was anxious to accom- 
plish my errand as soon as might be. 
What had become of Bauer ? The thought 
returned, and now with it another, that 
seemed to connect itself in some subtle 
way with my present position: why and 
whither had the Count of Luzau-Rischen- 
heim set out from Strelsau a day before I 
started on my journey to Wintenberg ? 

"If he comes I'll tell him," said the 
station-master, and as he spoke he looked 
round the yard. 

There was not a cab to be seen ! I 
knew that the station lay on the extreme 
outskirts of the town, for I had passed 
through Wintenberg on my wedding 
journey, nearly three years before. The 
trouble involved in walking, and the fur- 
ther waste of time, put the cap on my irri- 
tation. 

"Why don't you have enough cabs?" 
I asked angrily. 

"There are plenty generally, sir," he 
answered more civilly, with an apologetic 
air. "There would be to-night but for 
an accident." 

Another accident! This expedition of 
mine seemed doomed to be the sport of 
chance. 

"Just before your train arrived," he 
continued, "a local came in.> As a rule, 

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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



hardly anybody comes by it, but to-night 
a number of men — oh, twenty or five-and- 
twenty, I should think — got out. I col- 
lected their tickets myself, and they all 
came from the first station on the line. 
Well, that's not so strange, for there's a 
good beer-garden there. But, curiously 
enough, every one of them hired a sepa- 
rate cab and drove off, laughing and 
shouting to one another as they went. 
That's how it happens that there were 
only one or two cabs left when your train 
came in, and they were snapped up at 
once." 

Taken alone, this occurrence was noth- 
ing ; but I asked myself whether the con- 
spiracy that had robbed me of my servant 
had deprived me of a .vehicle also. 

"What sort of men were they?" I 
asked. 

"All sorts of men, sir," answered the. 
station-master, " but most of them were 
shabby-looking fellows. I wondered 
where some of them had got the money for 
their ride." 

The vague feeling of uneasiness which 
had already attacked me grew stronger. 
Although I fought against it, calling my- 
self an old woman and a coward, I must 
confess to an impulse which almost made 
me beg the station-master's company on 
my walk; but, besides being ashamed to 
exhibit a timidity apparently groundless, 
I was reluctant to draw attention to my- 
self in any way. I would not for the 
world have it supposed that I carried any- 
thing of value. 

"Well, there's no help for it," said I, 
and, buttoning my heavy coat about me, 
I took my handbag and stick in one hand, 
and asked my way to the hotel. My 
misfortunes had broken down the station- 
master's indifference, and he directed me 
in a sympathetic tone. 

" Straight along the road, sir," said he, 
" between the poplars, for hard on half a 
mile; then the nouses begin, and your 
hotel is in the first square you come to, on 
the right." 

I thanked him curtly (for I had not quite 
forgiven him his earlier incivility), and 
started on my walk, weighed down by my 
big coat and the handbag. When I left 
the lighted station-yard I realized that the 
evening had fallen very dark, and the 
shade of the tall lank trees intensified the 
gloom. I could hardly see my way, and 
went timidly, with frequent stumbles over 
the uneven stones of the road. The lamps 
were dim, few, and widely separated; so 
far as company was concerned, I might 



have been a thousand miles from an inhab- 
ited house. In spite of myself, the 
thought of danger persistently assailed my 
mind. I began to review every circum- 
stance of my journey, twisting the trivial 
into some ominous shape, magnifying the 
significance of everything which might 
justly seem suspicious, studying in the 
light of my new apprehensions every ex- 
pression of Bauer's face and every word 
that had fallen from his lips. 1 could 
not persuade myself into security. I car- 
ried the queen's letter, and — well, I would 
have given much to have old Sapt or 
Rudolf Rassendyll by my side. 

Now, when a man suspects danger, let 
him not spend his time in asking whether 
there be really danger or in upbraiding 
himself for timidity, but let him face his 
cowardice, and act as though the danger 
were real. If I had followed that rule 
and kept my eyes about me, scanning the 
sides of the road and the ground in front 
of my feet, instead of losing myself in a 
maze of reflection, I might have had 
time to avoid the trap, or at least to get 
my hand to my revolver and make a fight 
for it; or, indeed, in the last resort, to 
destroy what I carried before harm came 
to it. But my mind was preoccupied, 
and the whole thing seemed to happen in 
a minute. At the very moment that I 
had declared to myself the vanity of my 
fears and determined to be resolute in 
banishing them, I heard voices — a low, 
strained whispering; 1 saw two or three 
figures in the shadow of the poplars by 
the wayside. An instant later, a dart was 
made at me. While I could fly I would 
not fight; with a sudden forward plunge 
I eluded the men who rushed at me, and 
started at a run towards the lights of the 
town and the shapes of the houses, now 
distant about a quarter of a mile. Per- 
haps I ran twenty yards, perhaps fifty; I 
do not know. I heard the steps behind 
me, quick as my own. Then I fell head- 
long on the road — tripped up ! I under- 
stood. They had stretched a rope across 
my path; as I fell a man bounded up 
from either side, and I found the rope 
slack under my body. There I lay on 
my face; a man knelt on me, others held 
either hand; my face was pressed into the 
mud of the road, and I was like to have 
been stifled; my handbag had whizzed 
away from me. Then a voice said: 

" Turn him over." 

I knew the voice; it was a confirmation 
of the fears which I had lately been at 
such pains to banish. It justified the fore- 
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ANTHONY HOPE. 



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cast of Anton von Strofzin, and ex- 
plained the wager of the Count of Luzau- 
Rischenheim — for it was Rischenheim's 
voice. 

They caught hold of me and began to 
turn me on my back. Here 1 saw a 
chance, and with a great heave of my 
body I flung them from me. For a short 
instant I was free; my impetuous attack 
seemed to have startled the enemy; I 
gathered myself up on my knees. But 
my advantage was not to last long. An- 
other man, whom I had not seen, sprang 
suddenly on me like a bullet from a cata- 
pult. His fierce onset overthrew me; I 
was stretched on the ground again, on 
my back now, and my throat was clutched 
viciously in strong fingers. At the same 
moment my arms were again seized and 
pinned. The face of the man on my 
chest bent down towards mine, and 
through the darkness I discerned the fea- 
tures of Rupert of Hentzau. He was 
panting with his sudden exertion and the 
intense force with which he held me, but 
he was smiling also; and when he saw by 
my eyes that 1 knew him, he laughed 
softly in triumph. 

Then came Rischenheim's voice again, 

" Where's the bag he carried ? It may 
be in the bag." 

"You fool, he'll have it about him," 
said Rupert, scornfully. '* Hold him fast 
while I search." 

On either side my hands were still pinned 
fast. Rupert's left hand did not leave my 
throat, but his free right hand began to 
dart about me, feeling, probing, and 
rummaging. I lay quite helpless and in 
the bitterness of great consternation. 
Rupert found my revolver, drew it out 
with a gibe, and handed it to Rischenheim, 
who was now standing beside him. Then 
he felt the box, he drew it out, his eyes 
sparkled. He set his knee hard on my 
chest, so that I could scarcely breathe; 
then he ventured to loose my thoat, and 
tore the box open eagerly. 

"Bring a light here," he cried. An- 
other ruffian came with a dark-lantern, 
whose glow he turned on the box. Ru- 
pert opened it, and when he saw what was 
inside, he laughed again, and stowed it 
away in his pocket. 

'• Quick, quick ! " urged Rischenheim. 
"We've got what we wanted, and some- 
body may come at any moment." 

A brief hope comforted me. The loss 
of the box was a calamity, but I would 
pardon fortune if only the letter escaped 
capture. Rupert might have suspected 



that I carried some such token as the box, 
but he could not know of the letter. 
Would he listen to Rischenheim ? No. 
The Count of Hentzau did things thor- 
oughly. 

" We may as well overhaul him a bit 
more," said he, and resumed his search. 
My hope vanished, for now he was bound 
to come upon the letter. 

Another instant brought him to it. He 
snatched the pocket-book, and, motioning 
impatiently to the man to hold the lan- 
tern nearer, he began to examine the con- 
tents. I remember well the look of his 
face as the fierce white light threw it up 
against the darkness in its clear pallor and 
high-bred comeliness, with its curling lips 
and scornful eyes. He had the letter 
now, and a gleam of joy danced in his 
eyes as he tore it open. A hasty glance 
showed him what his prize was; then, 
coolly and deliberately he settled himself 
to read r regarding neither Rischenheim's 
nervous hurry nor my desperate, angry 
glance that glared up at him. He read 
leisurely, as though he had been in an 
arm-chair in his own house; the lips 
smiled and curled as he read the last words 
that the queen had written to her lover. 
He had indeed come on more than he 
thought. 

Rischenheim laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"Quick, Rupert, quick," he urged 
again, in a voice full of agitation. 

" Let me alone, man. I haven't read 
anything so amusing for a long while," 
answered Rupert. Then he burst into a 
laugh, crying, "Look, look!" and point- 
ing to the foot of the last page of the 
letter. I was mad with anger ; my fury 
gave me new strength. In his enjoyment 
of what he read Rupert had grown care- 
less; his knee pressed more lightly on me, 
and as he showed Rischenheim the passage 
in the letter that caused him so much 
amusement he turned his head away for 
an instant. My chance had come. With a 
sudden movement I displaced him, and 
with a desperate wrench I freed my right 
hand. Darting it out, I snatched at the 
letter. Rupert, alarmed for his treasure, 
sprang back and off me. I also sprang up 
on my feet, hurling away the fellow who 
had gripped my other hand. For a mo- 
ment I stood facing Rupert; then I darted 
on him. He was too quick for me; he 
dodged behind the man with the lantern 
and hurled the fellow forward against 
me. The lantern fell on the ground. 

" Give me your stick! " I heard Rupert 
say. " Where is it ? That's right! " 

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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



Then came Rischenheim's voice again, 
imploring and timid: 

44 Rupert, you promised not to kill 
him." 

The only answer was a short, fierce 
laugh. I hurled away the man who had 
been thrust into my arms and sprang for- 
ward. I saw Rupert of Hentzau; his hand 
was raised above his head and held a 
stout club. I do not know what followed; 
there came — all in a confused blur of in- 
stant sequence — an oath from Rupert, a 
rush from me, a scuffle, as though some 
one sought to hold him back; then he 
was on me; I felt a great thud on my fore- 
head, and I felt nothing more. Again I 
was on my back, with a terrible pain in my 
head, and a dull, dreamy consciousness of 
a knot of men standing .over me, talking 
eagerly to one another. 

I could not hear what they were saying; 
I had no great desire to hear. I fancied, 
somehow, that they were talking about 
me ; they looked at me and moved their 
hands towards me now and again. I 
heard Rupert's laugh, and saw his club 
poised over me; then Rischenheim caught 
him by the wrist. I know now that Ris- 
chenheim was reminding his cousin that 
he had promised not to kill me, that Ru- 
pert's oath did not weigh a straw in the 
scales, but that he was held back only by 
a doubt whether I alive or my dead body 
would be more inconvenient to dispose of. 
Yet then I did not understand, but lay 
there listless. And presently the talking 
forms seemed to cease their talking; they 
grew blurred and dim, running into one 
another, and all mingling together to form 
one great shapeless creature that seemed 
to murmur and gibber over me, some 
such monster as a man sees in his dreams. 
I hated to see it, and closed my eye; its 
murmurings and gibberings .haunted my 
ears for awhile, making me restless and 
unhappy ; then they died away. Their 
going made me happy; I sighed in content- 
ment; and everything became as though 
it were not. 

Yet I had one more vision, breaking 
suddenly across my unconsciousness. A 
bold, rich voice rang out, 44 By God, I 
will! " 44 No, no," cried another. Then, 
44 What's that?" There was a rush of 
feet, the cries of men who met in anger or 
excitement, the crack of a shot and of 
another quickly following, oaths, and 
scuffling. Then came the sound of feet 
flying. I could not make it out; I grew 
weary with the puzzle of it. Would they 
not be quiet ? Quiet was what I wanted. 



At last they grew quiet; I closed my eyes 
again. The pain vas less now; they were 
quiet; I could sleep. 

When a man looks back on the past, re- 
viewing in his mind the chances Fortune 
has given and the calls she has made, he 
always torments himself by thinking that 
he could have done other and better than 
in fact he did. Even now I He awake at 
night sometimes, making clever plans by 
which I could have thwarted Rupert's 
schemes. In these musings I am very 
acute; Anton von Strofzin's idle talk fur- 
nishes me with many a clue, and I draw 
inferences sure and swift as a detective in 
the story books. Bauer is my tool, I am 
not his. I lay Rischenheim by the heels, 
send Rupert howling off with a ball in 
his arm, and carry my precious burden in 
triumph to Mr. Rassendyll. By the time 
I have played the whole game I am in- 
deed proud of myself. Yet in truth — in 
daylight truth — I fear that, unless heaven 
sent me a fresh set of brains, I should be 
caught in much the same way again. 
Though not by that fellow Bauer, I swear! 
Well, the/e it was. They had made a 
fool of me. I lay on the road with a 
bloody head, and Rupert of Hentzau had 
the queen's letter. 



CHAPTER III. 

AGAIN TO ZENDA. 

By Heaven's care, or — since a man may 
be over apt to arrogate to himself a great 
share of such attention — by good luck, I 
had not to trust for my life to the slender 
thread of an oath sworn by Rupert of 
Hentzau. The visions of my dazed brain 
were transmutations of reality; the scuffle, 
the rush, the retreat were not all dream. 

There is an honest fellow now living in 
Wintenberg comfortably and at his ease by 
reason that his wagon chanced to come 
lumbering along with three or four stout 
lads in it at the moment when Rupert was 
meditating a second and murderous blow. 
Seeing the group of us, the good carrier 
and his lads leapt down and rushed on my 
assailants. One of the thieves, they said, 
was for fighting it out — I could guess who 
that was — and called on the rest to stand; 
but they, more prudent, laid hands on him, 
and, in spite of his oaths, hustled him off 
along the road towards the station. Open 
country lay there and the promise of 
safety. My new friends set off in pursuit; 
but a couple of revolver shots, heard by 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



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me, but not understood, awoke their cau- 
tion. Good Samaritans, but not men of 
war, they returned to where I lay sense- 
less on the ground, congratulating them- 
selves and me that an enemy so well 
armed should run and not stand his 
ground. They forced a drink of rough 
wine down my throat, and in a minute or 
two I opened my eyes. They were for 
carrying me to a hospital; I would have 
none of it. As soon as things grew clear 
to me again and I knew where I was, I 
did nothing but repeat in urgent tones, 
"The Golden Lion, The Golden Lion! 
Twenty crowns to carry me to the Golden 
Lion.*' 

Perceiving that I knew my own business 
and where I wished to go, one picked up 
my handbag and the rest hoisted me into 
their wagon and set out for the hotel 
where Rudolf Rassendyll was. The one 
thought my broken head held was to get 
to him as soon as might be and tell him 
how 1 had been fool enough to let myself 
be robbed of the queen's letter. 

He was there. He stood on the thresh- 
old of the inn, waiting for me, as it 
seemed, although it was not yet the. hour 
of my appointment. As they drew me up 
to the door, I saw his tall, straight figure 
and his red hair by the light of the hall 
lamps. By Heaven, I felt as a lost child 
must on sight of his mother! I stretched 
out my hand to him, over the side of the 
wagon, murmuring, " I've lost it." 

He started at the words, and sprang for- 
ward to me. Then he turned quickly to 
the carrier. 

" This gentleman is my friend," he said. 
" Give him to me. I'll speak to you 
later." He waited while I was lifted down 
from the wagon into the arms that he held 
ready for me, and himself carried me 
across the threshold. I was quite clear in 
the head by now and understood all that 
passed. There were one or two people in 
the hall, but Mr. Rassendyll took no heed 
of them. He bore me quickly upstairs 
and into his sitting-room. There he set 
me down in an arm-chair, and stood op- 
posite to me. He was smiling, but anxi- 
ety was awake in his eyes. 

"I've lost it," I said again, looking up 
at him pitifully enough. 

"That's all right," said he, nodding. 
" Will you wait, or can you tell me ? " 

• ' Yes, but give me some brandy, " said I. 

Rudolf gave me a little brandy mixed 
in a great deal of water, and then I made 
shift to tell him. Though faint, I was not 
confused, and I gave my story in brief, 



hurried, yet sufficient words. He made 
no sign till I mentioned the letter. Then 
his face changed. 

"A letter, too?" he exclaimed, in a 
strange mixture of increased apprehension 
and unlooked-for joy. 

" Yes, a letter, too; she wrote a letter, 
and I carried that as well as the box. 
I've lost them both, Rudolf. God help 
me, I've lost them both! Rupert has the 
letter too!" I think I must have been 
weak and unmanned from the blow I had 
received, for my composure broke down 
here. Rudolf stepped up to me and wrung 
me by the hand. I mastered myself again 
and looked in his face as he stood in 
thought, his hand caressing the strong 
curve of his clean-shaven chin. Now that 
I was with him again it seemed as though 
I had never lost him; as though we were 
still together in Strelsau or at Tarlenheim, 
planning how to hoodwink Black Michael, 
send Rupert of Hentzau to his own place, 
and bring the king back to his throne. For 
Mr. Rassendyll, as he stood before me 
now, was changed in nothing since our 
last meeting, nor indeed since he reigned 
in Strelsau, save that a few flecks of gray 
spotted his hair. 

My battered head ached most consum- 
edly. Mr. Rassendyll rang the bell 
twice, and a short, thick-set man of mid- 
dle age appeared; he wore a suit of 
tweed, and had the air of smartness and 
respectability which marks English ser- 
vants. 

x " James," said Rudolf, " this gentleman 
has hurt his head. Look after it." 

James went out. In a few minutes he 
was back, with water, basin, towels, and 
bandages. Bending over me,, he began 
to wash and tend my wound very deftly. 
Rudolf was walking up and down. 

"Done the head, James?" he asked, 
after a few moments. 

" Yes, sir," answered the servant, gath- 
ering together his appliances. 

" Telegraph forms, then." 

James went out, and was back with the 
forms in an instant. 

" Be ready when I ring," said Rudolf. 
And he added, turning to me, " Any eas- 
ier, Fritz ? " 

" I can listen to you now," I said. 

" I see their game," said he. " One or 
other of them, Rupert or this Rischen- 
heim, will try to get to the king with the 
letter." 

I sprang to my feet. 

"They mustn't," I cried, and I reeled 
back into my chair, with a feeling as if a 

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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



red-hot poker were being run through my 
head. 

44 Much you can do to stop 'em, old fel- 
low," smiled Rudolf, pausing to press my 
hand as he went by. 44 They won't trust 
the post, you know. One will go. Now 
which?" He stood facing me with a 
thoughtful frown on his face. 

I did not know, but I thought that 
Rischenheim would go. It was a great 
risk for Rupert to trust himself in the 
kingdom, and he knew that the king 
would not easily be persuaded to receive 
him, however startling might be the busi- 
ness he professed as his errand. On the 
other hand, nothing was known against 
Rischenheim, while his rank would secure, 
and indeed entitle, him to an early audi- 
ence. Therefore I concluded that Risch- 
enheim would go with the letter, or, if 
Rupert would not let that out of his pos- 
session, with the news of the letter. 

44 Or a copy," suggested Rassendyll. 
''Well, Rischenheim or Rupert will be on 
his way by to-morrow morning, or is on 
his way to-night." 

Again I tried to rise, for I was on fire to 
prevent the fatal consequences of my stu- 
pidity. Rudolf thrust me back in my chair, 
saying, 4< No, no." Then he sat down at 
the table and took up the telegraph forms. 

44 You and Sapt arranged a cipher, I 
suppose ? " he asked. 

44 Yes. You write the message, and I'll 
put it into the cipher." 

44 This is what I've written: i Docu- 
ment lost. Let nobody see him if possi- 
ble. Wire who asks.' I don't like to 
make it plainer: most ciphers can be read, 
you know." 

44 Not ours," said I. 

44 Well, but will that do ? " asked Rudolf, 
with an unconvinced smile. 

44 Yes, I think he'll understand it." 
And I wrote it again in the cipher; it was 
as much as I could do to hold the pen. 

The bell was rung again, and James ap- 
peared in an instant. 

44 Send this," said Rudolf. 

44 The offices will be shut, sir." 

44 James, James! " 

44 Very good, sir; but it may take an 
hour to get one open." 

44 I'll give you half an hour. Have you 
money ? " 

44 Yes, sir." 

44 And now," added Rudolf, turning to 
me, 44 you'd better go to bed." 

I do not recollect what I answered, for 
my faintness came upon me again, and 
I remember only that Rudolf himself 



helped me into his own bed. I slept, but 
I do not think he so much as lay down on 
the sofa; chancing to awake once or twice, 
I heard him pacing about. But towards 
morning I slept heavily, and I did not 
know what he was doing then. At eight 
o'clock James entered and roused me. 
He said that a doctor was to be at the 
hotel in half an hour, but that Mr. Ras- 
sendyll would like to see me for a few 
minutes if I felt equal to business. I 
begged James to summon his master at 
once. Whether I were equal or unequal, 
the business had to be done. 

Rudolf came, calm and serene. Danger 
and the need for exertion acted on him 
like a draught of good wine on a seasoned 
drinker. He was not only himself, but 
more than himself: his excellences en- 
hanced, the indolence that marred him in 
quiet hours sloughed off. But to-day there 
was something more; I can only describe 
it as a kind of radiance. I have seen it 
on the faces of young sparks when the 
lady they love comes through the ball- 
room door, and I have seen it glow more 
softly in a girl's eyes when some fellow 
who seemed to me nothing out of the 
ordinary asked her for a dance. That 
strange gleam was on Rudolf's face as he 
stood by my bedside. I dare say it used 
to be on mine when I went courting. 

44 Fritz, old friend," said he, 44 there's 
an answer from Sapt. I'll lay the tele- 
graph offices were stirred at Zenda as well 
as James stirred them here in Wintenberg! 
And what do you think ? Rischenheim 
asked for an audience before he left Strel- 
sau." 

I raised myself on my elbow in the 
bed. 

44 You understand ? " he went on. 44 He 
left on Monday. To-day's Wednesday. 
The king has granted him an audience at 
four on Friday. Well, then " 

44 They counted on success," I cried, 
44 and Rischenheim takes the letter! " 

44 A copy, if I know Rupert of Hent- 
zau. Yes, it was well laid. I like the 
men taking all the cabs! How much 
ahead had they, now ?" 

I did not know that, though I had no 
more doubt than he that Rupert's hand 
was in the business. 

44 Well," he continued, 44 1 am going to 
wire to Sapt to put Rischenheim off for 
twelve hours if he can; failing that, to 
get the king away from Zenda." 

44 But Rischenheim must have his audi- 
ence sooner or later," I objected. 

44 Sooner or later— t here's the world's 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



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difference between them!" cried Rudolf 
Rassendyll. He sat down on the bed by 
me, and went on in quick, decisive words: 
" You can't move for a day or two. Send 
my message to Sapt. Tell him to keep you 
informed of what happens. As soon as 
you can travel, go to Strelsau, and let 
Sapt know directly you arrive. We shall 
want your help." 

"And what are you going to do?" I 
cried, staring at him. 

He looked at me for a moment, and his 
face was crossed by conflicting feelings. 
I saw resolve there, obstinacy, and the 
scorn of danger; fun, too, and merriment; 
and, lastly, the same radiance I spoke of. 
He had been smoking a cigarette; now 
he threw the end of it into the grate and 
rose from the bed where he had been sit- 
ting. 

" I'm going to Zenda," said he. 

" To Zenda! " I cried, amazed. 

" Yes," said Rudolf. " I'm going again 
to Zenda, Fritz, old fellow. By heaven, I 
knew it would come, and now it has come!" 

"But to do what?" 

" I shall overtake Rischenheim or be 
hot on his heels. If he gets there first, 
Sapt will keep him waiting till I come; 
and if I come, he shall never see the 
king. Yes, if I come in time — " He 
broke into a sudden laugh. "What!" 
he cried, "have I lost my likeness? 
Can't I still play the king? Yes, if I 
come in time, Rischenheim shall have his 
audience of the king of Zenda, and the 
king will be very gracious to him, and the 
king will take his copy of the letter from 
him! Oh, Rischenheim shall have an au- 
dience of King Rudolf in the castle of 
Zenda, never fear! " 

He stood, looking to see how I received 
his plan; but amazed at the boldness of it, 
I could only lie back and gasp. 

Rudolf's excitement left him as suddenly 
as it had come; he was again the cool, 
shrewd, nonchalant Englishman, as, light- 
ing another cigarette, he proceeded: 

"You see, there are two of them, Ru- 
pert and Rischenheim. Now you can't 
move for a day or two, that's certain. 
But there must be two of us there in Ruri- 
tania. Rischenheim is to try first; but if 
he fails, Rupert will risk everything and 
break through to the king's presence. 
Give him five muiutes with the king, and 
the mischief's done! Very well, then; 
Sapt must keep Rupert at bay while I 
tackle Rischenheim. As soon as you can 
move, go to Strelsau, and let Sapt know 
where you are." 



"But if you're seen, if you're found 
out?" 

"Better I than the queen's letter," 
said he. Then he laid his hand on my arm 
and said, quite quietly, " If the letter gets 
to the king, I and I only can do what 
must be done." 

I did not know what he meant; perhaps 
it was that he would carry off the queen 
sooner than leave her alone after her letter 
was known; but there was another possi- 
ble meaning that I, a loyal subject, dared 
not inquire into. Yet I made no answer, 
for I was above all and first of all the 
queen's servant. Still I cannot believe 
that he meant harm to the king. 

"Come, Fritz," he cried, "don't look 
so glum. This is not so great an affair as 
the other, and we brought that through 
safe." I suppose I still looked doubtful, 
for he added, with a sort of impatience, 
"Well, I'm going, anyhow. Heavens, 
man, am I to sit here while that letter is 
carried to the king ? " 

I understood his feeling, and knew that 
he held life a light thing compared with 
the recovery of Queen Flavia's letter. 
I ceased to urge him. When I assented 
to his wishes, every shadow vanished from 
his face, and we began to discuss the de- 
tails of the plan with business-like brevity. 

"I shall leave James with you," said 
Rudolf. " He'll be very useful, and you 
can rely on him absolutely. Any mes- 
sage that you dare trust to no other con- 
veyance, give to him; he'll carry it. He 
can shoot, too." He rose as he spoke. 
"I'll look in before I start," he added, 
"and hear what the doctor says about 
you." 

I lay there, thinking, as men sick and 
weary in body will, of the dangers and the 
desperate nature of the risk, rather than 
of the hope which its boldness would have 
inspired in a healthy, active brain. I dis- 
trusted the rapid inference that Rudolf 
had drawn from Sapt's telegram, telling 
myself that it was based on too slender a 
foundation. Well, there I was wrong, 
and I am glad now to pay that tribute to 
his discernment. The first steps of Ru- 
pert's scheme were laid as Rudolf had con- 
jectured: Rischenheim had started, even 
while I lay there, for Zenda, carrying on 
his person a copy of the queen's farewell 
letter and armed for his enterprise by his 
right of audience with the king. So far 
we were right, then; for the rest we were 
in darkness, not knowing or being able 
even to guess where Rupert would choose 
to await the result of the first cast, or 

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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



what precautions he had taken against the 
failure of his envoy. But although in 
total obscurity as to his future plans, I 
traced his past actions, and subsequent 
knowledge has shown that I was right. 
Bauer was his tool; a couple of florins a 
piece had hired the fellows who, conceiv- 
ing that they were playing a part in some 
practical joke, had taken all the cabs at 
the station. Rupert had reckoned that I 
should linger looking for my servant and 
luggage, and thus miss my last chance of 
a vehicle. If, however, I had obtained 
one, the attack would still have been 
made, although, of course, under much 
greater difficulties. Finally — and of this 
at the time I knew nothing — had I evaded 
them and got safe to port with my cargo, 
the plot would have been changed. Ru- 
pert's attention would then have been 
diverted from me to Rudolf; counting on 
love overcoming prudence, he reckoned 
that Mr. Rassendyll would not at once 
destroy what the queen sent, and had 
arranged to track his steps from Winten- 
berg till an opportunity offered of rob- 
bing him of his treasure. The scheme, 
as I know it, was full of audacious cun- 
ning, and required large resources — the 
former Rupert himself supplied; for the 
second he was indebted to his cousin and 
slave, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim. 

My meditations were interrupted by the 
arrival of the doctor. He hummed and 
ha'd over me, but to my surprise asked 
me no questions as to the cause of my 
misfortune, and did not, as I had feared, 
suggest that his efforts should be seconded 
by those of the police. On the contrary, 
he appeared, from an unobtrusive hint or 
two, to be anxious that I should know that 
his discretion could be trusted. 

" You must not think of moving for a 
couple of days," he said; "but then I 
think we can get you away without danger 
and quite quietly." 

I thanked him; he promised to look in 
again; I murmured something about his 
fee. 

"Oh, thank you, that is all settled," 
he said. " Your friend Herr Schmidt has 
seen to it, and, my dear sir, most liber- 
ally." 

He was hardly gone when ' my friend 
Herr Schmidt ' — alias Rudolf Rassendyll 
— was back. He laughed a little when I 
told him how discreet the doctor had been. 

"You see," he explained, " he thinks 
you've been very indiscreet. I was 
obliged, my dear Fritz, to take some lib- 
erties with your character. However, it's 



odds against the matter coming to your 
wife's ears." 

" But couldn't we have laid the others 
by the heels? " 

" With the letter on Rupert ? My dear 
fellow, you're very ill." 

I laughed at myself, and forgave Rudolf 
his trick, though I think that he might 
have made my fictitious inamorata some- 
thing more than a baker's wife. It would 
have cost no more to make her a countess, 
and the doctor would have looked with 
more respect on me. However, Rudolf 
had said that the baker broke my head 
with his rolling-pin, and thus the story 
rests in the doctor's mind to this day. 

"Well, I'm off," said Rudolf. 

"But where?" 

" Why, to that same little station where 
two good friends parted from me once 
before. Fritz, where's Rupert gone ? " 

" I wish we knew." 

" I lay he won't be far off." 

" Are you armed ? " 

" The six-shooter. Well, yes, since you 
press me, a knife, too; but only if he uses 
one. You'll let Sapt know when you 
come ? " 

"Yes; and I come the moment I can 
stand?" 

"As if you need tell me that, old fel- 
low!" 

" Where do you go from the station ? " 

"To Zenda, through the forest," he 
answered. " I shall reach the station 
about nine to-morrow night, Thursday. 
Unless Rischenheim has got the audience 
sooner than was arranged, I shall be in 
time." 

" How will you get hold of Sapt ? " 

" We must leave something to the min- 
ute." 

" God bless you, Rudolf." 

" The king shan't have the letter, Fritz. " 

There was a moment's silence as we 
shook hands. Then that soft yet bright 
look came in his eyes again. He looked 
down at me, and caught me regarding him 
with a smile that I know was not unkind. 

"I never thought I should see her 
again," he said. "I think I shall now, 
Fritz. To have a turn with that boy and 
to see her again — it's worth something/ f 

" How will you see her ? " 

Rudolf laughed, and I laughed too. 
He caught my hand again. I think that 
he was anxious to infect me with his gai- 
ety and confidence. But I could not 
answer to the appeal of his eyes. There 
was a motive in him that found no place 
in me — a great longing, the prospect or 



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THE ARCHBISHOP'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 



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hope of whose sudden fulfilment dwarfed 
danger and banished despair. He saw 
that I detected its presence in him and 
perceived how it filled his mind. 

" But the letter comes before all," said 
he. "I expected to die without seeing 
her; I will die without seeing her, if I 
must, to save the letter." 

" I know you will," said I. 

He pressed my hand again. As he 
turned away, James came with his noise- 
less, quick step into the room. 

" The carriage is at the door, sir," said 
he. 



" Look after the count, James," said 
Rudolf. " Don't leave him till he sends 
you away." 

" Very well, sir." 

I raised myself in bed. 

" Here's luck," I cried, catching up the 
lemonade James had brought me, and tak- 
ing a gulp of it. 

"Please God," said Rudolf, with a 
shrug. 

And he was gone to his work and his re- 
ward — to save the queen's letter and to 
see the queen's face. Thus he went a 
second time to Zenda. 



{To b< continued.} 



the Alf, a league or 
I so from the Mo- 

\ selle, on a summer 

v evening. He was the most powerful 
man in all the Alf-thal, and few 
could lift the iron sledge-hammer which 
he wielded as if it were a toy. Arras 
had twelve sons, scarcely less stalwart 
than himself, some of whom helped him 
in his occupation of blacksmith and ar- 
morer, while the others tilled the ground 
near by, earning from the rich soil of the 
valley what sustenance the whole family 
needed. 

The blacksmith heard, coming up the 
valley of the Alf, the hoof-beats of a 
horse; and his quick, experienced ear told 
him, distant though the animal yet was, 
that one of its shoes was loose. As the 
hurrying rider came within call, the black- 
smith shouted to him in stentorian tones: 



joined the blacksmith. 

" Better lose the horse than an empire," 
replied the rider, hurrying on. 

"Now what does that mean?" said 
the blacksmith- to himself, as he watched 
the disappearing rider, while the click, 
click of the loosened shoe became fainter 
and fainter in the distance. 

If the blacksmith could have followed 
the rider into Castle Bertrich, a short dis- 
tance farther up the valley, he would 
speedily have learned the meaning of the 
hasty phrase the horseman had flung be- 
hind him as he rode past. 

Ascending the winding road which led 
to the gates of the castle as hurriedly as 
the jaded condition of his beast would 
permit, the horseman paused, unloosed 
the horn from his belt, and blew a blast 
that echoed from the wooded hills all 
around. Presently an officer appeared 

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THE ARCHBISHOP'S CHRISTMAS GIFT 



above the gateway, accompanied by two or 
three armed men, and demanded who the 
stranger was and why he asked admis- 
sion. The horseman, amazed at the offi- 
cer's ignorance of heraldry, which caused 
him to inquire as to his quality, answered 
with some haughtiness: 

44 1, messenger of the Archbishop of 
Treves, demand instant audience with 
Count Bertrich." 

The officer, without reply, disappeared 
from the castle walls, and presently the 
great leaves of the gate were thrown open, 
whereupon the horseman rode his tired 
animal into the courtyard and flung him- 
self off. " My horse's shoe is loose," 
he said to the captain. "I ask you to 
have your armorer immediately attend to 
it." 

44 In truth," replied the officer, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, " there is more drink- 
ing than fighting in Castle Bertrich; con- 
sequently, we do not possess an armorer. 
If you want blacksmithing done you must 
betake yourself to armorer Arras in the 
valley, who will put either horse or armor 
right for you." 

With this the messenger was forced to 
be content, and begging the attendant who 
took charge of his horse to remember that 
it had traveled far, and had still, when 
rested, a long journey before it, he fol- 
lowed the captain into the great rittersaal 
of the castle, where, on entering, after 
having been announced, he found the 
Count of Bertrich sitting at the head of 
a long table, a gigantic wine-flagon in 
hand, which he was industriously empty- 
ing. 

Extending down each side of the table 
were numerous nobles, knights, and war- 
riors, who, to judge by the hasty glance 
bestowed upon them by the archbishop's 
messenger, seemed to be following ener- 
getically the example set them by their 
lord at the head. 

Count Bertrich's hair was unkempt, his 
face a purplish red, his eyes bloodshot, and 
his corselet, open at the throat, showed 
the great bull-neck of the man, on whose 
gigantic frame constant dissipation seemed 
to have only temporary effect. 

"Well!" roared the nobleman, in a 
voice that made the rafters ring. " What 
would you with Count Bertrich ? " 

" I bear an urgent despatch to you 
from my lord the Archbishop of Treves," 
replied the messenger. 

41 Then down on your knees and present 
it," cried the count, beating the table 
with his flagon. 



44 1 am envoy of his lordship of Treves," 
said the messenger sternly. 

44 You told us that before," cried the 
count; 44 and now you stand in the hall of 
Bertrich. Kneel, therefore, to its master." 

44 1 represent the archbishop," reiter- 
ated the messenger, "and I kneel to none 
but God and the Emperor." 

Count Bertrich rose somewhat uncer- 
tainly to his feet, his whole frame trem- 
bling with anger, volleying forth oaths 
upon threats. The tall nobleman at his 
right hand also rose, as did many of the 
others who sat at the table. The tall 
nobleman, placing hand on the arm of his 
furious host, said warningly: 

44 My lord count, the man is right. It 
is against the feudal law that he should 
kneel or that you should demand it. The 
Archbishop of Treves is your overlord, as 
well as ours, and it is not fitting that his 
messenger should bend the knee before us." 

"That is truth; the feudal law," mut- 
tered others down each side of the table. 

The enraged count glared upon them 
one after another, partially subdued by 
their breaking away from him. 

The envoy stood calm and collected, 
awaiting the outcome of the tumult. The 
count, cursing the absent archbishop and 
his present guests with equal impartiality, 
sat slowly down again, and, flinging his 
empty flagon at an attendant, demanded 
that it should be refilled. The others now 
resumed their seats, and the count cried 
out, but with less of truculenceinhistone: 

44 What message sent the archbishop to 
Castle Bertrich?" 

" His lordship the Archbishop of Treves 
requires me to inform Count Bertrich and 
the assembled nobles that the Hungarians 
have forced passage across the Rhine and 
are now about to make their way through 
the defiles of the Eifel into this valley, 
intending then to march upon Treves, lay 
that ancient city in ruin, and carry havoc 
over the surrounding country. His lord- 
ship commands you, Count Bertrich, to 
rally your men about you and hold the 
infidels in check in the defiles of the Eifel 
until the archbishop, at the head of his 
army, comes to your relief from Treves." 

There was deep silence in the large hall 
after this startling announcement; then 
the count replied: 

44 Tell the Archbishop of Treves that, if 
the lords of the Rhine cannot keep back 
the Hungarians, it is hardly likely that 
we, less powerful, near the Moselle can 
do it." 

44 His lordship urges instant compliance 



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ROBERT BARR. 



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with his request, 
and I am to say 
that you refuse 
at your peril. A 
few hundred men 
can hold the 
Hungarians in 
check while they 
are passing 
through the nar- 
row ravines of 
the Eifel, while 
as many thou- 
sands might not 
be as successful 
against them 
should they once 
reach the open 
valleys of the Alf 
and the Moselle. 
H is lordship 
would also have 
you further know 
that this cam- 
paign is as much 

in your own interest as in his; for the Hun- 
garians, in their devastating march, spare 
neither the high nor the low." 

"Tell his lordship/' hiccoughed the 
count, " that I sit safely in my castle of 
Bertrich, and I defy all the Hungarians 
that ever were let loose to disturb me 
therein. If the archbishop keep Treves 
as tightly as I shall hold Castle Bertrich, 
there is little to fear from the invaders/ ' 

4 'Am I to return to Treves, then, with 
your refusal ? " asked the envoy. 

" You may return to Treves as best 
pleases you, so that you rid us of your 
presence here, where you mar good com- 
pany." 

The envoy, without further speech, 
bowed to Count Bertrich, and also to the 
assembled nobles, then passed silently out 
of the hall, returning to the courtyard of 
the castle, where he demanded that his 
horse be brought to him. 

"The animal has had but scant time 
for feeding and rest," said the captain. 

" 'Twill be sufficient to carry us to the 
blacksmith's hut," answered the envoy, as 
he put foot in stirrup. 

The blacksmith, still standing at the 
door of his smithy, heard again, coming 
from the castle, the click of the broken 
shoe; but this time the rider drew up be- 
fore him, and said: 

" The offer of help which you tendered 
me on a previous occasion I shall now be 
glad to accept. Do your work well, 
smith, and know that in the performing 



BBTTKR LOSE THE HORSE THAN AN EMPIRE." 



of it you are obliging the Archbishop of 
Treves." 

The armorer raised his cap at the men- 
tion of the august name, and invoked a 
blessing upon the head of that renowned 
and warlike prelate. 

"You said something," spoke up the 
smith, " of loss of empire, as you rode by. 
I trust there is no disquieting news from 
Treves." 

" Disquieting enough," replied the 
messenger. " The Hungarians have 
crossed the Rhine, and are now making 
their way towards the defiles of the Eifel. 
There a hundred men could hold the in- 
fidels in check; but you breed a scurvy 
set of nobles in the Alf-thal, for Count 
Bertrich disdains the command of his over- 
lord to rise at the head of his men and 
stay the progress of the invader until the 
archbishop can come to his assistance." 

" Now out upon the drunken count for 
a base coward! " cried the armorer, in an- 
ger. " May his castle be sacked and him- 
self hanged on the highest turret for re- 
fusing aid to his overlord in trme of 
need. I and my twelve sons know every 
defile, ravine, pass, rock, and cave in the 
Eifel. Would the archbishop, think you, 
accept the aid of such underlings as we, 
whose only commendation is that our 
hearts are as stout as our sinews ? " 

" What better warranty could the arch? 
bishop ask than that ? " replied the envoy. 
" If you can hold back the Hungarians for 
four or five days, then I doubt not that 

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THE ARCHBISHOP'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 



whatever you ask of the archbishop will 
be speedily granted." 

44 We shall ask nothing," cried the 
blacksmith, "but his blessing, and be 
deeply honored in receiving it." 

Whereupon the blacksmith, seizing his 
hammer, went to the door of his hut, 
where there hung outside what seemed to 
be part of a suit 
of armor, which 
served, at the 
same time, as a 
sign of his pro- 
fession and as a 
tocsin. He smote 
the hanging iron 
with his sledge 
until the clangor- 
ous reverbera- 
t i o n echoed 
through all the 
valley, and pres- I 
ently there came 
hurrying to him 

eight OI hlS COUNT BBRTRICH. 

stalwart sons, 

who had been occupied in tilling the fields. 

"Scatter ye," cried the blacksmith, 
"over all the land where my name is 
known. Rouse the people, and tell them 
the Hungarians are upon us. Urge all 
to collect here at the smithy before mid- 
night, with whatever of arms or weapons 
they may be possessed. Those who have no 
arms let them bring poles for pike-handles, 
and your brothers and myself will busily 
make pike-heads of iron until they come. 
Tell them they are called to action by a 
lord from the Archbishop of Treves him- 
self, and that I shall lead them. Tell them 
they fight for their homes, their wives, and 
their children. And now away! " 

The eight young men at once dispersed 
in several directions. The smith himself 
shod the envoy's horse, and begged him to 
inform the archbishop that they would de- 
fend the passes of the Eifel while a man 
of them remained alive. 

Long before midnight the peasants came 
straggling to the smithy from all quarters, 
and by daylight the blacksmith had led 
them over the volcanic hills to the lip of 
the tremendous pass through which the 
Hungarians must come. The sides of 
this chasm were precipitous and hundreds 
of feet in height. Even the peasants 
themselves, knowing the rocks as they 
did, could not have climbed from the bot- 
tom of the pass below to the height they 
now occupied. They had, therefore, little 
fear that the numerous Hungarians could 



scale the walls and decimate their scanty 
band. 

When the Hungarian army appeared, the 
blacksmith and his men rolled great stones 
and rocks down upon them, practically 
annihilating the advance-guard and throw- 
ing the whole army into confusion. The 
week's struggle that followed forms one of 
the most exciting episodes in German his- 
tory. Again and again the Hungarians at- 
tempted the pass, but nothing could with- 
stand the avalanche of stones and rocks 
with which they were overwhelmed. Nev.- 
ertheless the devoted little band did not 
have things all their own way. They were 
so few, and they had to keep such close 
watch night and day, that before the week 
was out many turned longing eyes in 
the direction from which the archbishop's 
army was expected to come. It was not 
until the seventh day that help arrived; 
and then the archbishop's forces speedily 
put to flight the now demoralized Hunga- 
rians, and chased them once more across 
the Rhine. 

"There is nothing now left for us to 
do," said the tired blacksmith to his little 
following; " so I will get back to my forge, 
and you to your farms." And this, with- 
out more ado, they did; the cheering and 
inspiring ring of iion on anvil awakening 
the echoes of the Alf-thal once again. 

The blacksmith and his twelve sons 
were at their noon-day meal when an im- 
posing cavalcade rode up to the smithy, 
at the head of which procession was the 
archbishop, and the blacksmith and his 
dozen sons were covered with confusion to 
think they had such a distinguished visitor, 
without the means of receiving him in ac- 
cordance with his station. But the arch- 
bishop said : 

" Blacksmith Arras, you and your sons 
would not wait for me to thank you, so I 
am now come to you, that in the presence 
of all these followers of mine I may pay 
fitting tribute to your loyalty and your 
great bravery." 

Then indeed did the modest blacksmith 
consider he had received more than am- 
ple compensation for what he had done, 
which, after all, as he told his neighbors, 
was merely his duty; so why should a man 
be thanked for it ? 

" Blacksmith," said the archbishop, as 
he mounted his horse to return to Treves, 
" thanks cost little and are easily be- 
stowed. I hope, however, to have a 
Christmas present for you which will show 
the whole country round how much I 
esteem true valor." 



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ROBERT BARR. 



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At the mouth of the Alf-thal, somewhat 
back from the small village of Alf and 
overlooking the Moselle, stands a conical 
hill that completely commands the valley. 
The Archbishop of Treves, having had 
such a lesson regarding the dangers of an 
incursion through the volcanic region of 
the Eifel, put some hundreds of men at 
work on this conical hill, and erected on 
the top a strong castle, which was the 
wonder of the country. The year was 
nearing its end when this great stronghold 
was completed, and it began to be known 
throughout the land that the archbishop 
intended to hold high Christmas revel 
there, and had invited to the castle all the 
nobles in the country, while the chief 
guest was no other than the emperor him- 



•tme blacksmith had led them over the volcanic hills.' 



though the peasants were jubilant that one 
of their caste should thus be singled out 
to receive the favor of the famous arch- 
bishop, and meet not only great nobles but 
the emperor himself, still it was gossiped 
that the barons grumbled at this distinc- 
tion being placed upon a serf like black- 
smith Arras, and none were so loud in 
their complaints as the Count Bertrich, 
who had remained drinking in the castle 
while the blacksmith fought for the land. 
Nevertheless all the nobility accepted the 
invitation of the powerful Archbishop of 
Treves, and assembled in the great room 
of the new castle, each equipped in all the 
gorgeousness of full armor. 

It had been rumored among the nobles 
that the emperor would not permit the 
archbishop to sully the 
caste of knighthood 
by asking the barons 
to recognize or hold 
converse with one in 
humble station of life. 
Indeed, had it been 
otherwise, Count Bert- 
rich, with the bar- 
ons to back him, was 
resolved to speak out 
boldly to the emperor, 
upholding the privi- 
leges of his class, and 
protesting against in- 
sult to it in the pres- 
ence of the black- 
smith and his twelve 
sons. 

When all assembled 
in the great hall they 
found at the center of 
the long side-wall a 
magnificent throne 
erected, with a dais in 
front of it; and on 
this throne sat the 
emperor in state, while 
at his right hand stood 



self. Then the neighbors of the black- 
smith learned that a Christmas gift was 
about to be bestowed upon that stalwart 
man. He and his twelve sons received 
notification to attend at the castle and 
enjoy the whole week's festivity. He was 
commanded to come in his leathern apron, 
and to bring his huge sledge-hammer with 
him, which, the archbishop himself said, 
had now become as honorable a weapon as 
a two-handed sword itself. 

Never before had such an honor been 
bestowed upon a common man ; and, al- 



the lordly Archbishop 
and Elector of Treves. But, what was more 
disquieting, they beheld also the blacksmith 
standing before the dais, some distance in 
front of the emperor, clad in his leathern 
apron, with his big, brawny hands folded 
over the top of the handle of his huge 
sledge-hammer. Behind him were ranged 
his twelve sons. There were deep frowns 
on the brows of the nobles when they saw 
this; and, after kneeling and protesting 
their loyalty to the emperor, they stood 
aloof and apart, leaving a clear space be- 
tween themselves and the plebeian black- 

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148 



THE ARCHBISHOP'S CHRISTMAS GIFT 



smith, on whom they cast lowering 
looks. 

When the salutations to the emperor had 
been given, the archbishop took a step 
forward on the dais, and spoke in a clear 
voice that could be heard to the farthest 
corner of the room. 

"My lords," he said, "I have invited 
you hither that you may have the privi- 
lege of doing honor to a brave man. I ask 
you to salute the blacksmith Arras, who, 
when his country was in danger, crushed 
the invaders as effectually as ever his right 
arm, wielding sledge, crushed hot iron." 

A red flush of confusion overspread the 
face of the blacksmith; but loud murmurs 
broke out among the nobility, and none 
stepped forward to salute him. One in- 
deed stepped forward, but it was to appeal 
to the emperor. 

" Your Majesty," said Count Bertrich, 
"this is an unwarranted breach of our 
privileges. It is not meet that we, hold- 
ing noble names, should be asked to 
consort with an untitled blacksmith. I 
appeal to your Majesty against the arch- 
bishop under the feudal law." 

All eyes turned upon the emperor, who, 
after a pause, spoke and said : 



"Count Bertrich is right, and I sustain 
his appeal." 

An expression of triumph came into the 
red, bibulous face of Count Bertrich, and 
the nobles shouted joyously: 

" The emperor, the emperor! " 

The archbishop, however, seemed in no 
way nonplussed by his defeat; but said, 
addressing the armorer: 

"Advance, blacksmith, and do homage 
to your emperor and mine." 

When the blacksmith knelt before the 
throne, the emperor, taking his jeweled 
sword from his side, smote him lightly on 
his broad shoulders, saying: 

"Arise, Count Arras, noble of the Ger- 
man empire, and first lord of the Alf- 
thal." 

The blacksmith rose slowly to his feet, 
bowed lowly to the emperor, and backed 
to the place where he had formerly stood, 
again resting his hands on the handle of 
his sledge-hammer. 

The look of exultation faded from the 
face of Count Bertrich, and was replaced 
by an expression of dismay; for he had 
been, till that moment, himself first lord 
of the Alf-thal, with none second. 

" My lords," once more spoke up the 



V 



'< 



"THE BLACKSMITH AND HIS MEN ROLLED GREAT STONES AND ROCKS DOWN UPON THEM, 

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ROBERT BARR. 



149 



* MY LORDS, 



[ ASK YOU TO SALUTE THE BLACKSMITH." 



archbishop, " I ask you to salute Count 
Arras, first lord of the Alf-thal." 

No noble moved, and again Count Ber- 
trich appealed to the emperor. 

44 Are we to receive on terms of equal- 
ity," he said, " a landless man — a count of 
a blacksmith's hut, a first lord of a forge ? 
For the second time I appeal to your 
Majesty against such an outrage." 

The emperor replied calmly: 

44 Again I support the appeal of Count 
Bertrich." 

There was this time no applause from 
the surrounding nobles; for many of them 
had some smattering idea of what was 
next to happen, although the muddled 
brain of Count Bertrich gave him no inti- 
mation of it. 

44 Count Arras," said the archbishop, " I 
promised you a Christmas gift when last I 
left you at your smithy door. I now be- 
stow upon you and your heirs forever this 
castle of Burg Arras and the lands ad- 
joining it. I ask you to hold it for me 
well and faithfully, as you held the pass of 
the Eifel. My lords," continued the arch- 
bishop, turning to the nobles, with a ring 
of menace in his voice, " I ask you to 
salute Count Arras, your equal in title, 
your equal in possessions, and the superior 



of any one of you in patriotism and brav- 
ery. If any noble question his courage, 
let him neglect to give Count of Burg 
Arras his title and salutation as he passes 
before him." 

44 Indeed, and that will not I," said the 
tall noble who had sat at Bertrich's right 
hand in his castle; 44 for, my lords, if we 
hesitate longer, this doughty blacksmith 
will be emperor before we know it." 
Then advancing towards the ex-armorer, 
he said : 

44 My lord, Count of Burg Arras, it gives 
me pleasure to salute you and to hope that 
when emperor or archbishop are to be 
fought for your arm will be no less power- 
ful in a coat of mail than it was when you 
wore a leathern apron." 

One by one the nobles passed and saluted, 
as their leader had done, Count Bertrich 
hanging back until the last; then, as he 
passed the new Count of Burg Arras, he 
hissed at him, with a look of rage, the 
single word "Blacksmith!" 

The Count of Burg Arras, stirred to 
sudden anger, and forgetting in whose 
presence he stood, swung his huge sledge- 
hammer round his head, and brought it 
down on the armored back of Count Ber- 
trich, roaring the word "Anvil/ 9 ' 

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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



The armor splintered like crushed ice, 
and Count Bertrich fell prone on his face 
and lay there. There was instant cry of 
44 Treason! treason!" and shouts of: " No 
man may draw arms in the emperor's 
presence." 

" My lord emperor," cried the Count of 
Burg Arras, 41 1 crave pardon if I have 
done amiss. A man does not forget the 
tricks of his old calling when he takes on 
new honors. Your Majesty has said that I 
am a count. This man, having heard your 
Majesty's word, proclaims me blacksmith, 
and so gives the lie to his emperor. For 
this I struck him, and would again, even 
though he stood before the throne in a 
palace or the altar in a cathedral. If 
that be treason, take from me your hon- 



ors and let me back to my forge, where 
this same hammer will mend the armor it has 
broken or beat him out anew back-piece." 

44 You have broken no tenet of the feu- 
dal law," said the emperor. "You have 
broken nothing, I trust, but the count's 
armor; for, as I see he is arousing himself, 
doubtless no bones are broken. The 
feudal law does not regard a black- 
smith's hammer as a weapon. And as for 
treason, Count of Burg Arras, may my 
throne always be surrounded by such trea- 
son as yours! " 

And for centuries after, the descendants 
of the blacksmith were Counts of Burg 
Arras and held the castle of that name, 
whose ruins to-day attest the excellence 
Qf the archbishop's building. 



REMINISCENCES OF MEN AND EVENTS OF THE 

CIVIL WAR. 

By Charles A. Dana, 
Assistant Secretary of War from 1863 to 1865. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS FROM THE WAR DEPARTMENT COLLECTION OF 

CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPHS 

II. 



FROM MEMPHIS TO VICKSBURG— THE VICKSBURG CAMPAIGN. 



IT was from Columbus, Kentucky, on 
March 20, 1863, that I sent my first 
telegram to the War Department. 

I did not remain in Columbus long, for 
there was absolutely no trustworthy in- 
formation there respecting affairs down the 
river, but took a boat to Memphis, where 
I arrived March 23d. I found General 
Hurlbut in command. I had met Hurl- 
but in January, when on my cotton busi- 
ness, and he gave me every opportunity 
to gather information concerning the oper- 
ations against Vicksburg. But in spite 
of all his courtesies, I had not been long at 
Memphis before I decided that it was im- 
possible to gather trustworthy news there. 
I accordingly suggested to Mr. Stanton, 
three days after my arrival, that I would 
be more useful farther down the river. In 
reply he telegraphed me: 

War Department, 
Washington City, March 30, 1863. 
C. A. 'Dana, Esq., Memphis, Tenn., via Cairo: 

Your telegrams have been received, and although 
the information has been meager and unsatisfactory, 



I am conscious that arises from no fault of yours. 
You will proceed to General Grant's headquarters, or 
wherever you may be best able to accomplish the pur- 
poses designated by this Department. You will con- 
sider your movements to be governed by your own 
discretion without any restriction. 

Edwin M. Stanton, 

Secretary of War. 

As soon after receiving this telegram as 
I could get a boat, I left Memphis for 
Milliken's Bend, where General Grant had 
his headquarters. I reached there at noon 
on April 6th. The Mississippi at Milli- 
ken's Bend was a mile wide, and the sight 
as we came down the river by boat was 
most imposing. Grant's big army was 
stretched up and down the river bank, over 
the plantations, its white tents affording a 
new decoration to the natural magnificence 
of the broad plains. These plains, which 
stretch far back from the river, were 
divided into rich and old plantations by 
blooming hedges of rose and osage orange, 
the mansions of the owners being en- 
closed in roses, myrtles, magnolias, oaks, 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



151 



GENERAL WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. 

The rank of General Sherman in the Vicksburg campaign was that of a major-general of volunteers. He commanded the Fifteenth Army Corps. 



and every other sort of beautiful and noble 
trees. The negroes whose work made all 
this wealth and magnificence were gone, 
and there was nothing growing in the 
fields. 

I had not been long at Milliken's Bend 
before I was on friendly terms with all the 
generals, big and little, and one or two of 



them I found were very rare men — Sher- 
man 'especially impressed me as a man of 
genius and of the widest intellectual acqui- 
sitions. Every day I rode in one direction 
or another with an officer, inspecting the 
operations going on. From what I saw 
on my rides over the country, I got a new 
insight into slavery, which made me no 
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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



more a friend to that institution than I 
was before. I had seen slavery in Mary- 
land, Kentucky, Virginia, and Missouri, 
but it was not till I saw these great Louisi- 
ana plantations, with all their apparatus 
for living and working, that I really felt 
the aristocratic nature of the institution 
and the infernal baseness of that aristoc- 
racy. Every day my conviction was inten- 
sified that the territorial and political in- 
tegrity of the nation must be preserved at 
all costs and no matter how long it took; 
that it was better to keep up the existing 
war as long as was necessary rather than 
to make arrangement for indefinite wars 
hereafter and for other disruptions; that 
we must have it out then, and settle for- 
ever the question, so that our children 
would be able to attend to other matters. 
For my own part, I preferred one nation 
and one country, with a military govern- 
ment afterwards, if such should follow, 
rather than two or three nations and coun- 
tries with the semblance of the old Consti- 
tution in each of them, ending in wars and 
despotisms everywhere. 



GRANT S NEW PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 

As soon as I arrived at Milliken's Bend 
on April 6th I hunted up Grant and 
explained my mission. He received me 
cordially. Indeed, I think Grant was 
always glad to have me with his army. 
He did not like letter writing, and my 
daily despatches to Mr. Stanton relieved 
him from the necessity of describing every 
day what was going on in the. army. From 
the first neither he nor any of his staff or 
corps commanders evinced any unwilling- 
ness to show me the inside of things. In 
this first interview at Milliken's Bend, for 
instance, Grant explained to me so fully 
a new plan of campaign against Vicks- 
burg which he had just adopted that by 
three o'clock I was able to send an outline 
of it to Mr. Stanton, and from that time I 
saw and knew all the interior operations of 
that toughest of tough jobs — the reopening 
of the Mississippi. 

The new project, so Grant told me, was 
to transfer his army to New Carthage (see 
map, page 161); from there carry it over 
the Mississippi, landing at or about Grand 
Gulf; capture this point, and then operate 
rapidly on the southern and eastern shore 
of the Big Black River, threatening at the 
same time both Vicksburg and Jackson, 
and confusing the Confederates as to his 
real objective. If this could be done, he 



believed the enemy would come out of 
Vicksburg and fight. 

The first element in this plan was to 
open a passage from the Mississippi, near 
Milliken's Bend, above Vicksburg, to the 
bayou on the west side, which led around 
to New Carthage below. The work on 
this canal was already begun. A part of 
one of the army corps — that under General 
John A. McClernand — had already reached 
New Carthage, and Grant was hurrying 
other troops forward. 

The second and perhaps most vital part 
of the plan was to float down the river, 
past the Vicksburg batteries, a half-dozen 
steamboats protected by defenses of bales 
of cotton and wet hay, and loaded with 
supplies and munitions for the troops to 
operate from the new base below. 

Perhaps the best evidence of the feasi- 
bility of the project was found in the fact 
that the river men pronounced its success 
certain. General VV. T. Sherman, who 
commanded one of the three corps (the 
Fifteenth) in Grant's army and with whom 
I conversed at length upon the subject, 
thought there was no difficulty in opening 
the passage, but that the line would be a 
precarious one (for supplies) after the 
army was thrown across the Mississippi. 
But it was not long in our daily talks be- 
fore I saw his mind was tending to the con- 
clusion of General Grant. As for General 
Grant, his purpose from its conception 
was dead set on the new scheme. Ad- 
miral Porter cordially agreed with him. 

There seemed to be only one hitch in 
the campaign. Grant had intrusted the 
attack on Grand Gulf to General McCler- 
nand, who had already advanced as far 
as New Carthage with part of his corps. 
Now McClernand was thoroughly dis- 
trusted by the majority of the officers in 
Grant's army. They believed him am- 
bitious to capture Vicksburg on his own 
responsibility, and thought that hearty co- 
operation with the rest of the army could 
not be expected from him. There was 
some reason for this feeling. McClernand 
was an Illinois Democrat who had resigned 
from Congress at the breaking out of the 
war and returned home to raise the body 
of troops known as the McClernand Bri- 
gade. President Lincoln, anxious to hold 
him and his friends to the war, had ap- 
pointed McClernand a brigadier-general of 
volunteers, and had in many ways favored 
his plans and advanced his interests. Mc- 
Clernand and his division did good service 
at Fort Donelson and Shiloh, and in De- 
cember, 1862, he was appointed to the corn- 
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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



*53 



GKNEKAL JOHN A. LOGAN. 

In 1863 General Logan was major-general of volunteers, and commanded the third division of the Seventeenth Army Corps, which was under 

General James B. McPherson. 



mand of an independent expedition against 
Vicksburg, within the departmental juris- 
diction of Grant however. He had always 
resented Grant's interference, and endeav- 
ored to carry on a campaign on the lower 
Mississippi untrammeled by Grant's supe- 
rior authority. Later, by authority of 
General Halleck, Grant went down the 
river and assumed personal command of 
all the operations against Vicksburg, 
greatly reenforcing the army, thus again 



relegating McClernand to a secondary 
part. Naturally, this condition of affairs 
had tended to prejudice the other officers 
of the army, who were generally friendly 
to Grant, agajnst McClernand, and when it 
was known that he was to lead the advance 
in the new campaign there was a strong 
protest. Sherman and Porter, particularly, 
believed it a mistake, and talked frankly 
with me about it. One night when we 
had all gathered at Grant's headquarters 
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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



and were talking over the campaign very 
freely, as we were accustomed to do, both 
Sherman and Porter protested against the 
arrangement. But Grant would not be 
changed. McClernand, he said, was ex- 
ceedingly desirous of the command. He 
was the senior of the other corps com- 
manders. He was an especial favorite of 
the President, and the position which his 
corps occupied on the ground when the 
movement was first projected was such 
that the advance naturally fell to its lot. 
Besides, McClernand had entered zealously 
into the plan from the first, while Sherman 
had doubted and criticised; and McPher- 
son, who commanded the Seventeenth 
Corps, and whom Grant said he would 
really have much preferred, was away at 
Lake Providence, and though he had ap- 
proved of the scheme, he had taken no 
active part in it. 

I believed the assignment of this duty 
to McClernand to be so dangerous that I 
added my expostulation to those of the 
generals, and in reporting the case to Mr. 
Stanton I said: "I have remonstrated 
so far as I could properly do so against 
entrusting so momentous an operation to 
McClernand." 

Mr. Stanton replied: "Allow me to 
suggest that you carefully avoid giving 
any advice in respect to commands that 
may be assigned, as it may lead to misun- 
derstanding and troublesome complica- 
tions." Of course, after that, I scrupu- 
lously observed his directions, even in 
extreme cases. 

As the days went on everybody, in spite 
of this hitch, became more sanguine that 
the new project would succeed. For my 
own part I had not a doubt of it, as one 
can see from this fragment written from 
Milliken's Bend on April 13th to one of my 
friends: 

" Like all who really know the facts, I 
feel no sort of doubt that we shall before 
long get the nut cracked. Probably before 
this letter reaches New York, on its way to 
you, the telegraph will get ahead of it 
with the news that Grant, masking Vicks- 
burg, deemed impregnable by its defend- 
ers, has carried the bulk of his army down 
the river, through a cut-off which he has 
opened without the enemy believing it 
could be done; has occupied Grand Gulf, 
taken Port Hudson, and, effecting a junc- 
tion with the forces of Banks, has returned 
up the river to threaten Jackson and com- 
pel the enemy to come out of Vicksburg 
and fight him on ground of his own choos- 
ing. Of course this scheme may miscarry 



in whole or in parts; but as yet the chances 
all favor its execution, which is now just 
ready to begin." 

RUNNING THE VICKSBURG BATTERIES. 

•Admiral Porter's arrangements for car- 
rying out the second part of Grant's 
scheme — that is, running the Vicksburg 
batteries — were all completed by April 
16th, the ironclads and steamers being pro- 
tected in vulnerable parts by bulwarks of 
hay, cotton, and sandbags, and the barges 
loaded with forage, coal, and the camp 
equipment of General McClernand's corps, 
which was already at New Carthage. Ad- 
miral Porter was to go with the expedition 
on a small tug, and he invited me to ac- 
company him; but I felt that I ought not 
to get out of my communications, and so 
refused. Instead, I joined Grant on his 
headquarters boat, which was stationed 
on the right bank of the river, where, from 
the bows, we could see the squadron as it 
started and could follow its course until 
it was nearly past Vicksburg. 

Just before ten o'clock on the night of 
April 16th the squadron cast loose from its 
moorings. It was a strange scene. First 
one big black mass detached itself from the 
shore, and we saw it float out toward the 
middle of the stream. There was nothing 
to be seen except this black mass, which 
dropped slowly down the river. Soon an- 
other black mass detached itself, then 
another, and another. It was Admiral 
Porter's fleet of ironclad turtles, steam- 
boats, and barges. They floated down the 
Mississippi darkly and silently, showing 
neither steam nor light, save occasionally 
a signal astern, where the enemy could not 
see it. 

The vessels moved at intervals of about 
200 yards. First came seven ironclad 
turtles and one heavy-armed ram; follow- 
ing these were two side-wheel steamers 
and one stern-wheel, having twelve barges 
in tow: these barges carried the supplies. 
Far astern of them was one carrying am- 
munition. The most of the gunboats had 
already doubled the tongue of land which 
stretches northeasterly in front of Vicks- 
burg, and they were immediately under the 
guns of nearly all the Confederate batter- 
ies, when there was a flash from the ene- 
my's upper forts, and then for an hour 
and a half the cannonade was terrific, 
raging incessantly along the line of about 
four miles in extent. I counted 525 dis- 
charges. Early in the action the enemy 
set fire to a frame building in front of 

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GENERAL K. O. C. ORO. 

Old belonged to the Army of the Tennessee from May, x86s, but a wound received at Corinth kept him from serving In the earlier part of the Vicks- 
burg campaign. When McClernand was nUered, June 18, 1863, Ord was given his command, the Thirteenth Army Corps. 



Vicksburg to light up the scene and direct 
his fire. 

About 12.45 a.m., one of our steamers, 
44 Henry Clay," took fire and burned for 
three-quarters of an hour. The " Henry 
Clay" was lost by being abandoned by 
her captain and crew in a panic, they 
thinking her to be sinking. The pilot re- 
fused to go with them, and said if they 
would stay they would get her through 
safe. After they had fled in the yawls, 
the cotton bales on her deck took fire, and 
one wheel became unmanageable. The 
pilot then ran her aground, and got upon 



a plank, from which he was picked up four 
miles below. 

The morning after Admiral Porter had 
run the Vicksburg batteries, I went with 
General Grant to New Carthage to review 
the situation. We found the squadron 
there, all in fighting condition, though 
most of them had been hit. Not a man 
had been lost. 

GRANT CHANGES HIS HEADQUARTERS. 

A few days after the running of the Vicks- 
burg batteries, General Grant changed his 

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156 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



headquarters to Smith's plantation, near 
New Carthage. All of McClernand's 
corps, the Thirteenth, was now there, and 
that officer said 10,000 men would be 
ready to move from New Carthage the 
next day. McPherson's corps, which had 
been busy upon the Lake Providence ex- 
pedition and other services, but which had 
been ordered to join, was now, except one 
division, moving over from Milliken's 
Bend. Sherman's corps, the Fifteenth, 
which had been stationed at Young's 
Point, was also under marching orders to 
New Carthage. 

Grant's first object was now to cross 
the Mississippi as speedily as possible and 
capture Grand Gulf before it could be re- 
inforced; and an attack was ordered to be 
made as soon as the troops could be gotten 
ready and the batteries silenced — the next 
day, April 26th, if possible. 

McClernand's delays. 

An irritating delay occurred here, how- 
ever. When we came to Smith's planta- 
tion on the 24th, I had seen that there 
was apparently much confusion in Mc- 
Clernand's command, and we had been 
astonished to find, now that he was 
ordered to move across the Mississippi, 
that he was planning to carry his bride, 
with her servants and baggage, along 
with him, although Grant had ordered 
that officers should leave behind every- 
thing that could impede our march. 

On the 26th, the day when it was hoped 
to make an attack on Grand Gulf, I went 
with Grant by water from our headquar- 
ters at Smith's plantation down to New 
Carthage and to Perkins's plantation be- 
low, where two of McClernand's divisions 
were encamped. These troops, it was sup- 
posed, were ready for immediate embarka- 
tion, and there were quite as many as all 
the transports could carry; but the first 
thing which struck us both on approach- 
ing the points of embarkation was that 
the steamboats and barges were scattered 
about in the river and in the bayou as if 
there was no idea of the imperative neces- 
sity of the promptest possible movement. 

We at once steamed to Admiral Porter's 
flagship, which was lying just above Grand 
Gulf, and Grant sent for McClernand, 
ordering him to embark his men without 
losing a moment. In spite of this order, 
that night at dark, when a thunder-storm 
set in, not a single cannon or man had 
been moved. Instead, McClernand held 
a review of a brigade of Illinois troops at 



Perkins's, about four p.m. At the same 
time a salute of artillery was fired, not- 
withstanding that positive orders had re- 
peatedly been given to use no ammunition 
for any purpose except against the enemy. 
What made McClernand's delay still 
more annoying was the fact that when we 
got back from the river to our headquar- 
ters the night of the 26th, we found that 
McPherson had arrived at Smith's planta- 
tion with the first division of his corps, the 
rear being back no farther than Rich- 
mond. His whole force would have been 
up the next day, but it was necessary to 
arrest its movements until McClernand 
could bte got out of the way. 

THE ATTACK ON GRAND GULF. 

It was not until the morning of the 
29th that Grant had troops enough con- 
centrated at Hard Times, a landing on 
the Louisiana side almost directly across 
from Grand Gulf, to land at the foot of 
the Grand Gulf bluff as soon as its bat- 
teries were silenced. At eight a.m. pre- 
cisely the gunboats opened their attack. 
Seven gunboats, all ironclads, were en- 
gaged, and a cannonade was kept up for 
nearly six hours. The batteries, however, 
proved too much for the gunboats, and Gen- 
eral Grant determined to execute an alterna- 
tive plan, which he had had in mind from 
the first; that was to debark the troops and 
march them south across the peninsula 
which faces Grand Gulf to a place out of 
reach of the rebel guns. The movement 
was undertaken at once, and a body of 
about 35,000 men was started across the 
peninsula to De Shroon's plantation, where 
it was proposed to embark them. 

Late in the evening I left Hard Times 
with Grant to ride across the peninsula to 
De Shroon's. The night was pitch-dark, 
and, as we rode side by side, Grant's horse 
suddenly gave a nasty stumble. I expected 
to see the General go over the animal's 
head, and I watched intently, not to see if 
he was hurt, but if he would show any 
anger. I had been with Grant daily now 
for three weeks, and I had never seen him 
ruffled or heard him swear. His equanim- 
ity was becoming a curious spectacle to 
me. When I saw his horse lunge my first 
thought was> " Now he will swear." For 
an instant his moral status was on trial; 
but Grant was a tenacious horseman, and 
instead of going over the animal's head as 
I imagined he would, he kept his seat. 
Pulling up his horse he rode on, and, to 
my utter amazement, without a word or 

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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 157 

sign of impa- 
tience. And it 
is a fact that 
though I was 
with Grant dur- 
ing the most try- 
ing campaigns 
of the war, I 
never heard him 
use an oath. 

We reached 
De Shroon's 
about eleven 
o'clock. The 
night was spent 
in embarking 
the men, and by 
eleven o'clock 
the next morn- 
ing (April 30th) 
three divisions 
were landed on 
the east shore of 
the Mississippi, 
at the place Gen- 
eral Grant had 
selected. This 
was Bruinsburg, 
sixty miles south 
of Vicksburg, 
and the first 
point south of 
Grand Gulf from 
which the high- 
lands of the in- 
terior could be 
reached by a 
road over dry 
land. 

I was obliged 
to separate from 
the headquarters 
on the 30th, for 
the means for 
transporting the 

f roonS and offi - BUlr commanded the second division of the Fifteenth Army Corps throughout the Vicksburg campaign. 

cers were so lim- 
ited that neither an extra man nor a par- field where it was evident that there had 
tide of unnecessary baggage was allowed, been a struggle. I got out of the wagon 
even horses and tents being left behind; as we approached, and started towards a 
and I did not get over until the morning of little white house with green blinds, cov- 
May 1 st, after the army had moved on Port ered with vines. It was here I saw the first 
Gibson, where they first engaged the enemy, real bloodshed in the war. The little white 
As soon as I was landed at Bruinsburg I house had been taken as a field hospital, 
started in the direction of the battle, on and the first thing my eyes fell upon as I 
foot, of course, as my horse had not been went into the yard was a heap of arms and 
brought over. I had not gone far before I legs which had been amputated and thrown 
overtook a quartermaster driving towards into a pile outside. I had seen men shot, 
Port Gibson, who took me into his wagon, and dead men plenty; but this pile of legs 
About four miles from Port Gibson we and arms gave me a vivid sense of war 
came upon the first signs of the battle — a such as I had not before experienced. 

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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



I SECURE A HORSE. 

As the army was pressing the Confeder- 
ates towards Port Gibson all that day, I 
followed in the rear, but without over- 
taking General Grant. While trailing 
along after the forces, I came across Fred 
Grant, then a lad of thirteen, who had 
been left asleep by his father on a steamer 
at Bruinsburg, but had started out on 
foot, like myself, as soon as he awakened 
and found the army had marched. We 
tramped and foraged together until the 
next morning, when some officers who 
had captured two old white carriage horses 
gave us each one. We got the best bridles 
and saddles we could, and thus equipped 
made our way into Port Gibson, which the 
enemy had deserted and where General 
Grant now had his headquarters. I rode 
that old horse for four or hsz days; then 
by a chance I got a good one. A captured 
Confederate officer had been brought be- 
fore General Grant for examination. This 
man had a very good horse, and after 
Grant had finished his questions the officer 
said: 

" General, this horse and saddle are 
my private property; they do not belong 
to the Confederate army; they belong to 
me as a citizen, and I trust you will let me 
have them. Of course, while I am a pris- 
oner I do not expect to be allowed to 
ride the horse, but I hope you will regard 
him as my property and finally restore 
him to me." 

"Well," said Grant, 4I I have got four 
or five first-rate horses wandering some- 
where about the Southern Confederacy. 
They have been captured from me in bat- 
tle or by spies. I will authorize you, 
whenever you find one of them, to take 
possession of him. I cheerfully give him 
to you ; but as for this horse, I think he is 
just about the horse Mr. Dana needs." 

I rode my new acquisition afterwards 
through that whole campaign, and when 
I came away I turned him over to .the 
quartermaster. Whenever I went out with 
General Grant anywhere, he always asked 
some funny question about that horse. 

MARCHING INTO THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY. 

It was the 2d day of May, 1863, when 
I rode into Port Gibson, Mississippi, and 
inquired for Grant's headquarters. I 
found the General in a little house of the 
village, busily directing the advance of 
the army. By the next morning he was 



ready to start after the troops. On the 
4th I joined him at his headquarters at 
Hankinson's Ferry, on the Big Black, and 
now began my first experience with an 
army marching into an enemy's territory. 
A glimpse of my life at this time is given 
in this letter to a child, written the day 
after I rejoined Grant: 

Hankinson's Ferry, May 5. 

AH of a sudden it is very cold here. Two days 
ago it was hot like summer, but now I sit in my 
tent in my overcoat, writing and thinking if I only 
were at home instead of being almost two thousand 
miles away. 

Away yonder, in the edge of the woods, I hear the 
drum beat that calls the soldiers to their supper. It 
is only a little after five o'clock, but they begin the 
day very early and end it early. Pretty soon after 
dark they are all asleep, lying in their blankets un- 
der the trees, for in a quick march they leave their 
tents behind. Their guns are all ready at their 
sides, so that if they are suddenly called at night 
they can start in a moment. It is strange in the 
morning, before daylight, to hear the bugles and 
drums sound the reveille, which calls the army to 
awake up. It will begin perhaps at a distance and 
then run along the whole line, bugle after bugle, and 
drum after drum taking it up, and then it goes from 
front to rear, farther and farther away, the sweet 
sounds throbbing and rolling while you lie on the 
grass with your saddle for a pillow, half awake or 
opening your eyes to see that the stars are still bright 
in the sky, or that there is only a faint flush in the 
east where the day is soon to break. 

Living in camp is queer business. I get my meals 
in General Grant's mess, and pay my share of the 
expenses. The table is a chest with a double cover, 
which unfolds on the right and the left ; the dishes, 
knives and forks, and caster are inside. Sometimes 
we get good things, but generally we don't. The 
cook is an old negro, black and grimy. The cook- 
ing is not as clean as it might be, but in war you 
can't be particular about such things. 

The plums and peaches here are pretty nearly 
ripe. The strawberries have been ripe these few 
days, but the soldiers eat them up before we get a 
sight of them. The figs are as big as the end of 
your thumb, and the green pears are big enough to 
eat. But you don't know what beautiful flower gar- 
dens there are here. I never saw such roses, and 
the other day I found a lily as big as a tiger lily, 
only it was a magnificent red. 

OUR COMMUNICATIONS ARE CUT. 

It was a week after we reached Hankin- 
son's Ferry before word came to head- 
quarters that the army and supplies were 
all across the Mississippi. As soon as 
Grant learned this he gave orders that 
the bridges in our rear be burned, guards 
abandoned, and communications cut. He 
intended to depend thereafter upon the 
country for meat and even for bread. So 
complete was our isolation that it was ten 
days after this order was given, on May 
nth, before I was able to send another 
despatch to Mr. Stanton. 

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159 



GENERAL J. H, JOHNSTON. 

Grant croMed the Mississippi in May, 1863, General Johnston was put In command of all the Confederate forces In Mississippi, but he was 

never able to unite with Pemberton. 



The march which we now made was to- 
ward Jackson, and it proved to be no easy 
affair. More than one night I bivouacked 
on the ground in the rain, after being all 
day in my saddle. The most comfortable 
night I had, in fact, was in a church of 
which the officers had taken possession. 
Having no pillow, I went up to the pulpit 
and borrowed the Bible for the night. 
Dr. H. S. Hewitt, who was medical direc- 
tor on Grant's staff, slept near me, and 
he always charged me afterwards with 
stealing that Bible. 

In spite of the roughness of our life, it 



was all of intense interest to me, particu- 
larly the condition of the people over 
whose country we were marching. A fact 
which impressed me was the total absence 
of men capable of bearing arms. Only 
old men. and children remained. The 
young men were all in the army or had 
perished in it. The South was drained of 
its youth. An army of half a million with 
a white population of only fat millions to 
draw upon must soon finish the stock of 
raw material for soldiers. Another fact 
of moment was that we found men who 
had at the first sympathized with the re- 

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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



bellion and even joined in it, but now of 
their own accord rendered us the most 
valuable assistance, in order that the rebel- 
lion might be ended as speedily as possi- 
ble and something saved by the Southern 
people out of the otherwise total and 
hopeless ruin. " Slavery is gone, other 
property is mainly gone," they said; " but, 
for God's sake, let us sav£ some relic of 
our former means of living." 

WE ENTER THE CAPITAL OF MISSISSIPPI. 

It was on the ist day of May that Grant 
had made his first advance into Missis- 
sippi. Two weeks later — the evening of 
May 14th — we entered the capital of the 
State. Here I received an important tele- 
gram from Mr. Stanton, though how it got 
to me there I do not remember. ; General 
Grant had been much troubled by the de- 
lay McClernand had caused at New Car- 
thage, but he had felt reluctant to remove 
him as he had been assigned to his cpra- 
mand by the President. My .reports to 
the Secretary on the situation had con- 
vinced him that Grant ought. to have per- 
fect independence in the matter, so he tele- 
graphed me as follows: 

Washington, D. C; Afay 5/1863. 
C. A. Dana, Esq., Smith's Plantation, La.: ', 

General Grant has full and absolute authority to 
enforce his own commands and to remove any per- 
son who by ignorance, inaction, or any cause inter- 
feres with or delays his operations; He has the full 
confidence of the Government, is expected to enforce 
his authority, and will be firmly and heartily sup- 
ported; but he will be responsible for any failure to 
exert his powers. You may communicate this to 
him. 

E. M. Stanton, 

Secretary of War. 

The very evening of the day that we 
reached Jackson, Grant learned that Lieu- 
tenant-General Pemberton had been or- 
dered by General Joe Johnston to come 
out of Vicksburg and attack our rear. 
Leaving Sherman in Jackson to tear up 
the railroads and destroy all the public 
property there that could be of use to the 
enemy, Grant immediately faced the bulk 
of his army about to meet Pemberton. 

When Grant overtook Pemberton he was 
in a most formidable position on the crest 
of a wooded ridge called Champion's Hill, 
over which the road passed longitudinally. 
About eleven o'clock on the morning of 
the 16th the battle began, and by four in 
the afternoon it was won. After the battle 
I started out on horseback with Colonel 
Rawlins to visit the field. When we 



reached Logan's command we found him 
greatly excited. He declared the day was 
lost, and that he would soon be swept from 
his position. I contested the point with 
him. " Why, General," I said, " we have 
gained the day." He could not see it. 
" Don't you hear the cannon over there ? " 
he answered. " They will be down on us 
right away! In an hour I will have 20,000 
men to fight." I found afterwards that 
this was simply a curious idiosyncrasy of 
Logan's. In the beginning of a fight he 
was one of the bravest men that could be 
— saw no danger — went right on fighting 
until the battle was over. Then, after the 
battle was won, his mind gained an im- 
movable conviction that it was lost. 
Where we were victorious, he thought that 
we were defeated. It was merely an intel- 
lectual peculiarity. It did not in the least 
impair his value as a soldier or command- 
ing officer. He never made any mistake 
on account of it. 

On leaving Logan, Rawlins and I were 
joined by several officers, and we contin- 
ued our ride over the field. On the hill 
where the thickest of the fight had taken 
place we stopped, and were looking 
around at the dead and dying men lying 
all about us, when suddenly a man, per- 
haps forty-five or fifty years old, who had 
a Confederate uniform on, lifted himself 
up on his elbow, and said: 

- " For God's sake, gentlemen, is there a 
Mason among you ? " 

" Yes," said Rawlins, " I am a Mason." 
He got off his horse and kneeled by the 
dying man, who gave him some letters out 
of his pocket. When he came back Raw- 
lins had tears on his cheek. The man, he 
told us, wanted him to convey some sou- 
venir, a miniature or a ring — I do not re- 
member what — to his wife, who was in 
Alabama. Rawlins took the package, and 
some time afterward he succeeded in send- 
ing it to the woman. 

I remained out late that night convers- 
ing with the officers who had been in the 
battle, and think it must have been about 
eleven o'clock when I got to Grant's head- 
quarters, where I was to sleep. Two or 
three officers who had been out with me 
went with me into the little cottage which 
Grant had taken possession of. We found 
a wounded man there, a tall and fine- 
looking man — a Confederate. He stood 
up suddenly and said: " For God's sake, 
gentlemen, kill me! Will some one kill 
me ? I am in such anguish that it will be 
mercy to do it — I have got to die — kill me 
— don't let me suffer ! ' ' We sent for a sur 

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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



161 




geon, who examined his case, but said it 
was hopeless. He had been shot through 
the head, so that the bullet cut off the 
optic nerve of both eyes. He could never 
see again. Before morning he died. 

GRANT BEHIND VICKSBURG. 

After the battle of Champion's Hill, 
Pemberton started towards Vicksburg, 
but made a stand at the Big Black bridge. 
On the 17th he was routed from there 
and retreated rapidly into Vicksburg. 
Grant was not long after him. By the 
evening of the 18th he had his army be- 
hind the town, and by the 20th his invest- 
ment was so complete that I telegraphed 
Mr. Stanton: 

' * Probably the town will be carried to- 
day." 

The assault expected was not made un- 
til the morning of the 22d. It failed, but 
without heavy loss. At two p.m., however, 
McClernand, who was on the left of our 
lines, reported that he was in possession 
of two forts of the rebel line, was hard 
pressed, and in great need of reinforce- 
ments. Not doubting that he had really 
succeeded in taking and holding the works 
he pretended to hold, General Grant sent 



a division to his support, and at the same 
time ordered Sherman and McPherson to 
make new attacks. McClernand's report 
was false, for although a few of his men 
had broken through in one place, he had 
not taken a single fort, and the result of 
the second assault was disastrous : we 
were repulsed, losing quite heavily, when 
but for his error the total loss of the day 
would have been inconsiderable. 

The failure of the 22d convinced Grant 
of the necessity of a regular siege, and 
immediately the army settled down to 
that. We were in an incomparable posi- 
tion for a siege as regarded the health and 
comfort of our men. The high wooded 
hills afforded pure air and shade, and the 
deep ravines abounded in springs of excel- 
lent water, and if they failed it was easy 
to bring it from the Mississippi. Our line 
of supplies was beyond the reach of the 
enemy, and there was an abundance of 
fruit all about us. I frequently met sol- 
diers coming into camp with buckets full 
of mulberries, blackberries,, and red and 
yellow wild plums. 

The army was deployed at this time in 
the following order: The right of the be- 
sieging force was held by General Sher- 
man, whose forces ran from the river 
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MEN AND EVENTS OP THE CIVIL WAR. 



along the bluffs around the northeast of 
the town. Sherman's front was at a greater 
distance from the enemy than that of any 
other corps, and the approach less advan- 
tageous, but he began his siege works with 
great energy and admirable skill. Every- 
thing I saw of Sherman at the Vicksburg 
siege increased my admiration for him. 
He was a very brilliant man, and an ex- 
cellent commander of a corps. Sherman's 
information was great, and he was a clever 
talker. He always liked to have people 
about who could keep up with his conver- 
sation ; besides, he was genial and unaf- 
fected. I particularly admired his loyalty 
to Grant. He had criticised the expedi- 
tion frankly in the first place, but had 
supported every movement with all his en- 
ergy, and now that we were in the rear of 
Vicksburg gave loud praise to the com- 
mander-in-chief. 

To the left of Sherman lay the Seven- 
teenth Army Corps, under Major-General 
J. B. McPherson. He was one of the 
best officers we had. He was but thirty- 
four years old at the time, and a very 
handsome, gallant-looking man, with 
rather a dark complexion, dark eyes, and 
a most cordial manner. McPherson was 
an engineer officer of fine natural ability 
and extraordinary acquirements, having 
graduated number one in his class at West 
Point, and was held in high estimation 
by Grant and his professional brethren. 
Halleck gave him his start in the Civil 
War, and he had been with Grant at 
Donelson and ever since. He was a man 
without any pretensions, and always had 
a pleasant shake-hands for you. 

To McPherson's left was the Thirteenth 
Army Corps, under Major-General John 
A. McClernand. Next to Grant he was 
the ranking officer in the army. The ap- 
proaches on his front were most favorable 
to us and the enemy's line of works evi- 
dently much the weakest there, but he was 
very inefficient and slow in pushing his 
siege operations. Grant had resolved on 
the 23d to relieve McClernand for his false 
despatch of the day before stating that he 
held two of the enemy's forts; but he 
changed his mind, concluding that it would 
be better, on the whole, to leave him in 
his command till the siege was concluded. 
My own judgment of McClernand at that 
time was that he had not the qualities 
necessary for the commander even of a 
regiment. In the first place, he was not 
a military man; he was a politician and a 
member of Congress. He was a man of 
a good deal of a certain kind of talent, 



not of a high order, but not one of intel- 
lectual accomplishments. His education 
was that which a man gets who is in Con- 
gress five or six years. In short, McCler- 
nand was merely a smart man— quick, 
very active-minded; but his judgment was 
not solid, and he looked after himself a 
good deal. Mr. Lincoln also looked out 
carefully for McClernand. It was a great 
thing to get McClernand into the war 
in the first place, for his natural pre- 
disposition, one would have supposed, 
would have been to sympathize with the 
South. As long as he adhered to the war 
he carried his Illinois constituency with 
him; and chiefly for this reason, doubtless, 
Lincoln made it a point to take special 
care of him. In doing this the President 
really served the greater good of the 
cause. But from the circumstance of 
Lincoln's supposed friendship, McCler- 
nand had more consequence in the army 
than he deserved. 

McClernand, Sherman, and McPherson 
were Grant's three chief officers, but there 
were many subordinate officers of value ir 
his army, not a few of whom became after- 
wards men of distinction. In order to set 
the personnel of the commanding force 
distinctly before the reader, I quote here 
a semi-official letter which I wrote to 
Mr, Stanton, at his request, in July, after 
the siege had ended. This letter has 
never been published before, and it gives 
my judgment at that time of the subor- 
dinate officers of the Vicksburg campaign. 
Cairo, III., July 12, 1863. 

Dear Sir : Your despatch of Tunc 29th desiring 
me to continue my "sketches" I have to-day seen 
for the first time. It was sent down the river, but 
had not arrived when I left Vicksburg on the 5th 
inst. 

Let me describe the generals of division and bri- 
gade in Grant's army, in the order of the army corps 
to which they are attached, beginning with the Thir- 
teenth. 

The most prominent officer of the Thirteenth 
Corps, next to the commander of the corps, is Briga- 
dier-General A. P. Hovey. He is a lawyer of In- 
diana, and from forty to forty-five years old. He is 
ambitious, active, nervous, irritable, energetic, clear- 
headed, quick-witted, and prompt-handed. He 
works with all his might and all his mind ; and, un- 
like most volunteer officers, makes it his business to 
learn the military profession just as if he expected to 
spend his life in it. He distinguished himself most 
honorably at Port Gibson and Champion's Hill, and 
is one of the best officers in this army. He is a man 
whose character will always command respect, 
though he is too anxious about his personal renown 
and his own advancement to be considered a first- 
rate man morally, judged by the high standard of 
men like Grant and Sherman. 

Hovey's principal brigadiers are General McGinnis 
and Colonel Slack. McGinnis is brave enough, but 
too excitable. He lost his balance at Champion's 

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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



163 



Hill. He is not likely ever to be more than a briga- 
dier. Slack is a solid, steady man, brave, thorough, 
and sensible, but will never set the river afire. His 
education is poor, but he would make a respectable 
brigadier-general, and I know hopes to be pro- 
moted. 

Next to Hovey is Osterhaus. This general is 
universally well spoken of. He is a pleasant, genial 
fellow, brave and quick, and makes a first-rate report 
of a reconnaissance. There is not another general 
in this army who keeps the commander-in-chief so 
well informed concerning whatever happens at his 
outposts. As a disciplinarian he is not equal to 
Hovey, but is much better than some others. On 
the battlefield he lacks energy and concentrativeness. 
His brigade commanders are all colonels, and I don't 
know much of them. 

The third division of the Thirteenth Corps is com- 
manded by General A. J. Smith, an old cavalry offi- 
cer of the regular service. He is intrepid to reck- 
lessness, his head is clear though rather thick, his 
disposition honest and manly, though given to boast- 
ing and self-exaggeration of a gentle and innocent 
kind. His division is well cared for, but is rather 
famous for slow instead of rapid marching. Mc- 
Clernand, however, disliked him, and kept him in 
the rear throughout the late campaign. He is a 
good officer to command a division in an army corps, 
but should not be intrusted with any important inde- 
pendent command. 

Smith's principal brigadier is General Burbridge, 
whom I judge to be a mediocre officer, brave, rather 
pretentious, a good fellow, not destined to greatness. 

The fourth division in the Thirteenth Corps is 
General Carr's. He has really been sick throughout 
the campaign, and had leave to go home several weeks 
since, but stuck it out till the surrender. This may 
account for a critical, hang-back disposition which 
he has several times exhibited. He is a man of 
more cultivation, intelligence, and thought than his 
colleagues generally. The discipline in his camps I 
have thought to be poor and careless. He is brave 
enough, but lacks energy and initiative. 

Carr's brigadiers comprise General M. K. Lawier 
and General Lee of Kansas. Lee is an unmitigated 
humbug. Lawier weighs 250 pounds, is a Roman 
Catholic, and was a Douglas Democrat, belongs in 
Shawneetown, 111., and served in the Mexican War. 
He is as brave as a lion, and has about as much 
brains. But his purpose is always honest, and his 
sense is always good. He is a good disciplinarian 
and a first-rate soldier. He once hung a man of 
his regiment for murdering a comrade without 
reporting the case to his commanding general, either 
before or after the hanging, but there was no doubt 
the man deserved his fate. Grant has two or three 
times gently reprimanded him for indiscretions, but 
is pretty sure to go and thank him after a battle. 
Carr's third brigadier I don't know. 

In the Fifteenth Corps there are two major-gener- 
als who command divisions, namely, Steele and Blair, 
and one brigadier, Tuttle. Steele has also been sick 
through the campaign, but has kept constantly at his 
post. He is a gentlemanly, pleasant fellow. . . . 
Sherman has a high opinion of his capacity, and 
every one says that he handles troops with great cool- 
ness and skill in battle. To me his mind seems to 
work in a desultory way, like the mind of a captain 
of infantry long habituated to garrison duty at a 
frontier post. He takes things in bits, like a gossip- 
ing companion, and never comprehensively and 
strongly like a man of clear brain and a ruling pur- 
pose. But on the whole I consider him one of the 
best division generals in this army ; but you cannot 



rely on him to make a logical statement or to exer- 
cise any independent command. 

Of Steele's brigadiers. Colonel Woods eminently 
deserves promotion. A Hercules in form, in energy, 
and in pertinacity, he is both safe and sure. Colo- 
nel Manter of Missouri is a respectable officer ; Colo- 
nel Farrar of Missouri is of no account ; General 
Thayer is a fair, but not first-rate officer. 

Frank Blair is about the same as an officer that he 
is as a politician. He is intelligent, prompt, de- 
termined, rather inclining to disorder, a poor dis- 
ciplinarian but a brave fighter. I judge that he will 
soon leave the army and that he prefers his seat in 
Congress to his commission. 

In Frank Blair's division there are two brigadier, 
generals, Ewing and Lightburn. Ewing seems to 
possess many of the qualities of his father, whom 
you know better than I do, I suppose. Lightburn 
has not served long with this army, and I have had 
no opportunity of learning his measure. Placed in a 
command during the siege where General Sherman 
himself directed what was to be done, he has had lit- 
tle to do. He seems to belong to the heavy rather 
than the rapid department of the forces. 

Colonel Giles Smith is one of the very best briga- 
diers in Sherman's corps, perhaps the best of all next 
to Colonel Woods. He only requires the chance, to 
develop into an officer of uncommon power and use- 
fulness. There are plenty of men with generals' 
commissions who, in all military respects, are not fit 
to tie his shoes. 

Of General Tuttle, who commands Sherman's 
third division, I have already spoken, and need not 
here repeat it. Bravery and zeal constitute his only 
qualifications for command. His principal brigadier 
is General Mower, a brilliant officer, but not of large 
mental caliber. Colonel Woods, who commands 
another of his brigades, is greatly esteemed by Gen- 
eral Grant, but I do not know him ; neither do I 
know the commander of his third brigade. 

Three divisions of the Sixteenth Corps have been 
serving in Grant's army for some time past. They 
are all commanded by brigadier-generals, and the 
brigades by colonels. The first of these divisions to 
arrive before Vicksburg was Lauman's. This gen- 
eral got his promotion by bravery in the field and 
Iowa political influence. He is totally unfit to com- 
mand — a very good man, but a very poor general. 
His brigade commanders are none of them above 
mediocrity. The next division of the Sixteenth 
Corps to join the Vicksburg army was General Kim- 
ball's, lie is not so bad a commander as Lauman, 
but he is bad enough ; brave of course, but lacking 
the military instinct and the genius of generalship. 
I don't know any of his brigade commanders. The 
third division of the Sixteenth Corps now near Vicks- 
burg is that of General W. S. Smith. This is one of 
the best officers in that army. A rigid disciplinarian, 
his division is always ready and always safe. A 
man of brains, a hard worker, unpretending, quick, 
suggestive, he may also be a little crotchety, for such 
is his reputation ; but I judge that he only needs the 
opportunity to render great services. What his 
brigade commanders are worth I can't say, but I am 
sure they have a first-rate schoolmaster in him. 

I now come to the Seventeenth Corps and to its 
most prominent division general, Logan. This is a 
man of remarkable qualities and peculiar character. 
Heroic and brilliant, he is sometimes unsteady. In- 
spiring his men with his own enthusiasm on the field 
of battle, he is splendid in all its crash and commo- 
tion, but before it begins he is doubtful of the result, 
and after it is over he is fearful we may yet be 
beaten. A man of instinct and not of reflection, his 



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164 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



judgments are often absurd, but his extemporane- 
ous opinions are very apt to be right. Deficient in 
education, deficient, too, in a nice and elevated moral 
sense, he is full of generous attachments and sincere 
animosities. On the whole, few can serve the cause 
of the country more effectively than he, and none 
serve it more faithfully. 

Logan's oldest brigade commander is General 
John D. Stevenson of Missouri. He is a person of 
much talent, but a grumbler. He was one of the 
oldest colonels in the volunteer service, but because 
he had always been an anti-slavery man all the others 
were promoted before him. This is still one of his 
grounds for discontent, and in addition younger 
brigadiers have been put before him since. Thus 
the world will not go to suit him. He has his own 
notions, too, of what should be done on the field of 
battle, and General McPherson has twice during this 
campaign had to rebuke him very severely for his 
failure to come to time on critical occasions. 

Logan's second brigade is commanded by General 
Leggett of Ohio. This officer has distinguished 
himself during the siege, and will be likely to dis- 
tinguish himself hereafter. He possesses a clear 
head, an equable temper, and great propulsive power 
over his men. He is also a hard worker, and what- 
ever he touches goes easily. The third brigade of 
this division has for a short time been commanded 
by Colonel Force. I only know that Logan, Mc- 
Pherson, and Grant all think well of him. 

Next in rank among McPherson's division gen- 
erals is McArthur. He has been in the reserve 
throughout the campaign and has had little oppor- 
tunity of proving his metal. He is a shrewd, 
steady Scotchman, trustworthy rather than brilliant, 
good at hard knocks, but not a great commander. 
Two of his brigadiers, however, have gained very 
honorable distinction in this campaign : namely, 
Crocker, who commanded Quinby's division at Port 
Gibson, Raymond, Jackson, and Champion's Hill ; 
and Ransom. Crocker was sick throughout, and as 
soon as Quinby returned to his command had to go 
away, and it is feared may never be able to come 
back. He is an officer of great promise and remark- 
able power. Ransom has commanded on McPher- 
son's right during the siege, and has exceeded every 
other brigadier in the zeal, intelligence, and effi- 
ciency with which his siege works were constructed 
and pushed forward. At the time of the surrender 
his trenches were so well completed that the engi- 
neers agreed that they offered the best opportunity in 
the whole of our lines for the advance of storming 
columns. Captain Comstock told me that ten thou- 
sand men could there be marched under cover up to 
the very lines of the enemy. In the assault of May 
22d, Ransom was equally conspicuous for the bravery 
with which he exposed himself. No young man in 
all this army has more future than he. 

The third brigade of^McArthur's division, that of 
General Reid, has been detached during the cam- 
paign at Lake Providence and elsewhere, and I have 
not been able to make General R.'s acquaintance. 

The third division of the Seventeenth Corps was 
commanded during the first of the siege by General 
Quinby. This officer was also sick and, I dare say, 
did not do justice to himself. A good commander 
of a division he is not, though he is a most excellent 
and estimable man, and seemed to be regarded by the 
soldiers with much affection. But he lacks order, 
system, command, and is the very opposite of his 
successor, General John E. Smith, who with much 



less intellect than Quinby has a great deal better 
sense, with a firmness of character, a steadiness of 
hand, and a freedom from personal irritability and 
jealousy which must soon produce the happiest 
effect upon the division. Smith combines with these 
natural qualities of a soldier and commander a con- 
scientious devotion, not merely to the doing, but also 
to the learning of his duty, which renders him a 
better and better general every day. He is also fit 
to be intrusted with any independent command 
where judgment and discretion are as necessary as 
courage and activity, for in him all these qualities 
seem to be happily blended and balanced. 

Of General Matthies, who commands the brigade 
in this division so long and so gallantly commanded 
by the late Colonel Boomer, I hear the best accounts, 
but do not know him personally. The medical in- 
spector tells me that no camps in the lines are kept 
in so good condition as his, and General Sherman, 
under whom he lately served, speaks of him as a 
very valuable officer. The second brigade is com- 
manded by Colonel Sanborn, a steady, mediocre 
sort of man ; the third by Colonel Holmes, whom I 
don't know personally, but who made a noble fight 
at Champion's Hill and saved our center there from 
being broken. 

General Herron's division is the newest addition to 
the forces under Grant, except the Ninth Corps, of 
which I know nothing except that its discipline and 
organization exceed those of the Western troops. 
Herron is a driving, energetic sort of young fellow, 
not deficient either in self-esteem or in common 
sense, and, as I judge, hardly destined to distinctions 
higher than those he has already acquired. Of his 
two brigadiers, Vandever has not proved himself of 
much account during the siege ; Orme I have seen, 
but do not know. Herron has shown a great deal 
more both of capacity and force than either of them. 
But he has not the first great requisite of a soldier, 
obedience to orders, and believes too much in doing 
things his own way. Thus, for ten days after he had 
taken his position, he disregarded the order properly 
to picket the bottom between the bluff and the river 
on his left. He had made up his own mind that 
nobody could get out of the town by that way, and 
accordingly neglected to have the place thoroughly 
examined in order to render the matter clear and 
certain. Presently Grant discovered that men from 
the town were making their escape through that bot- 
tom, and then a more peremptory command to Herron 
set the matter right by the establishment of the neces- 
sary pickets. 

I must not omit a general who formerly commanded 
a brigade in Logan s division and has for some time 
been detached to a separate command at Milliken's 
Bend. I mean General Dennis. He is a hard- 
headed, hard-working, conscientious man, who never 
knows when he is beaten, and consequently is very 
hard to beat. He is not brilliant, but safe, sound, 
and trustworthy. His predecessor in that command, 
General Sullivan, has for some time been at Grant's 
headquarters, doing nothing with more energy and 
effect than he would be likely to show in any other 
line of duty. He is a gentlemanly fellow, intelli- 
gent, a charming companion, but heavy, jovial, and 
lazy. 

I might write another letter on the staff officers 
and staff organization of Grant's army, should you 
desire it. Yours faithfully, 

C. A. Dana. 

Mr. Stanton. 



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THE INCIDENT OF THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR. 



By Bliss Perry, 
Author of " Tfce Broughton House/* " Salem Kittredge and Other Stories," etc. 



WITH certain aspects of the famous 
incident that brought England and 
the United States to the very verge of war 
in the closing year of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, the public is already familiar. The 
cooler heads, on both sides of the Atlantic, 
had long perceived that a crisis was ap- 
proaching. Our new policy of territorial 
expansion, the attitude of the Administra- 
tion toward Hawaii, the correspondence 
with Germany over her interference with 
South American republics, had all tended 
to inflame international jealousies. The 
discovery of gold in Alaska, two years be- 
fore, had aroused the old question of the 
northwest boundary, and our irritation 
against Great Britain was greatly increased 
by that unlucky after-dinner speech of 
Lord Rawlins, the British Ambassador, on 
the subject of seals. Americans were 
thoroughly angered, and though it was 
shown the next day that his lordship had 
been misreported, there were newspapers 
from one end of the country to the other 
that openly talked war. England at first 
refused to believe that the United States 
was seriously bent upon hostilities, but day 
by day the outlook grew more ominous, 
until at last she was startled by the intel- 
ligence cabled from New York early one 
October morning, that the British Ambas- 
sador had been subjected to gross personal 
indignity during a visit to one of the fore- 
most American universities. What ensued 
is well known, but very few have known 
hitherto the real cause of that dangerous 
and almost fatal imbroglio. 

It began in the office of the New York 
" Orbit." The managing editor, standing 
at a desk in his shirt-sleeves, and dashing 
his pencil across some verbose "copy," 
had said irritably, without looking up, 
" Did you get that story, Andrews ? " 

" No," replied dejectedly the tall young 
fellow at his elbow. " I went way over 
there, but she was another sort of woman 
altogether. I judged that it wouldn't do." 

"You judged it wouldn't do!" burst 
out the "old man." He was doing the 
city, night editor's work for him, and was 
out of temper already. " 'The Orbit' 



doesn't want your judgment; it wants the 
news. Your week is up Friday, Andrews, 
and then you can walk. You came here 
with a reputation as a hustler, and you're 
no good, except on that football column. 
We want men who can gather news. 
See?" 

41 Suppose there isn't any?" said An- 
drews, sulkily. 

11 Then, blank it, make news! " 

The editor snatched at a handful of 
Associated Press despatches, and forgot 
the new reporter utterly. The latter 
turned away with a rather pitiable effort 
at nonchalance, and walked down the 
room between the long rows of desks. 
The electric lights wavered everywhere be- 
fore his eyes. He felt a trifle sick. 

For two years, ever since he began to 
serve as college correspondent for "The 
Orbit," it had been his ambition to secure 
a position upon its staff. They had liked 
the stuff he sent them, and in the foot- 
ball and baseball seasons he had cleared 
enough from " The Orbit" to pay all his 
college expenses. And now, in the Octo- 
ber after graduation, to lose the post he 
had so long desired simply because he 
failed to furnish a sensation where there 
was obviously no sensation at all! It 
made him feel that a livelihood was a ter- 
ribly insecure matter. To think that he, 
Jerry Andrews, a great man in his univer- 
sity only four months before, should be 
dismissed like a scrub-woman ! 

He trudged uptown to his boarding- 
house, to save car fare, and his bedtime 
pipe was a gloomy one. Thanks to superb 
health and a naturally reckless temper, 
however, he slept like a schoolboy, and it 
was only after his late breakfast that the 
gravity of his situation forced itself upon 
him. There were but two days in which 
to retrieve himself with "The Orbit." 
He reported at the office an hour earlier 
than usual, but there was nothing assigned 
to him. He consulted a half-dozen of his 
fellow reporters, but though they swore 
sympathetically at the "old man," they 
had no suggestions as to space work, which 
seemed his only resource. 

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1 66 



THE INCIDENT OF THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR. 



By two o'clock he felt that he was losing 
his nerve. That reminded him of the repu- 
tation for nerve which he had enjoyed as 
an undergraduate, and this in turn sug- 
gested the scheme of running out to the 
old place on the two-thirty, taking a look 
at the team, and perhaps coaching it a 
little, and at any rate getting enough 
football gossip to make a half-column for 
" The Orbit " the next morning. 

His spirits rose the instant he boarded 
the train. The brakeman nodded to him, 
and the conductor thoughtfully neglected 
to notice that the date upon his pass — a 
perquisite of the managing editor of the 
college daily — had expired the preceding 
June. Whatever might be his fate in New 
York, Jerry Andrews was a hero still in 
his old haunts, and it thrilled him to recog- 
nize it once more. 

As the train slowed up at the dear old 
station, he was already upon the steps of 
the car, his cap on the back of his head, 
his eyes shining with pleasure. Of the 
four or five hundred undergraduates who, 
to his surprise, were crowded upon the 
platform, only the freshmen failed to rec- 
ognize him. 

"D'ye see that man?" said a kindly 
disposed junior to one of these last, as 
Andrews swung himself from the steps. 
"That's Jerry Andrews of Ninety-Blank: 
the tall stoop-shouldered fellow with a 
Roman nose. Doesn't look much like an 
athlete, does he ? He's the best all-round 
man we ever had, though. Cool! why, 
he used to go to sleep on the way up to 
the big games! And, oh! how he can do 
a song-and-dance, and you ought to see 
him run a mass-meeting! He's coming 
this way. Oh, hullo, Jerry! " 

" What's up ? " said Andrews to a dozen 
admirers at once, while the football cap- 
tain was shouldering his way toward him 
through the crowd to secure him for the 
coaching and the freshmen stared. 

" Don't you know ? Why, Lord Cuthbert 
Rawlins is coming on the next train to 
visit Tommy." 

" The British Ambassador ? " 

"Sure. Tommy met him at Newport, 
and asked him to visit Ossian, and 
we're here to see Tommy do the interna- 
tional act. He's sitting over in his car- 
riage now, rattled already. Oh, it'll be 
great! " 

Andrews grinned. He had given the 
President of the University many an un- 
comfortable quarter of an hour, in his 
day, and, to tell the truth, Tommy, as- 
sisted by an admiring faculty, had more 



than once made matters rather unpleasant 
for Jerry Andrews. 

" And what do you suppose the alumni 
will say?" cried a shrill, familiar voice 
near him, in the center of a pushing mob 
of undergraduates. It was Kilpatrick 
Tiernan, Ossian 's celebrated short-stop, 
out of training in the autumn months and 
making the most of his privileges. " Oh, 
what will the alumni say," he pleaded, 
waving his pipe pathetically around his 
ears, " when they learn that you fellows 
have given the Ossian yell for Lord Cuth- 
bert Rawlins?" He prolonged the three 
final words with masterly irony. " He 
has publicly insulted this country, only 
last week, and to give him the Ossian yell 
— the Ossian yell, think of it! — is a dis- 
grace to every true-born American! " 

" Right you are, Patsy! " cried a class- 
mate encouragingly. Most of the crowd 
laughed. 

"Oh, you can laugh," put in Patsy 
commiseratingly, " but when the iron heel 
of England is once more upon your 
necks, you'll wish you had hissed, as I'm 
going to! Patriots, this way! " 

But the Washington train whistled at 
the crossing, and Tiernan's impassioned 
appeal failed to hold his audience. There 
was a general scramble for the front of 
the platform, and in the melee the short- 
stop managed, to his huge satisfaction, to 
have some one push him violently against 
Tommy, who received his profuse apolo- 
gies with a suavity as artistic, in its way, 
as Tiernan's rudeness. There was a back- 
ward sway of the struggling mass as the 
train darkened the platform. 

"There he is," whispered a hundred 
students at once as a stately, eagle-nosed 
gentleman with white side-whiskers ap- 
peared at the door of the Pullman car. 
At that moment he was the most hated 
man in America, partly because of the ar- 
rogant frankness with which he had appar- 
ently played his diplomatic game through- 
out, partly because of that unlucky misre- 
ported speech about the seals, but largely, 
in reality, because circumstances had 
placed him in a delicate position, where he 
could make no explanations without be- 
traying the fact — which every one recog- 
nizes now — that the game he seemed to be 
playing was not the real one, and that 
Germany, and not the United States, was 
the object of England's inexplicable moves 
upon the international chess-board. He 
gazed at the crowd quietly, but with some 
amused curiosity upon his face. It was 
his first sight of American undergraduates. 



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BLISS PERRY. 



167 



"By Jupiter, Jerry," whispered the foot- 
ball captain to Andrews, " he looks enough 
like you to be your father." 

"Thank you for nothing," said An- 
drews, and at the same moment he reached 
across the shoulders of three or four men 
and tapped the regular college correspond- 
ent of "The Orbit." 

" I'm down as a ' special,' Richmond," 
he said, with a smile that would have 
persuaded more obstinate fellows than the 
junior he was addressing; " I want you to 
let me have this. ' ' His voice was drowned 
by the college yell, which some irresponsi- 
ble fellow proposed, in defiance of Patsy 
Tiernan, and which the Ossian boys made 
it a point of honor to give well, whoever 
started it. But as a whole the crowd 
was ready for mischief, and a few men 
were crying " Seals! Seals! " as the Presi- 
dent of the University made his way to 
the steps of the car. He was terribly anx- 
ious at bottom for the conduct of his boys, 
knowing their capacity for spontaneous 
deviltry and the sudden unpopularity of 
Lord Rawlins, but he wore his jauntiest 
manner on the surface and the elaborate- 
ness of his greeting to his guest caught 
the mercurial fancy of the crowd. 

"Give 'em the long yell," screamed 
some one, and the favorite long yell was 
given, on general principles. Tommy 
smiled with gratitude as he escorted the 
Ambassador down the shifting lane of 
under-graduates to his carriage. 

"Speech! Speech!" shouted a hun- 
dred voices, but the President shook his 
head ceremoniously, and pretended not to 
hear the cries of "Seals! Seals!" 
•• Burn him in effigy! " which Kilpatrick 
Tiernan was hoarsely raising in the rear 
of the crowd, to the joy of the hackmen 
and the dismay of the more seriously in- 
clined. The carriage door closed sharply, 
and the "international act" was appar- 
ently over. 

"That's good for a column," thought 
Andrews to himself, as the football cap- 
tain marched him off to the field, follow- 
ing the drifting crowd. " And I wonder if 
the 'old man' wouldn't like me to try 
for an interview with Lord Rawlins ? 
Even a fake interview might be better than 
nothing." 

But his reportorial duties were forgotten 
the instant he reached the field and donned 
a sweater. For a long happy hour he 
coached the new half-back in particular 
and the rest of the team in general, while 
about half the university crowded over 
the side lines and called it the snappiest 



practice of the year. Then he got his 
bath, and a rub down from the affection- 
ate hands of his old trainer, and it was 
nearly six when he reached the campus 
again. He had declined the training-table 
dinner and a half-dozen other invitations, 
in the hope of catching the British Ambas- 
sador at Tommy's, for the moment the 
excitement of coaching was over his un- 
easiness at his status with "The Orbit" 
came back again. One lucky stroke 
might make his fortune with the "old 
man " yet. 

As he cut across the lawn toward the 
President's house the older members of 
the faculty, frock-coated and gloved, 
were coming away in solemn, awkward 
couples. That meant a reception, and it 
was probably just over. Lester, Tommy's 
man-of-all-work, was on duty at the door. 
Many a quarter of a dollar had he taken 
from Jerry Andrews, in return for items of 
interest to the readers of "The Orbit," 
but he shook his head with great impor- 
tance when Jerry asked if there was any 
chance of getting Lord Rawlins's ear for a 
moment. 

"Senator Martin is going to entertain 
his lordship at Belmartin, at dinner," Les- 
ter volunteered, nodding toward a United 
States senator who was pacing the great 
hallway. " They'll be driving over right 
away." 

It was a dozen miles to the Senator's 
famous stock-farm, and his dinners were 
even more celebrated than his brood 
mares. 

" Then Lord Rawlins won't be back till 
late, I suppose," hazarded Andrews. 

"No, sir." 

Now, if Andrews had been a little longer 
in the profession, he would have bagged 
the Ambassador then and there, and a sen- 
ator into the bargain; but as it was he 
suffered Lester to close the door behind 
him, and he was half-way across the cam- 
pus before he realized his mistake. He 
hesitated and turned back, but at that in- 
stant the Senator's carriage drove up to 
Tommy's door and Lord Rawlins entered 
it. He had lost his chance. 

Ruefully he turned toward the telegraph 
office, to send his story of Lord Rawlins's 
arrival at the Ossian station that after- 
noon. It was something, of course, but 
the situation had promised something bet- 
ter yet, if he had not been so stupid. He 
stopped suddenly, his hands deep in his 
trousers pockets, his eyes glued to the 
ground, a queer look upon his face. Was 
it a chance remark made to him at the 



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THE INCIDENT OF THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR. 



station, or the subtle influence of the old 
campus, — the campus where he had a 
crowd of worshipers, where he was safe, 
as in a sort of Alsatia, from outside inter- 
ference, and where, as a graduate now, he 
was beyond the jurisdiction of the faculty ? 
Was it a journalistic instinct, or simply 
the real devil-may-care Jerry Andrews-ism 
flashing out once more ? At any rate, if 
the arch-imp himself had prompted the 
scheme, no finer instrument for its accom- 
plishment could have been devised than 
Kjlpatrick Tiernan, who with a couple of 
satellites was leisurely crossing the-cam- 
pus on his way to dinner when he caught 
sight of his old crony Jerry Andrews, 
standing there with his hands in his pock- 
ets and that peculiar inventive smile upon 
his handsome face. 

It was rumored upon the campus, di- 
rectly after dinner, that the undergradu- 
ate body was to serenade Lord Rawlins at 
the President's at eight o'clock. Some 
men even reported that Tommy had spe- 
cially requested that tribute to his guest, 
though this was doubted by the more as- 
tute, who knew Tommy's general aversion 
to student mobs, even though they did not 
know that he had actually accepted Sen- 
ator Martin's invitation on purpose to 
avoid this particular one. Debate ran 
high until Kilpatrick Tiernan offered to 
ascertain Tommy's wishes in person ; and 
leaving his unruly escort at the gate, he 
decorously rang the President's bell. His 
followers could not hear his conversation 
with Lester, but this was his report, deliv- 
ered from the top of the gate post : 

" Fellows, Lord Rawlins is dining now, 
and Tommy doesn't wish him disturbed." 
(Groans.) " But he understands that there 
is to be a bonfire on the campus to-night, 
to celebrate Saturday's game, and he will 
bring Lord Rawlins over, to show him a 
characteristic Ossian scene." (Rapturous 
applause.) " Now every one give a long 
yell for the characteristic scene! " 

But before the cheer had subsided, Tier- 
nan himself, to the amazement of most of 
his friends, had managed to escape from 
view. He did not reappear for half an 
hour. By that time the bonfire, prepared 
the preceding Saturday, but postponed be- 
cause of rain, was blazing merrily, and 
nearly a thousand undergraduates were 
singing, cheering, and skylarking around 
it. The pet soloist of the glee club gave 
his newest song, the football captain made 
a speech, followed by the manager and 
the bow-legged guard who had made the 



touch-down; one or two alumni who hap- 
pened to be in town exhorted the under- 
graduates to uphold the ancient traditions 
of Ossian ; and there were calls from every 
side for " Andrews, Ninety-Blank! " But 
Andrews, Ninety-Blank, the genius of so 
many scenes like this, could not be discov- 
ered, and after another song, a group of 
seniors demanded in concert: 

' ' We-want- Patsy- Tiernan / We - want- 
Patsy- Tiernan!" 

The crowd clapped, and Tiernan, who 
had just made his way into the circle, took 
off his cap and faced the firelight. He 
was the idol of the baser sort, and the 
spoiled child of the others. 

"Fellows," he began impressively, 
"Lord-Cuthbert-Rawlins has said" — he 
paused in the long upward drawl for mock 
emphasis — "I repeat, Lord-Cuthbert- 
Rawlins has said" — and he quoted the 
most unfortunate of those sentences that 
the reporters had put into his lordship's 
mouth a week before. 

A growl, topped by hisses, ran around 
the loop of firelit faces. The orator raised 
his hand majestically. " I would not for 
the world arouse your righteous wrath." 
A chorus of whistles and approving howls 
greeted this pious declaration. " No, not 
for both worlds! " Patsy added, in a deep 
bathos that convulsed his intimates and 
thrilled the under-classmen. " But Lord 
Rawlins comes to-night to visit us upon 
this historic ground." (Cheers.) "I 
would suggest no indecorum" (this with 
a long, leering pause); "but shall his 
slur upon America's fair name go unchal- 
lenged here ? What say you, sons of old 
Ossian?" 

There was a smashing chorus of big- 
lunged exclamations, and some sophomores 
craftily tossed a couple of cannon-crack- 
ers into the freshman segment of the 
great circle. 

"Silence!-" shrieked Tiernan. "Si- 
lence, Americans! Shall a British envoy 
stand upon our campus and repeat his 
insults to our face ? I pause for a reply." 

He scanned the outskirts of the audi- 
ence, as if in reality awaiting a response. 
At that moment, from the rear of the 
crowd, came a shrill cat-call. The orator 
rose to his fullest height, and whirled 
around with outstretched finger and gleam- 
ing eyes. " Fellows! " he hissed melodra- 
matically, ' ' there is Lord Rawlins now / ' ' 

On the steps of the dormitory nearest 
the President's house stood a tall, Roman- 
nosed, white-side-whiskered personage in 
evening dress, blinking benignantly at the 



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scene before him. He must have heard 
every word of Tiernan's speech, but he 
smiled down in superior fashion at the 
crowd that swept toward him so tumultu- 
ously. A few hisses were mingled with 
the applause that greeted him, but there 
were many in the throng who evidently 
felt that Tiernan had gone too far and 
were desirous of maintaining Ossian's rep- 
utation for impartial hospitality. But 
friends and foes united in a trampling 
chorus of " Speech / Speech I We want a 
speech I ' ' 

The British Ambassador drew a monocle 
from his waistcoat pocket, adjusted it leis- 
urely, hemmed two or three times, and 
then, in an odd, falsetto voice that sharp- 
ened every word and sent it uncomfortably 
home, delivered himself of a most singu- 
lar speech indeed. It was an explana- 
tion, he declared, of the misapprehensions 
under which his young friend who had just 
addressed this audience was evidently la- 
boring, and he proceeded to tell what he 
had really meant to say at that historic 
dinner the week before. But his explana- 
tion made matters infinitely worse; at 
every turn he let slip phrases that betrayed 
his contempt for the United States; it 
would have been absurd, if it had not been 
so outrageous, to listen to those supercili- 
ous sentences, delivered in a style that 
out-heroded even the check-suited Eng- 
lishman of the variety stage. At first the 
crowd had been decorous enough, but 
from moment to moment it was obviously 
escaping from the control of the sober- 
minded, and soon it became openly deri- 
sive. The Ambassador now seemed to 
lose his temper likewise, and his maladroit 
compliments turned into thinly disguised 
vituperation. His audience became a 
surging mob. In vain did Lord Rawlins 
wave his angular arms, or strike attitudes 
of defiant, monocled patience. 

When Patsy Tiernan yelled " Down with 
him! " the spark touched the powder. A 
dozen hot-heads actually rushed the steps 
and laid hands upon Her Majesty's accred- 
ited representative. 

Then came the worst of all. "The 
rail! The rail! Where's the Lincoln 
rail ? " shouted Tiernan, as if beside him- 
self with fury. Forth from its resting- 
place in one of the dormitories was 
dragged that precious relic of the i860 
Presidential campaign: a fence-rail reputed 
to have been split by the hands of the 
martyr President. 

44 Put him on a sealskin! " yelled some 
one. 



44 Oh, ride him on a sealskin, sure 
enough ! " 

As if by magic a skin rug, snatched 
from somebody's floor, was tossed over 
the sharp corners of the rail. Twenty 
reckless satellites of Patsy Tiernan lifted 
the Ambassador from his feet. He made 
the best of an unspeakably bad matter, 
shrugged his aristocratic shoulders, and 
flung his leg over the rail. It was hoisted 
to the shoulders of the maddened young 
patriots, and three times did the frantic 
procession circle the huge bonfire, amid 
the rapturous cheers of half the university 
and the silent apprehensions or awe- 
stricken exclamations of the other half. 
Then it vanished toward Tommy's house, 
just as the university proctor had fought 
his way to within a hand's grasp of the 
rail. 

At this instant one of the very knowing 
freshmen nudged a classmate and whis- 
pered, 44 Ain't you on to it, Atkins? I 
am. Those upper-classmen are trying 
to play horse with us. That ain't Lord 
Rawlins at all. That's Andrews, Ninety- 
Blank!" 

On the other side of the bonfire, at the 
same moment, an idea suggested itself to 
a sallow youth with glasses. He edged 
away circumspectly, and then dashed off 
to the telegraph office. 

41 This will be hot stuff for * The Enter- 
prise,' " he murmured, and he glanced over 
his shoulder as he ran, to make sure that 
41 The Unspeakable's " correspondent had 
not taken a hint from his own departure. 
It was 9.20. The Ossian office closed at 
9.30 unless there were despatches waiting 
to be sent; and the heart of " The Enter- 
prise " correspondent was tuneful as he 
discovered that there was nobody ahead of 
him and that the operator was still at his 
desk. 

He scribbled the first sheet of his story, 
and pushed it under the wire screen to- 
ward the operator. 

44 Here, Fred," said he, " I want you to 
rush this. I'll have some more ready in a 
minute, and to-night I'll try to keep ahead 
of you." He laughed gleefully at the 
thought of his beat. 

But the operator shook his head, with- 
out so much as glancing at him. " You'll 
have to wait," he remarked. " Mr. An- 
drews has the wire just now;" and he 
clicked away with irritating composure. 
A five-dollar bill reposing just then in his 
trousers pocket may have aided his philos- 
ophy. He was telegraphing page after 
page of the University Catalogue, in order 



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THE INCIDENT OF THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR. 



to hold the wire, while the editor of " The 
Orbit," opening his eyes as sheet after 
sheet of that valuable matter was brought 
him, perceived a journalistic feat, and 
hazarded the opinion that perhaps young 
Andrews was not after all an irremediable 
fool. 

Meantime the " Enterprise" man paced 
the office anxiously, and before long 
"The Unspeakable's " correspondent 
came panting iji. The latter's face fell 
as he recognized his rival. 

"How long'll I have to wait, Fred?" 
he demanded. 

" No idea," said Fred, looking up from 
the catalogue with a yawn. He seemed 
mightily indifferent. 

Just then Andrews, Ninety-Blank, saun- 
tered into the office, a bit of lamb's wool 
still sticking to his cheek and the powder 
only half out of his hair. He nodded 
cordially to the correspondents, and 
marched straight around to the inner en- 
closure, where he seated himself comfort- 
ably by the operator, and began to sharpen 
a lead pencil. 

" Could you tell me how soon you'll be 
through, Mr. Andrews?" ventured the 
"Enterprise" youth. He was only a 
sophomore; last year a nod from Jerry 
Andrews would have made him supremely 
happy. 

" Possibly by twelve," replied Andrews 
courteously, "but I wouldn't like to 
promise." 

" I suppose not! " said the sophomore, 
in dignified irony, and he strolled to the 
door with as much indifference as he could 
assume. " The Enterprise " went to press 
at midnight. The only other telegraph 
office within possible reach, at that hour, 
was ten miles away. If he had a wheel, 
though, he might make it in time, and pre- 
vent "The Orbit's" beat. And behold, 
there was " The Unspeakable's " fellow's 
wheel at the very curbstone, with even 
the lantern lighted. He took one look at 
the owner, who was arguing hotly with 
Fred, swung his leg over the saddle, and 
pedaled off, under the clear October star- 
light. 

Five miles out of town he narrowly 
escaped collision with a closed carriage, 
in which were seated the President of 
the University and Lord Cuthbert Raw- 
lins, driving homeward in great peaceful- 
ness of heart and chatting confidentially, 
as it happened, about the unfortunate an- 
tagonism to Great Britain which is some- 
times exhibited in uncultivated American 
society. 



RIOT AT OSSIAN. 
RIDDEN ON A RAIL!! 

ABE LINCOLN SPLIT IT; LORD RAWLINS 

RODE IT, WITH A SEALSKIN SADDLE ! 

BRITISH AMBASSADOR LEARNS THE 

SPIRIT OF AMERICAN COLLEGE BOYS. 

QUERY: WILL THE LION ROAR? 

These were the headlines of the " exclu- 
sive " intelligence which the New York 
"Orbit" spread before its readers the 
next morning. The beat was the talk of 
Newspaper Row, for the scanty version 
of the affair telegraphed to the " Enter- 
prise " from a town ten miles away from 
the scene of the riot was scarcely worth 
considering as news, though it confirmed 
the most startling features of the incident. 
The other morning papers issued later 
editions, embodying " The Orbit's " story, 
for there was no mistaking the popular ex- 
citement, or the temper of the crowds 
that surrounded the bulletin boards. 
Some were incredulous, ready to recog- 
nize a colossal American joke, though not 
quite convinced that it was a joke. More 
were grave, knowing the tension that 
already existed between the two countries, 
and that the slightest strain might cause 
irrevocable disaster. 

The real crisis, however, was not in 
New York, as everybody knows, but in 
London. The New York correspondent 
of the "London Times" lost his head 
for once, and cabled "The Orbit's" ac- 
count of the Ossian incident entire. The 
"Times" extras were flung upon the 
streets shortly after two o'clock. If New 
York had rocked like a ship in a storm at 
the news of the insult to Lord Rawlins, 
London was like the sea itself. American 
securities went do%n, down, and out of 
sight. But nobody cared. The Ossian 
incident had been the lightning flash that 
revealed how far apart the two nations had 
drifted. Better war now than another 
week of heart-breaking anxiety. Let it 
come! 

When the House of Commons convened 
that afternoon, the members had to fight 
their way through a mob a hundred thou- 
sand strong that besieged the Palace 
Yard. The Minister of Foreign Affairs 
was late in taking his seat, and when he 
strolled forward to his place on the gov- 
ernment bench, his careless manner was 
strangely at variance with the drawn lines 
around his mouth and his haggard eyes. 



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For three hours he had been cabling to 
Washington and to the British consul at 
New York for confirmation of the news 
about Lord Rawlins, but beyond the bare 
fact that the British Ambassador had gone 
to Ossian the day before, no tidings of him 
were obtainable. He had disappeared 
from the sight of the Foreign Office as 
completely as if the rail split by Abe Lin- 
coln had borne him off the planet, and the 
Minister of Foreign Affairs was in de- 
spair. 

And where was Lord Rawlins ? He 
was on the golf links at Ossian, playing 
the game of his life. While the President 
of the University was waiting for his dis- 
tinguished guest to appear at breakfast, 
his secretary had handed him " The 
Orbit." A thousand copies had been 
rushed into town by the early train; every 
student had seen one; and four reporters 
were already in the front hall to interview 
his lordship. In the face of this annoy- 
ance, the result, no doubt, of the silliness 
of some new correspondent, Tommy ex- 
hibited that astuteness in which Ossian 
found a perpetual delight. He invited 
the reporters to come again in an hour, 
got "The Orbit" out of sight, and told 
his best stories at the breakfast table until 
the chapel bell had long stopped ringing 
for morning prayers. Then he looked at 
his watch, declared it was so late that he 
would abandon his intention of taking his 
guest to morning chapel— did he not 
know that an ecstatic crowd of collegians 
were awaiting the arrival of the British 
envoy! — and proposed that instead of 
looking over the university buildings they 
spend the morning on the links. Lord 
Rawlins was a famous player, as every- 
body knew, and Tommy's son was then 
the holder of the intercollegiate cham- 
pionship. To the links the party drove 
then, by a circuitous road, the wise Tom- 
my leaving no hint of their destination. 
Hour after hour, through that long fore- 
noon, reporters and callers and telegrams 
and cablegrams accumulated in the Presi- 
dent's mansion, while ETord Rawlins, in 
total ignorance of any international excite- 
ment, went over the eighteen-hole course 
like a boy of twenty, leading the cham- 
pion by two points all the way. 

At lunch time, and not before, he was 
told in Tommy's inimitable style of the 
newspaper joke that had been practiced 
upon the public at his expense. His lord- 
ship discreetly chose to consider it a deli- 
ciously characteristic example of American 



humor. He even smiled at the cable- 
grams which had been forwarded to him 
from Washington, though his smile by 
this time was decidedly a diplomatic one. 
Yet he sent a semi-jocular despatch to the 
Minister of Foreign Affairs, and then de- 
voted himself to the excellent luncheon, 
which was attended by the heads of the 
departments of the university, all eager to 
atone for the silly action of some unknown 
correspondent of a sensational newspaper. 
They laughed at all of Lord Rawlins's 
anecdotes, and talked solemnly to him 
about the brotherhood of educated men 
on both sides of the Atlantic. 

And at that very instant, making due 
time allowance, the Minister of Foreign 
Affairs, white-faced and sick at heart, 
was trying to explain to an angry House 
that it had been impossible to communi- 
cate directly with the Ambassador to the 
United States, but that there was no rea- 
sonable doubt that the Ossian incident was 
largely exaggerated, and that, in any case, 
Her Majesty's government could be relied 
on to take such steps as were necessary to 
preserve the national honor. Friendship 
with the United States, it was needless to 
say, was too important to be Jightly thrust 
aside, and so forth — and so forth. 

It was useless. The House would have 
none of his phrases. Fifty members were 
on their feet at once, shouting and gesticu- 
lating at the Speaker. A London Social- 
ist got the floor, as it chanced, and threat- 
ened the Government with a resolution of 
lack of confidence. It was an ill wind 
that would blow his coterie no good, and 
this was a whirlwind. For a moment it 
looked as if the Government was doomed, 
but the leader of the House got the floor 
by a trick, and in a masterly little speech 
moved a war budget of ten million pounds. 
To that appeal to British patriotism there 
could be but one response. The budget was 
rushed from reading to reading without a 
single dissenting voice; the alarming intel- 
ligence was flashed to every corner of the 
wide world; and just then the Minister of 
Foreign Affairs received his despatch from 
Lord Rawlins, written during lunch in the 
dining-room of the President's mansion at 
Ossian, United States of America. He 
consulted a moment with his colleagues, 
and then read it to the House. It is fa- 
mous now, and, indeed, it is said that 
Lord Rawlins's present political station is 
due to the singular popularity which that 
despatch brought him. It ran: "Rumor 
of insult groundless. Newspaper joke. En- 
tire courtesy everywhere. Have just beaten 



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HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 



American champion at golf y breaking all 
American records" 

The House came down from the sublime 
with a bump. A pompous gentleman of 
the Opposition who began a sarcastic 
speech about the American conception of 
a joke was laughed off his feet, as wave 
after wave of merriment rolled heavily 
over the surface of the House. There 
were cheers for Lord Rawlins, cheers for 
the golf championship, cheers for Her 
Majesty, cheers galore; and thus ended, 
as far as Parliament was concerned, the 
incident of the British Ambassador. 

When Jerry Andrews reported for duty 
that afternoon, the crowd was jostling yet 
around "The Orbit's" bulletin boards. 



That enterprising sheet was still throwing 
off extra after extra to exploit its journal- 
istic feat, treating the whole affair with 
the cheerful cynicism which " The Orbit " 
prided itself upon maintaining in every 
exigency. Its editor leaned on his elbows 
blandly as Jerry walked up to his desk. 

"You found some news over there, I 
judge," he remarked. 

" Or made some," replied Andrews de- 
murely, catching his eye. 

"Humph!" said the editor with Del- 
phic ambiguity; but for the first time in 
the traditions of the paper, he offered the 
reporter a cigar. That cigar is hanging 
over Mr. Andrews's desk, in the " Orbit " 
office, at this moment. 



HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 

By \V. T. Stead. 

The following- hymns, with the accompanying notes, are from a collection made by Mr. W. T. Stead, which will be 
published in book form in America by the Doubleday and McClure Company. Mr. Stead fathered the material from 
many sources. He asked of many men and women the question : ** What hymns have helped you ? " and received many 
widely varying responses.— Editor. 



LUTHER'S HYMN. 

A BATTLE hymn indeed is this famous 
hymn which Heinrich Heine rightly 
describes as " the Marseillaise Hymn of the 
Reformation." Luther composed it for 
theDiet of Spires, when, on April 20th, 1529, 
the German Princes made their formal 
protest against the revocation of their lib- 
erties, and so became known as Protes- 
tants. In the life-and-death struggle that 
followed, it was as a clarion summoning 
all faithful souls to do battle, without 
fear, against the insulting foe. Luther 
sang it to the lute every day. It was the 
spiritual and national tonic of Germany, 
administered in those dolorous times as 
doctors administer quinine to sojourners 
in fever-haunted marshes. Every one sang 
it, old and young, children in the street, 
soldiers on the battle-field. The more 
heavily hit they were, the more tenaciously 
did they cherish the song that assured 
them of ultimate victory. When Melanc- 
thon and his friends, after Luther's death, 
were sent into banishment, they were mar- 
velously cheered as they entered Weimar 
on hearing a girl sing Luther's hymn in 
the street. " Sing on, dear daughter 
mine," said Melancthon, "thou knowest 
not what comfort thou bringest to our 
heart." Nearly a hundred years later, be- 



fore the great victory which he gained 
over the Catholic forces at Leipsic, Gus- 
tavus Adolphus asked his warriors to sing 
Luther's hymn, and after the victory he 
thanked God that He had made good the 
promise, " The field He will maintain it." 
It was sung at the battle of Ltitzen. It 
was sung also many a time and oft during 
the Franco-German war. In fact, when- 
ever the depths of the German heart are 
really stirred, the sonorous strains of 
Luther's hymn instinctively burst forth. 
M. Vicomte de VoguS, one of the most 
brilliant of contemporary writers, in his 
criticism of M. Zola's " Debacle," pays a 
splendid tribute to the element in the 
German character which finds its most 
articulate expression in Luther's noble 
psalm. . . . 

" He who is so well up in all the points 
of the battlefield of Sedan must surely 
know what was to be seen and heard there 
on the evening of September 1st, 1870. It 
was a picture to tempt his pen — those in- 
numerable lines of fires starring ail the 
valley of the Meuse, those grave and sol- 
emn chants sent out into the night by hun- 
dreds of thousands of voices. No orgy, 
no disorder, no relaxation of discipline; 
the men mounting guard under arms till 
the inexorable task was done; the hymns 
to the God of victory and the distant 



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HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 



173 



home — they seemed like an army of priests 
coming from the sacrifice. This one pic- 
ture, painted as the novelist knows how to 
paint in his best days, would have shown 
us what virtues, wanting in our own camp, 
had kept fortune in the service of the 
other/' 

Of English versions there have been 
many. That of Thomas Carlyle is gener- 
ally regarded as the best. 

1 A sure stronghold our God is He. 

A trusty shield and weapon ; 
Our help He'll be, and set us free 
From every ill can happen. 

That old malicious foe 

Intends us deadly woe ; 

Armed with might from Hell, 

And deepest craft as well, 
On earth is not his fellow. 

2 Through our own force we nothing can, * 

Straight were we lost for ever ; 
But for us fights the proper Man, 
By God sent to deliver. 

Ask ye who this may be 

Christ Jesus named is He. 

Of Sabaoth the Lord ; 

Sole God to be adored ; 
'Tis He must win the battle. 

3 And were the world with devils filled. 

All eager to devour us, 
Our souls to fear should little yield, 
They cannot overpower us. 

Their dreaded Prince no more 

Can harm us as of yore ; 

Look grim as e'er he may, 

Doomed is his ancient sway ; 
A word can overthrow him. 

4 God's word for all their craft and force 

One moment will not linger ; 
But spite of Hell shall have its course 

'Tis written by His finger. 
And though they take our life, 
Goods, honor, children, wife ; 
Yet is there profit small : 
These things shall vanish all ; 

The city of God remaineth. 

Tunc—" Worms? also called x% Ein % Feste Burg." 

The Forty-sixth Psalm was always a 
great stand-by for fighting men. The 
Huguenots and Covenanters used to cheer 
their hearts in the extremity of adverse 
fortunes by the solemn chant: 

God is our refuge and our strength, 

In straits a present aid ; 
Therefore, although the earth remove 

We will not be afraid. 

It will be noted that, although Luther s 
hymn is suggested by the Forty-sixth 
Psalm, it is really Luther's psalm, not 
David's. Only the idea of the stronghold 
is taken from the Scripture; the rest is 



Luther's own, "made in Germany," in 
deed, and not only so, but one of the most 
potent influences that have contributed 
to the making of Germany. And who 
knows how soon again we may see the ful- 
filment of Heine's speculation, when Ger- 
mans " may soon have to raise again these 
old words, flashing and pointed with iron "? 
That M. de Vogue does not stray beyond 
his book there is ample evidence to prove. 
For instance, Cassell's ,4 History of the 
Franco-German War " describes how, the 
day after the battle of Sedan, a multitude 
of German troops who were on the march 
for Paris found it impossible to sleep, 
wearied though they were. They were 
billeted in the parish Church of Augecourt. 
The excitement of the day had been too 
great; the memory of the bloody fight and 
their fallen comrades mingled strangely 
with pride of victory and the knowledge 
that they had rescued their country from 
the foe. Suddenly, in the twilight and the 
stillness, a strain of melody proceeded 
from the organ — at first softly, very softly, 
and then with ever-increasing force — the 
grand old hymn-tune, familiar as " house- 
hold words" to every German ear, " Nun 
danket alle Gott," swelled along the 
vaulted aisles. With one voice officers 
and men joined in the holy strains; and 
when the hymn was ended, the performer, 
a simple villager, came forward and deliv- 
ered a short, simple, heartfelt speech. 
Then, turning again to the organ, he 
struck up Luther's old hymn, " Ein' feste 
Burg est unser Gott," and again all joined 
with heart and voice. The terrible strain 
on their system, which had tried their 
weary souls and had banished slumber 
from their eyes, was now removed, and 
they laid themselves down with thankful 
hearts and sought and found the rest they 
so much needed. 

Frederick the Great on one occasion 
called Luther's hymn "God Almighty's 
Grenadier March." 

GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS'S BATTLE HYMN. 

Few figures stand out so visibly against 
the bloody mist of the religious wars of 
the seventeenth century as that of Gus- 
tavus Adolphus, the hero King of Sweden, 
who triumphed at Leipsic and who fell 
dead on the morning of victory at Ltitzen. 
The well-known hymn beginning "Verzage 
nicht, du H&uflein," which is known as 
Gustavus Adolphus's battle hymn, was 
composed by Pastor Altenburg, at Erfurt, 
on receiving the news of the great victory 



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HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 



of Leipsic, which gave fresh heart and 
hope to the Protestants of Germany. It 
was sung on the morning of the battle of 
Ltitzen, under the following circumstances. 
When the morning of November 16, 1632, 
dawned, the Catholic and Protestant 
armies under Wallenstein and Gustavus 
Adolphus stood facing each other. Gus- 
tavus ordered all his chaplains to hold 
a service of prayer. He threw himself 
upon his knees and prayed fervently while 
the whole army burst out into a lofty 
song of praise and prayer : 

" Verzage nicht, du Hauflein klein." 

As they prayed and sang a mist de- 
scended, through which neither army could 
discern the foe. The King set his troops 
in battle array, giving them as their watch- 
word " God with us." As he rode along 
the lines he ordered the kettledrums and 



trumpets to strike 
"Em* feste Burg " 
Gott genadig sein. 



up Luther's hymns, 
and " Es wollt uns 
As they played, the 



soldiers joined in as with one voice. The 
mist began to lift, the sun shone bright, 
and Gustavus knelt again in prayer. Then, 
rising, he cried: "Now we will set to, 
please God," and then louder he said, 
"Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, help me this day to fight 
for the honor of Thy name!" Then he 
charged the enemy at full speed, defended 
only by a leathern gorget. " God is my 
harness," he replied to his servant, who 
rushed to put on his armor. The battle 
was hot and bloody. At eleven in the 
forenoon the fatal bullet struck Gustavus, 
and he sank dying from his horse, crying: 
" My God, my God! " The combat went 
on for hours afterwards, but when twi- 
light fell Wallenstein* s army broke and 
fled, and the dead King remained victor of 
the field on which with his life he had pur- 
chased the religious liberties of Northern 
Europe. 

1 Fear not, O little flock, the foe, 
Who madly seeks your overthrow, 

Dread not his rage and power ; 
What, tho' your courage sometimes faints, 
His seeming triumph o'er God's saints 

Lasts but a little hour. 

2 Be of good cheer, — your cause belongs 
To Him who can avenge your wrongs, 

Leave it to Him, our Lord. 
Tho' hidden yet from all our eyes, 
He sees the Gideon who shall rise 

To save us, and His word. 

3 As true as God's own word is true, 
Nor earth, nor hell, with all their crew, 

Against us shall prevail, — 



A jest and byword are they grown ; 
44 God is with us" we are His own, 
Our victory cannot fail. 

Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer ! 
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare ; 

Fight for us once again ! 
So shall Thy saints and martyrs raise 
A mighty chorus to Thy praise, 

World without end. Amen. 



"ART THOU WEARY, ART THOU LAN- 
GUID?" 

The Monastery of Mar Saba, founded 
before the Hegira of Mohammed, still 
stands on its ancient rock looking down 
upon the valley of the Kedron. Forty 
monks still inhabit the cells which cluster 
round the grave of St. Sabas, the founder, 
w.ho died in 532, and still far below in the 
depths of the gorge the wolves and the 
jackals muster at morning light to eat the 
offal and refuse which the monks fling 
down below. In this monastic fortress 
lived, in the eighth century, a monk named 
Stephen, who, before he died, was gifted 
from on high with the supreme talent of 
embodying in a simple hymn so much of 
the essence of the divine life that came to 
the world through Christ Jesus that in this 
last decade of the nineteenth century no 
hymn more profoundly touches the heart 
and raises the spirits of Christian worship- 
ers. Dr. Neale paraphrased this song of 
Stephen the Sabaite, so that this strain, 
originally raised on the stern ramparts of 
an outpost of Eastern Christendom already 
threatened with submersion beneath the 
flood of Moslem conquest, rings with ever- 
increasing volume of melodious sound 
through the whole wide world to-day: 

1 Art thou weary, art thou languid, 

Art thou sore distrest ? 
" Come to me," saith One, 4t and coming, 
Be at rest." 

2 Hath He marks to lead me to Him, 

If He be my guide ? 
" In His feet and hands are wound-prints, 
And His side." 

3 Is there diadem, as monarch, 

That His brow adorns ? 
*' Yes, a crown, in very surety, 
But of thorns ! " 

4 If I find Him, if I follow, 

What His guerdon here? 
** Many a sorrow, many a labor, 
Many a tear." 

5 If I still hold closely to Him, 

What hath He at last ? 
*' Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, 
Jordan past ! " 



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HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 



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6 If I ask Him to receive me, 

Will He say me nay ? 
•* Not till earth, and not till heaven, 
Pass away ! " 

7 Finding, following, keeping, struggling, 

Is He sure to bless ? 
*• Angels, prophets, martyrs, virgins, 
Answer, ' Yes ! ' " 

Tune — * * Stephanos. " 



44 LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT." 

Of all the modern hymns praying for 
guidance, Newman's famous three verses 
seem to be most popular — especially with 
people who have not accepted the lead- 
ing of any church or theological author- 
ity. ... At Chicago, the representatives 
of every creed known to man found two 
things on which they agreed. They could 
all join in the Lord's Prayer, and they 
could all sing " Lead, Kindly Light." 
This hymn, Mrs. Drew tells me, and 
"Rock of Ages" are two of Mr. Glad- 
stone's "most favorite hymns." 

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 

Lead Thou me on : 
The night is dark, and I am far from home, 

Lead Thou me on, 
Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene ; one step enough for me. 

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou 

Should 'st lead me on : 
I loved to choose and see my path ; but now, 

Lead Thou me on. 
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
Pride ruled my will ; remember not past years. 

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still 

Will lead me on. 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 

The night is gone, 
And with the morn those angel faces smile, 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 

Tune — u Lux Benigna." 

" It seems to me rather singular," writes 
a correspondent in Wales, " that verses so 
full of faith as 'Lead, Kindly Light' 
should be mentioned with such approval 
by so many sceptics." He then sends me 
the following attempt to express the views 
of an agnostic, thoughtful, humble, and 
reverent, but quite unable to attain to 
Newman's standpoint. 

The way is dark : I cry amid the gloom 

For guiding light ; 
A wanderer, none knows whence or what his doom, 

I brave the night. 
Fair scenes afar, as in a dream, I see, 
Then seem to wake, and faith deserteth me. 



In wondering awe I bend the knee before 

The viewless Might ; 
And all my heart in mute appeal I pour, 

While straining sight 
Peers o'er the waste, yet Him I cannot find 
Whom seeks my soul : I grope as grope the blind. 

But 'mid confusing phantom-lights I strive 

To go aright ; 
A still small voice leads on, and love doth give 

An inward might : 
And spite of sense, there lives a silent trust 
That day will dawn, that man is more than dust. 

R. M. L. 



"THE LORD'S MY SHEPHERD." 

If "Lead, Kindly Light" is English, 
and "Guide me, O thou great Jehovah" 
is Welsh, " The Lord's my Shepherd" is 
Scotch. 

1 The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want. 

He makes me down to lie 
In pastures green : He leadeth me 
The quiet waters by. 

2 My soul He doth restore again ; 

And me to walk doth make 
Within the paths of righteousness, 
Ev'n for His own name's sake. 

3 Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, 

Yet will I fear none ill : 
For Thou art with me ; and Thy rod 
And staff me comfort still. 

4 My table Thou hast furnished 

In presence of my foes ; 
My head Thou dost with oil anoint, 
And my cup overflows. 

5 Goodness and mercy all my life 

Shall surely follow me : 
And in God's house for evermore 
My dwelling-place shall be. 



Tune 



1 Kilmarnock. 1 * 



"Forme," writes Mr. S. R. Crockett, 
the popular author of the "Raiders" 
and many another delightful romance, 
"there is no hymn like 'The Lord's my 
Shepherd, I'll not want.' I think I must 
have stood by quite a hundred men and 
women as they lay a-dying, and I can as- 
sure you that these words — the first learned 
by the child — were also the words that 
ushered most of them out into the Quiet. 
To me, and to most among these Northern 
hills, there are no words like them." 

Dr. John Ker says: " Every line of it, 
every word of it, has been engraven for 
generations on Scottish hearts, has accom- 
panied them from childhood to age, from 
their homes to all the seas and lands 
where they have wandered, and has been 
to a multitude no man can number the rod 



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HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 



and staff of which it speaks, to guide and 
guard them in dark valleys, and at last 
through the darkest." Of its helpfulness 
in times of crisis many instances are given, 
of which that which appeals most to me 
is the story of Marion Harvey, the ser- 
vant lass of twenty who was executed at 
Edinburgh with Isabel Alison for having 
attended the preaching of Donald Cargill 
and for helping his escape. As the brave 
lasses were being led to the scaffold a cu- 
rate pestered them with his prayers. 
"Come, Isabel," said Marion, "let us 
sing the Twenty-third Psalm." And sing 
it they did, a thrilling duet on their pil- 
grimage to the gallows tree. It was rough 
on the Covenanters in those days, and 
their paths did not exactly, to outward 
seeming, lead them by the green pastures 
and still waters. But they got there some- 
how, the Twenty-third Psalm helping them 
no little. This was the psalm John Rus- 
kin first learnt at his mother's knee. It 
was this which Edward Irving recited at 
the last as he lay dying. Even poor Hein- 
rich Heine, on his mattress-grave, in one 
of his latest poems, recalls the image of 
the Shepherd guide whose "pastures 
green and sweet refresh the wanderer's 
weary feet." The magnificent assurance 
of the fourth verse has in every age given 
pluck to the heart of the timid and strength- 
ened the nerve of he/oes. When St. 
Francis of Assisi went alone, bareheaded 
and barefoot, to convert the Sultan, he 
kept up his spirit on his solitary pilgrim- 
age by chanting this verse. The Mos- 
lems did him no harm, and instead of tak- 
ing off his head, returned him safe and 
sound to the pale of Christendom. 

"GIVE TO THE WINDS THY FEARS." 

Mr. Stevenson, in his " Notes on the 
Methodist Hymn Book," says: "There 
is not a hymn in the book which has 
afforded more comfort and encouragement 
than this to the Lord's tried people." 
The legend connected with this hymti re- 
calls the delightful tales in the lives of 
the saints. Its origin is not unworthy the 
record of its subsequent exploits. Ger- 
hardt was exiled from Brandenburg by the 
Grand Elector in 1659 The said Grand 
Elector wished to "tune his pulpits." 
Gerhardt refused to preach save what \\e 
found in God's Word. Notice to quit 
thereupon being promptly served upon the 
intrepid preacher, he tramped forth a 
homeless exile, accompanied by his wife 
and children. Wife and weans at night, 



wearied and weeping, sought refuge in a 
wayside inn. Gerhardt, unable to com- 
fort them, went out into the wood to pray. 
As he prayed, the text " Commit thy way 
unto the Lord, trust also in Him and He 
shall bring it to pass" recurred to his 
mind, and comforted him so amazingly 
that he paced to and fro under the forest 
trees and began composing a hymn which, 
being Englished by John Wesley, has de- 
servedly become a great comfort to all 
English-speaking peoples. Returning to 
the inn, he cheered his wife with his text 
and his hymn, and they went to bed re- 
joicing in confident hope that God would 
take care of them. They had hardly re- 
tired before a thunderous knocking at the 
door roused them all. It was a mounted 
messenger from Duke Christian of Meres- 
berg, riding in hot haste to deliver a sealed 
packet to Dr. Gerhardt. The good doctor 
opened it, and read therein a hearty invi- 
tation from the duke, who offered him 
"church, people, home, and livelihood, 
and liberty to preach the Gospel as your 
heart may prompt you." So, adds the 
chronicle, the Lord took care of His ser- 
vant. Here is the hymn which was com- 
posed under such singular circumstances: 

1 Give to the winds thy fears ; 
Hope, and be undismayed : 

God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears : 

God shall lift up thy head. 

Through waves, through clouds and storms. 

He gently clears the way. 
Wait thou His time ; so shall the night 

Soon end in joyous day. 

2 He everywhere hath sway, 
And all things serve His might ; 

His every act pure blessing is, 

His path unsullied light. 

When He makes bare His arm, 

What shall His work withstand ? 
When He His people's cause defends, 

Who, who shall stay His hand ? 

3 Leave to His sovereign will 
To choose, and to command ; 

With wonder filled, Chou then shalt own 

How wise, how strong His hand. 

Thou comprehend'st Him not ; 

Yet earth and heaven tell, 
God sits as Sovereign on the throne ; 

He ruleth all things well. 

4 Thou seest our weakness, Lord ; 
Our hearts are known to Thee. 

O lift Thou up the sinking hand ; 

Confirm the feeble knee. 

Let us, in life and death, 

Boldly Thy truth declare ; 
And publish, with our latest breath, 

Thy love and guardian care. 

Tune — Dr, GauntUtCs "St. Gcorgt" 

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There is a long list of worthies who 
have been cheered in life and death by this 
hymn, but the champion story of them 
all is the " Legend of the Raven." I must 
quote it intact: 

In a village near Warsaw there lived a 
pious German peasant named Dobyr. 
Without remedy, he had fallen into arrears 
of rent, and his landlord threatened to 
evict him. It was winter. Thrice he ap- 
pealed for a respite, but in vain. It was 
evening, and the next day his family were 
to be turned into the snow. Dobyr 
kneeled down in the midst of his family. 
After prayer they sang: 

Commit thou all thy griefs 
And ways into His hands. 

As they came to the last verse, in Ger- 
man, of Part I., 

When Thou wouldst all our needs supply, 
Who, who shall stay Thy hand ? 

there was a knock at the window close by 
where he knelt, and, opening it, Dobyr 
was met by a raven, one which his grand- 
father had tamed and set at liberty. In 
its bill was a ring, set with precious 
stones. This he took to his minister, who 
said at once that it belonged to the king, 
Stanislaus, to whom he returned it, and 
related his story. The king sent for 
Dobyr, and besides rewarding him on the 
spot, built for him, next year, a new 
house, and stocked his cattle-stalls from 
the royal domain. Over the house door, 
on an iron tablet, there is carved a raven 
with a ring in its beak, and underneath, 
this address to Divine Providence: 

Thou everywhere hast sway, 

And all things serve Thy might ; 

Thy every act pure blessing is, 
Thy path unsullied light. 

" ROCK OF AGES. " 

When the " Sunday at Home " took the 
plebiscite of 3,500 of its readers as to 
which were the best hymns in the lan- 
guage, the " Rock of Ages" stood at the 
top of the tree, having no fewer than 
3,215 votes. Only three other hymns had 
more than 3,000 votes. They were 
" Abide with me," "Jesu, Lover of my 
soul," and " Just as I am." 

1 Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee ! 
Let the water and the blood, 
From Thy riven side which flowed, 
Be of fin the double cure, 
Cleanse me from its guilt and power. 



2 Not the labors of my hands 
Can fulfil Thy law's demands ; 
Could my zeal no respite know, 
Could my tears forever flow, 
All for sin could not atone : 
Thou must save, and Thou alone ! 

3 Nothing in my hand I bring ; 
Simply to Thy cross I cling ; 
Naked, come to Thee for dress ; 
Helpless, look to Thee for grace ; 
Foul, I to the fountain fly : 
Wash me, Saviour, or I die ! 

4 While I draw this fleeting breath — 
When my eye-strings break in death — 
When I soar to worlds unknown — 
See Thee on Thy judgment throne — 
Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee ! 

Tunc— "Redhead, No. 76." 

Toplady, a Calvinistic vicar of a Dev- 
onshire parish, little dreamed that he was 
composing the most popular hymn in the 
language when he wrote what he called 
" A living and dying prayer for the holiest 
believer in the world." For Toplady 
was a sad polemist whose orthodox soul 
was outraged by the Arminianism of the 
Wesleys. He and they indulged in much 
disputation of the brickbat and Billings- 
gate order, as was the fashion in those 
days. Toplady put much of his time and 
energy into the composition of contro- 
versial pamphlets, on which the good man 
prided himself not a little. The dust lies 
thick upon these his works, nor is it likely 
to be disturbed now or in the future. But 
in a pause in the fray, just by way of fill- 
ing up an interval in the firing of polemi- 
cal broadsides, Augustus Montague Top- 
lady thought he saw a way of launching 
an airy dart at a joint in Wesley's armor, on 
the subject of Sanctification. So, without 
much ado, and without any knowledge 
that it was by this alone he was to render 
permanent service to mankind, he sent off 
to the "Gospel Magazine" of 1776 the 
hymn " Rock of Ages." When it appeared 
he had, no doubt, considerable compla- 
cency in reflecting how he had winged his 
opponent for his insolent doctrine of en- 
tire sanctification, and it is probable that 
before he died — for he only survived its 
publication by two years, dying when but 
thirty-eight — he had still no conception of 
the relative importance of his own- work. 
But to-day the world knows Toplady only 
as the writer of these four verses. All 
else that he labored over it has forgotten, 
and, indeed, does well to forget. 

It was this hymn which the Prince Con- 
sort asked for as he came near to death. 

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HYMNS THAT HAVE HELPED. 



Mr. Gladstone has translated it into Latin, 
Greek, and Italian. Dr. Pusey declared it 
to be "the most deservedly popular hymn, 
perhaps the very favorite." The follow- 
ers of Wesley, against whom the hymn 
was originally launched as a light missile 
in the polemical combat, seized it for their 
collection and mutilated it the while — 
why, does not clearly appear. The unfor- 
tunate Armenians who were butchered the 
other day in Constantinople sang a trans- 
lation of " Rock of Ages," which, indeed, 
has made the tour of the world, side by 
side with the Bible and the "Pilgrim's 
Progress." It is recorded that General 
Stuart, the dashing cavalry leader of the 
Southern Confederacy, sang the hymn 
with his dying strength, as his life slowly 
ebbed away from the wounds he had re- 
ceived in the battles before Richmond. 
When the "London" went down in the 
Bay of Biscay, January nth, 1866, the last 
thing which the last man who left the ship 
heard as the boat pushed off from the 
doomed vessel was the voices of the pas- 
sengers singing " Rock of Ages." " No 
other English hymn can be named which 
has laid so broad and firm a grasp on the 
English-speaking world. ' ' 



"O GOD OF BETHEL, BY WHOSE HAND." 

When I asked the Duke of Argyll as to 
hymns which had helped him, he replied: 

Inverary, Argyllshire, December 31, 1895. 
Sir : I would be very glad to help you if I could, 
but I can't honestly say that any one hymn has 
" helped " me specially. Some of the Scotch para- 
phrases are my favourites, ** O God of Bethel, etc. 
— Yours obediently, Argyll. 



O God of Bethel, by whose hand 
Thy people still are fed ; 

Who through this weary pilgrimage 
Hast all our fathers led ; 



Our vows, our prayers, we now present 
Before Thy throne of grace ; 

God of our fathers, be the God 
Of their succeeding race. 



Through each perplexing path of life 
# Our wandering footsteps guide : 
Give us, each day, our daily bread, 
And raiment fit provide. 

O spread Thy covering wings around, 
Till all our wanderings cease. 

And at our Father's loved abode 
Our souls arrive in peace. 



5 Such blessings from Thy gracious hand 
Our humble prayers implore ; 
And Thou shalt be our chosen God 
And portion, evermore. 

Tune — %% Farrant. " 

Of this hymn and the way it has helped 
men, Mr. S. R. Crockett writes as follows: 
41 One hymn I love, and that (to be Irish) 
is not a hymn, but what in our country 
is mystically termed a ' paraphrase.' It is 
that which, when sung to the tune of 
St. Paul's, makes men and women square 
themselves and stand erect to sing, like an 
army that goes gladly to battle." . . . 

This was the favorite hymn of Dr. Liv- 
ingstone. It cheered him often in his 
African wanderings, and when his remains 
were buried in Westminster Abbey it was 
sung over his grave. 

A Scotch mission-teacher at Kuru- 
man, Bechuanaland, South Africa, writes: 
"This hymn stands out preeminently as 
the hymn which has helped me beyond all 
others. It shines with radiant lustre like 
the star that outshineth all others among 
the midnight constellations. It has been 
my solace and comfort in times of trouble, 
my cheer in times of joy; it is woven into 
the warp and woof of my spiritual being; 
its strains were the first I was taught to 
lisp, and, God helping me, they shall be 
the last. Sung to the tune of Dundee,' 
that was the refrain of happy meetings or 
sad partings. Its strains rang out the Old 
Year and heralded in the New. It was 
chanted as a farewell dirge when I left my 
home in Scotland. It has followed me 
4 Sooth the line,' and every gait I gang, I 
never rest until from dusky throats roll out 
the familiar words. It is a * couthy' psalm, 
and touches to the quick the human spirit 
that more gifted utterances fail to reach. 
I am penning this in the little room that 
was once the study of David Livingstone, 
whose walls have often reechoed to many 
a strain of praise and supplication, but to 
none more inspiring and endearing than 
4 O God of Bethel.' " Another Scotchman 
writes: ** In some ways I have wandered 
far from the faith of our fathers, but the 
old Psalms move me strongly yet. 4 O 
God of Bethel, by whose hand ' will ever 
have a pathetic interest for me. I, too, 
have crooned it as a cradle song over one 
who will never need to hear me croon it 
ever more, for she has solved the riddle of 
the ages, which I am 'left painfully trying 
to spell. These rugged lines speak out 
the religious experiences of a rugged race 
as no modern hymns ever wilL^' 

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CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 

Painted by F. S. Church for McClurb's Magazine. 



Love's angel walketh in the forest wild ; 
No prowling midnight beast her pathway bars; 
For love herself, who dwells beyond the stars, 
Becomes to-night for us a gentle child. 



MAP OF ASIA SHOWING THE ROUTE OF DR. HEDIN's RECENT JOURNEY. 
/, Pamir Ptmttau. *. Desert of Takla Makan. j. Desert of Gobi. 4, Lof Nor Lake. 




IN UNEXPLORED ASIA. 

THE REMARKABLE DISCOVERIES AND ADVENTURES OF DR. SVEN 
HEDIN AS TOLD BY HIMSELF. 

Rf.CORDKI) BY R. H. Sherard. 




F the achievement of Sven He- 
din, the young Swedish trav- 
eler, but meager accounts have 
reached the West, and, indeed, 
beyond Sweden itself — if we 
except Germany and Russia 
— his name is practically un- 
known. Yet for pluck and perseverance 
in overcoming obstacles and difficulties, 
and for courage before danger, Dr. Sven 
Hedin can take rank with his fellow- 
countryman, Dr. Nansen; whilst in ac- 
complishment, his travels have perhaps 



been even more prolific than Nansen's. Of 
his recent journey through Central Asia, 
which lasted for a period of three years and 
seven months, and which took him from 
Orenburg in the West to Pekin in the East, 
this may be said: that he not only did all 
that he had promised his King that he 
would do when the King equipped him for 
the expedition, but many things besides of 
high scientific importance. He discovered 
the ruins of two Buddhist towns in the 
heart of a Mohammedan country, ruins 
which tell of high civilization where now 



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IN UNEXPLORED ASIA. 



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DR. SVBN HKDIN. 



is only a desert waste ; ne settled a contro- 
versy which for years has divided the geog- 
raphers of Europe into two camps. And as 
the accomplishment was far greater than 
he had expected or hoped for, so also 
were the difficulties and dangers incom- 
parably more formidable than he had an- 
ticipated. It fell to him in his journey 
across the Takla-Makan Desert to un- 
dergo sufferings which assuredly beat the 
record of human endurance; and had his 
journey had no other result than to show 
how a man by sheer strength of will and 



determination to save his life can fight 
death and triumph over it, Sven He- 
din's story would be full of direct en- 
couragement to every one who heard it 
told. 

It was in his study, on the third floor of 
a house in the Norra Blasieholmshamnen, 
in Stockholm, that Sven Hedin related to 
me this wonderful story. The study, 
which is both his workroom and bedcham- 
ber, tells one about him much that the 
sight of his athletic frame; his firm, strong 

face; and vivacious, even restless, manner, 

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DR. HKDIN S TARANTASS ON THE KIRGHIZ STEPPES. 



had left untold. For furniture it has a 
large writing-table and a small bedstead. 
" 1 go from the one to the other," he says. 
The windows are wide open, day and night. 
On the walls are books, and all the books 
are books of travel. 

Sven Hedin is still a young man. He 
was thirty-two last February. Yet his 
last journey was the third journey of ex- 
ploration which he has undertaken in Asia. 
Until he was about twenty he intended to 
become a Polar explorer. He relinquished 
this project because it seemed to him that 
the dark region of Central Asia offered a 
field of wider scientific interest than the 
frozen seas of the North; and Hedin's 
scientific interests have a very wide range. 
In the first place a geographer, his stud- 
ies embrace all the many sciences which 
are in relation to geography. This science 
he has studied with passionate application 
ever since he could read. Before he was 
seventeen he drew maps which fill five 
large volumes — exquisite examples of 
draughtsmanship they are. There are 
maps of the constellations; maps giving 
the routes followed by every Polar traveler; 
maps hypsometrical, topographical, statis- 
tical; maps geological and zoological; 
executed with characteristic neatness and 
thoroughness. 

When Hedin was twenty, he interrupted 
his studies at Upsala to take a post as 
tutor at Baku. " In my spare time," 
he said, " I studied languages which were 
likely to be of use to me in the journeys I 



had already projected. I studied the Tar- 
tar dialect of Turkish. I also learned 
Persian. I had very good teachers, and I 
would learn them." He earned $160 by 
his year's work as tutor, and employed 
this sum to take a first journey through 
Persia, which he has described in his book, 
" Through Persia, Mesopotamia, and Cau- 
casus." " This journey," said Sven 
Hedin, " was taken as an apprenticeship to 
traveling in Asia." 

In 1892, because of his acquaintance 
with Persia, Hedin was attached to a spe- 
cial embassy sent to the Shah of Persia 
by the King of Sweden, and again visited 
the country. In the autumn of the same 
year he finished his university career, 
taking the degree of Doctor of Philoso- 
phy ; and then, the following year 
(1893), he began to prepare for his fam- 
ous journey of exploration into Central 
Asia. 

" I had always wanted to do this," said 
Dr. Hedin. " I had read everything that 
had been written on the subject, especially 
the writings of Prshewalsky and of Rich- 
thofen, and I wished to do many things and 
to solve many problems. My principal 
objects, as described in the paper which I 
read here in Stockholm, in the presence of 
the King, were, at first — that is to say, be- 
fore I started on this journey — (1) to study 
the glaciers in the mountains on the eastern 
side of the Pamirs; (2) to search for the 
old Lop-Nor Lake, and thus to settle the 
controversy between Prshewalsky and 
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Richthofen;* (3) to explore the Thibetan 
plateaus from the point of view of physical 
geography ; (4) to cross Asia from west to 
east. 

" I concluded that this work would oc- 
cupy not more than two years. My ex- 
pedition lasted, in fact, three years and 
seven months. My journey was much 
richer in results than I had expected, and 
raised many questions of very great inter- 
est. The fund for .. ~ 
the expedition was 
subscribed by the 
King, Emmanuel 
Nobel of St. Pe- 
tersburg, and some 
other Swedes, and 
amounted to 30,000 
Swedish crowns. I 
spent, besides, 
4, 000 kronors 
which I earned dur- 
ing the first part of 
my travels by con- 
tributing to the 
newspapers ; so 
that the whole ex- 
pedition cost 34,- 
000 crowns." 

Dr. Hedin's oc- 
casional references 
to details of busi- 
ness are character- 
istic of the Swedes. 
They have a strong 
commercial spirit 
and a respect for 
money, but the 
earning of money 
is not with them 
the highest ideal. 

" I started on my 
journey," contin- 
ued Dr. Hedin,*'on 
October 16, 1893, 
and proceeded via 
St. Petersburg and 

Moscow to Oren- A K,RGH,Z scout. 

burg, where I 

bought a tarantass and hired five horses; 
and with this equipage I crossed the 
Kirghiz steppes to Tashkent, changing 
horses at each of the ninety-four stations, 
and covering the 2,000 kilometers in 
nineteen days. I remained a month and 

• A long and very interesting polemic war waged between 
the two explorers. Prshewalsky claimed to have discovered 
Lop-Nor ; Richthofen declared that, arguing from the old 
Chinese maps and books, the real lake ofLop-Nor was much 
further north than the lake discovered by Prshewalsky. This 
was the Lop-Nor also reached by Bonvalot and Henri of 
Orleans. Prshewalsky said the Chinese maps and books were 
wrong. 



a half in Tashkent, making the final 
preparations for my journey, and invested 
500 roubles in presents to give to the 
natives — very bad revolvers, trumpery 
microscopes, and so on. I reached Mar- 
gelan, the capital of Ferghana, in Febru- 
ary, and on the 25th of that month started 
out for Kashgar. It was the worst season 
of the year for crossing the Pamirs, for 
the snowfali on those mountains is heavi- 
est in February and 
March, and the 
danger to caravans 
is very great. So 
dangerous was my 
expedition consid- 
ered that I could 
only obtain horses 
at an exorbitant 
rate. A horse costs 
twenty roubles in 
Tashkent, and I 
had to pay one 
rouble a day for 
each of the twelve 
horses I hired. The 
stable-keeper did 
not expect to see 
them again, for a 
snowstorm in the 
Pamirs kills men 
and horses. That 
is why I wanted to 
go. I wanted to 
see the snow on the 
mountains ; I had 
climatical studies 
to make. 

14 It took me f\st. 
days to cross the 
Alai range, pro- 
ceeding south over 
Tengis-Bai pass, 
the height of which 
•s 3,850 metres. 
There were no 
roads. All was 
snow and ice. We 
had to cut out roads 
for the horses. When my five men and my- 
self did not suffice, we hired Kirghises to 
help us, thirty or forty at times. We 
crossed very happily; but had we come 
a day earlier or a day later, we should 
all have perished. The preceding day an 
avalanche half a mile in length had fallen, 
which would have destroyed us utterly. 
The day after our crossing there was a 
terrific snowstorm on the pass. 

" It was very difficult work to proceed up 
Alai valley. We had, in places, to hire the 

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WOMEN OF THE PAMIRS. 



camels to trample out a path in the snow. 
In one part of our track the snow was ten 
feet deep over an extent of 200 yards. We 
crossed this by laying tent-felts, which we 
borrowed from the Kirghises, over the 
snow. In six days we reached the Kizil- 
Art pass, in the Trans-Alai range, and 
crossed it safely. It is 14,620 feet high. 
In the valley on the other side the cold was 
very great. It reached thirty-eight and 
one-half degrees Celsius [equal to about 
thirty-eight degrees below zero, Fahren- 
heit], which is near the freezing point of 
mercury. But I am indifferent to cold. 
1 am a Swede. It is often very cold in 
Stockholm. From Kizil-Art I traveled to 
the great salt lake of Karakul. I wanted 
to measure its depth, which nobody had 
yet done. I believed it to be very deep. 
I was entirely successful, for the lake was 
frozen over and we were able to move over 
the surface, so that I could select such 
places as I wanted for my sounding experi- 
ments. The deepest place I found was 
about 900 feet. 

44 Here I lost the caravan, and with one 
attendant spent a night on the ice, with 
nothing to eat or drink, tramping up and 
down in a temperature of fifteen degrees 
below zero. Then on to Murgab, where 
I spent twenty days with the Russian gar- 



rison; then to Lake Rang-kul, which I 
also sounded. Crossing the Djugatai pass, 
in the Sarik-Kol range, I entered Chinese 
territory. 

11 The Chinese were very much afraid 
.of me. They thought I was a Russian 
conqueror, and were sure that all my 
boxes were full of soldiers. During my 
first night on Chinese territory, Chinese 
soldiers kept peeping into my tent to make 
sure that I was not opening my boxes and 
letting my soldiers out. The Chinese com- 
mander at Bulun-kul was very unpleasant. 
He was an enemy to Europe. Many Chi- 
nese detest Europeans. He gave orders 
that no one was to trade with me or give 
me fodder for my horses. At last, how- 
ever, I persuaded him to give me permis- 
sion to proceed south to Mus-tag-ata 
Mountain. I wanted to climb it. It is 
25,000 feet high. During that year I made 
three different attempts to get to the top, 
but the highest point I reached was 20,000 
feet. On each occasion the snow drove us 
back. On that first occasion I was at- 
tacked with violent iritis and had to make 
my way back to Kashgar. There I got well 
again, and wrote a book in German on the 
climate of the Pamirs. In June I returned 
to Mus-tag-ata, and spent the whole sum- 
mer in camp there, studying the glaciers. 



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i«5 



THE HIKED KIRGHIZES WITH WHOM DK. HBOIN CROSSED THE TENGIS-UAl I'ASS. 



I made topographical maps of fourteen 
glaciers. I passed the winter in Kashgar, 
where I was ill with fever. When I recov- 
ered I wrote several scientific articles. 
Then I prepared for the journey through 
the desert." 

And now Sven Hedin, seating himself 
on the sill of his study window, swinging 
his legs to and fro like an idle boy, and 
leisurely smoking a cigar as he spoke, pro- 
ceeded to tell me, quietly and without ges- 
ture or emphasis, such a story of human 
endurance and human courage, of trust in 
self and faith in God, as few men have 
lived to tell. 

" I started from Kashgar on February 
x 7* I ^95, with four Turkish servants and 
eight fine camels. I wanted to cross from 
the Yarkand-Darya River to the Khotan- 
Darya River, over the Takla-Makan 
Desert. I wanted to explore this desert, 
which nobody had ever done. There 
were many legends anent it amongst the 
inhabitants on its confines — stories of an- 
cient towns buried in the sand; and I 
wanted to learn if there was any founda- 
tion for these stories. I entered the desert 
on April 10th. We had water for twenty- 
five days with us, carried in iron tanks on 
the backs of the camels. It was all sand — 
moving dunes of sand. The davs were 



very hot, the nights were bitterly cold. 
The air was full of dust. We crossed 
the first half of the desert in thirteen 
days, and came to a region where there 
were some hills and small fresh-water 
lakes. Here I bade my men fill the cis- 
terns with fresh water for ten days. We 
then proceeded, all going well. On the 
second day after we had left the lakes, I 
looked at the cisterns and found that water 
for four days only had been taken! I 
thought we could reach the Khotan-Darya 
in six days, and one of my servants told 
me that in three days' march from where 
we were we should find a place where we 
could dig for water. I believed him, and 
we went on. 

" We found no water, and two days 
after, our supply was exhausted. The 
camels got ill; we lost three camels before 
May 1 st. On May 1st the men began to 
sicken. I was so thirsty that I drank a glass 
of the vile Chinese spirit. It made me very 
ill. We only proceeded four kilometers 
that day — early in the morning. My men 
were all weeping and clamoring to Allah. 
They said they could go no further; they 
said they wanted to die. I made them 
put up the tent, and then we all undressed 
and lay down naked in the tent. During 
that day we killed our last sheep, and 
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THE ALAI RANGE OF MOUNTAINS IN THE PAMIRS. 



drank its blood. We all thought to die. 
I thought I would do my best to go as far 
as possible. That is the difference between 
a European and an Oriental : a Euro- 
pean thinks that a life is not so easily taken 
away; an Oriental is a fatalist, and will 
not fight for its preservation. In the even- 
ing of May Day we were all mad with 
raging thirst. When night fell we walked 
on. Two of the men could not move. 
They were dying. So we had to leave 
them. I said to them,-' Wait a little here, 
sleep a little, and then follow us.' 

"I had to abandon much of my luggage 
— 5,000 kronors* worth — for the camels 
were too weak. But I took my most im- 
portant instruments with me, all my Chi- 
nese silver, my maps, and my notes. That 
night another camel died. I was ahead, 
carrying a torch to lead the way. In the 
night a third man gave in, and lay down 
in the sand and motioned to me to leave 
him to die. Then I abandoned every- 
thing — silver, maps, and notebooks — and 
took only what I could carry: two chro- 
nometers, a box of matches, ten cigar- 
ettes, and a compass. The last of the men 
followed. We went east. The man car- 
ried a spade and an iron pot. The spade 
was to dig for water; the iron pot held 
clotted blood, foul and putrid. Thus we 



staggered on, through the moving dunes 
of sand, till the morning of the second of 
May. 

" When the sun rose we dug out holes 
in the sand, which was cold from the frost 
of the night, and undressed and lay down 
naked. With our clothes and the spade 
we made a little tent, which gave us just 
enough shelter for our heads. We lay 
there for ten hours. At nightfall we stag- 
gered on again, still towards the east. 
We advanced all the night of the second, 
and the morning of the third of May. On 
this morning, as we were stumbling along, 
Kasim suddenly gripped my shoulder and 
pointed east. He could not speak. I 
could see nothing. At last he whispered, 
' Tamarisk! ' So we walked on, and 
after a while I saw a green thing on the 
horizon. 

" We reached it at last, but we could not 
dig. It was all sand, yards deep. But we 
thanked God, and munched the green foli- 
age ; and all that day we lay naked in its 
shadow. At nightfall I dressed, and bade 
Kasim follow. He lay where he was, and 
said not a word. I left him, and went east. 
I went on till one in the morning. Then 
I came to another tamarisk, and as the 
night was bitterly cold, I collected the 
fallen branches and made a fire. In the 



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DR. HKDJN S CARAVAN NEAR THE SUMMIT OP THE THNGIS-BAI PASS, IN THR AI.AI RANGE. 



night my companion came up. He had 
seen my fire. He did not speak. I did 
not speak. We had no interest to talk. 
It was impossible to do so, for our mouths 
were as dry as our skins. 

" That night we walked on for several 
hours, and so on till the sun grew hot on 
the 4th of May, when we again lay down 
naked on the sand. On the night of May 
4th we advanced crawling on all fours and 
resting every ten yards or so. I meant to 
save my life. I felt all along that my life 
could not be thrown away like that. We 
came to three desert poplars on a patch of 
soil where there was no sand. We tried to 
dig, but we were too weak and the frozen 
ground was too hard. We barely dug to 
a depth of six inches. Then we fell on 
our faces and clawed up the earth with our 
fingers. But we could not dig deep. So 
we abandoned the hope of finding water 
there and lit a fire, in the hope that Islam- 
Bai, the man who had stayed behind with 
the camels, might chance to see it and fol- 
low on. It happened so, but I only knew 
it later. On the 5th we went on, east. We 
were bitterly disappointed, for the poplars 
had given us hope, and we had to cross a 
broad belt of sterile sand. 

" At last we saw a black line on the 
horizon, very dark and very thin, and we 



understood that it must be the forests of 
Khotan-Darya. We reached the forest by 
the time the sun grew hot. It was very 
deep and very dense, a black forest of 
very old trees. We saw the tracks of wild 
beasts. All that day we lay naked in the 
shade of the trees. There was no sign of 
water anywhere. In the evening I dressed, 
and told Kasim to arise. He could not 
move. He was going mad. He looked 
fearful, lying flat on his back, with his 
arms stretched out, naked, with staring 
eyes and open mouth. I went on. The 
forest was very dense and the night black, 
black. I had eaten nothing for ten days; 
I had drunk nothing for nine. I crossed 
the forest crawling on all fours, tottering 
from tree to tree. I carried the haft of 
the spade as a crutch. At last I came to 
an open place. The forest ended like a 
devastated plain. This was a river-bed, 
the bed of the Khotan-Darya. It was 
quite dry. There was not a drop of water. 
I understood that this was the bad season 
for water. The river-beds are dry in the 
spring, for the snow which feeds them has 
not yet melted on the mountains. 

" I went on. I meant to live. I would 
find water. I was very weak, but I crawled 
on all fours, and at last I crossed the river- 
bed. It was three kilometers wide. Then, 
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SOUNDING LAKK KAKAKUL. 

From sketch by Dr Hedin. 

as I reached the right bank of the river, I 
heard the sound of a duck lifting and the 
noise of splashing water. I crawled in that 
direction, and found a large pool of clear, 
fresh water. I thanked God first, and then 
I felt my pulse. I wanted to see the effect 
that drinking would have on it. It was at 
forty-eight. Then I drank. I drank fear- 
fully. I had a little tin with me. It had 
contained chocolates, but I had thrown 
these away as I could swallow nothing. 
The tin I had kept. I had felt sure, all 



IN THE DESERT. ABANDONING THE FIRST CAMELS. 
From sketch by Dr. Hedin. 



the time, that I 
should find water 
and that I should 
use that tin as a 
drinking-cup. I 
drank and drank 
and drank. It 
was a most 
lovely feeling. I 
felt my blood 
liquefying. It 
began to run in 
my veins ; my 
pores opened. 
My pulse went 
up at once to 
fifty - three. I 
felt quite fresh 
and living. 

44 As J. lay there 
I heard a noise 
in thereedslikea 
big animal mov- 
ing. I thought 
it must be a tiger. There are tigers in 
the Khotan-Darya. I had not the faintest 
feeling of fear. I felt that the life that 
had been just regained could not be taken 
from me by such a beast as a tiger. I 
waited for him with pleasure. I wanted 
to look into his eyes. He did not come. 
He was probably frightened to see a man." 
44 Was not the torture of thirst terrible 
during those nine days ? " 

44 No. After the first three or four days 
the sharpness of the want seemed to blunt 

itself. But as 
the days went 
on I grew weak- 
er and weaker. I 
felt like a con- 
valescent after 
many, many 
years of sick- 
ness. 

44 Then," con- 
tinued Sven He- 
din, 44 1 remem- 
bered Kasim. So 
I took off my 
Swedish boots 
and filled them 
with water, and 
hooked them by 
the tags over 
the ends of my 
spade-haft, and 
retraced m.y 
steps. I could 
walk now. But 



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when I reached 
the forest I 
could not find 
my track . I 
shouted 'Kasim! 
Kasim! Kasim!' 
but he did not 
answer, and I 
thought he was 
dead. Then I 
made a fire in 
the forest — for 
fear of tigers — 
a huge fire, a 
splendid illumi- 
nation, lighting 
up the mysteri- 
ous darknesses 
of this primeval 
forest. It gave 
me very great 
pleasure to see 
this fire. At sun- 
rise I searched 
for Kasim and 
found him. I called him. He 
head a little. ' Water! ' I cried, 
his head. 'I want to die.' I 
boots near his head so that 



IN THE DESERT. THE FIRST TAMARISK. 



From a sketch by Dr. Hedin. 



splashed. Then he rose like a wild beast, 
and flung himself on the water vessels and 
drained them one after another to the last 
drop. Then he fell back and would «not 
move, though I asked him to come with 
me to the pool and bathe. So I left him 
and went on. 
I took a bath, 
and then made 
for the south, 
down the 
river-bed. 

" I walked 
on for three 
days, and did 
not see a liv- 
ing soul all the 
time, and lived 
on grass and 
leaves, and 
tadpoles when 
I could catch 
them. On the 
fourth day I 
fell in with 
some shep- 
herds with 
great flocks. 
They had 
never seen a 
European be- 
fore. They 



lifted his were very frightened at my appearance, 

He shook especially at my black spectacles, and 

shook the they fled to the forest. I called to 

the water them in their own language. Then they 

came out and asked me what I wanted. 

They were good to me and gave me some 

milk and bread. I stopped some days 

with them, and heard from two merchants 

who arrived that at two days' ride from 

there they had seen a man and a white 



IN THE DESERT. A SAND-STORM. 

From m skttch by Dr. ffcfin, 



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IN UNEXPLORED ASIA. 



camel lying in the river-bed. They had 
spoken to him, but he had cried only, 
'Water! water!' They had given him 
drink and food. I recognized that this 
was Islam-Bai. I sent a shepherd to 
fetch him, and in a few days Islam arrived 
with Kasim and the camel. He had saved 
all my money, some instruments, and my 
maps and notes. I felt quite 
rich. 

44 I could not continue my 
journey without the hypso- 
metrical instruments, which 
had been lost, and so I had 
to go back to Kashgar to get 
a new outfit. From Kashgar 
I sent couriers with tele- 
grams to Europe, via the 
Russian Turkestan, asking 
for a new supply of things. 
Whilst awaiting their arrival 
I returned to the Pamirs, and 
explored the northern slopes 
of the Hindoo Koosh, and 
visited the sources of the 
Amu-Darya. In August I 
fell in with the Russian- 
English Boundary Commis- 
sion, and spent three very 
pleasant weeks with 
them." 

Great as Dr. Hedin's sufferings had 
been they did not deter him from another 
journey of exploration in the desert. 
44 I wanted to see if there were any old 
towns. This time I marched from south 
to north. After a seven days' march I 
came upon the ruins of a very old town. 
In the valleys between the sand dunes 
there rose wooden posts, or stakes, of pop- 
lar wood, hard as stone. These had been 
part of the framework of the houses, the 
skeletons of the houses, and innumerable 
they were, everywhere in the valleys of 
the dunes. It must have been a very big 
town. I camped here, but was not able to 
stay more than two days lest my water 
supply should be exhausted too soon. But 
during those two days we dug in the sand 
and found fragments of the plaster walls 
of the houses, which were covered with 
beautiful paintings. Then I myself made 
a great discovery. It was a fragment of 
an old manuscript, on something which 
looks like paper, but is not paper. Some 
of the characters resemble Sanscrit, but 
they are not Sanscrit. Afterwards I sent 
agents back to search for other manu- 
scripts, and they found some more. We 
found nothing else, for we could not stay 
long, and we could not dig deep, for the 



CHINESE SOLDIER, 



From sketch by Dr. Hedin, 



sand keeps falling in. But I do not think 
there can be much to find there beyond 
the mural paintings, for no doubt these 
towns were gradually abandoned by their 
inhabitants as the sand kept coming up, 
just as in a few hundred years the towns 
on the southern fringe of the desert will 
all be abandoned; the siege of them, 
Guma, Cherchen, and Nia, 
having already begun. 

" From the first town I 
proceeded eastward, and in 
about a week's march I dis- 
covered the second oi the 
towns; but here I found noth- 
ing. I shall return there, of 
course, for I consider this 
one of the most interesting 
discoveries ever made. It 
was certainly the most curi- 
ous thing that occurred to 
me during my four years' 
journey. No traveler ever 
expected to find anything 
'££» here, and it was given to me 
to discover the traces of 
Buddhist civilization in a 
Mohammedan land, towns 
where, to judge from the 
very high point of develop- 
ment of the mural paintings, 
the state of civilization must have been 
very far advanced. Buddhists the inhab- 
itants certainly were, for some of the orna- 
mentations are pure Buddha, and on one 
of the fragments in my possession is a 
painting of Buddha sitting on a lotus." 
44 Can you fix the epoch ? " 
44 Not at all. The only thing that I can 
say with absolute certainty is that they ex- 
isted before the Mohammedan era. There 
are no Buddhists now in those parts of 
Asia. I shall have to study Buddhist art 
very carefully to be able to fix the approxi- 
mate date of the building of these towns. 
Another thing which will help me is the ob- 
servations I made of the speed at which the 
sand dunes progress. I have data. Dur- 
ing my march in the desert I experimented 
on the progress of the moving dunes. 
When a storm of wind came on, I planted 
a post at the top of a dune, and after the 
storm had passed I measured the distance 
between the post and the top of the dune, 
which had advanced in the meanwhile, and 
noted the time in which this progress had 
taken place. When I have r^culated this 
out, and so discovered how long it took to 
transform a rich, fertile, and well-watered 
land into a desert waste of sand, I shall 
be better able to fix. the period. It will 



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191 



be most important to fix the period. It 
will throw new light on the history of Cen- 
tral Asia; it will teach us much about the 
migrations of the Buddhist peoples. 

" I stayed at the second town, which 
was much smaller and where I found 
nothing, for two days, and then struck 
out north with my caravan, and reaching 
the bed of the Jarim River, followed it 
down to the city of Korla. I here pre- 
pared for my journey to discover the old 
Lop-Nor. I did discover it. I went by 
the old Chinese maps, and I proved that 
Richthofen was right and Prshewalsky was 
wrong. My course was south by south- 
east. I found the old Lop-Nor in the 
beginning of April, 1896. There was no 
road, and I had to guide myself through 
the desert by the Chinese maps. I fol- 
lowed the eastern shore of the lake, and 
made a map of it. It took me five days' 
march to reach the southern end. On its 
shores I found some native villages, huts 
made of bundles of reeds. The people 
are very wretched, miserable people. 
They had never seen a European before. 
I marched on, south to the new Lop-Nor, 
the one discovered by Prshewalsky. 

•' At the end of April I returned to 
Khotan by Marco Polo's southerly route, 



and made many scientific observations on 
the way. In Khotan I prepared for my 
journey through Thibet. This was a very 
difficult journey. I had to climb the 
Kwen-Lun range and cross on to the high 
Thibetan plateaus by the lofty passes. 
For two months we marched along these 
plateaus at an altitude of i6,coo feet. It 
was a horrible country, bare desert, sand, 
and stones, here and there a salt lake. 
There was but the scantiest vegetation, 
and we could find so little fodder for our 
animals that in those two months forty- 
nine out of the fifty-six I had in my cara- 
van perished of fatigue and starvation. 
We did not meet a single man during all 
those weeks, and the only living things 
we saw were herds of wild yaks and of 
wild horses. We used to shoot the yaks 
for food. We reached Tsaidan in the be- 
ginning of November. From there we 
marched east to the great lake of Kokonur, 
and so on to Pekin, which I reached on 
March 2d of this year." 

From Pekin Dr. Sven Hedin traveled 
through Mongolia in Chinese carts to Ki- 
achta, and thence by the Trans-Siberia rail- 
way home. He reached Stockholm on 
May 10th, after an absence of three years 
and seven months. 



Dr. Hedin, from photograph taken during his stay with the Anglo- Russian Boundary Commission in the Pamirs. 



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CHARLES A. DANA. 



Died October 18, 1897, at Glen Cove y Long Island. Aged 78 years. 



THE death of Charles A. Dana, editor of the 
New York " Sun," has been so fully noted in 
the daily and weekly press that there would be little 
occasion to recur to it here but for the fact that, ever 
since the founding of McC lure's Magazine, Mr. 
Dana has been one of its warmest friends and wisest 
counsellors. For some years before, indeed, he had 
been the constant encourager and adviser of the edi- 
tor and founder of the magazine, in another publish- 
ing enterprise ; and he continued his generous sup- 
port and guidance to the day of his last illness. It 
was out of the wish to help the magazine, rather than 
from a desire to make them public, that he con- 
sented, about a year ago, to put his invaluable recol- 
lections of the Civil War in shape for publication ; 
and other instances could be cited of his prompt and 
substantial friendship. 

For thirty years Mr. Dana has been one of the most 
fearless, brilliant, and influential men in the press 
of the United States : one who made a paper which 
every man in the profession felt that he must read 
and which every observer of the times wanted to 
read. This paper was a reflex of Mr. Dana's own 
self. Indeed, so intimately and completely did his 
personality pervade the New York " Sun " that 
throughout the whole country it was quite as cus- 
tomary to hear people saying, 44 Dana says so," as 
" The * Sun ' says so : " a kind of public recognition 
of the individual force of the editor which has had 
but one parallel in the United States — Horace Greeley 
and the *' Tribune." 

The distinguishing marks which Mr. Dana put 
upon the ** Sun " were the freshness and unexpect- 
edness of its point of view, the comprehensiveness of 
its range, the clever and distinctive English style in 
which it is written, and its disdain of humbug and 
melodrama. 

These qualities were the natural outcome of Mr. 
Dana's own intellect and tastes. His mind was 
vigorous, independent, comprehensive. He had a 
strong sense of humor, and a buoyant, joyous nature 
to which nothing human was alien. lie saw things 
in unexpected ways, and had the audacity to put 
them as he saw them. The cleverness and crispness 
of his presentation of things made the " Sun " the 
most stimulating and entertaining paper in America. 
There was a sense of life and a vigor about it which 
made the oldest theme seem new. Whether one 
agreed with the paper or not, he read it for the 
purely intellectual pleasure he got out of it. In this 
the •* Sun" has been unique. 

The scope of the "Sun" was merely that of 
the editor's own mind. Certainly no man in Amer- 
ican journalism has equaled Mr. Dana in vari- 
ety of interests and extent of acquirements. He 
had a power of accumulating stores of knowledge 
not unlike that of Herbert Spencer. And he knew 
things thoroughly. There was nothing of the 
sciolist, the smatterer, about him. He knew not 
onlv his own time and own country, but all times 
and all countries. Although he was always hotly 
interested in politics, he found leisure to cultivate 
innumerable lines of thought and to keep himself 
abreast of all the intellectual movements of the 
day. Piled high on a tide table in his private office 



were all the latest books, and dozens of them went 
through his hands every week. On his orderly table, 
waiting for an idle moment, were sure to be seen the 
latest magazines, a copy of the *' Revue des Deux 
Mondes," of 4t Cosmopolis," or of some other learned 
review. Speculative philosophy, science, history, 
political economy, every phase of thought, interested 
him. At the same time he had a taste which was 
almost a passion for pictures, flowers, and ceramics ; 
and his knowledge of orchids, of modern paintings, 
and of Oriental wares was extensive. languages 
were a special delight to him. He spoke several, 
and was always learning a new one. Russian was 
the last he undertook, and during the last winter a 
Russian dictionary was always within his reach at 
his office. 

Mr. Dana's interest in foreign tongues never 
caused him to neglect his own. For years he labored 
vigorously and persistently to improve newspaper 
English, making life miserable for writers who split 
their infinitives, misused ** in the midst of," or com- 
mitted any other sin against grammar or good taste. 
In spite of its incessant struggle for precise and idio- 
matic English the "Sun" never became pedantic or 
over-nice. Indeed, its language was often as unex- 
pected as its opinions. It employed colloquialisms 
freely, and used slang with irresistible effect. Almost 
every day, too, its editorial page teemed with words 
and expressions of great force not in common vogue. 
Mr. Dana aimed quite as much to show the wealth, 
flexibility, and expressiveness of English as to wage 
war on those who broke its common law. 

There was no cant or pretension about Mr. Dana's 
forceful editing, and those qualities never had a bit- 
terer enemy. His attitude in literary matters is an 
illustration. He gave much space always in his 
Sunday journal to book reviews, to .original verse, 
and to fiction. The digest of serious works, par- 
ticularly in the line of history, which he introduced 
into the Sunday " Sun " is the most valuable book- 
reviewing for the general public that is done in this 
country ; but at the same time he had a department 
of book reviews of which the particular province was 
to uncover pretension, melodrama, and unwholesome- 
ness. A writer who showed a vital quality of feel- 
ing, thought, or expression, whatever his crudities, 
was sure of encouragement from Mr. Dana ; but for 
a literary poseur he had nothing but ridicule. 

The vigor and intensity with which Mr. Dana for 
so long directed the M Sun's " policy, and the almost 
universal attention his opinions pn all sorts of po- 
litical and literary questions received, have put out 
of sight his earlier career ; although; as a matter of 
fact, he was for more than twenty years before he took 
the " Sun " ardently and actively interested in dif- 
ferent phases of the greatest intellectual agitation 
which our country has ever experienced. 

The socialistic movement which took so strong a 
hold on the East in the 40's attracted Mr. Dana 
when he was but a boy, and when by the failure of 
his eyes he was obliged to leave Harvard College, he 
went at once to Brook Farm, with most of the mem- 
bers of which he was acquainted. Before he had 
been there many weeks he was elected a trustee, and 
continued with the movement until the unfortunate 



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194 



CHARLES A.- DANA. 



burning of the building in 1844 sent the theorists 
back to the world to begin life again. At Brook 
Farm Mr. Dana was associated with Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne, William Henry Channing, A. Bronson Al- 
cott, George Ripley, Margaret Fuller, and many 
other men and women of extraordinary intellectual 
and social gifts. He sympathized thoroughly with 
the efforts the company made to realize there the 
social system of Fourier, and it was due largely, by 
all accounts, to his practical sagacity that the experi- 
ment was developed as far as it was. 

For fifteen years, from 1847 to 1862, Mr. Dana 
was associated with Horace Greeley on the New 
York " Tribune," and it was he who, with James S. 
Pike, made the 4i Tribune " the tremendous anti- 
slavery power it was in the 5o's. One need only 
read Mr. Greeley's own letters to Mr. Dana, written 
when the former was away on the frequent long 
journeys he made, and especially those written in 
the winter of 1855 and 1856, when Mr. Greeley was 
acting as the Washington editor of the paper, to 
understand the intimate relation of the two men and 
the almost absolute sway of Mr. Dana in the New 
York office of the paper. The intimacy was shown 
not alone by approval, but by the bluntest criticism. 
While Mr. Greeley often wrote to Mr. Dana thank- 
ing him for a "glorious issue," he was continually 
protesting petulantly against Dana's aggressiveness, 
and especially during the winter that the former 
spent in Washington. " I entreat," he wrote once 
when the " Tribune " had attacked a public man in 
Washington whom Greeley wanted to conciliate, 
"that I may be allowed to conduct the 'Tribune' 
with reference to the mile wide that stretches either 
way from Pennsylvania Avenue. It is but a small 
space, and you have all the world besides." And 
again, when an attack by the " Tribune " had caused 
him much personal friction, he said : " I shall have 
to quit here or die unless you stop attacking people 
here without consulting me. . . . Do send some 
one here and kill me if you cannot stop this, for I 
can bear it no longer." 

The intimate relations between Mr. Greeley and 
Mr. Dana lasted until the breaking out of the Civil 
War. The great struggle had not begun before 
their ideas of the policy to be pursued differed radi- 
cally. Finally, in April, 1862, they separated. Mr. 
Dana himself has given the reason. " Greeley was 
for peace and I was for war. As long as I stayed on 
the * Tribune ' there was a spirit there which was 
not his spirit — that he did not like." 

What Mr. Dana's influence in the " Tribune " 
had been was well known to many public men, 
among them Secretary Stanton. Indeed, at once 
after entering on the duties of the War Department, 
in January, 1862, Mr. Stanton had written to Mr. 
Dana, thanking him for a certain editorial. " You 
cannot tell how much obligation I feel myself under 
for your kindness," the Secretary said; and then, after 
stating confidentially the difficulties of his new posi- 
tion, he added : " But patience for a short while 
only is all I ask, if you and others like you will rally 
around me." A few weeks later he wrote again to 
Mr. Dana : " We have one heart and mind in this 
great cause, and upon many essential points you 
have a wider range of observation and clearer sight 
than myself ; I am therefore willing to be guided 
by your wisdom." 

When Stanton knew that Dana had left the 
" Tribune " he immediately invited him to come into 
the service of the War Department. This connec- 
tion began in 1862, and lasted until the war was 
over. Throughout this period Mr. Dana sustained 
a peculiarly confidential relation to Stanton and Lin- 
coln. He was the ene man on whom they found 



they could rely to give them an opinion of men and 
events he was sent to observe that was as intelligent 
as it was frank. They depended more and more 
upon him until it became their rule to send him im- 
mediately to the center of any critical situation and 
to form their course of action largely on his repre- 
sentation. One has but to study his reports to Mr. 
Stanton in connection with the events of the war to 
see that his representations and suggestions were the 
determining factor in many of the greatest problems 
of the period. " No history of the Civil War can be 
written without taking into consideration Mr. Dana's 
influence," says Mr. Joseph Medill of the Chicago 
"Tribune;" and Mr. Leslie J. Perry of the War 
Records Commission, in speaking of Mr. Dana's 
reports, says : 

" He was a keen-eyed observer, and his extraor- 
dinary grasp of the situation upon the various thea- 
ters of war which he visited, his sagacity in weighing 
the worth or worthlessness of the great officers 
chosen to carry out the vast military designs of the 
Government, his acute discernment of their strong 
and weak qualities, and above all the subtle power 
and scope of his vigorous reports to Secretary Stanton 
of what he saw, make them the most remarkable, 
interesting, and instructive collection of official docu- 
ments relating to the Rebellion." 

Absorbed though he was every day of the week 
with the un -ending labor of a great daily newspaper, 
always in the thick of every public contest, and pas- 
sionately interested in art and in literature, there 
still has never been a more accessible or genial 
editor in the country than Mr. Dana. He always 
had time for his friends and for what he called 
" fun ; " and by " fun " Mr. Dana meant anything, 
work or play, which had vitality in it. His buoyant 
joy in life and things in general was contagious, and 
made him the most enjoyable and stimulating of 
companions. Rarely is a man loved as he was by 
those of his profession who are in personal relations 
with him. It was only necessary to see him in his 
office at the " Sun " to understand this. There was 
not an office boy there who could not have a hearing 
if he wished it, nor one to whom at some time or 
other Mr. Dana had not given some proof of his per- 
sonal good feeling. He was always considerate in 
his dealings, and his gentleness with his subordinates 
was unending. They loved him for this ; but above 
all they admired him for his wonderful vigor. It 
was a matter of pride at the " Sun " that, though Mr. 
Dana was nearly seventy-eight years old when he was 
obliged to leave his post, there was not a younger 
mind or body in the office. 

Mr. Dana's kindliness of spirit was not shown 
alone to those in his own office. In the great mass 
of newspaper comment which his death has called 
forth one thing is conspicuous — the tribute to his 
helpfulness by men in his profession. Hundreds of 
journalists, writers, and editors all over the country 
know that they have been helped to their feet by his 
advice and encouragement. Men in whose writings 
he detected the qualities which he admired were sure 
to receive the support of the ** Sun." If a contribu- 
tion came to him which was unavailable for his own 
columns, but which he thought might be useful to 
another editor, he often would personally recommend 
the article. He would listen to projects of editors 
and journalists, and if an enterprise commended 
itself give it his full support. His day was filled 
with helpfulness, though he seemed quite uncon- 
scious of the fact. It was " the natural way of liv- 
ing." This spontaneous giving of his rich, culti- 
vated, intense self was what made Mr. Dana not 
only the most brilliant editor of America, but one of 
the most lovable and helpful of men. 



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JANUARY 

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PRIC 
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McClure's Magazine. 



Vol. X. 



JANUARY, 1898. 



No. 3. 



A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. 

By Norman Hapgood. 

Illustrated with Reproductions from Boutet de Monvel's Works. 



r^VEN in great art 
-* the originality 
which suggests a 
new way of seeing 
the world is rare. 
It is the possession 
of this one quality, 
above all others, 
which makes Mau- 
rice Boutet de Mon- 
! vel stand out, with 
a few of his con- 
temporaries, from 



the army of artists, more or less slaves of 
tradition following in the footsteps of their 
masters. It is this quality which makes 
the work of De Monvel appreciated wher- 
ever he is known. Here is a man who 
belongs to no school, who does not ex- 
ploit his tools, who speaks for the people 
because he picks out things to represent 
that are not obvious, and yet which, when 
seen, are of interest alike to the simple 
and the philosopher, to the most civilized 
man as to the child. 

Another attainment even more rare in 



Copyright, 1897, by the S. S. McClure Co. All rights reserved. 

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198 A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. 

the history of art 
is the successful 
rendering of child 
life. The adult 
usually draws 
children indis- 
criminately, see- 
ing them as a 
mass of little 
creatures much 
alike, or else no- 
ticing them for 
the light they 
throw on our 
lives. Philoso- 
phers would say 
that our attitude 
towards them 
was subjective. 
We call them 
sweet, or cunning, 
or something else 
that describes the 
way they make us 
feel, not the way 
they themselves 
feel and think. 
Yet a child is an 
independent be- 
ing, and the effect 
it has on us is an 
unimportant ele- 
ment in its own 
life. The artists, 
whether poets, 
novelists, paint- 
ers, or sculptors, 
who have given 
the life of a child 
from the inside 
could almost be 
counted on one 
hand. These 
prevailing exter- 
nal views grow 
naturally out of 
the two facts that 
we cannot re- 
member what the 
world was to us, 
and that the audi- 
ence for which we 
speak is grown. 
In the fable the 
lion explains the 
victories of men 
over beasts in 
literature by the 
statement that 
the men write all 
portraits. the books. Per- 

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PORTRAIT OF THK DAUGHTER OF REGANS. 

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A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. 




From " La Mist' en Loire " in " Vieiltes Chansons." 




haps Robert Louis Stevenson 
thought of this fable when 
he wrote "A Child's Garden 
of Verses," in which the mind 
of the child has at least an 
equal expression with the mind 
of his older and sophisticated 
observer. The mingling of 
the two points of view prom- 
ises to be the modern spirit. 

Boutet de Monvel, although 
he is in part a man of age and 
experience, the head of a 
household, with a place in the 
world which he sustains with 
dignity and takes to heart seri- 
ously, amusing himself with 
the child's ingenuousness, is 
also one who understands and 
whose talent is particularly 
fit to depict the clr 1 J 
as an independi 
creature with a life 
its own. His children are genuin 
childish, with no admixture 
of adult quality. The earlier 
artists gave often the physical 
attributes of babyhood, but . 
they put in the baby body the 
soul of a man, or no soul at 
all. In the old religious pic- 
tures the child may show divin- 
ity, spirituality, in his face, 
but he does not show infantile 
thoughts. He was not treated 
psychologically. Delia Rob- 
bia boys might walk, their 
forms are so real. We also 
know their personalities; each 
one of them is an individual 
child, and Delia Robbia is an 
exception among the masters. Froi 
But it is more than pitiful, it 
is irritating, to see in all the 
galleries of Italy those little forms with 
the heads of clever, knowing old people, 
with eyes full of wisdom and worldliness. 
So the hearty baby bodies in the pictures 
of Rubens have no sign of as many dif- 




ferent natures as there are in 
the distinct men and women of 
the same paintings. Most 
great dramatic artists, realiz- 
ing instinctively that men do 
not see children from the in- 
side, have kept them out of 
their works. In all of Shakes- 
peare's plays there is no child 
who counts for much; and in 
all great drama, perhaps, the 
one child who is famous is the 
Joas of Racine. 

In a sense, at least, as the 
artist himself thinks, it was 
accident that led De Monvel 
to a field so far removed from 
the interests of strong artists; 
but when hazard led him 
there, little time was needed 
show him how to 
it. If he was to 
w children, he 
t draw them with the reality 
with which he had always seen 
their elders. He must give us 
not only the charm of their 
fragility and innocence, but, 
if not the revelation, at least a 
clear suggestion, of what they 
feel. Whether or not chance 
influenced his choice of sub- 
jects, the world is the gainer. 
Young persons are usually- 
bored by the child; they meet 
him and pass him by; but old 
people notice him. The more 
experience a man gains and 
digests the simpler his interest 
becomes; complexities in the 
end appear trivial, and the 
elementary things are seen 
as the elemental and impor- 
tant ones. De Monvel reached 
such a spirit younger than most men do. 
He always had a marked element of sane 
and serious reality in him, and nature al- 
lowed him to begin where most of us are 
landed when love and sorrow, suffering 

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r Citi/*// Pu trite et 
Honnete." 



A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. 



201 




a Mis I' en Laire," in " Vieilles Chansons." 




only 



and change, have taught us 
to see the big, significant out- 
lines. His fortune from the 
beginning was to see funda- 
mentals, and experience taught 
him to depict what he saw with 
means as simple and choice as 
his vision. A few lines, a few 
dots, make a face. There is 
no smartness of presentation, 
there is only a meaning, and 
nothing to obscure the mean- 
ing. As in all true art, his 
technical processes are not 
obtruded, and will be seen only 
by those who look for them; 
while the things represented 
are patent to all. For such a 
nature there could be no better 
subject than the child, for 
all the elements 
of human life 
are in him, and 
elements, out of 
which later the sifting, ex- 
panding, and crushing expe- 
rience will make the human 
drama. 

Boutet de Monvel, choosing 
without hesitation art as a 
career, entered the studio of 
Cabanel when he was a little 
over twenty. He joined the 
army after Sedan, and came 
out of his war experiences 
with a sadness which still 
overpowers him when speak- 
ing of nos malheurs. After 
some work in the less con- 
ventional studio of Julian, 
dissatisfied with its restric- 
tions, he entered, in 1875, the Fi 
studio of Carolus Duran. 
Almost immediately the need 
of money forced him into illustration, the 
field in which we know him best and in 
which his originality took such striking 
form. M. de Monvel himself thus de- 
scribes the change, in conversation: " At 




first I painted pictures like the 

rest of the painters, and per- 
haps I should be doing that 

still if I had not been driven 

to illustration. When I took 

that up, having only the pen 

with which to work, I was 

obliged always to study the 

difficulties of reproduction, to 

do something that would come 

out well when printed. Of 

course, I found out directly 

that I could not put in the 

mass of little things which I 

had elaborated on my can- 
vases. Gradually, through a 

process of elimination and 

selection, I came to put in 

only what was necessary to 

give the character. I sought 

in *»very little figure, 

y group, the es- 

i, and worked for 

alone." 

The secret taught him by 
the difficulties in reproduction 
has helped him in all that he 
has done. There is no unnec- 
essary detail in the old couple 
on the beach, one of his early 
pictures, the reproduction of 
which heads this article, any 
more than there is in the face 
of the boy bent upon the 
table, on page 202, or in the 
gay pictures of the gracefully 
grotesque and amusing side 
of childhood. His books 
have ranged over rather a 
wide field. " Old Songs for 
Little Children" (Vieilles 
Chansons et Rondes pour les 
petits en/ants) appeared first. 
In it De Monvel's humor is 
bordering now on caricature 

and now on comedy. "French Songs for 

Little Frenchmen" (Chansons de France 

pour les petits Francais) followed, with the 

same gaiety, but with freer expression. 
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La Cizi/ife Puerile et 
Honnite." 



apparent, 



202 



A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. 



AN ILLUSTRATION FROM " XAVlfeRB." 



A mock treatise on politeness, " LaCivilitt 
pulrilc et honnitc" brings a daintier, more 
varied atmosphere, for the study is becom- 
ing deeper and the understanding clearer. 
The individuals differ much more; each 
has more distinctness, more reality, more 
charm, the old men and the women as well 



as the children. The "La Fontaine* 9 is 
a new development, not only because it 
brings animals to the front, but because it 
shows the artist making his effects with sim- 
pler touches and with the exact meaning 
still more free and more telling also. In 
stories by Anatole France, with his studied 

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A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BOUTET DE MONVEL. 

simplicity, 
De Monvel 
found some 
of his best 
inspiration ; 
and his mas- 
terly little 
creat ions 
stand not 
simply as 
a graphic 
comment on 
the text, 
but as a rev- 
elation of 
a subject 
which the 

writer has treated only in a fragmentary 
and superficial manner. Before speaking 
of bis later work, his " Xavilrt" and his 
" Joan of Arc/' we might try to find out 
the secret which De Monvel has learned, 
and which enables him to give us children 
in a fashion so direct and complete, and 
with such charm and freshness of pre- 
sentation. We might speak of the expres- 
siveness which lurks in a little hand clutch- 
ing a dress, in the angular folds of a 
Sunday frock, in a slow and stolid walk, 
in a foot seeking the ground, but it would 
explain nothing. The one attitude, the 
one expression, is chosen which has a 
special meaning and a special charm, and 
that is all there is to it. In looking at 
these drawings artists' only advantage. 
over people ignorant of art is that they 
know how wonderful the thing is, how 
difficult it is to do it; but they are not 
able to feel or enjoy the result any bet- 
ter. To draw well, to color well, to have 
solved the problem of lithography in color, 
is simply to have the tools. It is the 
freshness, the alertness of the eye, the 
truth and eagerness of the mind, which 
makes De Monvel an artist original from 
tl 
tl 
fi 
V 
e: 
tl 
o 
¥i 

S4 



203 



_ «. *. 1- _ 1- 



Frvtn " Nos lin/ants." 

the tender amusement which they inspire, 
but also to deal with the most serious, dra- 
matic, even tragic subjects, as shown in 
his two later works, " Xavftre" and " Joan 
of Arc." Probably, of all his work, these 
two books contain his most ardent feel- 
ings. The opening picture of the "Joan 
of Arc" strikes a note held throughout. 
Jeanne rides at the head of an army, her 
eyes fixed on a vision, a sword in her out- 
stretched hand; behind her rush the living 
soldiers, with an onward motion that 
shows what it means to be a great draughts- 
man; and as the living soldiers press on, 
the very dead, fallen in battle, break from 
the ground to follow; their faces struggle 
up, their open mouths salute the Maid, 
they wave their swords, and, although they 
cannot free their bodies, their spirits help 
her on to victory. There are few such 
noble pictures as " Xavftre" offers, won- 
derful revelations of the French country 
people, sympathetic transcripts of the* 
simple life of humble folk; admirable 
pages, where one feels tha,t everything is 
true to the best and the most serious in 
life. 

When De Monvel first gave us these col- 

— J : " ^d 

r- 
at 
c- 
th 
a 



-ft*. 



From " Filtes et Gar cons.* 1 

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204 



A PAINTER OF CHILDREN— BO UTET DE MONVEL. 



technical difficulty had been so compe- 
tently conquered that the famous colored 
prints of England seemed antiquated and 
the effects which the Japanese reached by 
a different method had been equaled. But 
that surprise is now giving way to admir- 
ation for the qualities of the man who 
inspires the workman. Sentiment is the 
largest ingredient of true art, as it is of 
life; and the sentiment of I)e Monvel in 
"Joan of Arc" and " Xaviere " reaches 
its highest purity. In this last he ad- 
dresses himself to an older audience. In 
" Joan of Arc " he meets the interests of 
the childish reader, but he expresses him- 
self as genuinely in each book. They 
seem ideal and beautiful dreams, forceful 
in drawing, with a psychology which makes 
every face individual in a more com- 
plete, but no less simple, sense than the 
faces in his lighter works are real. Notic- 
ing that an artist is making funny children 
or grotesque animals, we are inclined to 
take him lightly, as if we measured genius 
by solemnity or by acres of paint; but if 
we turn back to the more amusing books, 
after being excited by " Xavttrc" and 
"Joan of Arc," we see them with a new 
eye. It is the same artist looking into 
the hearts of many things and recording 
with a sure hand. 

M. de Monvel is now making frescos 
for the church which is building at Dom- 
remy, the birthplace of the Maid whose 
story he is to tell again; but his studio 
is full of portraits of children and of 
sketches for illustrations. One series, just 
finished, dealing with the little peasants 
of the country, is to be followed by the 
street boys of Paris. There is little 
danger that with his eagerness of mind De 
Monvel runs any risk of working one vein 
to death; neither will he abandon for his 
larger work the line in which he has been 
a pioneer. His future activities promise 



to be as full of variety and development 
as his past, and it is hoped that he may 
devote more and more of his time to 
what, in the mind of the best judges, is 
his greatest field. The painting of por- 
traits is probably the highest as well as the 
lowest and most common achievement of 
art. There have been many great portrait 
painters; but outside of Velasquez and a 
very few great masters, it is hard to think 
of any truly good portraits of children. 
An increasing demand for De Monvel's 
portraits of children has been the natural 
result of the popularity of his illustrated 
books. Of course, he had always been 
making portraits in his illustrations; he has 
told himself how hard it is to make each 
little figure in a group a separate person; 
and all these constant efforts of many 
years made the step to portrait painting 
an easy one. His portraits have been as 
successful as his own fanciful children. 
Not only has he been able to give the ap- 
pearance of his sitter with the certainty and 
vividness which was to be expected of him, 
but he has proved his high artistic judgment 
in the way which all accessories are subor- 
dinated and yet used to strengthen the 
central effect. Just as in the picture 
from " Xavstre," on page 202, full as it is 
of objects, table, chairs, window, all con- 
spicuously placed, we see, nevertheless, 
only the faces, the attitudes, the light, 
all giving the spirit, the sentiment, the 
significance of the scene; so in his por- 
traits, backgrounds and the arrangement 
of accessories show exquisite tact, and 
while serving their purpose of putting the 
face and figure into relief, add, one might 
say, some side explanations to the type. 
It is marvelous how all parts of the canvas 
belong to the portrait; how typical acces- 
sories and background are so subtly and 
intelligently handled that one does not 
realize they are there at all. 



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AN AMERICAN AT KARLSBAD. 

By Cy Warman, 
Author of ** Talcs of an Engineer," " The Express Messenger/' etc. 



KARLSBAD in 
winter- time is 
about as bleak 
and desolate as 
a Western town 
which, after a 
* hard fight with 

weekly papers and 
Winchesters, has 
lost the county- 
seat. The place 
is not dead: no 
more than the flowers are dead that are 
sleeping under the snow that has drifted 
deep in the Bohmerwald. With the first 
bluebird comes the man burdened with 
a bad liver, and the first patient is fol- 
lowed closely by merchants and shop- 
keepers, hotel men, and 
waiters. There are mer- 
chant-tailors from Vienna, 
china merchants from Dres- 
den, and clockmakers from 
Switzerland. 

All through the month of 
April the signs of life are 
daily increasing. The walks 
that wind about the many 
hills are being swept clean 
of dead leaves; houses are 
repainted; and the rooms of 
hundreds of hotels and pen- 
sions ' are thrown open to 



fc^ 



admit the health-giving winds that come 
down from the low mountains laden with 
the scent of pine. The streets are rea- 
sonably clean, for few people live here in 
winter; but they are being made cleaner 
day by day, until the last day of April, when 
they are all flooded and washed clean. 
The iron fences and railings arc actually 
scrubbed by an army of women with 
buckets of water and rags. Other women 
are digging in the ditches, sawing wood, 
or drawing wagons through the streets. 

On the first day of May there is 
a grand open- 
ing. This year 
it was of es- 
pecial impor- 
tance, as it 
opened to the 
the new bath- 
house Kaiserbad, which 
cost this enterprising 
municipality 1,250,000 
florins, and is the finest 
bath-house in the whole 
wide world, I am told. This 
marvelous celebration, which 
began with a military parade 
on the first day of the month, 
ended on the fifth with a ban- 
quet in the city 

a witfr/reigkt. ^^ ca f^ at Wn j Cn 

Monsieur Ludwig 




ing your brta** 
fast, 



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2o6 



AN AMERICAN AT KARLSBAD. 



bidding my lord, the 
well-born, and his 



friend to 
feast — the 
the city. 

Just in 
the 



the great 
guests of 



sided. 

"Jim Thompson and friend" was the 
way we went on the register at Pupp's; not 
that Jim wanted to star his own signature, 
but in order that he might bear the bur- 
den of reading all the circulars sent to our 
rooms, and receiving the good father of the 
town, who always waits upon "wealthy 
Americans" and asks a little aid for the 
poor, regardless of the visitor's religion. 
When we were transferred to the revolv- 
ing switch-board in 
the center of the 
great lobby, it read. 
" Herr Jim Thorn 
son," and when 
appeared on loc 
letters and circula 
sent to us it w 
"Well-born He 
Jim Thompson 
and sometimes 
was even " My lor 
the well-born 
But Jim had be 
so much amor 
titled people : 
Europe, and had 
often read the 
" ads." for heir- 
esses, that these 
little mistakes 
were no more to 
him than so, 
many pfennigs, i 

So, in time, rt 

there Came a # , big, bony Briton* in knicker- 

gilt-edged card bakers. . . . 



front of 
orchestra there 
was a narrow, high 
throne, a kind of 
cross between a pul- 
pit and a witness- 
box, and from behind 
this little stand the 
speaker spoke % 

" It is a good idea, 
this pulpit; it gives 
the speaker some- 
thing to pound, and 
does away with his 
hands at the same 
e," said Jim, when the 
man had finished. 
_„j lion of the evening 
was the architect who had 
built the Kaiserbad, and when he made his 
talk the men cried " Hoch! " and beautiful 
women left their seats to click glasses with 
him. And the band played "Under the 
Double Eagle," and everybody stood up, 
and they were all very happy, and I knew 
that the homely leader, with his ears 
full of cotton, had made a hit. 

'Bohemian 
asked, when we 
had all settled 
down and be- 
gun to eat again. 
"No, "he said, 
with a half-sad 
smile. " I don't 
know the ' Bo- 
hemian Girl* 
from the * Irish 
Washerwoman,' 
but I know that 
tune: it's the 
national air. 
:>uldn't you hear 
e B-flat scream 
id wail away down 
e line? Ah! if 
e Austrians had 
ayed that tune, 
e Seven Days' 
would have lasted 
;er." 
was an excellent 
» dinner, and the 
lusiasm and patri- 
otism of the people 
w$r$ good to see. 



. . Tyrolese in green hats 
(ritnntfd in feathers, . . . 



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AN AMERICAN AT KARLSBAD. 



207 



True, they have been buf 
by political waves, betwe< 
and Austria, for many ye; 
people in these Bohemia 
happy, industrious, and 
enterprising to a re- 
markable degree. 

On the morning of the 
tenth of May, when we 
went down to the Brunn 
to drink, a thousand 
people were standing in 
line. 

" Reminds me of the 
days when we used to 
line up at the post-office 
in Thompsonville, ,, said 
Jim, his mind going back 
to the big days of Col- 
orado, when he was 
mayor and silver was a 
dollar ten. 

It is a great show.: men and women 
from everywhere, with every disease that 
can possibly be charged to the liver, 
stomach, or gall. Even nervous people 
come here for the baths; and get well, or 
think they do, which is the same thing. 
There are men whose skin and eyes are 
yellow; and others green as olives; Ger- 
man dandies who walk like pacing grey- 
hounds; fat young Germans who seem to 
be walking on eggs; and old, gouty Ger- 
mans who do not walk at all, but shuffle. 
There are big, bony Britons in knicker- 
bockers, and elderly Englishmen whose 
love of plaids is largely responsible for 
the daily rains that come to this otherwise 
delightful region. There are modest 
Americans, with their pretty wives and 
daughters; and other Americans, who talk 
loud in the lobbies and caf£s; Tyrolese, in 
green hats trimmed in feathers; and Polish 
Jews, with little corkscrew curls hanging 
down by their ears, such as we see in Je- 
rusalem. Then there are a few stray 
Frenchmen, walking alone; and once — but 
not more than once — in a while a Parisian 
lady, and you know her by the charming 
cut of her skirt and the way she holds it 
up and the beautiful dream of a petticoat 
the act discloses. There are Austrian sol- 
diers in long coats, and officers in pale- 
blue uniforms, spurred and cinched like 
the corset-wearers of France. 

In a solid mass the crowd of cupbearers 
move up and down in the great colonnade, 
keeping time with their feet or hands or 
heads to the strains of the band, which 
begins to play at 6.45 in the morning. 

By nine o'clock the springs are deserted, 



and the multitude has distributed itself 
among the many restaurants and cates in 
the cafion. An hour later, having break- 
fasted lightly on toast and coffee — on such 
toast and such coffee as can be had only 
in Karlsbad — the great army of healthy- 
looking invalids lose themselves in the 
hills. 

Here comes an old, old woman, bear- 
ing a load that would bend the back of a 
Turkish hamal, 
followed by a 
landau, wherein 
loll the fairest 
dames of Saxony; 
then a sausage- 
man, whose garlic- 
flavored viands 
freight the whole 
gulch with their 
fumes; and just 
behind him a 
wagon laden with 
flowers and shrubs 
for the new gar- 
dens of the Grand 
Hotel Pupp, and 
their opening 
leaves fling such 
a fragrance out 
upon the still air 
that it follows and 
trails far behind, 
as the smoke of a 
locomotive follows 
a freight train. 
Women with bas- 
kets on their 
backs, filled with 



, a few stray Frenchmen % 
walking alone : . . . 



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208 



AN AMERICAN AT KARLSBAD. 



empty milk-cans, are climbing the trails 
that lead back to their respective ranches, 
which they must have left, their cans laden, 
at early dawn. 

The men are most polite to each other, 
and always take off 
their hats as they 
meet and pass. The 
employes in the ho- 
tels do this, from the 
manager down. In- 
deed, all these people 
are almost tiresome 
with their politeness. 
A tab le-gir 1 who 
serves you at a way- , 
side cafe* to-day will 
rush out to the middle 
of the street to-mor- 
row and say good- . 
morning, and ask you 
how you feel. She is 
honestly endeavoring 
to make it pleasant, 
and is unconsciously 
making it unpleasant 
for you. If you 
speak English she argues that you may be 
a lord, or, what to her and for her is bet- 
ter still, an American, grand, rich, and aw- 
ful; and she is proud to show the proprie- 
tor or manager that she knows you. But 
we should not complain, for nowhere are 
visitors treated so respectfully and decent- 
ly as at Karlsbad. I remember that the 
Blirgermeister left his place at the head 
of the table at the banquet, crossed the 
room, introduced himself to Mr. Thomp- 
son, touched glasses, and bade him wel- 
come to the city, and caused a little muni- 



German Type. 



. old, gouty German i 



cipal check-book to be placed at the 

visitor's elbow, so that for that day and 

date he could order what he craved, and 

it was all "on" the town. Last year, 

when the five hundred rooms of the largest 

hotel in the place 

were occupied, four 

hundred of the guests 

were Americans or 

English. So you see 

they can afford to like 

us, and they do. 

One can live here 
as one chooses — for 
one dollar or ten a 
day; but two people 
can live comfortably 
for five dollars a day. 
The hotels are good, 
and the service al- 
most perfect so far as 
it relates to the ho- 
tel; but the service 
in the dining-rooms, 
cafes, and restaurants 
is bad. Many of these 
are so poorly ar- 
ranged. It is a common thing to see a 
waiter freighting your breakfast or dinner 
— which is at midday here — a half block in 
a pouring rain. The great trouble is to 
get things hot; it is next to impossible. 
What Karlsbad needs is a sanitarium, 
where people can have delicate dishes pre- 
pared and served hot. The stoves are too 
far from the tables in most places. 

Americans will find many funny little 
things, even in the best hotels. You can 
go up in the elevator, but you cannot come 
down. You can have writing-paper free 
in the writing-room, but not in your apart- 
ments. You can get hot milk or warm 
milk — but they will put butter in it. You 
can have boiled potatoes, but only with 
caraway-seeds and a fine flavor of alfalfa 
in them; or poached eggs, but you must 
have them poached in bouillon. 

After a while you will get used to all 
this, and give up trying to say sehr An'ss, 
and go way. Forty thousand people do 
this every year. This establishment alone 
feeds two thousand people a day; and 
most of them, I fancy, go away feeling 
very kindly toward the place and the peo- 
ple. The Germans predominate in the 
month of May, the Austrians in June, and 
in July the French come. This is a safe 
sandwich, with Austria in the middle ; it 
keeps France and Germany from touching. 
The English and Americans (but not the 
poor) they have all the season. 



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AN AMERICAN AT KARLSBAD, 



209 



The sad-faced consumptives who swarm 
round the health resorts of Western Amer- 
ica are not seen here; on the whole, the 
people who come here look healthy. The 
dreadful army of miserables who haunt the 
grotto at Lourdes are 
also not to be seen 
here. True, the priests 
go at the head of the 
procession on the first 
of May from spring to 
spring, blessing the 
water and thanking 
God for the goodness 
of these wondrous 
founts. But they look 
not for a miracle. 

Some things appear 
a little inconsistent, and 
trying on the waters; 
and yet I know not that 
the visitors go away 
disappointed. For ex- 
ample, you will see 
a very happy married 
woman, fat and forty 
or forty-five, and a Htbre * 

long, lank, lingering 
maiden, the two quaffing at the same well, 
and the one hoping to gain what the other 
longs to lose. 

When you have taken rooms at a hotel, 
one of the employes will bring you a 
long printed form, which, if you fill out, 
will give the sheriff or any one interested 
in you a fair history, the length of your 
intended stay, your nationality and busi- 
ness. This form goes to the office of the 
Biirgermeister, and from it you are " sized 
up" and assessed in whatever class you 
appear to belong. Third-class visitors pay 
between one and two dollars the season; 
second, between two and three dollars; and 
first class, from three to four. Only Ameri- 
cans are always rated first class. They 
do not insist upon your staying there. By 
filing a personal protest you can have 
yourself placed in whatever class you 
claim to belong in. 

And what becomes of the tax one pays 
into the city treasury ? 

First, you have the use of the water for 
three weeks or six months, and have also 
the pleasure of hearing good music while 
you take your medicine every morning. 
Part of this money goes to make and keep 
up the miles and miles of beautiful walks, 
to plant rare shrubs in the very forest, and 
to put boxes in the trees for the birds to 
build in, whose music cheers the thousands 
of strollers who throng these winding ways. 



So, after all, the tax one pays to the 
municipality is very little, even if you are 
first class; and, as nearly every one leaves 
the place feeling better than when he ar- 
rived, there is no complaint. 

"Are all the people 
cured who come here?'* 
I asked Dr.Grtinberger, 
who was medical in- 
spector in the district 
for twenty years. 

" Not all," he said. 
" But all who take the 
cure" — for the doctor 
who examines the pa- 
tient will not allow him 
to take the water un- 
less he has a disease 
curable by the Karls- 
bad treatment. 

There are many doc- 
tors in Karlsbad, and 
they are largely re- 
sponsible for the splen- 
did reputation of the 
place. They are hon- 
7>/ <* est enough to tell the 

patient to go away if 
they believe his disease incurable by the 
use of the waters. The waiters in the 
hotels all know what you are allowed to 
eat; and when you ask for a tempting bit 
of pastry the girl will shake her head, smile 
pleasantly, and say: "That ish not gute 
for you." In fact, all the people appear 
to want you to get well and be happy, go 
away and eat bad things, and come again. 



German dandies . . 

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2IO 



AN AMERICAN AT KARLSBAD. 



Other women are 



dretwing wagons through the streets. 



Now, like many others, I am going away ; 
and I have tried to find one man or woman 
among the thousands here now who is with- 
out faith in the cure, or without hope of 
being cured. The water won't cure a 



stone-bruise or a broken heart, perhaps; 
but it will brace you up, give you an 
appetite that will help your heart to heal, 
and the stone-bruise will get well of its 
own accord. 



PoHsh yews, with tittle corkscrew curU 



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{THE GENERAL MANAGER'S STORV.] 

THE LIFE OF THE RAILROAD MAN. 

DRAWN FROM FIFTEEN YEARS' EXPERIENCE AS BRAKEMAN, FIRE- 
MAN, AND ENGINEER. 

By Herbert E. Hamblen (" Fred. B. Williams"), 
Author of "On Many Seas." 

EXPERIENCES AND ADVENTURES AS A BRAKEMAN IN THE YARD AND 

ON THE ROAD. 

Illustrated with Drawings from Life by W. D. Stevens. 




0\V little does the average pass- 
enger realize, when he steps 
on the sumptuously furnished 
car and quietly reads the 
newspaper until the brakeman 
calls out his station and he 
steps off to go to his family 
or his business, that his train has been 
under the keen supervision of an army of 
trained officials and employees during 
every minute of its progress; that its ar- 
rival at, and departure from, each station 
has been ticked over the wire to the train 
despatcher; that all meeting-points with 
other trains have been carefully prepared 
for; that rules and orders have been issued 
providing for every possible contingency; 
that, in fact, as an old railroad man said 
to me once, " if everybody obeyed orders, 
collisions would be possible only when 
brought about by Unavoidable accidents! " 
These men are carefully chosen, and 
only long and faithful service, a strictly 
first-class moral character, and undoubted 
ability to perform the duties of the posi- 
tion will insure their promotion to the 
higher offices or their retention in them. 

Promotion on a railroad is slow, and for 
merit only. 

MY FIRST JOB. 

" Very well," said the young man; " I 
am the yardmaster here, and as I am rather 
short of brakemen and you appear to be 
a likely young fellow, I will give you a 
job. Keep your eyes and ears open; 
obey orders strictly, whether you can or 
not, and" — here he grabbed me by the 
arm and pulled me back just as I was 
about to step directly in front of a rapidly 
approaching car which an engine had 
kicked in on that track and which would 
certainly have put an end to my railroading 



there and then — " be careful never, under 
any circumstances, no matter how big a 
hurry you are in, to step upon a railroad 
track anywhere, without first looking both 
ways; and if you see anything approaching 
near enough, so that there is any doubt 
about your being able to cross in perfect 
safety at an ordinary walk, don't go; al- 
ways give everything on wheels the right 
of way." 

I have remembered and followed that 
rule to this day, even in the city streets, 
and to it I attribute in a great measure the 
fact that I am alive yet. 

"When will you be ready to go to 
work?" asked the yardmaster. I told 
him, "Right away." "All right," said 
he, and then, looking at his watch: 

"Well, I don't know but that you had 
better get your dinner first; it's now 
eleven thirty, and there's no use of your 
getting killed on an empty stomach. Do 
you see that office over there by those 
green cars ? ' ' 

"Yes, sir." 

" Well, go and get your dinner, and re- 
port to me there at i p.m. sharp." 

"All right, sir," said I, "and thank 
you very much for your kindness." 

" Oh, that's all right. Go along now, 
and be sure and get back on time." 

Away I went to my hotel for dinner, 
highly elated at my success. I was now 
indeed, I thought, a genuine railroad 
man. To be sure, I didn't quite like all 
those allusions to killing and maiming; but 
I thought they had only been thrown out 
to try my nerve, and I congratulated my- 
self that I had shown no sign of flinching. 

I was wrong in my conjecture, how- 
ever; for, like all railroad yards, it was 
more or less of a slaughter-house, and 
one poor fellow's life was crushed out of 



Copyright, 1897, by Herbert E. Hamblen. 



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212 



MAKING ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE YARD MEN. 



him that very afternoon, although I 
didn't hear of it until the next day, and 
never saw him at all, which was just as 
well, I guess; for if I had known of it at 
the time, I dare say I should have lost 
some of the nerve I felt so proud of. 

He was a car-repairer, and was at work 
between two cars on the "dead-head." 
The car-repairers' signal was a piece of 
sheet iron, about a foot square, painted 
blue, and riveted to a four-foot iron rod, 
sharpened on the bottom so that it could 
be stuck in a tie vertically. 

There was a most rigid order that none 
but a car-repairer should handle that 
signal in any manner, and no one but the 
man that put it up must take it down. 
All cars needing repairs were run in on 
this track, and when the men were work- 
ing on them, they stuck their signal in a tie 
ahead of the last car put in and in plain 
sight of all the men working about the yard. 

This was a notice to the train men not 
to touch any car on that track, or to put 
any more in there, until the repair gang 
were notified, so that they might look out 
for themselves, take down their signal, 
and put it up again outside the outer car, 
as before. 

In this instance, the signal, carelessly 
put up, had fallen down, and a conductor, 
having a crippled car to go in there, 
glanced down the track, saw no signal up, 
opened the switch, pulled the coupling 
pin on the crippled car, and gave his engi- 
neer a signal to kick it in, which of course 
he did. 

As the unfortunate man was stooping 
over the drawhead of a car further back 
when the kicked car fetched up, the draw- 
head, link, and all were driven clear 
through his body. 

They said he let one agonizing scream 
out of him and died. Of course, as soon 
as they heard him yell, they ran from all 
directions, but we, being in a distant part 
of the yard, knew nothing of it. A switch- 
rope was hooked on to the car on whose 
drawhead he was impaled, and the same 
engine that did the deed pulled it back. 

He was a poor man, with the usual poor 
man's blessing, a large family, so we made 
up a purse to bury him, and the company 
gave his wife and two oldest children em- 
ployment in the car-cleaning gang. 

MY FIRST DAY'S WORK. 

I reported to the yardmaster ten minutes 
ahead of time. Sticking his head out of 
the door, he called out: 



" Hey, Simmons!" 

A fine, large, sunburned, black-bearded 
man appeared in answer to the summons. 

" Here's a green man I want you to 
break in," said the yardmaster; " put him 
on top, and let him pass the signal for a 
day or two until he can handle himself." 

" All right," said Simmons, who I soon 
found was the conductor of a "drill," 
a switch-engine crew. He took me out to 
the engine, and said to the engineer, a 
grimy, greasy individual: 

" Bill, here's a fresh fish Dawson wants 
to break in. I'll put him on the head car 
and let him pass the signal." 

" All right," said Bill, sourly. 

I was then told to mount the car next 
the engine and repeat the signals of the 
man in the middle of the train to the en- 
gineer. 

That seemed simple enough, but I 
hadn't been doing it more than ten min- 
utes when the engine stopped and Bill 
called out: 

" Hey! Hey! you there, dominie, par- 
son ! ' ' 

Seeing that he was addressing his re- 
marks to me and not liking the imperti- 
nence of such a disreputable-looking indi- 
vidual, I said: 

" Well, what is it ? Are you talking to 
me?" 

" Yes, I'm talkin' to you; an' ye better 
keep a civil tongue in yer head, I tell ye. 
What kind of a signal is that ye're givin' 
me ? Wha' d'ye want me ter do, any- 
way ? " 

" I don't want you to do anything, and 
I don't care what you do. I'm giving you 
the signal just as I get it." 

" No, ye hain't nuther, an' don't ye 
give me no back talk. Say, where do 
you come from ? " 

" I am from Walton," said I. 

"Sho! I thought so — another Walton 
punkin husker. Say, Simmons, take this 
blamed ornament o' yours down off o' 
here, an' give me a man that knows one 
signal from another, or I'll smash all the 
cars in the yard before night." 

Then he gave the engine a jerk back 
that nearly threw me off the car. 

"Oh, he's all right," said Simmons. 
" He's a little green, but he'll get over 
that." Then to me, " Be careful how you 
pass the signals, bub, or the engineer 
can't tell what he's doing." 

I told him I was giving them just ex- 
actly as the other man did. 

"Well, that's all right; Bill is kinder 
cranky, but you mustn't mind that." 

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THE FIRST ACCIDENT. 



213 



We hadn't 
worked ten min- 
utes more, and 
my arms were 
beginning to 
ache from the 
continuous mo- 
tion, when Bill 
roared out: 

•'Say! you 
infernal counter- 
jumper, will you 
git out o' the 
way, so I can 
see that man's 
signals? Set 
down, fall down, 
git down off o* 
there! You'll 
scare the engine 
off the track, 
the way you're 
flapping your 
wings." Then, 
having occasion 
to go to the 
other end of the 
yard, he pulled 
her wide open, 
drenching me 
with soot and 
water from the 
stack, until I 

was a sight for gods and men. I had my 
best clothes on, and they were ruined. 

When we were relieved at six o'clock, I 
was tired, dirty, thoroughly disgusted 
with railroading, and firmly determined 
to quit at once. 

During the evening, however, I scraped 
acquaintance with a young fellow about 
my own age. I was attracted by his ap- 
pearance, he seeming to be, like myself, 
"a boy from home," although not as 
green as I was. When I told him I 
would railroad no more, he said I was 
foolish; he had been at it a year and liked 
it; and he predicted that inside of thirty 
days I would too. He said he wouldn't go 
back to the farm for anything. 

He admitted that the talk I had heard in 
regard to killing and maiming was by no 
means exaggerated, but believed that it 
was largely due to the recklessness of the 
men themselves, and he hoped to escape 
the almost universal fate by being careful. 
Poor fellow! he was blown from the top 
of his train a few months afterwards, and 
found by the section gang, frozen stiff. 

Being considerably cheered by my new 
friend's advice, I reconsidered my decision, 



4 HKV ! HKy! YOU THKKK, DOMINIE, PARSON! . . . WHAT KIND OP A SIGNAL IS THAT YS'HB 

givin' ME?" 



and reported for duty at six o'clock the 
next morning, and worked all day, with no 
more thrilling adventure than an occa- 
sional cursing from sooty Bill, which, 
however, I soon learned to disregard en- 
tirely. 

GRIPPED BETWEEN TWO CARS. 

Before I had been a week in the yard I 
was well broken in, and had acquired the 
reckless air which is the second stage in 
the greenhorn's experience and is char- 
acteristic of the period before he gets 
hurt. 

I delighted in catching and riding in 
the most swiftly flying cars, and became 
an expert at making quick couplings and 
flying switches. Occasionally an old hand 
would say, with a wise shake of the head: 
" You'll git itbimeby," but I only laughed. 

It was four or ^vt. months before I 
"got it." I was making a coupling one 
afternoon, had balanced the pin in the 
drawhead of the stationary car, and was 
running along ahead of the other holding 
up the link, when just before coming to- 
gether she left the track, having jumped a 

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214 



UNDER THE HAND OF THE COMPANY'S DOCTOR. 



frog. Hearing the racket behind me, I 
sprang to one side; but my toe touching 
the top of the rail prevented me from get- 
ting quite clear. I was caught between 
the corners of the cars as they came to- 
gether, and heard my ribs cave in, like 
smashing an old box with an axe. 

The car stopped just right to hold me as 
in a vice. I nearly fainted with pain and 
from inability to breathe. Fortunately, 
Mr. Simmons was watching me, and with 
the rare presence of mind due to long 
service, he called at once for the switch- 
rope. He wouldn't allow the engine to 
come back and couple to the car again, 
as it would be almost sure to crush out 
my little remaining life. It seemed to me 
that I should surely suffocate before they 
got that switch-rope hooked on to the side 
of the car, though I knew the boys were 
hustling for dear life; but I tell you, 
when your breath is shut off, seconds are 
hours. My head was bursting, and I be- 
came blind; there was a terrible roaring 
in my ears, and then as the engine settled 
back on the switch-rope, I felt a life-giv- 
ing relief as I fell fainting, but thankful, 
into the arms of the boys. 

I was carried to the yardmaster's office, 
every step of the way the jagged ends of 
my broken ribs pricking and grating as 
though they would punch holes in me, and 
my breath coming in short, suffocating 
gasps. The company's doctor was sum- 
moned, a young fellow fresh from college 
whose necessities compelled him to accept 
the twenty-five dollars a month which they 
paid for medical attendance for damaged 
employees. He cut my clothes off, and 
after half murdering me by punching and 
squeezing, asking all the time what I was 
"hollering" about, finally remarked: 

" There's nothing much the matter with 
him; few of his slats stove in, that's all." 
He then bandaged me, and a couple of 
the boys half carried and half led me to 
the boarding-house, where I was mighty 
glad to be, for I was pretty well exhausted. 

There I lay, unable to move without help, 
for six weeks, visited by the doctor daily 
for a while, and then at less frequent inter- 
vals; but some of the boys were with me 
nearly all the time. They kept me posted 
as to what was going on in the yard, and 
cheered me up greatly by telling of their 
own various mishaps in the past. I found, 
to my surprise, that few of them had es- 
caped broken bones and smashed fingers, 
and I was assured that broken ribs were 
nothing, absolutely nothing; I ought to 
have a broken leg or dislocated shoulder 



pulled into place; then I would know some- 
thing about it. 

Their talk restored my spirits wonder- 
fully; for whereas I had been disconsolate 
at the thought that I was now a physical 
wreck, fit only for a job of flagging on 
some road crossing at twenty dollars a 
month, I now found that the boys whom I 
had seen racing about the yard all day, 



DKLIGHTBD IN CATCHING AND RIDING IN THK MOST 
SWIFTLY FLYING CARS." 



shouting, giving signals, and climbing on 
and off cars, had nearly all of them been 
much worse broken up than I was, and 
some of them several times, yet they were 
apparently as sound as ever. Even Sim- 
mons, who appeared to be a particularly 
fine specimen of physical manhood, told 
me that he once fell while running ahead 
of a car, just as I had been doing, and 
twelve cars and the engine passed over 
him, rolling him over and over, breaking 
both his legs, and, as he said, mixing up 
his insides in such a way that his victuals 
didn't do him much good for a year after. 

PROMOTION FROM THE YARD TO THE ROAD. 

Shortly after my return to work Simmons 
got one side of a new freight train, and, 

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WORSHIPING THE ENGINEER. 



2*5 



to my great delight, took me with him on 
the road. I was not only glad to get out 
of the slaughter-house with my full com- 
plement of limbs, but I was also pleased 
at the prospect of at last learning practi- 
cal railroading, of which I had heard so 
much. 

We had a fine big eight-wheel caboose, 
right out of the paint-shop, red outside, 
and green inside. There were six bunks in 
her, a row of lockers on each side to sit 
on and keep supplies in, a stove and table, 
and a desk for the conductor. We fur- 
nished our own bedding and cooking uten- 
sils, and as Simmons wouldn't have any 
but nice fellows around him, we had a 
pleasant and comfortable home on wheels. 
We each contributed to the mess, except 
the flagman, and as he did the cooking, he 
messed free. We took turns cleaning up, 
and as the boys had good taste, we soon 
had the car looking like a young lady's 
boudoir. We had lace curtains in front of 
the bunks, a strip of oilcloth on the floor, 
a mat that the flagman had " swiped" 
from a sleeper, a canary in a cage, and a 
dog. 

As a younger man than I had been as- 



BECAMK AN KXPKRT AT MAKING QUICK COUPLINGS AND FLYING 
SWITCHES." 



signed to us, I was second man, which 
gave me the head of the train; so I rode 
on the engine and was the engineer's flag. 
I ran ahead when necessary to protect 
our end, opened and closed switches, cut 
off and coupled on the engine, held the 
train on down grades, watched out for the 
caboose on curves, took water, shoveled 
down coal to the fireman, rang the bell at 



crossings, put on the blower, oiled the 
valves, and handed the engineer oil-cans, 
wrenches, and lights for his pipe. 

I now scraped acquaintance with that 
formidable document the time table, and 
heard train orders and the officers who 
issued them discussed by such high au- 
thorities as conductors and engineers; and 
I listened in rapt astonishment at the deep 
erudition which they displayed in handling 
these subjects. I soon learned that the 
officers on our road "didn't know noth- 
ing " and that " where / come from " they 
would not have been allowed to "sit on 
the fence and watch the trains go by;" 
whereupon I conceived a great wonder as 
to how the road survived under such 
densely incompetent management. 

I enjoyed riding on the engines, as the 
engineers and firemen were fine, sociable 
fellows. When we were a little late 
and had a passing-point to make, the en- 
gineer would sometimes say, " Don't you 
set no brakes goin' down here; I got to 
git a gait on 'em." Then when the train 
pitched over the top of the hill, he would 
cut her back a notch at a time, till he got 
her near the center, and gradually work 
his throttle out wide open. 
How she would fly down hill, 
the exhaust a steady roar out 
of the stack, the connecting- 
rods an undistinguishable 
blur, the old girl herself roll- 
ing and jumping as if at every 
revolution she must leave the 
track, the train behind half 
hid in a cloud of dust, and I 
hanging on to the side of the 
cab for dear life, watching out 
ahead where I know^there is 
a sharp reverse curve, and 
hoping, oh, so much, that 
he'll shut her off before we 
get there. 

I watch that grimy left hand 
on the throttle, for the prelim- 
inary swelling of the muscles 
that will show me he ib taking 
a grip on it to shove it in. 
Not a sign; his head and half 
his body are out the win- 
dow; and now we are upon it. I give one 
frightened glance at the too convenient 
ditch where I surely expect to land, and 
take a death grip of the side of the cab. 
Whang! She hits the curve, seems to 
upset; I am nearly flung out the window 
in spite of my good grip. Before she has 
half done rolling (how do the springs ever 
stand it ?) she hits the reverse, and I am 



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2l6 



AN ENGINEER OF CLEVER DEVICES. 



torn from my hold on the window and 
slammed over against the boiler; and hav- 
ing passed this most uncomfortable place, 
she flies on, rolling and roaring down the 
mountain. All this time the engineer has 
n't moved an eyelid, nor the fireman inter- 
rupted for an instant the steady pen- 
dulum-like swing of the fire-door and the 
scoop-shovel. How do they do it ? Oh, 
it's easy after you get used to it. 

Fifteen minutes afterward, in the siding, 
with switches locked, waiting for the flyer, 
nobody seems to remember that we have 
done anything in particular. 

At first I had considered the locomotive 
as far too complicated a machine for me 
ever to understand, but gradually I 
learned its various parts; and when I 
found that nearly all the engineers and 
firemen had risen from brakemen like my- 
self, I took heart and hoped that some 
day I might sit on the right side, to be 
spoken to with some slight deference by 
the officials and stared at in open-mouthed 
admiration by the small boys at the coun- 
try stations. 

TOM RILEY'S WAY OF MAKING A SIDING. 

Old Tom Riley was a man to whom I 
looked up as the epitome of railroad 
knowledge. He frequently hauled our 
train. He was so old that the top of his 
head was perfectly bald; but he had a 
great mop of gray beard, with a yellowish 
streak from the chin down, an evidence of 
many years of tobacco-chewing and un- 
successful efforts to spit to windward. 

He was supposed to be the oldest en- 
gineer anywhere about, and said himself 
that his." first job railroadin' wos wipin' 
the donkey engine in Noah's ark." He 
was a good-natured, jolly old fellow, a 
great practical joker, strong and rough as 
a bear, but as well pleased apparently 
when the joke was on himself as any 
other way. He had been so long at the 
business that he knew all sorts of tricks by 
which to get himself out of tight places, so 
that it was seldom indeed that the "super" 
had the pleasure of hauling Tom on the 
carpet for a violation of the rules. 

One night we were a little late, so that 
we barely had time to make the siding for 
a following passenger train; and, to make 
matters worse, when we were about half 
way there Tom said he smelt something 
hot; so he stopped, and found his main 
crank-pin about ready to blaze up. The 
oil-cup had stopped feeding; so he delib- 
erately took it out, filled the hole with tal- 



low, screwed in the cup, called his flag, 
and started again, very late. 

Simmons came up over the train and 
said he guessed he'd leave a flag at the 
bottom of the hill, to hold No. 6 till we 
got in. 

"No, no," says old Tom; "don't ye 
never drop off no flag to give yourself 
away, git called ter the office, an' all 
hands git ten days." 

" You can't get to the switch on time," 
said Simmons. 

" Course not. I ought ter be there in 
twenty minutes, an* I'll be lucky if I git 
there in twenty-five." 

" Well, then, I'll have to drop off a 
flag, or they'll git our doghouse." 

" Now, here, Simmons, I'll tell ye what 
you do: you go back in the doghouse, an' 
don't you see nothin' that's goin' on; only 
git up in the cupola an' watch out good an' 
sharp that yer train don't break in two. 
I'll git ye inter the switch time enough, 
so Six'll never see yer tail lights." 

Simmons, knowing his man, at last 
agreed, and after he had got safely housed, 
Tom handed me his long oil-can, and told 
me to go back on the step of the caboose 
and oil first one rail and then the other. 

" Let the oil run about a car-length on 
one rail, an' then do the same the other 
side; repeat the dose once, an' come ahead 
agin," said Tom. 

I did so, and just as we were pulling in 
to the side track, we heard the exhaust of 
the passenger engine as she came clip- 
ping along for the hill; presently we could 
tell by the sound that she had struck the 
grade, then — cha-cha-ch-r-r-r cha-ch-r-r-r. 

"Oho!" says Tom, "are ye there ? 
Grind away, my boy. I guess old Tom'll 
git in an' git the switch locked before you 
git up here all right." 

He did, too. Long before the passen- 
ger engine got by the oil we were com- 
fortably smoking our pipes in the switch; 
and when she went sailing by her engi- 
neer shouted something that we couldn't 
catch, but to which Tom replied: 

" Go ahead, sonny; you're all right." 

Next day, as Tom was doing a little 
packing in the roundhouse, the engineer 
of Six came up to him and said: 

" Riley, was that you in Snyder's when 
I went by last night ? " 

"Yes," says Tom. "A little late, 
wa'n't ye ? " 

"Late? I sh'd say so. I never saw 
Snyder's so slippery as 'twas last night. 
I used half a box of sand. How'd you 
git there ? " 



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LEARNING THE ENGINE. 



217 



'Oh, I didn't have no trouble/ 1 says 
Tom. " I didn't notice that 'twas any 
slipperyer'n usual; guess maybe the pet 
cock on yer pump might 'a' been leakin' a 
little or suthin' an' wet the rail fer ye." 



* I FELT A LIFE-GIVING RELIEF AS 



" Mebbe so," says the other fellow; 
and away he went to look his engine over 
and see if such was the case. 

I 4I broke " a year, and by that time was 
of some use. I could read the time table, 
discuss train orders, and knew the trains 
by heart. I came to the conclusion that 
th? engine offered more opportunities of 
advancement than the caboose; so by Tom 
Riley's advice, I filed an application with 
the master mechanic, asking for a position 
as fireman. And though I must admit that 
he didn't give me the slightest encourage- 
ment, yet the fact that I had my applica- 



tion on file made me feel that I was sure 
of a job, and that, too, at no very distant 
day. So I began to take a greater interest 
than ever in the engines, and I presume I 
made a nuisance of myself by asking in- 
numerable ques- 
tions of the 
engineers and 
firemen, so anx- 
ious was I to 
learn all I could 
in regard to the 
machine, for 
which, even to 
this day, I have 
an abiding love 
and respect. 

Sometimes 
when the train 
was not too 
heavy and the 
grade was favor- 
able, one or other 
of the firemen 
would let me 
"take her" for 
a bit; and then 
if I was able to 
"keep her tail 
up," I felt my- 
self indeed a man 
and never failed 
to let it be known 
in the caboose 
that I had fired 
on a certain 
stretch of the 
road. But if 
while I was at 
the shovel she 
dropped her tail 
and the fireman 
had to take her 
from me, I would 
not allude to that 
episode when 
bragging of my 
abilities; but the men were sure to hear 
of it, and the guying I got fully offset my 
petty triumphs. 



FELL FAINTING, BUT THANKHJL, INTU THE ARMS OF 7 HE 
BOYS." 



ON THE ENGINE IN A HEAD-ON COLLISION. 

About six months after I filed my appli- 
cation there was a mistake made in 
orders that came very near winding up 
my railroad career for good. I did not 
know at the time exactly what the trouble 
was, nor can I say now positively. Sim- 
mons and the engineer, who were both 
discharged, asserted that they were sacri- 



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218 



A FORTY-MILE GAIT TO DESTRUCTION. 



" I WATCH THAT GRIMY LEFT HAND ON THE THROTTLE, KOR 

MUSCLES, ..." 

ficed to save the despatcher, who was a 
son-in-law of the president of the road. 

Whoever was to blame, the result was 
disastrous; for we met the train which we 
expected to pass at the next siding in a 
deep cut under a railroad bridge. Both 
trains were wheeling down under the bridge 
at a forty-mile gait, so as to have a good 
headway on to take them out the other 
side. As the view of both engineers was 
obstructed by the stone abutments of the 
bridge, neither doubted for a moment 
that he had a clear track. 

They met exactly under the bridge, with 
a shock and roar that seemed to shake the 
solid earth; the locomotives reared up 
like horses, the cars shoved their tenders 
under them in such a way as to jack them 



up and raise 
the bridge off 
its abutments; 
and then as the 
cars climbed 
on top of each 
other, they 
battered it 
from its posi- 
tion until it 
lay nearly at 
right angles to 
its own road, 
like an open 
draw, resting 
on top of the 
wreck. 

Our conduc- 
tors sent flags 
back both 
ways to hold 
all trains; but 
before the men 
could get up 
the bank to 
flag on the 
cross-country 
road, a belated 
gravel train 
came hurrying 
along and 
plumped in on 
top of us, help- 
ing to fill up 
the cut still 
more. Their 
engine set fire 
to the wreck, 
and as we were 
some distance 
from a tele- 
graph office, 
all three trains 
and engines were entirely consumed before 
help reached us, nothing remaining but 
a tangled and twisted mass of boilers, 
•wheels, rods, and pipes, partly covered by 
the gravel train's load of sand. 

I was on the engine, sitting on the fire- 
man's seat, looking out ahead. As it was 
daylight, there was not even the glare of 
a head-lamp to give us the fraction of a 
second's warning, and our own engine 
made such a roaring in the narrow cut that 
we could hear nothing else. The first in- 
timation we had of approaching danger 
was when we saw the front end of the 
other locomotive not forty feet from us. 
Neither of the engineers had time to close 
their throttles — an act that is done instinct- 
ively on the first appearance of danger. 



THE PRELIMINARY SWELLING OF THE 



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THE SENSATION OF FACING A DEADLY PERIL. 



219 



4 HSR BNG1NEBK SHOUTED SOMBTHINC THAT WK COULDN'T CATCH 

YOU'RE ALL RIGHT.' " 



. TOM REPLIED: 'GO AHEAD, sonny; 



I cannot say that I was frightened. 
Even the familiar " jumping of the heart 
into the throat," which so well describes 
the sensation usually experienced on the 
sudden discovery of deadly peril, was 
absent; for though I certainly saw the 
front end of that engine as plainly as I 
ever saw anything in my life, I had no 
time to realize what it meant. I made no 
move or effort of any kind, and it seemed 
that at the same instant that she burst 
upon my view daylight was shut out and 
I was drenched with cold water; yet before 
that happened they had come together, 
reared up, as I have said, and I had been 
thrown to the front of the cab; the ten- 
der had come ahead, staving the cab to 



pieces, thereby dropping me out on the 
ground, and by knocking a hole in itself 
against the back driving-wheel had del- 
uged me with its contents. 

The flood of cold water caused me, 
bewildered as I was, to try and get away 
from it. I knew I was under the wreck, 
and for a few minutes I could hear the 
cars piling up and grinding overhead. 

I knew what that was, too, and feared 
they would smash the wreck down on top of 
me and so squeeze my life out. But the 
engine acted as a fender; for being jammed 
among the wreckage, she could not be 
pushed over; and as she stood on her rear 
wheels, she could not be mashed down. 

The noise soon ceased, and then, except 

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220 



COLLISION UPON COLLISION. 



for the sound of steam escaping from the 
boilers, I could hear nothing. Then I re- 
membered that the boilers themselves were 
a fruitful source of danger to me, as there 
might be a hole knocked in the water- 
space that would pour out a scalding 
flood and boil me alive. I had heard, 
too, of boilers in inaccessible localities 
losing the water from about the furnaces, 
and getting the iron so hot and soft that 
it would give out like wet paper, blowing 
up and scalding any unfortunate who 
might be imprisoned near it. I knew, too, 
that wrecks had a way of taking fire from 
the locomotive. These thoughts occurred 
to me much more rapidly tV_n I could tell 
them, and spurred me on to do my utmost 
to get out of there. 

It was perfectly dark where I was, and, 
as I knew, it was still daylight outside. 
This proved to me how completely I was 
buried under the wreck, and was far from 
reassuring. How could I ever hope to 
make my way from under those tons of 
cars and engines ? The only wonder was 
that I had escaped being killed instantly, 
and for a few minutes I felt but little grati- 
tude at having been spared, only to be 
slowly tortured to death. 

When I attempted to move I found 
that as far as sensation was concerned 
my right leg ended at the knee; so I felt 
down to see if it was cut off, as I knew it 
would be necessary to stanch the flow of 
blood in that case, or I would soon die 
from that cause alone. To my great joy I 
found that my leg and foot were still with 
me, though how badly hurt I was unable 
to tell; for being drenched with water, the 
blood might, for all I knew, be flowing 
from many severe wounds. 

At this moment there was another crash 
and grinding and splintering overhead, 
caused by the wrecking of the gravel train, 
but which I attributed to the explosion of 
one of the boilers. In this second wreck 
two men were killed outright, and the en- 
gineer died of his injuries the next day; 
yet to it, I have no doubt, I owe my es- 
cape, for it disturbed the position of the 
cars, so that I perceived a ray of daylight, 
away, as it seemed, half a mile ahead of 
me. I exerted myself to the utmost to 
reach it, and how far off it was! I had to 
work my way back under the wrecked ten- 
der and several cars. I found the space 
under the tender piled so full of coal that 
it was impossible to pass, yet that was my 
only way out; so I began digging with 
my hands, feverishly, madly, in the desire 
to get away while I still had my senses 



and strength, and oh, how I wished then I 
had never gone railroading! 

After digging, as it seemed for hours, 
until my hands were raw and bleeding and 
I had blocked my retreat by the coal I had 
thrown behind me, I found myself con- 
fronted by the axle of the rear truck, 
which stood at such an angle as to posi- 
tively forbid all hope of my ever getting 
out that way. 

PENNED UNDER A BURNING WRECK. 

I sank down in despair, realizing that my 
time had now come, and here in this dark 
close hole was to be the end of me. I 
tried to fix my mind on such thoughts as 
I knew were appropriate to the occasion, 
but my leg was so painful that I could 
think of nothing else. Then a numbness 
came over me, and I seemed to be falling 
into a kind of stupor, broken frequently 
by the twinges of pain from my leg, when 
my nostrils were greeted by a faint odor 
of wood smoke, and my heart was thrilled 
with a new terror that urged me to make 
one more desperate effort to escape. The 
wreck was on fire, and though I might 
have resigned myself to lie still and die, I 
could not endure the thought of being 
roasted alive; so again made desperate by 
great fear, I dug my bleeding hands into 
the coal, and commenced to burrow like 
a woodchuck in the direction where I could 
see that the truck was elevated highest 
above the rail, and to my great joy I soon 
found that the coal pile extended but a 
short distance in that direction. 

It wasn't long before I had crawled 
under the truck, which had been raised 
from the ground by the corner of a car, 
and was making fairly good progress 
among the tangle of wheels, axles, and 
brake-gear, in the direction of the ray of 
light which had first attracted my atten- 
tion. I found it came down by a very 
small, crooked, and much-obstructed pas- 
sage through the debris of broken cars 
above my head — a passage entirely too 
small for me to get through and which I 
could never hope to enlarge myself.. The 
smoke was now suffocating, and it was 
only at longer and longer intervals that I 
could catch my breath. I had not as yet 
felt the heat of the fire; but when I looked 
up through the narrow opening above me, 
I could see, in the flying clouds of smoke, 
sparks and small firebrands, which told me 
that the wind was blowing in my direction, 
which induced me to make the most fran- 
tic efforts to escape. I might as well have 



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A DESPERATE CRY FOR HELP, 221 

tried to lift the ponderous locomotive as thinking these desperate thoughts, and 

to move the tightly-wedged wreckage that waiting, I presume, until my position 

imprisoned me; and as I glanced at the should become absolutely unbearable, 

little patch of blue sky, now nearly blotted when I saw a man step across my little 



*»THB LOCOMOTIVES REARED UP LIKE HORSES, THE CARS SHOVED THEIR TENDERS UNDER THEM IN SUCH A WAY AS TO 
. . . RAISE THE BRIDGE OFF ITS ABUTMENTS; . . . AND THEN ... A BELATED GRAVEL TRAIN CAME . . . 
AND FLUMPED IN ON TOP OF US." 



out in black smoke, an agonizing sense of 
my desperate situation filled my mind. 

I opened my pocket-knife — it wasn't 
very sharp, but still it might serve me at a 
pinch; how much better to open an artery 
and quietly pass away than to be suffo- 
cated by smoke or roasted by fire! I sat 



glimpse of light. Having, fortunately, 
just refreshed myself by a breath of fresh 
air, I let a desperate yell out of me, and 
saw him stop and look all around, as 
though saying to himself, " What was 
that?" "Here! here! " I shouted; " right 
down in this hole under your feet! " He 

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A BLIND DASH THROUGH FLAMES. 



looked down, and I recognized him as a 
brakeman by the name of Ben Shaw, be- 
longing to the other train. " Is there any- 
body down there?" he asked. " Yes," 
said I; "and for God's sake hurry up; 
get men and axes and cut me out; I am 
nearly smothered, and can't stand it much 
longer." 

"Ail right," said he; "I'll see what 
we can do; but I don't believe we can get 
you out, for the fire is coming this way 
awful fast." 

He disappeared, but I could hear him 
shouting as he went, and soon — though it 
seemed long enough to me — he returned 
with others, armed with fence stakes and 
wrecking-axes, and they fell to with a will, 
prying and chopping at the obstruction. 
On account of the smoke and heat, which 
was now almost unbearable down where I 
lay, they were unable to work more than 
three or four minutes, when they would be 
driven away, gasping for breath, so that 
not one blow out of three was effective. 
A chance blow with an axe loosened a 
large section of the side of a car, which 
fell over, one corner striking me a severe 
blow on the head, cutting the scalp, and 
nearly knocking me senseless. While ap- 
parently^ ^opening the way, in reality it 
closed it, for it fell in such a manner that 
if I had been above it I could easily have 
got out, but now I was completely covered 
in. It contained the door of the car, 
however, which was open a few inches, and 
if I could only pry that door back a little 
more, I should be able to get through. 
The question of life or death to me now 
was, could I do that ? 

I heard Summons's voice, interrupted by 
violent coughing and sneezing, say, 
" How's that ? Can you get out now?" 

"No," said I; "you'll have to come 
down in the hole and clear away the door." 

"Can't do it; we can't stay here an- 
other minute; but I'll throw you down 
these stakes, and maybe you can help 
yourself. Good-by, old man; I'm awful 
sorry for you." Then there was *a clat- 
tering that told me he had thrown down 
the stakes as he said he would. 

My eyes were so blinded by the pungent 
wood smoke, and I was so nearly suffo- 
cated, that I had but little strength left. 
One of the stakes lay right across the 
slight opening in the door, and in trying to 
turn it to pull it through I found I didn't 
need it, as the door moved freely in its 
grooves. 

I quickly pushed the door back, and, by 
a great effort of will and my slight remain- 



ing strength, dragged myself through the 
aperture. I wasn't out yet, though, for 
overhead there was a solid sheet of flame, 
roaring in the wind like a furnace and 
completely covering my exit. Although 
still drenched with water, I could feel my 
hair curling with the intense heat. 

There was one course and one only 
open to me; so taking as long a breath 
as I could, I shut my eyes and made a dive 
for liberty. I scrambled upward and out- 
ward, now burning my hands by contact 
with hot iron, and again tearing them on 
the jagged ends of broken wood, my 
head fairly bursting with the heat and sup- 
pressed respiration. Suddenly I stepped 
forward upon nothing; having no hold 
with my hands, I fell, struck on my side, 
rebounded, and fell again, down, down — I 
could have sworn for miles — and then 
unconsciousness came over me. 

It seems that when I got out of the 
hole I rushed blindly off the end of a 
blazing car, piled high in the wreck, and 
in falling I struck on various projections 
of the wreckage, tearing off nearly all 
my clothing, which was a providence, as 
I was all ablaze, and finally brought up 
with a dull thud, as the reporters say, on 
solid ground, shaking and bruising myself 
dreadfully, but almost miraculously break- 
ing no bones, though I had fallen from a 
height of thirty feet. 

My leg, which had hindered me so 
much, was merely bruised and crushed, 
but was as black as your hat for a long 
time, and I was as bald as the day I was 
born. 

It was assumed that I was dead, but 
kind hands extinguished the fire in my few 
remaining rags, and it was not long before 
signs of life were discovered in the bruised 
and blackened object. 

I was carried to a nearby farmhouse, and 
kindly cared for until the wrecking-train 
returned to town, when I was sent to 
hospital. 

Our engineer escaped without a scratch, 
but how he never knew; for all he could 
remember was, that he was looking right 
at the number plate of the approaching 
engine and at the same time falling heels 
over head up the side of the cut. Of our 
fireman not a trace was ever found, and 
as I heard nothing of him while under the 
wreck, I have no doubt that he was in- 
stantly killed and his body burnt up. 

On the other engine the whole crew, 
engineer, fireman, and head brakeman, 
perished, and were consumed in the fierce 
flames that devoured the wreck and made 



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THE CORONER AND THE COMPANY'S LAWYER. 223 

a blast furnace of the narrow cut. We stated the same passing-point, and the 
could only hope that they had been mer- company's witnesses all swore they did; 
cifully killed at once, and not slowly they even produced the operator's copy, 
roasted alive, as so many have been, and with Simmons's signature attached, in 
will continue to be while railroads exist. proof. Simmons swore the signature was 

forged; but as it corresponded with others 
manufacturing testimony for the w J? ich the y Produced on former orders, 
company tms stat enrent had but little effect. 

Both Simmons and the engineer swore 

I remained in hospital about a week, that their orders read "Daly's;" the 

during which time both the coroner and flagman stated that Simmons invariably 

read the orders 
to him, asked 
him how he un- 
derstood them, 
explained them 
if necessary, 
and then filed 
them on a hook 
in the caboose, 
where they re- 
mained open to 
inspection until 
fulfilled, when 
he put them in 
his desk, to be 
returned to the 
train-despatcher 
at the end of 
the trip; he also 
swore that our 
order read 
"Daly's." The 
engineer said he 
always read his 
copy of all orders 
to the conduc- 
tor, to be sure 
they understood 
them alike; he 
then filed them 
on a hook in the 
cab, and when 

"IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE I HAD CRAWLED UNDER THE TRUCK, . . . AND WAS MAKING *" C ftOOK W3S 

FAIRLY GOOD PROGRESS ... IN THE DIRECTION OF THE RAY OF LIGHT ..." full tllTeW them 

in the firebox, 

the company's lawyer took my affidavit Asked by the company's attorney if he 

as to what I knew of the orders by which made a practice of reading his orders to 

we were running. I knew nothing about the fireman and head brakeman, he said no; 

them, but I observed that the company's but if they asked what the orders were, he 

attorney appeared anxious to have me re- told them, and gave them any information 

member having heard that we were to they asked for. For this neglect to read 

meet and pass train 31 at Brookdale and orders to every man within reach he was 

appeared very much disappointed when severely censured by both the lawyer and 

I was unable to do so. the coroner, although there was no rule 

Brookdale was the last switch that we requiring him to do so. " For," said the 

passed before the collision. It was lawyer, * 'if you had done so, probably 

claimed by the company, and admitted some of those men might not have been 

by the conductor of train 31, that their quite so pigheaded as you are, and would 

orders read, " Meet and pass train 28 at have remembered that Brookdale was your 

Brookdale." Our orders should have meeting-point." 

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224 



SEEKING PROMOTION. 



The engineer replied that he now wished 
he had, as in that case he would have had 
at least one witness (me) to prove that the 
despatch was to blame for the wreck. 

As the conductor's and the engineer's 
copies had been destroyed in the fire, and 
as the majority of the evidence was against 
them, the coroner's jury censured them 
for the wreck, and they were indicted by 
the grand jury for manslaughter. 

During the time that elapsed between 
the indictment and the trial the operator 
who received the order and swore that it 
read " Brookdale " was transferred from 
his little station in the woods to the best 
paying station on the road, and the con- 
ductor of train 31 was promoted, over the 
heads of half a dozen older men, to a 
first-class passenger train. By these ap- 
parent acts of bribery public opinion be- 
came so biased against the company that 
the defendants' lawyer easily procured an 
acquittal, which threw the responsibility 
upon the company, and the suits for dam- 
ages which ensued, with their rapidly 
accumulating costs, finally bankrupted 
it. 

About a week after I left the hospital, 
as I felt able to return to work I resolved 
to apply again for a fireman's position, 
knowing that a vacancy existed, owing to 
the death of the man on train 31. I 
called on the master mechanic, whom I 
found alone in his office, and asked respect- 
fully if he would give me the vacant place, 
reminding him that my application had 
been on file for some time. 

He was writing, and, without even look- 
ing up, answered, " No," and that was all 
I could get out of him, though I tried to 
find out why he wouldn't appoint me and 
when I might expect him to do so. Feel- 
ing deeply disappointed and not a little 
hurt at the manner of my reception, I 
walked out, and strolled over to the round- 
house, to have a look at the engines which 
had all at once become so unattainable to 
me. 

I had taken a great interest in the en- 
gines. It was a promotion, a step higher, 
to which I had looked forward with great 
eagerness, and now to have all my hopes 
dashed at once, and for no cause that I 
could see, was very discouraging. 

I espied Tom Riley at work on his en- 
gine, and stated my case to him, asking 
what I could do now that the master me- 
chanic had dashed my hopes. I told him 
how anxious I was to get on the left side 
of the locomotive, and begged the veteran 
for advice. He listened to my tale of 



woe patiently, and appeared interested. 
When I finished, he said: 

" I'll tell you where you made the mis- 
take, boy." 

" Where ? " said I, anxiously. 

" In goin' to that long, starved-to-death, 
white-livered hound of a master mechanic, 
an' askin' him for anything. Don't ye 
know there's only one thing he delights in 
more'n another, an' that is hearin* that a 
man wasn't killed in a wreck, so he cac 
discharge him when he gits back ? I teli 
you, boy, you have done the only thing 
you could do to please him to-day, an' 
that is, you gave him a chance to refuse 
you somethin'. But 'tain't you he's 
pleased with, it's himself; so his pleasure 
won't do you no good, an' don't you de- 
lude yerself with the idee that 'twill. Do 
you know what he's doin' now ? Wal, I'll 
tell you; he's got two vacancies to fill: 
one is that of the fireman who was killed, 
an' the other the engineer who was dis- 
charged for not gittin' killed; an' now 
he's puzzlin' his brains to find somebody 
that don't want either of them jobs, but 
that is in his power, so he can make 'em 
take 'em agin their will. If you had gone 
into his office this mornin', rippin* an' rav- 
in', an' said, * See here, I've heard that yoa 
was agoin' to appoint me to the vacancv 
caused by the death of Pete Russell, an' 
I've come in to let you know that I dont 
want it an' won't have it under no consid- 
eration an' I wouldn't work in your depart- 
ment for ten dollars a day' — if you'd 
talked to him like that, he would have ap- 
pointed you, an' made you take it too; 
but now, of course, it's too late. The 
trouble with you young fellers is, that 
you've got so much infernal conceit you 
think you know it all; so you won't ask 
the advice of an old fool till you git 
stuck; then after you've made a complete 
mess of the whole business, then you come 
a-whinin' an' a-cryin' round, an' it's, 'Oh. 
Tom, what shall I do now?' Well, I'll 
tell you, the only thing you can do now i> 
to go to the super; tell him jest how the 
case stands, an' mebbe he'll make the 
master mechanic app'int ye, an' prob'iv 
he won't; anyhow, that's your on!v 
chance. An' say, ye can tell him that ve 
are recommended by Mr. Thomas Riley, 
engineer, if ye like." 

AN INTERVIEW WITH THE " SUPER." 

"All right," said I, and thanking the 
old man for his advice, I went at once 10 
the superintendent's office; not, however, 



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FINDING A DISCHARGE. 



225 



with any great confidence in the success of 
my errand; for I had been long enough at 
the business now to know that there was 
such a thing as official courtesy on rail- 
roads, and I doubted that the superintend- 
ent would order the master mechanic to 
appoint me against his will. I was bound, 
however, to see the thing through; so I 
walked boldly into the office, and inquired 
for the superintendent. I learned that he 
was in, and sat down to wait the gentle- 
man's pleasure. A good long wait I had 
of it, too; several times he came into the 
room where I was, but he was evidently 
very busy, and paid no attention to me. 
Presently he came rushing out with his 
hat on, pulling on his coat as he went, 
and his exit seemed to be the signal for 
dinner; for all the clerks bolted immedi- 
ately in his rear, leaving me the sole occu- 
pant of the office. I, too, went home, 
bolted my dinner in a hurry, and has- 
tened back, fearing to miss him on his re- 
turn; for it is an old saying on the railroad, 
that the best time to catch a boss is on 
his return from lunch, when he is supposed 
to be in good humor and more apt to re- 
ceive a petition favorably than at any other 
time. I found I was successful so far as 
that he had not returned before me. 

I sat and squirmed in discomfort on 
that hard bench until after three o'clock; 
then he came bustling in, and, as usual, 
passed me by. Tired with my long wait, I 
tiptoed to the chief clerk's desk and asked 
in a whisper if he thought Mr. Wilkes 
would see me now. " What do you want 
with him?" said he. I told him I was 
seeking a fireman's position on the road. 
As he didn't appear to have anything 
else to do, he amused himself by pumping 
the whole story out of me, and then coolly 
told me he didn't think the super would 
see me that day, as he was very busy; I 
had better call some other time. His off- 
hand way of disposing of what was a very 
important matter to me roused my ire to 
such an extent that I declined to act on 
his suggestion; but, on the contrary, I 
promised myself that I would see and speak 
to that super even if I had to force my 
way into his sanctum. 

It was nearly (\ve o'clock when he ap- 
peared, bound, as I felt sure, for home. 
" Now or never," said I, and I stepped up 
to the gentleman, asking for a few min- 
utes of his valuable time. He stopped 
short, whirled half-round, pulled out an 
old-fashioned silver watch with a jerk, 
looked at it abstractedly for a moment, 



and then asked, brusquely, " Well, what is 
it? Talk quick now; I'm in a hurry." I 
stated my case as briefly as possible. 
"Well, what do you want me to do?" 
said he. 

I told him that Mr. Tom Riley, an en- 
gineer, had advised me to see him, think- 
ing, perhaps, he might intercede with the 
master mechanic in my behalf. 

" Ever railroad any ? " 

"Yes, sir; nearly two years on this 
road." 

"What doing?" 

" Braking, sir." 

" When did you quit ? " 

"I haven't quit at all; I was braking 
for Simmons at the time of the wreck, and 
have just come from the hospital." 

His face flushed angrily as he replied, 
"You were! Well, I admire your gall! " 
Turning to the head clerk, he added, " Mr. 
Clark, have this fellow's time made out, 
and hand it to him," and he was off. 

" Have this fellow's time made out." 
That meant that I was discharged, and in 
heaven's name, for what ? I was not con- 
scious of having done anything to merit 
such harsh treatment, and the sudden ver- 
dict, from which I knew there was no 
appeal, nearly floored me. It was a new 
experience,and as unexpected as it was un- 
welcome. It was some time before I was 
able to obtain any information explaining 
the super's conduct; at last, however, a 
brakeman told me that I had been dis- 
charged ever since the wreck, only, hav- 
ing been in hospital, I had not heard of it. 

" So," said he, " when you told him you 
was still on the road, he thought you had 
come up to the office to have a little fun 
with him, and it made him mad." 

Have fun with the superintendent ? Not 
I. I had not yet reached the reckless 
stage of the hardened veteran who smokes 
his pipe in the powder magazine. 

I asked the "braky" why I should be 
discharged, as I had no hand in causing the 
wreck. " You refused to swear that the 
meet and pass order read Brookdale, 
didn't you ?" 

"Certainly; how could I swear when I 
didn't know anything about it ? " 

"Well, that's your misfortune, my boy; 
if you can't swear to what the company 
wants just because you don't know, you 
must expect to suffer for your lack of 
ability," saying which, he left me with the 
air of a superior being who had kindly 
shed some of his superabundant light on 
my benighted ignorance. 



Editor's Note.— Mr. Hamblen's next paper will relate his experiences as a fireman. 

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Author of '» In the Midst of Alarms," " The Mutable Many," etc. 






VERY fortress has one traitor 
within its walls; the Schloss 
Eltz had two. In this, curi- 
ously enough, lay its salva- 
tion; for as some Eastern 
poisons when mixed neutral- 
ize each other and form com- 
bined a harmless fluid, so did the two 
traitors unwittingly counteract, the one 
upon the other, to the lasting glory of 
Schloss Eltz, which has never been cap- 
tured to this day. 

It would be difficult to picture the 
amazement of Heinrich von Richenbach 
when he sat mute upon his horse at the 
brow of the wooded heights and for the 
first time beheld the imposing pile which 
had been erected by the Count von Eltz. 
It is startling enough to come suddenly 
upon a castle where no castle should be; 
but to find across one's path an erection 
that could hardly have been the product 
of other agency than the lamp of Aladdin 
was stupefying, and Heinrich drew the 
sunburned back of his hand across his 
eyes, fearing that they were playing him a* 
trick ; and seeing the wondrous vision 
still before him, he hastily crossed him- 
self, an action performed somewhat clum- 
sily through lack of practice, so that 
he might ward off enchantment, if, as 
seemed likely, that mountain of pinnacles 
was the work of the devil, and not placed 
there, stone on stone, by the hand of man. 
But in spite of crossing and the clearing 
of the eyes, Eltz Castle remained firmly 
seated on its stool of rock, and, when his 



first astonishment had somewhat abated, 
Von Richenbach, who was a most practical 
man, began to realize that here, purely by 
a piece of unbelievable good luck, he had 
stumbled on the very secret he had been 
sent to unravel, the solving of which he 
had given up in despair, returning empty- 
handed to his grim master, the redoubt- 
able Archbishop Baldwin of Treves. 

It was now almost two months since the 
archbishop had sent him on the mission to 
the Rhine from which he was returning as 
wise as he went, well knowing that a void 
budget would procure him scant welcome 
from his imperious master. Here, at least, 
was important matter for the warlike Elec- 
tor's stern consideration — an apparently 
impregnable fortress secretly built in the 
very center of the archbishop's domain; 
and knowing that the Count von Eltz 
claimed at least partial jurisdiction over 
this district, more especially that portion 
known as the Eltz-thal, in the middle of 
which this mysterious citadel had been 
erected, Heinrich rightly surmised that its 
construction had been the work of this 
ancient enemy of the archbishop. 

Two months before, or nearly so, Hein- 
rich von Richenbach had been summoned 
into the presence of the Lion of Treves 
at his palace in that venerable city. When 
Baldwin had dismissed all within the room 
save only Von Richenbach, the august 
prelate said: 

"It is my pleasure that you at once 
take horse and proceed to my city of May- 
ence on the Rhine, where I am governor. 

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ROBERT BARR. 



227 



You will inspect the garrison there and 
report to me." 

Heinrich bowed, but said nothing. 

" You will then go down the Rhine to 
Elfield, where my new castle is built, and 
1 shall be pleased to have an opinion re- 
garding it." 

The archbishop paused, and again his 
vassal bowed and remained silent. 

" It is my wish that you go without es- 
cort, attracting as little attention as pos- 
sible, and perhaps it may be advisable to 
return by the northern side of the Moselle, 
but some distance back from the river, as 
there are barons on the banks who might 
inquire your business, and regret their 
curiosity when they found they questioned 
a messenger of mine. We should strive 
during our brief sojourn on this inquisitive 
earth to put our fellow creatures to as 
little discomfort as possible." 

Von Richenbach saw that he was being 
sent on a secret and possibly dangerous 
mission, and he had been long enough in 
the service of the crafty archbishop to 
know that the reasons ostensibly given for 
his journey were probably not those which 
were the cause of it, so he contented him- 
self with inclining his head for the third 
time and holding his peace. The arch- 
bishop regarded him keenly for a few mo- 
ments, a cynical smile hovering about his 
lips ; then said, as if his words were an 
afterthought : 

"Our faithful vassal, the Count von 
Eltz, is, if I mistake not, a neighbor of 
ours at Elfield?" 

The sentence took, through its inflec- 
tion, the nature of a query, and for the 
first time Heinrich von Richenbach ven- 
tured reply. 

" He is, my lord." 

The archbishop raised his eyes to the 
vaulted ceiling, and seemed for a time 
lost in thought, saying, at last, apparently 
in soliloquy, rather than direct address: 

" Count von Eltz has been suspiciously 
quiet of late for a man so impetuous by 
nature. It might be profitable to know 
what interests him during this unwonted 
seclusion. It behooves us to acquaint 
ourselves with the motives that actuate a 
neighbor, so that opportunity arising, we 
may aid him with counsel or encourage- 
ment. If, therefore, it should so chance 
that, in the intervals of your inspection of 
governorship or castle, aught regarding 
the present occupation of the noble count 
comes to your ears, the information thus 
received may perhaps remain in your 
memory until you return to Treves." 



The archbishop withdrew his eyes from 
the ceiling, the lids lowering over them, 
and flashed a keen, rapier-like glance at 
the man who stood before him. 

Heinrich von Richenbach made low 
obeisance and replied: 

" Whatever else fades from my memory, 
my lord, news of Count von Eltz shall re- 
main there." 

" See that you carry nothing upon you, 
save your commission as inspector, which 
my secretary will presently give to you. 
If you are captured it will be enough to 
proclaim yourself my emissary and exhibit 
your commission in proof of the peaceful 
nature of your embassy. And now to 
horse and away." 

Thus Von Richenbach, well mounted, 
with his commission legibly engrossed in 
clerkly hand on parchment, departed on 
the Roman road for Mayence, but neither 
there nor at Elfield could he learn more of 
Count von Eltz than was already known 
at Treves, which was to the effect that 
the nobleman, repenting him, it was said, 
of his stubborn opposition to the arch- 
bishop, had betaken himself to the Cru- 
sades in expiation of his wrong in shoul- 
dering arms against one who was both his 
temporal and spiritual over-lord; and this 
rumor coming to the ears of Baldwin, had 
the immediate effect of causing that 
prince of the church to despatch Von Rich- 
enbach with the purpose of learning accu- 
rately what his old enemy was actually 
about; for Baldwin, being an astute man, 
placed little faith in sudden conversion. 

When Heinrich von Richenbach returned 
to Treves he was immediately ushered 
into the presence of his master. 

"You have been long away," said the 
archbishop, a frown on his brow. " I 
trust the tidings you bring offer some 
slight compensation for the delay." 

Then was Heinrich indeed glad that fate, 
rather than his own perspicacity, had led 
his horse to the heights above Schloss 
Eltz. 

" The tidings I bring, my lord, are so 
astounding that I could not return to 
Treves without verifying them. This led 
me far afield, for my information was of 
the scantiest; but I am now enabled to 
vouch for the truth of my well-nigh in- 
credible intelligence." 

"Have the good deeds of the count 
then translated him bodily to heaven, as 
was the case with Elijah ? Unloose your 
packet, man, and waste not so much time 
in the vaunting of your wares." 

" The Count von Eltz, my lord, has 

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228 



THE LONG LADDER. 



built a castle that is part palace, part for- 
tress, and in its latter office well-nigh im- 
pregnable." 

41 Yes? And where ?" 

"In the Eltz-thal, my lord, a league 
and a quarter from the Moselle." 

" Impossible! " cried Baldwin, bringing 
his clenched fist down on the table before 
him. *• Impossible! You have been mis- 
led, Von Richenbach." 

44 Indeed, my lord, I had every reason 
to believe so until I viewed the structure 
with my own eyes." 

"This, then, is the fruit of Von Eltz's 
contrition! To build a castle without 
permission within my jurisdiction, and 
defy me in my own domain. By the coat, 
he shall repent his temerity and wish him- 
self twice over a captive of the Saracen 
ere I have done with him. I will despatch 
at once an army to the Eltz-thal, and there 
shall not be left one stone upon another 
when it returns." 

" My lord, I beseech you not to move 
with haste in this matter. If twenty 
thousand men marched up to the Eltz-thal 
they could not take the castle. No such 
schloss was ever built before, and none to 
equal it will ever be built again, unless, 
as I suspect to be the case in this instance, 
the devil lends his aid." • 

44 Oh, I doubt not that Satan built it, 
but he took the form and name of Count 
von Eltz while doing so," replied the 
archbishop, his natural anger at this bold 
defiance of his power giving way to his 
habitual caution, that, united with his re- 
sources and intrepidity, had much to do 
with his success. " You hold the castle, 
then, to be unassailable. Is its garrison, 
then, so powerful, or its position so 
strong ? " 

44 The strength of its garrison, my lord, 
is in its weakness; I doubt if there are a 
score of men in the castle, but that is all 
the better, as there are fewer mouths to 
feed in case of siege, and the count has 
some four years' supplies in his vaults. 
The schloss is situated on a lofty, unscal- 
able rock that stands in the center of a 
valley, as if it were a fortress itself. Then 
the walls of the building are of unbeliev- 
able height, with none of the round or 
square towers which castles usually pos- 
sess, but having in plenty conical turrets, 
steep roofs, and the like, which give it 
the appearance of a fairy palace in a wide, 
enchanted amphitheater of green wooded 
hills, making the Schloss Eltz, all in all, a 
most miraculous sight, such as a man may 
not behold in many years' travel." 



44 In truth, Von Richenbach," said the 
archbishop, with a twinkle in his eye, " we 
should have made you one of our screen- 
ing monks rather than a warrior, so mar- 
velously do you describe the entrancing 
handiwork of our beloved vassal, the 
Count von Eltz. Perhaps you think it 
pity to destroy so fascinating a creation." 

" Not so, my lord. I have examined 
the castle well, and I think were I entrusted 
with the commission I could reduce it." 

"Ah, now we have modesty indeed! 
You can take the stronghold where I 
should fail." 

44 1 did not say that you would fail, my 
lord. I said that twenty thousand men 
marching up the valley would fail, unless 
they were content to sit around the castle 
for four years or more." 

" Answered like a courtier, Heinrich. 
What, then, is your method of attack ? " 

44 On the height to the east, which is the 
nearest elevation to the castle, a strong 
fortress might be built, that would in a 
measure command the Schloss Eltz, 
although I fear the distance would be too 
great for any catapult to fling stones 
within its courtyard. Still, we might thus 
have complete power over the entrance to 
the schloss, and no more provender could 
be taken in." 

44 You mean, then, to wear Von Eltz 
out ? That would be as slow a method as 
besiegement." 

44 To besiege would require an army, 
my lord, and would have this disadvan- 
tage, that, besides withdrawing from other 
use so many of your men, rumor would 
spread abroad that the count held you in 
check. The building of a fortress on the 
height would merely be doing what the 
count has already done, and it could be 
well garrisoned by twoscore men at the 
most, vigilant night and day to take ad- 
vantage of any movement of fancied secu- 
rity to force way into the castle. There 
need be no formal declaration of hostili- 
ties, but a fortress built in all amicable- 
ness, to which the count could hardly ob- 
ject, as you would be but following his 
own example." 

44 1 understand. We build a house near 
his for neighborliness. There is indeed 
much in your plan that commends itself 
to me, but I confess a liking for the under- 
lying part of a scheme. Remains there 
anything else which you have not unfolded 
to me ? " 

44 Placing in command of the new for- 
tress a stout warrior who was at the same 
time a subtle man " 



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ROBERT BARR. 229 

" In other words, thyself, Heinrich — into possession of it by whatever means 
well, what then ? " you choose to use." 

"There is every chance that such a Thus the square, long castle of Baldwin- 
general may learn much of the castle eltz came to be builded, and thus Heinrich 
from one or other of its inmates. It von Richenbach, brave, ingenious, and 

unscrupulous, 
was installed 
captain of it, 
with twoscore 
men to keep 
him company, 
together with 
a plentiful 
supply of gold 
to bribe whom- 
soever he 
thought worth 
suborning. 

Time went 
on w i t h o u t 
much to show 
for its passing, 
and Heinrich 
began to grow 
impatient, for 
his attempt at 
corrupting the 
garrison 
showed that 
negotiations 
were not with- 
out their dan- 
gers. Stout 
Bau ms tein, 
captain of the 
gate, was the 
man whom 
Heinrich most 
desired to pur- 
chase, for he 
could lessen 
the discipline 
at the portal 
of SchlossEltz 
without at- 
tracting undue 

"rkco came suddenly upon thk countess, who screamed at the sight of him." att-pntinn "Rnf 

he was an iras- 

might be possible that through neglect or cible German, whose strong right arm was 

inadvertence the drawbridge would be left readier than his tongue; and when Hein- 

down some night and the portcullis raised, rich's emissary got speech with him, under 

In other words, the castle, impervious to a flag of truce, whispering that much 

direct assault, may fall by strategy." gold might be had for a casual raising of 

" Excellent, excellent, my worthy war- the portcullis and lowering of the draw- 

rior! I should dearly love to have captain bridge, Baumstein at first could not under- 

of mine pay such an informal visit to his stand his purport, for he was somewhat 

estimable countship. We shall build the thick in the skull; but when the meaning 

fortress you suggest, and call it Baldwin- of the message at last broke in upon him, 

eltz. You shall be its commander, and I he wasted no time in talk, but, raising his 

now bestow upon you Schloss Eltz, the ever-ready battle ax, clove the envoy to 

only proviso being that you are to enter the midriff. The Count von Eltz himself, 



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23° 



THE LONG LADDER. 



coming on the scene at this moment, was 
amazed at the deed, and sternly demanded 
of his gate captain why he had violated 
the terms of a parley. Baumstein's slow- 
ness of speech came near to being the 
undoing of him, for at first he merely said 
that such creatures as the messenger 
should not be allowed to live and that an 
honest soldier was insulted by holding 
converse with him; whereupon the count, 
having nice notions, picked up in polite 
countries, regarding the sacredness of a 
flag of truce, was about to hang Baum- 
stein, scant though the garrison was, and 
even then it was but by chance that the 
true state of affairs became known to the 
count. He was on the point of sending 
back the body of the envoy to Von Rich- 
enbach with suitable apology for his de- 
struction and offer of recompense, stating 
that the assailant would be seen hanging 
outside the gate, when Baumstein said 
that while he had no objection to being 
hanged if it so pleased the count, he 
begged to suggest that the gold which the 
envoy brought with him to bribe the gar- 
rison should be taken from the body be- 
fore it was returned, and divided equally 
among the guard at the gate. As Baum- 
stein said this, he was taking off his helmet 
and unbuckling his corselet, thus freeing 
his neck for the greater convenience of 
the castle hangman. When the count 
learned that the stout stroke of the battle- 
ax was caused by the proffer of a bribe 
for the betraying of the castle, he, to the 
amazement of all present, begged the par- 
don of Baumstein; for such a thing was 
never before known under the feudal law 
that a noble should apologize to a com- 
mon man, and Baumstein himself muttered 
that he knew not what the world was 
coming to if a mighty lord might not hang 
an underling as it pleased him, cause or 
no cause. 

The count commanded the body to be 
searched, and finding thereon some ^vvt 
bags of gold, distributed the coin among 
his men, as a good commander should, 
sending back the body to Von Richenbach, 
with a most polite message to the effect 
that as the archbishop evidently intended 
the money to be given to the garrison, the 
count had endeavored to carry out his 
lordship's wishes, as was the duty of an 
obedient vassal. But Heinrich, instead of 
being pleased with the courtesy of the mes- 
sage, broke into violent oaths, and spread 
abroad in the land the false saying that 
Count von Eltz had violated a flag of 
truce. 



But there was one man in the castle who 
did not enjoy a share of the gold, because 
he was not a warrior, but a servant of the 
countess. This was a Spaniard named 
Rego, marvelously skilled in the concoct- 
ing of various dishes of pastry and other 
niceties such as high-born ladies have a 
fondness for. Rego was disliked by the 
count, and, in fact, by all the stout Ger- 
mans who formed the garrison, not only 
because it is the fashion for men of one 
country to justly abhor those of another, 
foreigners being in all lands regarded as 
benighted creatures whom we marvel that 
the Lord allows to live when he might so 
easily have peopled the whole world with 
men like unto ourselves; but, aside from 
this, Rego had a cat-like tread, and a fur- 
tive eye that never met another honestly 
as an eye should. The count, however, 
endured the presence of this Spaniard, 
because the countess admired his skill in 
confections, then unknown in Germany, 
and thus Rego remained under her orders. 

The Spaniard's eye glittered when he 
saw the yellow of the gold, and his heart 
was bitter that he did not have a share of 
it. He soon learned where it came from, 
and rightly surmised that there was more 
in the same treasury, ready to be bestowed 
for similar service to that which the un- 
ready Baumstein had so emphatically re- 
jected; so Rego, watching his opportunity, 
stole away secretly to Von Richenbach 
and offered his aid in the capture of the 
castle, should suitable compensation be 
tendered him. Heinrich questioned him 
closely regarding the interior arrange- 
ments of the castle, and asked him if he 
could find any means of letting down the 
drawbridge and raising the portcullis in 
the night. This Rego said, quite truly, 
was impossible, as the guard at the gate, 
vigilant enough before, had become much 
more so since the attempted bribery of the 
captain. There was, however, one way by 
which the castle might be entered, and 
that entailed a most perilous adventure. 
There was a platform between two of the 
lofty, steep roofs, so elevated that it 
gave a view over all the valley. On this 
platform a sentinel was stationed night 
and day, whose duty was that of outlook, 
like a man on the cross-trees of a ship. 
From this platform a stair, narrow at the 
top, but widening as it descended to the 
lower stories, gave access to the whole 
castle. If, then, a besieger constructed a 
ladder of enormous length, it might be 
placed at night on the narrow ledge of 
rock far below this platform, standing 

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ROBERT BARR. 



231 



almost perpendicular, and by this means 
man after man would be enabled to reach 
the roof of the castle, and, under the guid- 
ance of Rego, gain admittance to the 
lower rooms unsuspected. 

" But the sentinel ? " objected Von Rich- 
enbach. 

"The sentinel I will myself slay. I 
will steal up behind him in the night when 
you make your assault, and running my 
knife into his neck, fling him over the cas- 



sentinel, and thus allow us to climb by 
that?" 

" It would be impossible for me to con- 
struct and conceal such a contrivance 
strong enough to carry more than one man 
at a time, even if I had the materials," 
said the wily Spaniard, whose thoughtful- 
ness and ingenuity Heinrich could not but 
admire, while despising him as an oily 
foreigner. "If you made the rope ladder 
there would be no method of getting it into 



' AS QUICKLY AS HE COULD, LIT ONE CANDLE AFTER ANOTHER, UNTIL THE USUAL NUMBER BURNED BEFORE THE SACRED 

IMAGE.! " 



tie wall; then I shall be ready to guide 
you down into the courtyard." 

Von Richenbach, remembering the sheer 
precipice of rock at the foot of the castle 
walls and the dizzy height of the castle 
walls above the rock, could scarcely for- 
bear a shudder at the thought of climbing 
so high on a shaky ladder, even if such a 
ladder could be made, of which he had 
some doubts. The scheme did not seem 
so feasible as the Spaniard appeared to 
imagine. 

" Could you not let down a rope ladder 
from the platform when you had slain the 



Schloss Eltz; besides, it would need to be 
double the length of a wooden ladder, 
for you can place your ladder at the foot 
of the ledge, then climb to the top of the 
rock, and, standing there, pull the ladder 
up, letting the higher end scrape against 
the castle wall until the lower end stands 
firm on the ledge of rock. Your whole 
troop could then climb, one following an- 
other, so that there would be no delay." 

Thus it was arranged, and then began 
and wa.s completed the construction of 
the longest and most wonderful ladder 
ever made in Germany or anywhere else, 



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*3* 



THE LONG LADDER. 



so far as history 
records. It was 
composed of nu- 
merous small lad- 
ders, spliced and 
hooped with iron 
bands by the cas- 
tle armorer. At 
a second visit, 
which Rego paid 
to Baldwineltz 
when the ladder 
was completed, all 
arrangements 
were made and the 
necessary signals 
agreed upon. 

It was the pious 
custom of those 
in the fortress of 
Baldwineltz to 
ring the great bell 
on saints' days 
and other festivals 
that' called for 
special observ- 
ance, because Von 
Richenbach con- 
ducted war on the 
strictest princi- 
ples, as a man 
knowing his duty 
both spiritual and 
temporal. It was 
agreed that on the 
night of the as- 
sault, when it was 
necessary that 
Rego should as- 
sassinate the sen- 
tinel, the great 
bell of the fortress 
should be rung, 
whereupon the 
Spaniard was to 
hie himself up the 
stair and send the 
watchman into an- 
other sphere of 
duty by means of 
his dagger. The 
bell-ringing seems 
a perfectly justi- 
fiable device, and 
one that will be 
approved by all 
conspirators, for 
the sounding of 
the bell, plainly 
heard in Schloss 
Eltz, would cause 



no alarm, as it was 
wont to sound at 
uncertain inter- 
vals, night and 
day, and was 
known to give 
tongue only dur- 
ing moments al- 
1 otted by the 
out thoughts. But 
Ambrose, in setting 
iment the chronicles 
ives it as his opinion 
rity could have been 
us suddenly chang- 
ns of the bell from 
the furtherance of a 
Still, Ambrose was 
a sympathizer with 
Itz, and, aside from 
u his cell cannot be 
<e the same view of 
ity that would com- 
a warrior on a bas- 
;, much as we may 
>se as an historian, 
ipelled to accept his 
litary ethics, 
^rtant night, which 
darkness, made the 
y the black environ- 
sely- wooded hills 
d Schloss Eltz, the 
ard became almost 
;ty as he listened for 
1 that was to be his 
it tolled forth, and 
o hand in his girdle, 
mg the narrow halls 
k. The interior of 
is full of intricate 
expected turnings, 
jps up, there a few 
r all the world like 
ch even one know- 
light well go astray, 
urnings Rego came 
the countess, who 
jht of him, and then 
m said, half laugh- 
g, being a nervous 

thank heaven it is 

distraught with the 

r of that bell that I 

at the sound of my 

Why rings it so, 



X 13 BUI, 



4 EXKKTING ALL HIS STRENGTH, PUSHED 
THE LANCB OUTWARD, AND THE TOP OF 
THB LADDER WITH IT-" 



^iii^ church festival, my 
lady, which they fighting for the 
archbishop are more familiar with 



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ROBERT BARR. 



*33 



than I," answered the trembling Spaniard, 
as frightened as the lady herself at the 
unexpected meeting. But the countess 
was a most religious woman, well skilled 
in the observances of her church, and she 
replied: 

" No, Rego. There is no cause for its 
dolorous music, and to-night there seems 
to me something ominous and menacing 
in its tone, as if disaster impended." 

"It maybe the birthday of the arch- 
bishop, my lady, or of the pope himself/' 

" Our holy father was born in May, and 
the archbishop in November. Ah, 1 would 
that this horrid strife were done with! 
But our safety lies in heaven, and if our 
duty be accomplished here on earth, we 
should have naught to fear; yet I tremble 
as if great danger lay before me. Come, 
Rego, to the chapel, and light the candles 
at the altar." 

The countess passed him, and for one 
fateful moment Rego's hand hovered over 
his dagger, thinking to strike the lady 
dead at his feet; but the risk was too great, 
for there might at any time pass along the 
corridor one of the servants, who would 
instantly raise the alarm and bring disaster 
upon him. He dare not disobey. So grind- 
ing his teeth in impotent rage and fear, 
he followed his mistress to the chapel, and, 
as quickly as he could, lit one candle after 
another, until the usual number burned be- 
fore the sacred image. The countess was 
upon her knees as he tried to steal softly 
from the room. "Nay, Rego," she said, 
raising her bended head, "light them all 
to-night. Harken ! That raven bell has 
ceased even as you lighted the last can- 
dle." 

The countess, as has been said, was a 
devout lady, and there stood an unusual 
number of candles before the altar, several 
of which burned constantly, but only on 
notable occasions were all the candles 
lighted. As Rego hesitated, not knowing 
what to do in this crisis, the lady repeated: 
" Light all the candles to-night, Rego." 

" You said yourself, my lady," mur- 
mured the agonized man, cold sweat 
breaking out on his forehead, "that this 
was not a saint's day." 

" Nevertheless, Rego," persisted the 
countess, surprised that even a favorite 
servant should thus attempt to thwart her 
will, " I ask you to light each candle. Do 
so at once." 

She bowed her head as one who had 
spoken the final word, and again her fate 
trembled in the balance; but Rego heard 
the footsteps of the count entering the 



gallery above him, that ran across the end 
of the chapel, and he at once resumed the 
lighting of the candles, making less speed 
in his eagerness than if he had gone about 
his task with more care. 

The monk Ambrose draws a moral from 
this episode, which is sufficiently obvious 
when after events have confirmed it, but 
which we need not here pause to consider, 
when an episode of the most thrilling 
nature is going forward on the lofty plat- 
form of Eltz Castle. 

The sentinel paced back and forward 
within his narrow limit, listening to the 
depressing and monotonous tolling of the 
bell and cursing it, for the platform was a 
lonely place and the night of inky dark- 
ness. At last the bell ceased, and he 
stood resting on his long pike, enjoying 
the stillness, and peering into the black- 
ness, when suddenly he became aware of 
a grating, rasping sound below him, as if 
some one were attempting to climb the pre- 
cipitous beetling cliff of castle wall and 
slipping against the stones. His heart 
stood still with fear, for he knew it could 
be nothing human. An instant later some- 
thing appeared over the parapet that could 
be seen only because it was blacker than 
the distant dark sky against which it was 
outlined. It rose and rose until the senti- 
nel saw it was the top of a ladder, which 
was even more amazing than if the fiend 
himself had scrambled over the stone 
coping, for we know the devil can go any- 
where, while a ladder cannot. But the 
soldier was a common-sense man, and, 
dark as was the night, he knew that, tall 
as such a ladder must be, there seemed 
a likelihood that human power was push- 
ing it upward. He touched it with his 
hands and convinced himself that there 
was nothing supernatural about it. The 
ladder rose inch by inch, slowly, for it 
must have been no easy task for even 
twoscore men to raise it thus with ropes 
or other devices, especially when the bot- 
tom of it neared the top of the ledge. The 
soldier knew he should at once give the 
alarm ; but he was the second traitor in 
the stronghold, corrupted by the sight of 
the glittering gold he had shared, and only 
prevented from selling himself because the 
rigors of military rule did not give him 
opportunity of going to Baldwineltz as the 
less exacting civilian duties had allowed 
the Spaniard to market his wares. So the 
sentry made no outcry, but silently pre- 
pared a method by which he could negoti- 
ate with advantage to himself when the 
first head appeared above the parapet. 



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234 



THE LONG LADDER. 



"WITH A Gl'RGI.ING CRY, PLUNGED HEADLONG FORWARD, AND DOWN 
THE rKF.CiriCH." 



He fixed the point of his lance against a 
round of the ladder, and when the leading 
warrior, who was no other than Heinrich 
von Richenbach, came slowly and cau- 
tiously to the top of the wall, the sentinel, 
exerting all his strength, pushed the lance 
outward, and the top of the ladder with it, 
until it stood nearly perpendicular some 
two yards back from the wall. 

"In God's name, what are you about? 
Is that you, Rego ?" 

The soldier replied, calmly: 

" Order your men not to move, and do 
not move yourself, until I have some con- 
verse with you. Have no fear if you are 
prepared to accept my terms; otherwise 
you will have ample time to say your 
prayers before 'you reach the ground, for 
the distance is great." 

Von Richenbach, who now leaned over 
the top round, suspended thus between 
heaven and earth, grasped the lance with 
both hands, so that the ladder might not be 
thrust beyond the perpendicular. In quiv- 
ering voice he passed down the word that 
no man was to shift foot or hand until he 
had made bargain with the sentinel who 
held them in such extreme peril. 

"What terms do you propose to me, 
soldier ? " he asked, breathlessly. 

" I will conduct you down to the court- 



yard, and when you 
have surprised and 
taken the castle you 
will grant me safe con- 
duct and give me five 
bags of gold equal in 
weight to those offered 
to our captain." 

"All that will I do 
and double the treas- 
ure. Faithfully and 
truly do I promise it." 
" You pledge me 
your knightly word, 
and swear also by the 
holy coat of Treves ? " 
" I pledge and swear. 
And pray you be care- 
the ladder yet a little 
d the wall." 

to your honor," said the 

traitors love to prate of 

d will now admit you to 

but until we are in the 

j here must be silence." 

"Incline the ladder gently, for 
it is so weighted that if it come 
suddenly against the wall, it may 
break in the middle." 

At this supreme moment, as the sentinel 
was preparing to bring them cautiously to 
the wall, when all was deep silence, there 
crept swiftly and noiselessly through the 
trap-door the belated Spaniard. His 
catlike eyes beheld the shadowy form of 
the sentinel bending apparently over the 
parapet, but they showed him nothing be- 
yond. With the speed and precipitation 
of a springing panther, the Spaniard 
leaped forward and drove his dagger deep 
into the neck of his comrade, who, with a 
gurgling cry, plunged headlong forward, 
and down the precipice, thrusting his lance 
as he fell. The Spaniard's dagger went 
with the doomed sentinel, sticking fast in 
his throat, and its presence there passed a 
fatal noose around the neck of Rego later, 
for they wrongly thought the false sentinel 
had saved the castle and that the Span- 
iard had murdered a faithful watchman. 

Rego leaned panting over the stone 
coping, listening for the thud of the 
body. Then was he frozen with horror 
when the still night air was split with the 
most appalling shriek of combined human 
voices in an agony of fear that ever tor- 
tured the ear of man. The shriek ended 
in a crash far below, and silence again 
filled the valley. 



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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 

FROM THE MEMOIRS OF FRITZ VON TARLENHEIM. 

By Anthony Hope. 

Being the sequel to a story by the same writer entitled " The Prisoner of Zenda." 
Illustrated by Charles Dana Gibson. 



INTRODUCTION AND SUMMARY OF EARLIER CHAPTERS. 



Prompted by his own ambition, the Duke of Strelsau, 
known as "Black Michael." drugs and hides away his 
brother Rudolf on the eye of the latter** coronation as King 
of Ruritania. But at the instigation of Colonel Sapt and 
Fritz von Tarlenheim, supporters of Rudolf, an English 
relative of his, Rudolf Rassendyll— a stranger and chance 
visitor in the kingdom, who so closely resembles Rudolf 
that few can tell them apart— appears, and, in his name, 
assumes the crown for him. While Rudolfs friends are 
working to set him free, Rassendyll continues to hold the 
throne In Rudolfs guise and exercise all the royal functions 
—even to falling ardently in love with the Princess Flavia, 
and provoking her to love him as ardently in return. Public 
expectation and policy have designated the Princess to be- 
come the new king's wife. " Black Michael " is finally killed 
in a quarrel by Rupert of Hentzau, one of his accomplices. 
The Princess Flavia has felt from the first a difference be- 
tween the two Rudolfs ; before the end, the truth is fully dis- 
covered to her. She dutifully marries the real king, but her 



heart hardly goes with her hand. Thereafter, once a year, 
she sends a gift and a brief verbal message to Rassendyll in 
token of her remembrance of him. And these incidents and 
events make the story of •' The Prisoner of Zenda." 
The present history opens with the king grown weak and 

auerulous, and the sense of the difference between him and 
le man who had courted her in his name more importunate 
than ever in the mind and heart of the queen. She dare not 
longer trust herself in sending the yearly message to Rassen- 
dyll. She therefore writes him a letter that is to be her last 
word to him. But the messenger, Fritz von Tarlenheim, is 
betrayed by his servant Bauer ; set upon at Wintenberg by 
Rupert of Hentzau and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, 
general conspirators against the peace of the kingdom; 
robbed of the letter, ana himself left beaten insensible. As 
soon as he revives, he reports his disaster and loss to 
Rassendyll, who places him under the care of his own 
servant James, and then sets out secretly for Zenda, to keep 
the letter from coming into the hands 01 the king. 



CHAPTER IV. 



AN EDDY ON THE MOAT. 



ON the evening of Thursday, the six- 
teenth of October, the Constable of 
Zenda was very much out of humor; he 
has since confessed as much. To risk the 
peace of a palace for the sake of a lover's 
greeting had never been wisdom to his 
mind, and he had been sorely impatient 
with " that fool Fritz's" yearly pilgrimage. 
The letter of farewell had been an added 
folly, pregnant with chances of disaster. 
Now disaster, or the danger of it, had come. 
The curt, mysterious telegram from Win- 
tenberg, which told him so little, at least 
told him that It ordered him — and he 
did not know even whose the order was — 
to delay Rischenheim's audience, or, if he 
could not, to get the king away from 
Zenda: why he was to act thus was not 
disclosed to him. But he knew as well as 
I that Rischenheim was completely in 
Rupert's hands, and he could not fail to 
guess that something had gone wrong at 
Wintenberg, and that Rischenheim came 
to tell the king some news that the king 
must not hear. His task sounded simple, 
but it was not easy ; for he did not know 
where Rischenheim was, and so could 
not prevent his coming; besides, the king 
had been very pleased to learn of the 

Copyright 1897, by A. H 



count's approaching visit, since he de- 
sired to talk with him on the subject of a 
certain breed of dogs, which the count 
bred with great, his Majesty with only in- 
different success ; therefore he had declared 
that nothing should interfere with his re- 
ception of Rischenheim. In vain Sapt told 
him that a large boar had been seen in the 
forest, and that a fine day's sport might be 
expected if he would hunt next day. " I 
shouldn't be back in time to see Rischen- 
heim," said the king. 

" Your Majesty would be back by night- 
fall," suggested Sapt. 

" I should be too tired to talk to him, 
and I've a great deal to discuss." 

" You could sleep at the hunting-lodge, 
sire, and ride back to receive the count 
next morning." 

" I'm anxious to see him as soon as may 
be. ' ' Then he looked up at Sapt with a sick 
man's quick suspicion. "Why shouldn't 
I see him ? " he asked. 

" It's a pity to miss the boar, sire," was 
all Sapt's plea. The king made light of it. 

" Curse the boar! " said he. "I want to 
know how he gets the dogs' coats so fine." 

As the king spoke a servant entered, 
carrying a telegram for Sapt. The colo- 
nel took it and put it in his pocket. 

11 Read it," said the king. He had dined 
and was about to go to bed, it being nearly 
ten o'clock. 



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RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



" It will keep, sire," answered Sapt, who 
did not know but that it might be from 
Wintenberg. 

" Read it," insisted the king testily. "It 
may be from Rischenheim. Perhaps he 
can get here sooner. I should like to 
know about those dogs. Read it, I beg." 

Sapt could do nothing but read it. He 
had taken to spectacles lately, and he 
spent a long while adjusting them and 
thinking what he should do if the message 
Were not fit for the king's ear. " Be 
quick, man, be quick! " urged the irritable 
king. 

Sapt had got the envelope open at last, 
and relief, mingled with perplexity, showed 
in his face. 

" Your Majesty guessed wonderfully 
well. Rischenheim can be here at eight 
to-morrow morning," he said, looking 
up. 

M Capital! " cried the king. " He shall 
breakfast with me at nine and I'll have a 
ride after the boar when we've done our 
business. Now are you satisfied ? " 

" Perfectly, sire,*' said Sapt, biting his 
moustache. 

The king rose with a yawn, and bade 
the colonel good-night. " He must have 
some trick I don't know with those dogs," 
he remarked, as he went out. And 
" Damn the dogs! " cried Colonel Sapt the 
moment that the door was shut behind his 
Majesty. 

But the colonel was not a man to accept 
defeat easily. The audience that he had 
been instructed to postpone was advanced; 
the king, whom he had been told to get 
away from Zenda, would not go till he had 
seen Rischenheim. Still there are many 
ways of preventing a meeting. Some are 
by fraud; these it is no injustice to Sapt 
to say that he had tried; some are by 
force, and the colonel was being driven to 
the conclusion that one of these must be 
his resort. 

"Though the king," he mused, with a 
grin, " will be furious if anything happens 
to Rischenheim before he's told him about 
the dogs." 

Yet he fell to racking his brains to find a 
means by which the count might be ren- 
dered incapable of performing the service 
so desired by the king and of carrying out 
his own purpose in seeking an audience. 
Nothing save assassination suggested it- 
self to the constable; a quarrel and a duel 
offered no security; and Sapt was not 
Black Michael, and had no band of ruffians 
to join him in an apparently unprovoked 
kidnapping of a distinguished nobleman. 



"I can think of nothing," muttered 
Sapt, rising from his chair and moving 
across towards the window in search of 
the fresh air that a man so often thinks 
will give him a fresh idea. He was in his 
own quarters, that room of the new cha- 
teau which opens on to the moat immedi- 
ately to the right of the drawbridge as 
you face the old castle; it was the room 
which Duke Michael had occupied, and 
almost opposite to the spot where the 
great pipe had connected the window of 
the king's dungeon with the waters of the 
moat. The bridge was down now, for 
peaceful days had come to Zenda; the 
pipe was gone, and the dungeon's window, 
though still barred, was uncovered. The 
night was clear, and fine, and the still 
water gleamed fitfully as the moon, half- 
full, escaped from or was hidden by 
passing clouds. Sapt stood staring out 
gloomily, beating his knuckles on the 
stone sill. The fresh air was there, but 
the fresh idea tarried. 

Suddenly the constable bent forward, 
craning his head out and down, far as he 
could stretch it, towards the water. What 
he had seen, or seemed dimly to see, is a 
sight common enough on the surface of 
water — large circular eddies, widening 
from a centre; a stone thrown in makes 
them, or a fish on the rise. But Sapt had 
thrown no stone, and the fish in the moat 
were few and not rising then. The light 
was behind Sapt, and threw his figure 
into bold relief. The royal apartments 
looked out the other way; there were no 
lights in the windows this side the bridge, 
although beyond it the guards' lodgings 
and the servants' offices still showed a 
light here and there. Sapt waited till the 
eddies ceased. Then he heard the faint- 
est sound, as of a large body let very 
gently into the water; a moment later, 
from the moat right below him, a man's 
head emerged. 

" Sapt! " said a voice, low but distinct. 

The old colonel started, and, resting 
both hands on the sill, bent further out, 
till he seemed in danger of overbalanc- 
ing. 

" Quick — to the ledge on the other 
side. You know," said the voice, and 
the head turned; with quick, quiet strokes 
the man crossed the moat till he was hid- 
den in the triangle of deep shade formed 
by the meeting of the drawbridge and the 
old castle wall. Sapt watched him go, 
almost stupefied by the sudden wonder of 
hearing that voice come to him out of the 
stillness of the night. For the king was 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



237 



abed; and who spoke in that voice save 
the king and one other ? 

Then, with a curse at himself for his 
delay, he turned and walked quickly 
across the room. Opening the door, he 
found himself in the passage. But here 
he ran right into the arms of young Bernen- 
stein, the officer of the guard, who was 
going his rounds. Sapt knew and trusted 
him, for he had been with us all through 
the siege of Zenda, when Michael kept the 
king a prisoner, and he bore marks given 
him by Rupert of Hentzau's ruffians. 
He now held a commission as lieutenant 
in the cuirassiers of the King's Guard. 

He noticed Sapt's bearing, for he cried 
out in a low voice, " Anything wrong, 
sir?" 

•• Bernenstein, my boy, the castle's all 
right about here. Go round to the front, 
and, hang you, stay there," said Sapt. 

The officer stared, as well he might. 
Sapt caught him by the arm. 

" No, stay here. See, stand by the 
door there that leads to the royal apart- 
ments. Stand there, and let nobody 
pass. You understand ? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" And whatever you hear, don't look 
round." 

Bernenstein's bewilderment grew great- 
er ; but Sapt was constable, and on Sapt's 
shoulders lay the responsibility for the 
safety of Zenda and all in it. 

" Very well, sir," he said, with a submis- 
sive shrug, and he drew his sword and 
stood by the door; he could obey, al- 
though he could not understand. 

Sapt ran on. Opening the gate that 
led to the bridge, he sped across. Then, 
stepping on one side and turning his face 
to the wall, he descended the steps that 
gave foothold down to the ledge running 
six or eight inches above the water. He 
also was now in the triangle of deep dark- 
ness, yet he knew that a man was there, 
who stood straight and tall, rising above 
his own height. And he felt his hand 
caught in a sudden grip. Rudolf Rassen- 
dyll was there, in his wet drawers and 
socks. 

4 * Is it you ? " he whispered. 

"Yes," answered Rudolf; "I swam 
round from the other side and got here. 
Then I threw in a bit of mortar, but I 
wasn't sure I'd roused you, and I didn't 
dare shout, so I followed it myself. Lay 
hold of me a minute while I get on my 
breeches: I didn't want to get wet, so I 
carried my clothes in a bundle. Hold me 
tight, it's slippery." 



"In God's name what brings you 
here?" whispered Sapt, catching Rudolf 
by the arm as he was directed. 

"The queen's service. When does 
Rischenheim come ? " 

" To-morrow at eight." 

"The deuce! That's earlier than I 
thought. And the king ? " 

" Is here and determined to see him. 
It's impossible to move him from it." 

There was a moment's silence; Rudolf 
drew his shirt over his head and tucked it 
into his trousers. " Give me the jacket 
and waistcoat," he said. " I feel deuced 
damp underneath, though." 

"You'll soon get dry," grinned Sapt. 
" You'll be kept moving, you see." 

" I've lost my hat." 

"Seems to me you've lost your head 
too." 

" You'll find me both, eh, Sapt ? " 

"As good as your own, anyhow," 
growled the constable. 

" Now the boots, and I'm ready. " Then 
he asked quickly, " Has the king seen or 
heard from Rischenheim ? " 

" Neither, except through me." 

* • Then why is he so set on seeing him ? ' ' 

" To find out what gives dogs smooth 
coats." 

"You're serious? Hang you, I can't 
see your face." 

"Absolutely." 

" All's well, then, 
now?" 

"Yes." 

" Confound him! 
anywhere to talk ?" 

"What the deuce 
for?" 

" To meet Rischenheim." 

"To meet ?" 

"Yes. Sapt, he's got a copy of the 
queen's letter." 

Sapt twirled his moustache. 

"I've always said as much," he re- 
marked in tones of satisfaction. He 
need not have said it; he would have been 
more than human not to think it. 

"Where can you take me to?" asked 
Rudolf impatiently. 

" Any room with a door and a lock to 
it," answered old Sapt. "I command 
here, and when I say * Stay out ' — well, 
they don't come in." 

" Not the king ? " 

"The king is in bed. Come along," 
and the constable set his toe on the lowest 
step. 

"Is there nobody about ? " asked Ru- 
dolf, catching his arm. 

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Has he got a beard 

Can't you take me 
are you here at all 



238 



RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



" Bernenstein; but he will keep his back 
toward us." 

•'Your discipline is still good, then, 
Colonel ?" 

'" Pretty well for these days, your Ma- 
jesty," grunted Sapt, as he reached the 
level of the bridge. 

Having crossed, they entered the cha- 
teau. The passage was empty, save for 
Bernenstein, whose broad back barred the 
way from the royal apartments. 

"In here," whispered Sapt, laying his 
hand on the door of the room whence he 
had come. 

"All right," answered Rudolf. Ber- 
nenstein's hand twitched, but he did not 
look round. There was discipline in the 
castle of Zenda. 

But as Sapt was half-way through the 
door and Rudolf about to follow him, the 
other door, that which Bernenstein 
guarded, was softly yet swiftly opened. 
Bernenstein's sword was in rest in an in- 
stant. A muttered oath from Sapt and 
Rudolf's quick snatch at his breath 
greeted the interruption. Bernenstein did 
not look round, but his sword fell to his 
side. In the doorway stood Queen Fla- 
via, all in white; and now her face turned 
white as her dress. For her eyes had 
fallen on Rudolf Rassendyll. For a mo- 
ment the four stood thus; then Rudolf 
passed Sapt, thrust Bernenstein's brawny 
shoulders (the young man had not looked 
round) out of the way, and, falling on his 
knee before the queen, seized her hand 
and kissed it. Bernenstein could see now 
without looking round, and if astonish- 
ment could kill, he would have been a 
dead man that instant. He fairly reeled 
and leant against the wall, his mouth 
hanging open. For the king was in bed, 
and had a beard; yet there was the king, 
fully dressed and clean shaven, and he 
was kissing the queen's hand, while she 
gazed down on him in a struggle between 
amazement, fright, and joy. A soldier 
should be prepared for anything, but I 
cannot be hard on young Bernenstein's 
bewilderment. 

Yet there was in truth nothing strange 
in the queen seeking to see old Sapt that 
night, nor in her guessing where he would 
most probably be found. For she had asked 
him three times whether news had come 
from Wintenberg and each time he had 
put her off with excuses. Quick to fore- 
bode evil, and conscious of the pledge to 
fortune that she had given in her letter, 
she had determined to know from him 
whether there were really cause for alarm, 



and had stolen, undetected, from her 
apartments to seek him. What filled her 
at once with unbearable apprehension and 
incredulous joy was to find Rudolf present 
in actual flesh and blood, no longer in sad 
longing dreams or visions, and to feel his 
live lips on her hand. 

Lovers count neither time nor danger; 
but Sapt counted both, and no more than 
a moment had passed before, with eager 
imperative gestures, he beckoned them to 
enter the room. The queen obeyed, and 
Rudolf followed her. 

" Let nobody in, and don't say a word 
to anybody," whispered Sapt, as he en- 
tered, leaving Bernenstein outside. The 
young man was half-dazed still, but he 
had sense to read the expression in the 
constable's eyes and to learn from it that 
he must give his life sooner than let the 
door be opened. So with drawn sword he 
stood on guard. 

It was eleven o'clock when the queen 
came, and midnight had struck from the 
great clock of the castle before the door 
opened again and Sapt came out. His 
sword was not drawn, but he had his re- 
volver in his hand. He shut the door 
silently after him and began at once to 
talk in low, earnest, quick tones to Bernen- 
stein. Bernenstein listened intently and 
without interrupting. Sapt's story ran on 
for eight or nine minutes. Then he 
paused, before asking: 

" You understand now ? " 

" Yes, it is wonderful," said the young 
man, drawing in his breath. 

"Pooh!" said Sapt. "Nothing is 
wonderful: some things are unusual." 

Bernenstein was not convinced, and 
shrugged his shoulders in protest. 

"Well?" said the constable, with a 
quick glance at him. 

"I would die for the queen, sir," he 
answered, clicking his heels together as 
though on parade. 

"Good," said Sapt. "Then listen," 
and he began again to talk. Bernenstein 
nodded from time to time. " You'll meet 
him at the gate," said the constable, " and 
bring him straight here. He's not to go 
anywhere else, you understand me?" 

"Perfectly, Colonel," smiled young 
Bernenstein. 

"The king will be in this room — the 
king. You know who is the king ? " 

"Perfectly, Colonel." 

" And when the interview is ended, and 
we go to breakfast " 

"I know who will be the king then. 
Yes, Colonel." 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



*39 



" Good. But we do him no harm un- 
less " 

" It is necessary." 

•'Precisely." 

Sapt turned away with a little sigh. 
Bernenstein was an apt pupil, but the colo- 
nel was exhausted by so much explana- 
tion. He knocked softly at the door of 
the room. The queen's voice bade him 
enter, and he passed in. Bernenstein was 
left alone again in the passage, pondering 
over what he had heard and rehearsing the 
part that it now fell to him to play. As 
he thought he may well have raised his 
head proudly. The service seemed so 
great and the honor so high, that he almost 
wished he could die in the performing of 
his r6le. It would be a finer death than 
his soldier's dreams had dared to picture. 

At one o'clock Colonel Sapt came out. 

" Go to bed till six," said he to Ber- 
nenstein. 

" I'm not sleepy." 

" No, but you will be at eight if you 
don't sleep now." 

" Is the queen coming out, Colonel ? " 

" In a minute, Lieutenant." 

" I should like to kiss her hand." 

"Well, if you think it worth waiting a 
quarter of an hour for! " said Sapt, with 
a slight smile. 

"You said a minute, sir." 

" So did she," answered the constable. 

Nevertheless it was a quarter of an hour 
before Rudolf Rassendyll opened the door 
and the queen appeared on the threshold. 
She was very pale , and she had been cry- 
ing, but her eyes were happy and her air 
firm. The moment he saw her, young 
Bernenstein fell on his knee and raised 
her hand to his lips. 

" To the death, madame," said he, in a 
trembling voice. 

"I knew it, sir," she answered gra- 
ciously. Then she looked round on the 
three of them. ••Gentlemen," said she, 
" my servants and dear friends, with you, 
and with Fritz who lies wounded in Win- 
tenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I 
will not live if the letter reaches the king." 

" The king shall not have it, madame," 
said Colonel Sapt. 

He took her hand in his and patted it with 
a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended 
it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of 
her favor. They two then stood at the 
salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the 
end of the passage. There for a moment 
she and he stood together; the others 
turned their eyes away and thus did not 
see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand 



with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, 
not thinking it fit that she should kiss his 
hand, but she seemed as though she could 
not let it go. Yet at last, still with her 
eyes on his, she passed backwards through 
the door, and he shut it after her. 

" Now to business," said Colonel Sapt 
dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. 

Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went 
to the king's apartments, and asked the 
physician whether his Majesty were sleep- 
ing well. Receiving reassuring news of 
the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the 
quarters of the king's body-servant, 
knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered 
breakfast for the king and the Count of 
Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock pre- 
cisely, in the morning-room that looked 
out over the avenue leading to the en- 
trance of the new chateau. This done, he 
returned to the room where Rudolf was, 
carried a chair into the. passage, bade Ru- 
dolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in 
hand, and himself went to sleep. Young 
Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken 
faint, and the constable himself was act- 
ing as his substitute; that was to be the 
story, if a story were needed. Thus the 
hours from two to six passed that morn- 
ing in the castle of Zenda. 

At six the constable awoke and knocked 
at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. 

" Slept well ? " asked Sapt. 

" Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheer- 
fully. 

" I thought you had more nerve." 

" It wasn't want of nerve that kept me 
awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. 

Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked 
round. The curtains of the window were 
half-drawn. The table was moved near to 
the wall, and the armchair by it was well 
in shadow, being quite close to the cur- 
tains. 

"There's plenty of room for you be- 
hind," said Rudolf; "and when Rischen- 
heim is seated in his chair opposite to 
mine, you can put your barrel against his 
head by just stretching out your hand. 
And of course I can do the same." 

" Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, 
with an approving nod. 

" What about the beard ? " 

" Bernenstein is to tell him you've 
shaved this morning." 

"Will he believe that?" 

"Why not? For his own sake he'd 
better believe everything." 

" And if we have to kill him ? " 

" We must run for it. The king would 
be furious." 



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240 



RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



" He's fond of him?" 

" You forget. He wants to know about 
the dogs." 

"True. You'll be in your place in 
time?" 

"Of course." 

Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and 
down the room. It was easy to see that 
the events of the night had disturbed him. 
Sapt's thoughts were running in a different 
channel. 

"When we've done with this fellow, 
we must find Rupert/' said he. 

Rudolf started. 

"Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. 
Of course we must," said he confusedly. 

Sapt looked scornful ; he knew that his 
companion's mind had been occupied with 
the queen. But his remarks — if he had 
meditated any — were interrupted by the 
clock striking seven. 

" He'll be here in an hour," said he. 

" We're ready for him," answered Ru- 
dolf Rassendyll. With the thought of ac- 
tion his eyes grew bright and his brow 
smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at 
one another, and they both smiled. 

" Like old times, isn't it, Sapt ? " 

" Aye, sire, like the reign of good King 
Rudolf." 

Thus they made ready for the Count 
of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed 
wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. 
It is still a sorrow to me that I know what 
passed that morning only by report, and 
had not the honor of bearing a part in it. 
Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but 
remembered that I would have taken my 
share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I 
would most eagerly. 



CHAPTER V. 

AN AUDIENCE OF THE KINO. 

Having come thus far in the story that 
I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay 
down my pen, and leave untold how 
from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll 
came again to Zenda a fury of chance 
seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, 
carrying us whither we would not, and ever 
driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, 
breathing into us a recklessness that stood 
at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen 
and to the man she loved that swept away 
all other feeling. The ancients held there 
to be a fate which would have its fill, 
though women wept and men died, and 
none could tell whose was the guilt nor 



who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly 
wrong God's providence. Yet, save that 
we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we 
are as blind as they, and are still left won- 
dering why all that is true and generous 
and love's own fruit must turn so often 
to woe and shame, exacting tears and 
blood. For myself I would leave the 
thing untold, lest a word of it should seem 
to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own 
command I write, that all may one day, 
in time's fullness, be truly known, and 
those condemn who are without sin, while 
they pity whose own hearts have fought 
the equal fight. So much for her and 
him; for us less needs be said. It was not 
ours to weigh her actions: we served her; 
him we had served. She was our queen; 
we bore heaven a grudge that he was not 
our king. The worst of what befell was 
not of our own planning, no, nor of our hop- 
ing. It came a thunderbolt from the hand 
of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse 
and a laugh; its coming entangled us more 
tightly in the net of circumstances. Then 
there arose in us that strange and over- 
powering desire of which I must tell later, 
rilling us with a zeal to accomplish our 
purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll 
himself into the way we chose. Led by 
this star, we pressed on through the dark- 
ness, until at length the deeper darkness 
fell that stayed our steps. We also stand 
for judgment, even as she and he. So I 
will write; but I will write plainly and 
briefly, setting down what I must, and no 
more, yet seeking to give truly the picture 
of that time, and to preserve as long as 
may be the portrait of the man whose like 
I have not known. Yet the fear is always 
upon me that, failing to show him as he 
was, I may fail also in gaining an under- 
standing of how he wrought on us, one 
and all, till his cause became in all things 
the right, and to seat him where he should 
be our highest duty and our nearest wish. 
For he said little, and that* straight to the 
purpose; no high-flown words of his live 
in my memory. And he asked nothing 
for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes 
went straight to men's hearts and women's, 
so that they held their lives in an eager 
attendance on his bidding. Do I rave ? 
Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was 
foremost in the business. 

At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young 
Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly 
accoutred, took his stand outside the main 
entrance of the castle. He wore a confi- 
dent air that became almost a swagger as 
he strolled to and fro past the motionless 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



241 



sentries. He had not long to wait. On 
the stroke of eight a gentleman, well- 
horsed but entirely unattended, rode up 
the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying 
" Ah, it is the count! M ran to meet him. 
Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his 
hand to the young officer. 

"My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for 
they were acquainted with one another. 

"You're punctual, my dear Rischen- 
heim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits 
you most impatiently." 

" I didn't expect to find him up so 
soon," remarked Rischenheim. 

"Up! He's been up these two hours. 
Indeed we've had the devil of a time of 
it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; 
he's in one of his troublesome humors. 
For example — but I mustn't keep you 
waiting. Pray follow me." 

" No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I 
might say something unfortunate." 

"Well, he woke at six; and when the 
barber came to trim his beard there were 
— imagine it, Count! — no less than seven 
gray hairs. The king fell into a passion. 
'Take it off,' he said. 'Take it off. I 
won't have a gray beard! Take it off!* 
Well, what would you ? A man is free to 
be shaved if he chooses, so much more a 
king. So it's taken off." 

"His beard!" 

" His beard, my dear Count. Then, 
after thanking heaven it was gone, and 
declaring he looked ten years younger, he 
cried, ' The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim 
breakfasts with me to-day: what is there 
for breakfast ? ' And he had the chef out 
of his bed and — But, by heavens, I shall 
get into trouble if I stop here chattering. 
He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come 
along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm 
through the count's, walked him rapidly 
into the castle. 

The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was 
a young man; he was no more versed in 
affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and 
it cannot be said that he showed so much 
aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale 
this morning; his manner was uneasy, and 
his hands trembled. He did not lack cour- 
age, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and 
the importance — or perhaps the shame — 
of his mission upset the balance of his 
nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he 
allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly 
and directly towards the room where Ru- 
dolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that 
he was being conducted to the king's 
presence. 

"Breakfast is ordered for nine," said 



Bernenstein, " but he wants to see you be- 
fore. He has something important to 
say; and you perhaps have the same? " 

" I ? Oh, no. A small matter; but — 
er— of a private nature." 

" Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask 
any questions, my dear Count." 

"Shall I find the king alone?" asked 
Rischenheim nervously. 

" I don't think you'll find anybody 
with him; no, nobody, I think," answered 
Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring 
air. 

They arrived now at the door. Here 
Bernenstein paused. 

"I am ordered to wait outside till his 
Majesty summons me," he said in a low 
voice, as though he feared that the irrita- 
ble king would hear him. "1*11 open the 
door and announce you. Pray keep him 
in a good temper, for all our sakes." 
And he flung the door open, saying, " Sire, 
the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the 
honor to wait on your Majesty." With 
this he shut the door promptly, and stood 
against it. Nor did he move, save once, 
and then only to take out his revolver and 
carefully inspect it. 

The count advanced, bowing low, and 
striving to conceal a visible agitation. He 
saw the king in his arm-chair; the king 
wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the 
better for being crushed into a bundle the 
night before) ; his face was in deep shadow, 
but Rischenheim perceived that the beard 
was indeed gone. The king held out his 
hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to 
sit in a chair just opposite to him and 
within a foot of the window-curtains. 

"I'm delighted to see you, my lord," 
said the king. 

Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice 
had once been so like the king's that no 
man could tell the difference, but in the 
last year or two the king's had grown 
weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be 
struck by the vigor of the tones in which 
he was addressed. As he looked up, 
there was a slight movement in the cur- 
tains by him; it died away when the count 
gave no further signs of suspicion, but 
Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, 
when it next spoke, was subdued. 

" Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassen- 
dyll. " For I am pestered beyond endur- 
ance about those dogs. I can't get the 
coats right. I've tried everything, but 
they won't come as I wish. Now, yours 
are magnificent." 

" You are very good, sire. But I ven- 
tured to ask an audience in order to " 



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242 



RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



" Positively you must tell me about the 
dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want 
nobody to hear but myself." 

" Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt ? " 

"In about twenty minutes," said the 
king, with a glance at the clock on the 
mantelpiece. 

At this Rischenheim became all on fire 
to get his errand done before Sapt ap- 
peared. 

" The coats of your dogs," pursued the 
king, " grow so beautifully " 

" A thousand pardons, sire, but " 

" Long and silky, that I despair of " 

" I have a most urgent and important 
matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. 

Rudolf threw himself back in his chair 
with a peevish air. 

"Well, if you must, you must. What 
is this great affair, Count ? Let us have it 
over, and then you can tell me about the 
dogs. ' ' 

Rischenheim looked round the room. 
There was nobody; the curtains were still; 
the king's left hand caressed his beardless 
chin ; the right was hidden from his visitor 
by the small table that stood between 
them. 

" Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hent- 
zau, has entrusted me with a message." 

Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. 

" I can hold no communication, directly 
or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," 
said he. 

" Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A docu- 
ment has come into the count's hands 
which is of vital importance to your Ma- 
jesty." 

"The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has 
incurred my heaviest displeasure." 

" Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for 
his offences that he has sent me here to- 
day. There is a conspiracy against your 
Majesty's honor." 

" By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, 
in cold and doubting tones. 

" By those who are very near your Ma- 
jesty's person and very high in your Ma- 
jesty's love." 

" Name them." 

" Sire, I dare not. You would not be- 
lieve me. But your Majesty will believe 
written evidence." 

" Show it me, and quickly. We may be 
interrupted." 

" Sire, I have a copy " 

"Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Ru- 
dolf. 

" My cousin has the original, and will 
forward it at your Majesty's command. 
A copy of a letter of her Majesty's " 



"Of the queen's?" 

"Yes, sire. It is addressed to " 

Rischenheim paused. 

44 Well, my lord, to whom ? " 

"To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." 

Now Rudolf played his part well. He 
did not feign indifference, but allowed his 
voice to tremble with emotion as he 
stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse 
whisper, " Give it me, give it me." 

Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot 
had told: the king's attention was his; 
the coats of the dogs were forgotten. 
Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and 
jealousy of the king. 

"My cousin," he continued, "con- 
ceives it his duty to lay the letter before 
your Majesty. He obtained it " 

"A curse on how he got it! Give it 
me!" 

Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then 
his waistcoat. The head of a revolver 
showed in a belt round his waist. He 
undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of 
his waistcoat, and he began to draw out 
a sheet of paper. 

But Rudolf, great as his powers of self- 
control were, was but human. When he 
saw the paper, he leant forward, half 
rising from his chair. As a result, his 
face came beyond the shadow of the cur- 
tain, and the full morning light beat on it. 
As Rischenheim took the paper out, he 
looked up. He saw the face that glared 
so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassen- 
dyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for 
the face, though the king's face in every 
feature, bore a stern resolution and wit- 
nessed a vigor that were not the king's. 
In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, 
flashed across his mind. He gave a half- 
articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled 
up the paper, the other flew to his re- 
volver. But he was too late. Rudolf's 
left hand encircled his hand and the paper 
in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on 
his temple; and an arm was stretched out 
from behind the curtain, holding another 
barrel full before his eyes, while a dry 
voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." 
Then Sapt stepped out. 

Rischenheim had no words to meet the 
sudden transformation of the interview. 
He seemed to be able to do nothing but 
stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted 
no time. He snatched the count's re- 
volver and stowed it in his own pocket. 

" Now take the paper," said he to 
Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim 
motionless while Rudolf wrenched the pre- 
cious document from his fingers. " Look 



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ANTHONY HOPE, 



*44 



if it's the right one. No, don't read it 
through; just look. Is it right? That's 
good. Now put your revolver to his head 
again. I'm going to search him. Stand 
up, sir." 

They compelled the count to stand up, 
and Sapt subjected him to a search that 
made the concealment of another copy, 
or of any other document, impossible. 
Then they let him sit down again. His 
eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassen- 
dyll. 

"Yet you've seen me before, I think," 
smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember 
you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. 
Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this 
cousin of yours?" For the plan was to 
find out from Rischenheim where Rupert 
was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert 
as soon as they had disposed of Rischen- 
heim. 

But even as Rudolf spoke there was a 
violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang 
to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept 
their places. Bernenstein was on the 
threshold, open-mouthed. 

** The king's servant has just gone by. 
He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The king 
has been walking in the drive, and learnt 
from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I 
told the man that you had taken the count 
for a stroll round the castle, and I did not 
know where you were. He says that the 
king may come himself at any moment." 

Sapt considered for one short instant; 
then he was back by the prisoner's side. 

•• We must talk again later on," he said, 
in low quick tones. " Now you're going 
to breakfast with the king. I shall be 
there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a 
word of your errand, not a word of this 
gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a 
gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a 
bullet through your head, and a thousand 
kings shan't stop me. Rudolf, get behind 
the curtain. If there's an alarm you must 
jump through the window into the moat 
and swim for it." 

"All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. 
44 I can read my letter there." 

44 Burn it, you fool." 

"When I've read it I'll eat it, if you 
like, but not before." 

Bernenstein looked in again. " Quick, 
quick! The man will be back," he whis- 
pered. 

" Bernenstein, did you hear what I said 
to the count?" 

44 Yes, I heard." 

"Then you know your part. Now, 
gentlemen, to the king." 



" Well," said an angry voice outside, " I 

wondered how long I was to be kept wait- 

• _ »» 

ing. 

Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the 
curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a 
handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with 
arms dangling by his side and his waist- 
coat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein 
was bowing low on the threshold, and 
protesting that the king's servant had but 
just gone, and that they were on the point 
of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king 
walked in, pale and full-bearded. 

44 Ah, Count," said he, " I'm glad to see 
you. If they had told me you were here, 
you shouldn't have waited a minute. 
You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why 
don't you draw back the curtains?" and 
the king moved towards the curtain behind 
which Rudolf was. 

44 Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting 
past him and laying a hand on the cur- 
tain. 

A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into 
Rischenheim's eyes. 

44 In truth, sire," continued the consta- 
ble, his hand on the curtain, 44 we were so 
interested in what the count was saying 
about his dogs " 

44 By heaven, I forgot! " cried the king. 
44 Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, 
Count " 

44 Your pardon, sire," put in young Ber- 
nenstein, "but breakfast waits." 

44 Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them 
together — breakfast and the dogs. Come 
along, Count." The king passed his arm 
through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernen- 
stein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and 
you, Colonel, come with us." 

They went out. Sapt stopped and 
locked the door behind him. 

44 Why do you lock the door, Colonel ? " 
asked the king. 

44 There are some papers in my drawer 
there, sire." 

44 But why not lock the drawer ? " 

44 1 have lost the key, sire, like the fool 
I am," said the colonel. 

The Count of Luzau-RisChenheim did 
not make a very good breakfast. He sat 
opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed 
himself at the back of the king's chair, 
and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a re- 
volver resting on the top of the chair just 
behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernen- 
stein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; 
Rischenheim looked round at him once 
and met a most significant gaze. 

44 You're eating nothing," said the king. 
44 1 hope you're not indisposed ? r * 



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244 



RUPERT OF HENTZAU. 



"I am a little upset, sire," stammered 
Rischenheim, and truly enough. 

44 Well, tell me about the dogs while I 
eat, for I'm hungry." 

Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. 
His statement was decidedly wanting in 
clearness. The king grew impatient. 

"I don't understand," said he testily, 
and he pushed his chair back so quickly 
that Sapt skipped away, and hid the re- 
volver behind his back. 

44 Sire — " cried Rischenheim, half rising. 
A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein 
interrupted him. 

"Tell it me all over again," said the 
king. 

Rischenheim did as he was bid. 

44 Ah, I understand a little better now. 
Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his 
head round towards the constable. Sapt 
had just time to whisk the revolver away. 
The count leant forward towards the king. 
Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. 
The count sank back again. 

41 Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt 
44 1 understand all the count wishes to 
convey to your Majesty." 

44 Well, I understand about half," said 
the king with a laugh. " But perhaps 
that'll be enough." 

44 1 think quite enough, sire," answered 
Sapt with a smile. 

The important matter of the dogs being 
thus disposed of, the king recollected that 
the count had asked for an audience on a 
matter of business. 

44 Now, what did you wish to say to 
me?" he asked, with a weary air. The 
dogs had been more interesting. 

Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The re- 
volver was in its place; Bernenstein 
coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. 

44 Your pardon, sire," said he, " but we 
are not alone." 

The king lifted his eyebrows. 

44 Is the business so private?" he 
asked. 

44 1 should prefer to tell it to your Ma- 
jesty alone," pleaded the count. 

Now Sapt 'was resolved not to leave 
Rischenheim alone with the king, for, al- 
though the count, being robbed of his evi- 
dence, could do little harm concerning 
the letter, he would doubtless tell the king 
that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. 
He leant now over the king's shoulder, and 
said with a sneer: 

44 Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are 
too exalted matters for my poor ears, it 
seems." 

The king flushed red. 



44 Is that your business, my lord ? " he 
asked Rischenheim sternly. 

44 Your Majesty does not know what my 
cousin " 

44 It is the old plea?" interrupted the 
king. 4< He wants to come back ? Is 
that all, or is there anything else ? " 

A moment's silence followed the king's 
words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, 
and smiled as he slightly raised his right 
hand and showed the revolver. Bernen- 
stein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat 
twisting his fingers. He understood that, 
cost what it might, they would not let him 
declare his errand to the king or betray 
Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared 
his throat and opened his mouth as if to 
speak, but still he remained silent. 

44 Well, my lord, is it the old story or 
something new?" asked the king impa- 
tiently. 

Again Rischenheim sat silent. 

44 Are you dumb, my lord ? " cried the 
king most impatiently. 

44 It — it is — only what you call the old 
story, sire." 

44 Then let me say that you have treated 
me very badly in obtaining an audience of 
me for any such purpose," said the king. 
44 You knew my decision, and your cousin 
knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; 
Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; bnt 
Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword 
and stood at the salute; he also coughed. 

44 My dear Rischenheim," pursued the 
king more kindly, 44 1 can allow for your 
natural affection. But, believe me, in this 
case it misleads you. Do me the favor 
not to open this subject again to me." 

Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, 
could do nothing but bow m acknowledg- 
ment of the king's rebuke. 

44 Colonel Sapt, see that the count is 
well entertained. My horse should be at 
the door by now. Farewell, Count. Ber- 
nenstein, give me your arm." 

Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the 
constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. 
Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave 
his arm to the king. They passed through 
the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a 
backward push of his hand. But at this 
moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and 
desperate at the trick played on him — see- 
ing, moreover, that he had now only one 
man to deal with — made a sudden rush at 
the door. He reached it, and his hand was 
on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon 
him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. 

In the passage the king stopped. 

44 What are they doing in there?" he 



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ANTHONY HOPE. 



245 



asked, hearing the noise of the quick 
movements. 

"I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, 
and he took a step forward. 

" No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're 
pulling me along! " 

" A thousand pardons, sire." 

"I hear nothing more now." And 
there was nothing to hear, for the two 
now stood dead silent inside the door. 

44 Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go 
on?" And Bernenstein took another 
step. 

"You're determined I shall," said the 
king with a laugh, and he let the young 
officer lead him away. 

Inside the room, Rischenheim stood 
with his back against the door. He was 
panting for breath, and his face was flushed 
and working with excitement. Opposite 
to htm stood Sapt, revolver in hand. 

" Till you get to heaven, my lord," said 
the constable, " you'll never be nearer to 
it than you were in that moment. If you 
had opened the door, I'd have shot you 
through the head." 

As he spoke there came a knock at the 
door. 

"Open it," he said brusquely to Risch- 
enheim. With a muttered curse the count 
obeyed him. A servant stood outside 
with a telegram on a salver. " Take it," 
whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out 
his hand. 

"Your pardon, my lord, but this has 
arrived for you," said the man respect- 
fully. 

" Take it," whispered Sapt again. 

"Give it me," muttered Rischenheim 
confusedly; and he took the envelope. 

The servant bowed and shut the door. 

"Open it," commanded Sapt. 

" God's curse on you! " cried Rischen- 
heim in a voice that choked with passion. 

" Eh ? Oh, you can have no secrets 
from so good a friend as I am, my lord. 
Be quick and open it." 

The count began to open it. 

" If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll 
shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You 



know you can trust my word. Now read 
it." 

"By God, I won't read it." 

" Read it, I tell you, or say your 
prayers." 

The muzzle was within a foot of his 
head. He unfolded the telegram. Then 
he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the 
constable. 

"I don't understand what it means," 
grumbled Rischenheim. 

" Possibly I may be able to help you." 

" It's nothing but " 

" Read, my lord, read! " 

Then he read, and this was the telegram : 

" Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." 

"A thousand thanks, my lord. And — 
the place it's despatched from ? " 

"Strelsau." 

" Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I 
don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. 
Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're 
puzzled what it means, Count ? " 

" I don't know at all what it means! " 

" How strange! Because I can guess so 
well." 

" You are very acute, sir." 

" It seems to me a simple thing to guess, 
my lord." 

" And pray," said Rischenheim, endeav- 
oring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, 
" what does your wisdom tell you that the 
message means?" 

" I think, my lord, that the message is 
an address." 

" An address! I never thought of that. 
But I know no Holf." 

" I don't think it's Holf's address." 

"Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, 
biting his nail, and looking furtively at the 
constable. 

" Why," said Sapt, " the present address 
of Count Rupert of Hentzau." 

As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the 
eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, 
sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his 
pocket and bowed to the count. 

" In truth, you are very convenient, 
my dear Count," said he. 



(To b* continued.) 




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SAMUEL L. CLEMENS, "MARK TWAIN." 

A CHARACTER SKETCH BY ROBERT BARR. 



THE world loves a label. It likes to 
classify its men and things, docket 
thera, and arrange them nicely on its 
shelves, each in the proper place. This 
habit probably arises from the fact that, 
ever since the indiscretion of Adam, man- 
kind has been compelled to make a living, 
and has found through long practice that 
method in business leads to success; there- 
fore man has become a labeling animal, 
so inured to the vice that he carries it into 
provinces where it does not legitimately 
belong. Sometimes there drifts across the 
sea of life a man whom the world cannot 
fit into any of its prearranged pigeon- 
holes, and him it either ignores or turns 
upon and rends, perhaps crucifying him. 
The person who interferes with these labels 
is never popular, and is usually howled 
down when he tries to show that William 
Tell never existed, or that William Shakes- 
peare's works were written by Bacon, or 
that Nero was a just and humane mon- 
arch, or that Solomon couldn't have been 
so wise as reported, otherwise he would 
not have been so frequently married. 
Therefore I expect little sympathy from 
the intelligent reader when I detach from 
Mark Twain the card with the word " hu- 
morist " written upon it in large charac- 
ters, and venture to consider the man un- 
influenced by the ready-made verdict of 
the label. 

I do not know whether this magazine has 
reproduced the photograph of Mark Twain 
which I have before me as I write: the one 
taken by Alfred Ellis of London, which is, 
I believe, the latest; but if not, another will 
do as well, and I invite the reader's critical 
attention to it.* Any portrait of Mark 
Twain shows a strong face, worthy of seri- 
ous study. The broad, intellectual brow, 
the commanding, penetrating eye, the firm, 
well-molded chin, give the world assurance 
of a man. Recently I had an opportunity 
of getting an opinion on this photograph; 
an opinion unbiassed by the label. I was 
traveling through France, and on the train 
made the acquaintance of a silk manu- 
facturer of Lyons, who was as well versed 

* The portrait of Mark Twain mentioned by Mr. Ban- 
was reproduced as the frontispiece of the November number 
of McClure's. — Editor. 

2A6 



in men and their affairs as he was ignorant 
of books. Nevertheless, I was amazed 
to learn that he had never heard of Mark 
Twain, and, as I had merely mentioned 
the name, giving him no indication of 
what it signified, I took the photograph 
from my pocket, and handed it to the 
Frenchman. 

" That is a good representation of him," 
I said, " and as you have seen most of the 
great personages of Europe, tell me what 
this man is." 

He gazed intently at the picture for a 
few moments; then spoke: " I should say 
he was a statesman." 

"Supposing you wrong in that, what 
would be your next guess ? " 

"If he is not a maker of history, he is 
perhaps a writer of it; a great historian, 
probably. Of course, it is impossible for 
me to guess accurately except by accident, 
but I use the adjective because I am con- 
vinced that this man is great in his line, 
whatever it is. If he makes silk, he makes 
the best silk." 

" You couldn't improve on that if you 
tried a year. You have summed him up in 
your last sentence." 

I am convinced that in Samuel L. 
Clemens America has lost one of its 
greatest statesmen ; one of its most nota- 
ble Presidents. If he had been born a 
little earlier, and if the storm-center of 
politics had been whirling a little further 
to the west forty years ago, it is quite 
conceivable that to-day we should be rev- 
erencing President Samuel Clemens as the 
man who, with firm hand on the tiller, 
steered his country successfully through 
the turbulent rapids that lay ahead of it, 
and that we might have known Abraham 
Lincoln only as a teller of funny stories. 
In this lies the glory of America, that in 
every State, perhaps in every county, we 
have an Abraham Lincoln, or a U. S. 
Grant, ready to act their parts, silently, 
honestly, and modestly, when grim neces- 
sity brushes aside the blatant incompetents 
whom, with a careless, optimistic confi- 
dence, we ordinarily put into high places. 
The world has now, without a single dis- 
senting voice, elevated Lincoln to the 
highest pedestal a statesman can attain; 



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A CHARACTER SKETCH BY ROBERT BARR. 



247 



but the world has a short memory, and it 
forgets that at the first it strove with equal 
unanimity, East and West, on the continent 
of America no less than on the continent 
of Europe, to place the label " clown " on 
his back. I saw the other day a book of 
cartoons on the great President, taken 
from American and European sources, 
which strike the modern eye as little short 
of blasphemous. However, the paste 
never got time to dry, and the label did 
not stick. 

Mr. Clemens was hardly so fortunate. 
In early life he conjured up the cap and 
bells, and the bells jingled a merry, golden 
tune. And now when he attempts to do a 
serious piece of work, the bells ring as 
they used to do in that somber play which 
Henry Irving has placed so effectively be- 
fore us. Yet Fate made some effort to 
save Mark Twain from this canorous shad- 
owing. The publishers had "The Inno- 
cents Abroad" all set up, printed, and 
bound for nearly two years, but were 
afraid to issue it, thinking it might not be 
popular, so different was it from anything 
they had ever seen before. It came forth 
at last practically under compulsion, for 
the indignant author gave them, in a tele- 
graph message, the choice of publishing 
the book or appearing before the law 
courts. They took the former alternative, 
and the instant success of the volume 
stamped Mark Twain as the humorist of 
America, if not of the world. Thus it 
comes about that all of the multitudinous 
articles which have appeared since then 
upon the writer of this book have treated 
of him entirely as the funny man, and have 
ignored the fact that he has eminent quali- 
ties which are no less worthy of consider- 
ation. 

I think I may claim with truth that I 
know Mr. Clemens somewhat intimately, 
and I have no hesitation in saying that, 
although I have as keen an appreciation 
of humor as the next man, humor is merely 
a small part of his mental equipment; per- 
haps the smallest part. You have but to 
look at the man to realize this. His face 
is the face of a Bismarck. I have always 
regarded him as the typical American, if 
there is such a person. If ever the eyes 
and the beak of the American eagle were 
placed into and on a man's face, Samuel L. 
Clemens is that man. In the first published 
description of him, written more than 
thirty years ago, Dr. Hingston says, 
"His eyes are light and twinkling." In 
the most recent article, Mr. Stead says: 
" His eyes are gray and kindly-looking." 



They are kindly-looking, for the man him- 
self is kindly, and naturally his eyes give 
some index of this, but their eagle-like, 
searching, penetrating quality seems to 
me their striking peculiarity. They are 
eyes that look into the future; that can 
read a man through and through. I 
should hate to do anything particularly 
mean and then have to meet the eyes of 
Mark Twain. I know I should be found 
out. 

It is an achievement for a man once 
labeled to meet success outside of what 
the public consider to be his line. This 
Mark Twain has done. " The Prince and 
the Pauper" is certainly one of the very 
best historical novels that ever was writ- 
ten, and if it had not appeared, some 
popular books which might be mentioned 
would not now be in existence. " Joan of 
Arc" has been hailed by several of the 
most distinguished critics of Europe as a 
distinct gain to the serious literature of 
this country. In " A Yankee at the Court 
of King Arthur" the author ran counter, 
not only to his own label, but to a labeled 
section of history. The age of Arthur has 
been labeled " sentimental," and the icono- 
clast who stirred it up with the inflexible 
crowbar of fact and showed under what 
hard and revolting conditions the ordi- 
nary man then existed, naturally brought 
upon himself the censure of the Slaves of 
the Label. But these are three books 
which, aside from their intrinsic interest, 
cause a man to think; and I hope that 
some day Mr. Clemens will turn his atten- 
tion to American history and give us a 
volume or two which will be illuminating. 

There is a popular idea that Mark Twain 
is an indolent man, but as a matter of. 
fact, I never knew one who was so indomi- 
tably industrious. As he has said to me 
on more than one occasion, no man is in- 
dolent on a subject that absorbingly con- 
cerns him, and in his writing Mark Twain 
is indefatigable, destroying more manu- 
script that does not entirely satisfy him 
than probably any other writer. His en- 
deavor is to get his sentences as perfect 
as possible when first written, and not to 
depend on after correction, either in manu- 
script or proof. In the construction of the 
sentence, in the careful selection of the 
exact word, he has the genius that con- 
sists in taking infinite pains. In theory 
he labors each day from eleven to four or 
half-past, and is content if he achieves 
1,800 words; but in practice he is apt to 
work on and on unless somebody drags 
him away from his task, so completely does 

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SAMUEL L. CLEMENS, "MARK TWAIN." 



he lose himself in what he is doing. On 
several occasions, when living near him 
on the continent of Europe, I have acted 
as his quitting-bell, and called in on him 
when it was time for him to cease work- 
ing, so that we might take our pre-ar- 
ranged walk together; but whether I inter- 
rupted him at four, or at fiv^ or at six, or 
at seven, he generally said, "Is time up 
already ? Just let me finish this sentence, 
and I'll be with you." Then, when he bad 
forgotten me, I had usually to upset a 
chair or fall over a sofa to recall myself to 
his attention. If left entirely alone, he 
would break the record as far as a day's 
work is concerned. He cannot dictate, 
nor does he use a typewriter; a fountain- 
pen is his utmost concession to modernity. 
His handwriting is as legible as print, and 
he invariably uses note paper, which he 
tears off, sheet after sheet, after about 
150 words have been written to the page. 

Mr. Clemens is a most kindly man, and 
I have been amazed at the amount of time 
he wastes in writing letters of counsel or 
encouragement to utter strangers who 
have the brazen cheek to make this or that 
demand upon his energies; but as I was. 
once one of those strangers myself, I can- 
not censure this practice with the empha- 
sis it undoubtedly deserves — I am handi- 
capped by my own guilt. As an instance 
of this, or perhaps I should say, as six in- 
stances, I now give some account of how 
he has obtained places for young men 
who desired to become journalists and 
who wrote to him invoking his ard in the 
furtherance of that ambition. 

MARK TWAIN'S " SYSTEM " FOR FINDING 
EMPLOYMENT. 

The strong common sense of Mr. Clem- 
ens must have struck every one who has 
been brought into contact with him, and 
I think the facts I here set down are proof 
of this faculty. It seems to me that his 
advice to would-be reporters is so good 
that it is a pity it should be given to indi- 
viduals rather than to the general public, 
for it applies not to journalism alone, but 
to every department of effort. At the 
time the incidents were related to me, I 
put them down in my note-book, and I 
have endeavored to reproduce them as 
nearly as may be in Mr. Clemens's own 
words. Happily there is no time before 
this article appears to submit a proof to 
him, and so I cannot guarantee absolute 
accuracy; but on the other hand, I run no 
risk of having it vetoed and thus lost to 



the world; and in apologizing to him, I 
beg to add the time-honored formula of 
journalism, that our columns are open to 
him should he desire to make any correc- 
tion. 

Mr. Clemens invented a "system" 
once; perhaps one might be allowed to 
call it a philosophy. 

It was thirty-five years ago. He and 
Jim were cabin -mates in a new silver-min- 
ing camp away off in a corner of Nevada. 
They had spent weeks in vain prospecting; 
their money was about out; they found 
themselves compelled to throw their tools 
aside for a while and hunt up a salaried 
situation of one kind or another. When 
I say " they," I mean Jim; for he was of 
powerful build and stood a chance, where- 
as his partner was feeble and stood none. 
Jim went over into the valley where the 
quartz mills were, and tried to get a situa- 
tion, but there was .not a vacancy of any 
kind. Things looked dark for them. 
They sat around many hours, gloomily 
brooding and thinking. Then necessity, 
the mother of invention, came suddenly 
and unexpectedly to the help of the weaker 
comrade. A scheme was born to Clemens, 
a scheme founded upon a common foible 
of our human nature. He believed it 
would work, but thought he would not 
expose it to criticism and almost certain 
derision until he had privately tested it. 
Clemens said to Jim: 

"Which mill would you rather have a 
situation in ?" 

" Oh, the Morning Star, of course; but 
they are full; there wasn't the least show 
there; I knew it before I went." 

"Very well, I will go and see if they 
will give me a place. When I get it I will 
turn it over to you." 

It was a sad time, but Jim almost smiled 
at the idea. He said: 

" When you get it. It was well to put 
that in. If they've no place for me, what 
do you suppose they want with an arrested 
development like you ? " 

Jim was surprised when Clemens started. 
He had not supposed that his partner was 
in earnest. 

Clemens arrived, and asked the foreman 
for work. It would have been natural for 
the foreman to laugh, but he was not the 
laughing»sort. He said promptly: 

" All full! " and was turning away, but 
the young man said: 

" I know that, but if you will let me 
tell you " — and Clemens went on and told 
him the project. He listened, a little im- 
patiently at first, then tolerantly, and 



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A CHARACTER SKETCH BY ROBERT BARR. 



249 



finally sympathetically — yes, with even a 
distinct friendliness in his eye. When the 
youth had finished, the foreman said: 

"All right, my boy. It is a queer no- 
tion, and rather unusual, I must say. Still, 
it's your own proposition, and if you are 
satisfied with it, shed your coat and be- 
gin. 

At the end of a week Clemens was back 
at the cabin, pretty well worn out. Jim 
said: 

" Why, how you look ! What have you 
been doing?" 

"Screening sand, sorting ore, feeding 
batteries, cleaning up amalgam, charging 
the pans, firing the retorts — oh, every- 
thing." 

" Is that so ? Did they give you a situ- 
ation ? " 

"Yes." 

"No!" 

" Yes " 

"What mill?" 

" The Morning Star." 

"What a lie." 

"It isn't. It's true. And I've ar- 
ranged for you to take my place Monday. 
Steady situation as long as you like. And 
you'll get wages, too. I didn't." 

The closing remark discloses the magic 
secret of Clemens' s " system," and he has 
worked the scheme many times since. 
Compressed into a sentence, the gospel of 
the system is this: Almost any man will 
give you a situation if you are willing to 
work for nothing; the salary will follow 
presently; you have only to wait a little, 
and be patient. 

This plan floated Clemens into journal- 
ism; then into book-making, and other 
diversions followed. After a while, can- 
didates for places on the daily press and 
for admission to the magazines began to 
apply to him for help. This was in 1870. 
They wanted him to use his " influence." 
It was a pleasant phrase, "influence" — 
and debauched his honesty. He could not 
bring himself to come out and acknowl- 
edge that he hadn't any, so he did what 
ail the new hands do: wrote notes of in- 
troduction and recommendation to editors, 
although he knew that the focus of an edi- 
tor's literary judgment could not be altered 
by such futilities. His notes accomplished 
nothing, so he reformed and stopped writ- 
ing: them. 

HOW THE "SYSTEM" HAS WORKED. 

But the applications did not cease. Then 
the " system " tested eight years before, in 



the mines, suggested itself, and he thought 
he would try it on these people. His first 
patient was a young stranger out West. 
He was blazingly anxious to become a jour- 
nalist, and believed he had the proper stuff 
in him for the vocation; but he said he had 
no friends and no influence, and all his 
efforts to. get work on newspapers had 
failed. He asked only the most moderate 
wages, yet he was always promptly 
snubbed, and could get no editor to listen 
to him. Clemens thought out a sermon 
for that young fellow, and in substance it 
was to this effect: — 

Your project is unfair. The physician, 
the clergyman, the lawyer, the teacher, 
the architect, the sculptor, the painter, the 
engineer, all spend years and money in 
fitting themselves for their several profes- 
sions, and none of them expects to be paid 
a penny for his services until his long ap- 
prenticeship is finished and his competency 
established. It is the same with the hum- 
bler trades. If you should go, equipped 
with your splendid ignorance, to the car- 
penter or the tinner or the shoemaker, 
and ask for a situation and wages, you 
would frighten those people; they would 
take you for a lunatic. And you would 
take me for a lunatic, if I should suggest 
that you go to them with such a propo- 
sition. Then why should you have the 
effrontery to ask an editor for employ- 
ment and wages when you have served no 
apprenticeship to the trade of writing? 
And yet you are hardly to blame, for you 
have the rest of the world with you. It is 
a common superstition that a pen is a 
thing which 

However, never mind the rest; you get 
the idea. It was probably a good enough 
sermon, but Mr. Clemens has the impres- 
sion that he did not send it. He did send 
a note, however, and it was to this ef- 
fect: 

"If you will obey my instructions 
strictly, I will get you a situation on a 
daily newspaper. You may select the 
paper yourself; also the city and State." 

This note made the receiver glad. It 
made his heart bound. You could see it 
in his answer. It was the first time he had 
run across a Simon-pure benefactor of the 
old school. He promised, on honor, and 
gratefully, that whatever the instructions 
might be, he would not swerve from 
them a hair's breadth. And he named the 
journal of his choice. He chose high, too, 
but that was a good sign. Mr. Clemens 
framed the instructions and sent them, al- 
though he had an idea that they might dis- 



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25° 



SAMUEL L. CLEMENS, "MARK TWAIN:* 



appoint the applicant a little, but nothing 
was said about that. 

Formula: (i) By a beneficent law of our 
human nature, every man is ready and 
willing to employ any young fellow who 
is honestly anxious to work — for noth- 
ing. 

(2) A man once wonted to an employee 
and satisfied with him, is loath to part with 
him and give himself the trouble of break- 
ing in a new man. 

Let us practice upon these foibles. 

Instructions; (1) You are to apply for 
work at the office of your choice. 

(2) You are to go without recommenda- 
tions. You are not to mention my name, 
nor any one's but your own. 

(3) You are to say that you want no 
pay. That all you want is work ; any kind 
of work — you make no stipulation ; you are 
ready to sweep out, point the pencils, re- 
plenish the inkstands, hold copy, tidy up, 
keep the place in order, run errands — any- 
thing and everything; you are not particu- 
lar. You are so tired of being idle that 
life is a burden to you; all you want is 
work and plenty of it. You do not want 
a pennyworth of remuneration. N. B. — 
You will get the place, whether the man 
be a generous one or a selfish one. 

(4) You must not sit around and wait 
for the staff to find work for you to do. 
You must keep watch and find it for your- 
self. When you can't find it, invent it. 
You will be popular there pretty soon, 
and the boys will do you a good turn 
whenever they can. When you are on 
the street and see a thing that is worth re- 
porting, go to the office and tell about it. 
By and by you will be allowed to put such 
things on paper yourself. In the morning 
you will notice that they have been edited, 
and a good many of your words left out — 
the very strongest and best ones, too. 
That will teach you to modify yourself. 
In due course you will drift by natural and 
sure degrees into daily and regular report- 
ing, and will find yourself on the city edi- 
tor's staff, without any one's quite know- 
ing how or when you got there. 

(5) By this time you have become nec- 
essary; possibly even indispensable. Still 
you are never to mention wages. That 
is a matter which will take care of 
itself; you must wait. By and by there 
will be a vacancy on a neighboring paper. 
You will know all the reporters in town 
by this time, and one or another of them 
will speak of you and you will be offered 
the place, at current wages. You will re- 
port this good fortune to your city editor, 



and he will offer you the same wages, and 
you will stay where you are. 

(6) Subsequently, whenever higher pay 
is offered you on another paper, you are 
not to take the place if your original em- 
ployer is willing to keep you at a like price. 

These instructions were probably not 
quite what the young fellow was expecting, 
but he kept his word, and obeyed them to 
the letter. He applied for the situation, 
and got it without trouble. He kept his 
adviser acquainted with the steps of his 
progress. He began in the general utility 
line, and moved along up. Within a month 
he was on the city editor's staff. Within 
another month he was offered a place on 
another paper — with wages. His own 
employers "called the hand," and he re- 
mained where he was. Within the next 
four years, his salary was twice raised by 
the same process. Then he was given the 
berth of chief editor on a great daily down 
South, and there he still was when Mr. 
Clemens last heard of him. 

His next patient was another stranger 
who wanted to try journalism and could 
not get an opening. He was very much 
gratified when he was told to choose his 
paper and he would be given a situation on 
it. He was less gratified when he learned 
the terms. Still he carried them out, got 
the place he wanted, and has been a re- 
porter ever since. 

The third patient followed the rules, and 
at the end of a month was made a sort of 
assistant editor of the paper, and he was 
also put under wages without his asking 
it: not high wages, for it was not a rich 
or prominent paper, but as good as he 
was worth. Six months later he 'was 
offered the chief editorship of a new daily 
in another town — a paper to be conducted 
by a chairman and directors — moneyed, 
arrogant, small-fry politicians. Mr. Clem- 
ens told him he was too meek a creature 
for the place: that he would be bundled 
out of it without apology in three months, 
and tried to persuade him to stay where he 
was and where his employment would be 
permanent; but the glory of a chief editor- 
ship was too dazzling, the salary was ex- 
travagant, and he went to his doom. He 
lasted less than three months, and was 
then hustled out with contumely. That 
was twenty years ago. His spirit was 
wounded to the death probably, for he has 
never applied for a place since, and has 
never had one of any kind. 

The fourth candidate was a stranger. 
He obeyed the rules, got the place he 
named, became a good reporter and very 



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AN INCIDENT OF 



49- 



251 



popular, was presently put under a good 
salary voluntarily, and remained at his 
post a year. Then he disappeared, greatly 
regretted. His creditors will lynch him 
when they get him. Or maybe they will 
elect him mayor; there are enough of 
them to make it unanimous. 

The fifth man followed the rules, and went 
up and up till he became chief editor, then 
down and down until he became a lawyer. 

No. 6 was a fine success. He chose his 
paper, and followed the rules strictly. In 
fifteen years he has climbed from a general 
utility youth to the top, and is now chief 
leader writer on one of the most widely 
known and successful daily journals in the 
world. He has never served any but the 
one employer. The same man pays his 
large salary to-day who took him, an un- 
known youth at nothing-and-find-himself, 
fifteen years ago. 



These are genuine cases, and Mr. Clem- 
ens stated them truthfully. There are 
others, but these are enough to show that 
the "system" is a practical one and is 
soundly based. 

And not uncomplimentarily based, for 
I think it is fair to assume that its real 
strength does not lie so much in man's 
selfish disposition to get something for 
nothing, as in his inability to rebuff with 
an ungenerous " no" a young fellow who 
is asking a wholly harmless and unexacting 
favor of him. 

Since the system has succeeded so well 
in finding openings in journalism, it may 
perhaps be trusted to open a way into 
nearly any calling in the list of indus- 
tries. So it is offered with confidence to 
young men and women who want situa- 
tions and are without friends and influ- 
ence. 



AN INCIDENT OF '49. 

By James H. Holmes. 




|N the early spring of 1849 there 
collected in camps on the Kan- 
sas River, near the Missouri 
line, men from many Western 
States, intending to take the 
overland route to California. 
I joined a small party of these, 
made up for mutual protection while cross- 
ing the Plains. One member of our com- 
pany was a young man who had left his 
Illinois home with a new, strong wagon, 
well loaded with everything deemed nec- 
essary to last him a year in the mines, and 
drawn by a pair of good horses. Of this 
team one had been a colt born and reared 
on his father's farm, and all its life the pet 
of the family. 

For many weeks our journey was a de- 
lightful pleasure trip. The vast uninhab- 
ited country was strange, beautiful, and 
majestic. The pure air and exercise were 
exhilarating. Good appetites made our 
camp fare delicious. In high spirits we 
made our westward marches day by day. 
But when we had advanced several hun- 
dred miles, the horses of the Illinoisan 
began to show marks of the journey. In 
order to relieve them he cast away, from 
time to time, some of the heavier parts of 
their load. As we neared the Rocky Moun- 
tains, he found the wagon itself grown too 



heavy for them; he therefore exchanged 
the staunch vehicle he had brought from 
home for one lighter and much easier-run- 
ning that some preceding traveler had left 
behind, and transferred most of his effects. 
Two hundred miles further on he ex- 
changed this for a yet smaller conveyance 
that he found abandoned. But before he 
reached Great Salt Lake one horse died, 
and he was compelled to leave the last 
wagon and all his goods, except what the 
surviving horse was able to carry on his 
back. This horse now was lamentably 
worn, barely a semblance of the colt that 
with gay antics had amused the owner and 
his loved ones in the old days at home. 

We came to the Great Salt Lake desert. 
Even men with stout hearts and vigorous 
bodies had perished from heat, thirst, and 
weariness, in crossing this withering 
waste; and terribly fatal had it been to the 
beasts that they had brought with them. 
The route was strewn with bleaching bones 
until they became a guide to the traveler 
and. made it impossible for him to lose his 
way. 

At one point we came upon a pile of 
iron as high as a house, gathered from 
the wagons of travelers preceding us 
whose horses had perished. In this place 
of torment, from which each passer-by hur- 

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AN INC1DEN7* OF 



'49. 



ried as he valued existence, half in pride 
of his achievement and half in sadness at 
his futile battle with dread nature, man 
after man had tarried long enough to con- 
tribute to this strange monument. 

Having first taken a long, preparatory 
rest, we started one mid-afternoon to 
cross as much of the desert as possible 
during the night. We could carry but a 
scant supply of water, and only by cover- 
ing all the distance possible while the sun 
was down could we hope to reach the water 
and grass beyond. After we entered on 
the last half of the passage, the Illinoi- 
san's second horse failed until he could 
scarcely walk. The young man took the 
light pack from the horse's back and car- 
ried it himself, and, by frequent rests and 
calls of encouragement, tried, with infinite 
patience, to get him safely over. He suc- 
ceeded in coaxing the poor animal along to 
within about six miles of the edge of the 
desert; then the horse stopped, completely 
exhausted, and no persuasion or force 



could induce him to take another step. 
He stood with his head drooped low, feet 
wide apart, scarcely a spark of life, and 
none of spirit, left in him. 

The owner was overcome with grief at 
being compelled to leave his favorite thus 
to die, and we were sad in sympathy with 
him. Himself almost exhausted, and with 
heavy heart, he trudged on through the 
deep sand. 

The approach to water after such a jour- 
ney is a scene not easily described. The 
realization that relief is near gradually 
dawns on the mind of man and beast, and 
they nerve themselves to a last effort. 
Their spirits revive, the pace increases, 
and all eyes are strained for a glimpse of 
the spot where the craved-for water is. 
We toil on for perhaps another hour. 
Then, the water coming into view, there 
begins a mad rush. The horses defy all 
efforts to guide them, and dash into the 
stream, threatening their burdens and 
themselves with destruction. Panting they 




* He sto-iJ with his h'ad drwfti /.»?*■ " 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



2 53 



stand there, and they refuse to move until 
they are satiated. 

The morning after the passage found 
us fully refreshed from water, food, and 
sleep— all but the Illinoisan; he could 
only think of his horse. So oppressive 
did the thought become to him finally, 
that he determined to go back and, if yet 
possible, give the creature one last drink. 
In his condition it appeared most unlikely 
that he could walk so far over a road 
where at each step one sank ankle-deep in 
sand, much less carry a burden of water. 
We tried earnestly to dissuade him from 
what we considered a foolhardy act, but 



nothing we could say changed his purpose. 
He borrowed a six-quart pail, filled it, and 
resolutely started. Slowly enough he 
traveled, and now and then he spilled 
some of the water; but finally he reached 
the horse. He found him standing mo- 
tionless, as he had left him; he had not 
moved a step through the whole night. 
The water was now reduced to about two 
quarts. When the horse felt his nose wet 
by it, he gave a faint whinny, then opened 
his eyes and drank. In a short time he 
revived, started, and followed his master. 
With our shouts we welcomed them into 
camp. 



REMINISCENCES OF MEN AND EVENTS OF THE 

CIVIL WAR. 

By Charles A. Dana, 
Assistant Secretary of War from 1863 to 1865. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS FROM THE WAR DEPARTMENT COLLECTION OF 

CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPHS. 

III. 

LIFE IN THE TRENCHES AT VICKSBURG AND THE MEN IN 

COMMAND. 




HE day after writing Mr. Stan- 
ton this letter* on the gen- 
erals of divisions and of 
brigades in the army which 
besieged Vicksburg, I wrote 
him a letter on the staff offi- 
cers of the various corps. 

Like its predecessor, this letter has never 

before been in print. 

Cairo, Illinois, July 13, 1863. 
Dear Sir: — In my letter of yesterday I accidentally 
omitted to notice General C. C. Washburn among the 
generals of division in Grant's army. It is true he 
has never commanded a division f nor, so far as I am 
aware, a brigade either, having generally been em- 
ployed in command of expeditions, detachments, and 

• The letter to which Mr. Dana here refers closed the 
installment of the reminiscences which appeared in the 
December number of this magazine.— Editor. 

t Mr. Dana is in error here. For several months prior to 
the siege of Vicksburg Washburn had been in command of 
the cavalry division of the military district of Eastern Ar- 
kansas, some £,300 effectives. He was a brother of Hon. 
Elihu B. Washburne, General Grant's great friend, and his 
promotion to a corps was likely, for that reason, to cause 
criticism. That is why Grant insisted that Washburn should 
earn his spurs. One of the brothers dropped the final " e " 
to the name, while the other retained it.— Leslie J. Perry. 



scattered bodies of cavalry. He is now in command 
of two of the divisions detached from the Sixteenth 
Army Corps : namely, that of Kimball and that of W. 
S. Smith ; and, as I happen to know, is anxious to 
be put in command of an army corps, for which pur- 
pose it has been suggested that a new corps might be 
created out of these two divisions, with the addition 
of that of Lauman, also detached from the Sixteenth, 
or Herron. But I understand from General Grant 
that he is not favorable to any such arrangement. 
Washburn being one of the very youngest in rank of 
his major-generals, he intends to put him in com- 
mand of a single division as soon as possible, in 
order that he may prove his fitness for higher com- 
mands by actual service and give no occasion for 
older soldiers to complain that he is promoted with- 
out regard to his merits. 

I know Washburn very well, both as a politician 
and a military man, and I say frankly that he has 
better qualities for the latter than for the former 
function. He is brave, steady, respectable ; receives 
suggestions, and weighs them carefully ; is not above 
being advised, but acts with independence neverthe- 
less. His judgment is good, and his vigilance suffi- 
cient. I have not seen him in battle, however, and 
cannot say how far he holds his mind there. I don't 
find in him, I am sorry to say, that effort to learn the 
military art which ever)' commander ought to ex- 
hibit, no matter whether he has received a military 

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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



education or not. Washburn's whole soul is not put 
into the business of arms, and for me that is an un- 
pardonable defect. But he is a good man, and 
above the average of our generals ; at least of those 
in Grant's command. 

I now come to the staff organization and staff offi- 
cers of this army, beginning, of course, with those 
connected with the head of the department. Grant's 
staff is a curious mixture of good, bad, and indiffer- 
ent. As he is neither an organizer nor a disciplina- 
rian himself, his staff is naturally a mosaic of acci- 
dental elements and family friends. It contains four 
working men, two who are able to accomplish their 
duties without much work, and several who either 
don't think of work, or who accomplish nothing, no 
matter what they undertake. 

Lieutenant-Colonel Rawlins, Grant's assistant ad- 
jutant general, is a very industrious, conscientious 
man, who never loses a moment and never gives 
himself any indulgence except swearing and scold- 
ing. He is a lawyer by profession, a townsman of 
Grant's, and has a great influence over him, espe- 
cially because he watches him day and night, and 
whenever he commits the folly of tasting liquor, 
hastens to remind him that at the beginning of the war 
he gave him (Rawlins) his word of honor not to touch 
a drop as long as it lasted. Grant thinks Rawlins a 
first-rate adjutant, but I think this is a mistake. He 
is too slow, and can't write the English language cor- 
rectly without a great deal of careful consideration. 
Indeed, illiterateness is a general characteristic of 
Grant's staff, and, in fact, of Grant's generals and 
regimental officers of all ranks. 

Major Bowers, judge-advocate of Grant's staff, is 
an excellent man, and always finds work to do. 
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilson, inspector-general, is a 
person of similar disposition. He is a captain of 
engineers in the regular army, and has rendered 
valuable services in that capacity. The fortifications 
of Haynes's Bluff were designed by him, and executed 
under his direction. His leading idea is the idea of 
duty, and he applies it vigorously, and often im- 
patiently, to others. In consequence he is unpopu- 
lar among all who like to live with little work. But 
he has remarkable talents and uncommon executive 
power, and will be heard from hereafter. 

The quartermaster's department is under charge 
of Lieutenant-Colonel Bingham, who is one of those 
I spoke of as accomplishing much with little work. 
He is an invalid almost, and I have never seen him 
when he appeared to be perfectly well ; but he is a 
man of first-rate abilities and solid character, and, 
barring physical weakness, up to even greater respon- 
sibilities than those he now bears. 

The chief commissary, Lieutenant-Colonel Mac- 
feely, is a jolly, agreeable fellow, who never seems 
to be at work ; but I have heard no complaint of de- 
ficiencies in his department. On the contrary, it 
seems to be one of the most efficacious parts of this 
great machine. 

Lieutenant-Colonel Kent, provost -marshal gen- 
eral, is a very industrious and sensible man, a 
great improvement on his predecessor, Colonel 
Hillyer, who was a family and personal friend of 
Grant's. 

There are two aides-de-camp with the rank of col- 
onel ; namely, Colonel and Colonel , 

is a worth- 
is de- 



both personal friends of Grant's. 

less, whisky-drinking, useless fellow, 
cent and gentlemanly, but neither of them is worth 
his salt, so far as service to the government goes. 
Indeed, in all my observation, I have never discov- 
ered the use of Grant's aides-de-camp at all. On 
the battlefield he sometimes sends orders by them, 
but everywhere else they are idle loafers. I sup- 



pose the army would be better off if they were all 
suppressed, especially the colonels. 

Grant has three aides with the rank of captain. 
Captain Ross is a relative of Mrs. Grant.* He has 
been a stage driver, and violates English grammar 
at every phrase. He is of some use, for he attends 
to the mails. Captain Audenried is an elegant young 
officer of the regular cavalry. He rides after the 
general when he rides out. The rest of the time he 
does nothing at all. Captain Badeau, wounded at 
Port Hudson since he was attached to Grant's staff, 
has not yet reported. I must not omit the general 
medical staff of this army. It is in bad order. Its 
head, Dr. Mills, is impracticable, earnest, quarrel- 
some. He was relieved several weeks since, but 
Grant likes him, and kept him on till the fall of 
Vicksburg. In this he was right, no doubt, for a 
change during the siege would have been trouble- 
some. The change, I presume, will now be made. 
It must be for the better. 

The office of chief of artillery on the general staff I 
had forgotten, as well as that of chief engineer. The 
former is occupied by Lieutenant-Colonel Duff of 
the Second Illinois Artillery. He is unequal to the 
position, not only because he is disqualified by sick- 
ness, but because he does not sufficiently understand 
the management of artillery. The siege suffered 
greatly from his incompetence. General Grant 
knows, of course, that he is not the right person ; but 
it is one of his weaknesses that he is unwilling to 
hurt the feelings of a friend, and so he keeps him on. 

The chief engineer, Captain Comstock, is an offi- 
cer of great merit. He has, too, what his predeces- 
sor, Captain Prime, lacked, a talent for organization. 
His accession to the army will be the source of much 
improvement. 

If General Grant had about him a staff of thoroughly 
competent men, disciplinarians and workers, the 
efficacy and fighting quality of his army would soon 
be much increased. As it is, things go too much by 
hazard and by spasms ; or, when the pinch comes. 
Grant forces through, by his own energy and main 
strength, what proper organization and proper staff 
officers would have done already. 

The staff of the Thirteenth Corps was formed by 
General McClernand. The acting adjutant-gen- 
eral, Lieutenant-Colonel Scates, is a man about 
fifty-five or sixty years old ; he was a judge in Illi- 
nois, and left an honored and influential social posi- 
tion to serve in the army. General Ord speaks in 
high terms of him as an officer. The chief of artil- 
lery, Colonel , is an ass. The chief quarter- 
master, Lieutenant-Colonel Dunlap, General Mc- 
Clernand 's father-in-law, lately resigned his 
commission. He was incompetent, and is said to 
have been dishonest. Our commission here at 
Cairo last summer reported facts that proved him 
to have been the former ; of the charges of stealing 
I know nothing. His successor has not yet been 
appointed. The chief commissary, Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel Taggart, is a fussy fellow, who, with much 
show, accomplishes but little. General McClernand's 
aides went away with him or are absent on leave. 
Not a man of them is worth having. The engineer 
on his staff, Lieutenant Hains, is an industrious and 
useful officer. The medical director, Dr. Hammond, 
had just been appointed. 

In the Fifteenth Corps staff all have to be working 
men, for Sherman tolerates no idlers and finds some- 
thing for everybody to do. If an officer proves unfit 
for his position, he shifts him to some other place. 
Thus his adjutant, Lieutenant-Colonel Hammond, a 
restless Kentuckian, kept everything in a row as 

* Mr. Dana was mistaken here : Captain Ross was a rela- 
tive of General Grant. — Editor. 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



*5S 




gsnbral Sherman's corps crossing the big black river on the night of may 17-18, 1863. 

From a drawing made by James E. Taylor at the order and under the supervision of General Sherman. (The painting now hangs In the ante* 
room of the headquarters of the army in the War Department.) In the rapid advance in pursuit of Pemberton part of Sherman's corps marched from 
Jackson to Bridgeport, 00 Big Black River, thirty-five miles by road, in a little over twenty-four hours. During the afternoon of May 17th the enemy 
was shelled out of his field-works on the opposite bank, a pontoon bridge thrown across, and by daybreak of the 18th of May the two divisions were 
over and pushing out towards Vicksburg. 



long as he remained in that office. Sherman has 
accordingly made him inspector-general, and during 
the last two months has kept him constantly em- 
ployed on scouting parties. In his place as adjutant 
is Captain Sawyer, a quiet, industrious, efficient per- 
son. The chief of artillery. Major Taylor, directed 
by Sherman's omnipresent eye and quick judgment, 
is an officer of great value, though under another 
general he might not be worth so much. The chief 
engineer, Captain Pitzman, wounded about July 
15th, is a man of merit, and his departure was a 
great loss to the regular ranks. General Sherman 
has three aides-de-camp, Captain McCoy, Captain 
Dayton, and Lieutenant Hill ; and, as I have said, 
neither of them holds a sinecure office. His medical 
director, Dr. McMillan, is a good physician, I be- 
lieve ; he has been in a constant contention with Dr. 
Mills. The quartermaster, Lieutenant Colonel J. 
C. Smith, is a most efficient officer ; he has been 
doing duty as commissary also. 

On the whole, General Sherman has a very small 
and very efficient staff ; but the efficiency comes 
mainly from him. Whpt a splendid soldier he 
is ! 

The staff of the Seventeenth Army Corps is the 
most complete, the most numerous, and in some re- 
spects the most serviceable in this army. 

The adjutant-general, Lieutenant-Colonel Clark, 
is a person of uncommon quickness, is always at 
work, and keeps everything in his department in 
first-rate order. The inspector-general, Lieutenant- 
Colonel Strong, does his duties with promptness and 
thoroughness ; his reports are models. The chief of 



artillery, Lieutenant-Colonel Powell, thoroughly un- 
derstands his business, and attends to it diligently. 
The provost-marshal general, Lieutenant-Colonel 
Wilson, is a judicious and industrious man. Both 
the quartermaster and commissary are new men, 
captains, and I do not know them ; but McPherson 
speaks highly of them. The medical director, Dr. 
Boucher, has the reputation of keeping his hospitals 
in better order and making his reports more promptly 
and satisfactorily than any other medical officer in 
this army. General McPherson has four aides-de- 
camp : Captain Steele, Captain Gile, Lieutenant 
Knox, and Lieutenant Vernay. The last of these is 
the best, and Captain Steele is next to him. The 
engineer officer. Captain Hickenlooper, is a laborious 
man, quick, watchful, but not of great capacity. 
The picket officer, Major Willard, whom I acci- 
dentally name last, is a person of unusual merit. 

In the staffs of the division and brigadier-gen- 
erals I do not now recall any officer of extraordinary 
capacity. There may be such, but I have not made 
their acquaintance- On the other hand, I have 
made the acquaintance of some who seemed quite 
unfit for their places. I must not omit, however, to 
speak here of Captain Tresilian, engineer on the 
staff of Major-General Logan. His general services 
during the siege were not conspicuous, but he de- 
serves great credit for constructing the wooden mor- 
tars which General McPherson used near its close 
with most remarkable effect. Both the idea and the 
work were Tresilian's. 

Very possibly you may not wish to go through 
this mass of details respecting so many officers of in- 



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MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



ferior grades, upon whose claims you may never be 
called to pass judgment. But if you care to read 
them here they are. 

I remain, dear sir, 

Yours, very faithfully, 

C. A. Dana. 
Mr. Stanton. 

LIFE BEHIND VICKSBURG. 

We had not been many days in the rear 
of Vicksburg before we settled into regu- 
lar habits. The men were detailed in re- 
liefs for work in the trenches, and being 
relieved at fixed hours, everybody seemed 
to lead a systematic life. 

My chief duty throughout the siege was 
a daily round through the trenches, gen- 
erally with the corps commander or some 
one of his staff. As the lines of invest- 
ment were six or seven miles long, it occu- 
pied the greater part of my day: some- 
times I made a portion of my tour of in- 
spection in the night. One night in riding 
through the trenches I must have passed 
20,000 men asleep on their arms. I still 
can see the grotesque positions into which 
they had curled themselves. The trenches 
were so protected that there was no dan- 
ger in riding through them. It was not 
so safe to venture on the hills overlooking 
Vicksburg. I went on foot and alone one 
day to the top of a hill, and was looking 
at the town, when I suddenly heard some- 
thing go whizz, whizz, by my ear. ll What 
in the world is that?" I asked myself. 
The place was so desolate that it was an 
instant before I could believe that these 
were bullets intended for me. When I came 
to understand it I immediately started to 
lie down. Then came the question, Which 
is the best way to lie down ? If I lay at 
right angles to the enemy's line the bullets 
from the right and left might strike me; 
if I lay parallel to it, then those directly 
from the front might hit me. So I con- 
cluded «it made no difference which way I 
lay. After I had remained quiet for a time 
the bullets ceased, and I left the hill-top. I 
was more cautious in the future in ventur- 
ing beyond cover. 

Through the entire siege I lived in Gen- 
eral Grant's headquarters, which were on 
a high bluff point northeast of Sherman's 
extreme left. I had a tent to myself, and 
on the whole was very comfortable. We 
never lacked an abundance of provisions. 
There was good water, enough even for 
the bath, and we suffered very little from 
excessive heat. The only serious annoy- 
ance was the cannonade from our whole 
line, which from the first of June went on 
steadily by night as well as by day. The 



following bit from a letter I wrote on June 
2d to my little daughter tells something of 
my situation: 

It is real summer weather here, and after coming 
in at noon to-day from my usual ride through the 
trenches, I was very glad to get a cold bath in my 
tent before dinner. I like living in tents very well, 
especially if you ride on horseback all day. Every 
night I sleep with one side of the tent wide open 
and the walls put up all around to get plenty of air. 
Sometimes I wake up in the night and think it is 
raining, the wind roars so in the tops of the great oak 
forest on the hillside where we are encamped ; and I 
think it is thundering till I look out and see the 
golden moonlight in all its glory, and .listen again 
and know that it is only the thunder of General 
Sherman's great guns, that neither rest nor let others 
rest by night or by day. 

Living at headquarters as I did, I soon be- 
came intimate with Grant, not only knowing 
every one of his operations while it was still 
but an idea, but studying its execution on 
the spot. Grant was an uncommon fellow 
— the most modest, the most disinterested, 
and the most honest man I ever knew, 
with a temper that nothing could disturb 
and a judgment that was judicial in its 
comprehensiveness and wisdom. Not a 
great man, except morally; not an original 
or brilliant man, but sincere, thoughtful, 
deep, and gifted with courage that never 
faltered; when the time came to risk all, 
he went in like a simple-hearted, unaf- 
fected, unpretending hero, whom no ill 
omens could deject and no triumph unduly 
exalt. A social, friendly man, too, fond 
of a pleasant joke and also ready with 
one; but, above all, fond of a long chat 
of an evening and ready to sit up with 
you all night talking in the cool breeze in 
front of his tent. Not a man of senti- 
mentality, not demonstrative in friend- 
ship, but always holding to his friends, 
and just even to the enemies he hated. 

After Grant, I spent more time at Vicks- 
burg with his assistant adjutant-general, 
Lieutenant-Colonel Rawlins, and with 
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilson, than with any- 
body else. Rawlins was one of the most 
valuable men in the army, in my judgment. 
He had but a limited education, which he 
had picked up at the neighborhood school 
and in Galena, Illinois, near which place he 
was born and where he had worked himself 
into the law; but he had a very able mind, 
clear, strong, and not subject to hysterics. 
He bossed everything at Grant's head- 
quarters. Rawlins possessed very little 
respect for persons, and his style of con- 
versation was rough ; I have heard him 
curse at Grant when, according to his 
judgment, the general was doing some- 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



257 



I 



& 



ADMIRAL DAVID DIXON I>OKTER. LOKN IN 1813 ; DIED IN 1891. 

Chester, Pennsylvania, is the birthplace of Admiral Porter. He entered the United States Navy as midshipman in 1839. serving in the Mediter- 
a and Brazilian waters and throughout the Mexican War. In the Civil War he was commander of a fleet first in the Western waters and after- 
wards in the North Atlantic. His great exploits were aiding Farragut to capture New Orleans, running the batteries at Viclcsburg. and the capture of 
Poet Fisher in January, 1865. He received four votes of thanks from Congress during the War. In 1866 he was appointed vice-admiral, and in 1870 
Admiral of the Navy. He wrote several volumes. 



thing that he thought he had better not 
do. But he was entirely devoted to his 
duty, with the clearest judgment, and 
perfectly fearless. Without him Grant 
would not have been the same man. 
Rawlins was essentially a good man, 
though he was one of the most profane 
men I ever knew; there was no guile in 
him — he was as upright and as genuine a 
character as I ever came across. 



Wilson I had first met at Milliken's 
Bend, where he was serving as chief topo- 
graphical engineer and assistant inspector- 
general of the Army of the Tennessee. 
He was a brilliant man intellectually, 
highly educated, and thoroughly com- 
panionable. We became warm friends at 
once, and were together a great deal 
throughout the war. Rarely did Wilson 
go out on a specially interesting tour 
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258 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



of inspection that he did not invite me 
to accompany him, and I never failed, 
if I were at liberty, to accept his invita- 
tions. Much of the exact information 
about the condition of the works which I 
was able to send to Mr. Stanton, Wilson 
put in my way. 

xjrant's effort to secure reenforce- 

MENTS. 

We were no sooner in position behind 
Vicksburg than Grant saw that he must 
have reinforcements. Joe Johnston was 
hovering near, working with energy to 
collect forces sufficient to warrant an at- 
tempt to relieve Vicksburg. He eventu- 
ally gathered an army behind Grant of 
about 25,000 men. This made it necessary 
to keep more troops in our rear, facing 
the other way, than could well be spared 
from siege operations, and therefore Grant 
ordered down from Tennessee, and else- 
where in his own department, all available 
forces. He also sent a personal request 
to General Banks, then before Port Hud- 
son, for reinforcements. Banks was 
Grant's senior, and commanded an inde- 
pendent department; of him Grant could 
only make a request. 

As no reply came from Banks, I started 
myself on the 30th for Port Hudson, at 
Grant's desire, to urge that the reinforce- 
ments be furnished. 

The route used for getting out from the 
rear of Vicksburg at that time was through 
the Chickasaw Bayou into the Yazoo and 
thence into the Mississippi. From the 
mouth of the Yazoo I crossed the Missis- 
sippi to Young's Point, and from there 
went overland across the peninsula to get 
a gunboat at a point south of Vicksburg. 
As we were going down the river we met 
a steamer just above Grand Gulf bearing 
one of the previous messengers whom 
Grant had sent to Banks. He was bring- 
ing word that Banks could send no forces; 
on the other hand, he asked reinforce- 
ments from Grant to aid in his siege of 
Port Hudson, which he had closely in- 
vested. This news, of course, made my 
trip unnecessary, and I returned at once to 
headquarters, having been gone not over 
twenty-four hours. 

As soon as this news came from Banks 
I sent an urgent appeal to Mr. Stanton to 
hurry forward reinforcements sufficient to 
make success beyond all peradventure. 
The government was not slow to appreciate 
Grant's needs. Early in June I received 
the following despatch from Mr. Stanton : 



War Department, June 5, 1863. 

C. A. Dana, Esq., Grant's Headquarters, near 
Vicksburg : 
Your telegrams up to the 30th have been received. 
Everything in the power of this government will be- 
put forth to aid General Graril. The emergency is 
not underrated here. Your telegrams are a great 
obligation, and are looked for with deep interest. I 
cannot thank you as much as I feel for the service 
you are now rendering. You have been appointed 
an assistant adjutant-general, with rank of major, 
with liberty to report to General Grant if he needs, 
you. The appointment may be a protection to you. 
I shall expect daily reports if possible. 

Edwin M. Stanton, 

Secretary 0/ War, 

My appointment as assistant adjutant- 
general was Stanton's own idea. He was 
by nature a very anxious man. When he 
realized from my telegrams that I was 
going every day on expeditions into 
dangerous territory he was at once 
alarmed lest I be caught by the Confed- 
erates; for as I was a private citizen, it 
would have been difficult to exchange me. 
If I were in the regular volunteer service 
as an assistant adjutant-general, however, 
there would be no trouble about an ex- 
change; hence my appointment. 

DIVERSIONS OF LIFE BEHIND VICKSBURG. 

These trips which caused Mr. Stanton 
so much anxiety were the chief variations 
from my business of watching the siege. 
Among the most interesting I made were 
those to inspect the operations against 
the enemy who was trying to shut us in 
from the rear beyond the Big Black. 
His heaviest force was to the northeast. 
On June 6th the reports from Satartia, our 
advance up the Yazoo, were so unsatis- 
factory that Grant decided to examine the 
situation there himself. That morning he 
said to me at breakfast: 

"Mr. Dana, I am going to Satartia to- 
day; would you like to go along ? " 

I said I would, and we were soon on 
horseback, riding with a cavalry guard to- 
Haynes's Bluff, where we took a small 
steamer reserved for Grant's use and car- 
rying his flag. Grant was ill, and went ta 
bed soon after he started. We had gone 
up the river to within two miles of Satartia, 
when we met two gunboats coming down. 
Seeing the General's flag, the officers in 
charge of the gunboats came aboard our 
steamer and asked where the General was 
going. I told them to Satartia. 

II Why," said they, " it will not be safe. 
Kimball [our advance was under the 
charge of Brigadier-General Nathan Kim- 
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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



2 59 



ball, Third Division, Sixteenth Army 
Corps] has retreated from there, and is 
sending all his supplies to Haynes's Bluff. 
The enemy is probably in the town now." 
I told them Grant was sick and asleep 
and that I did not want to waken him. 
They insisted that it was unsafe to go on 
and that I would better call the General, 



GENERAL PETER J. OSTERHAIS. BORN IS 1820. 

A German by birth, Osterhaus was educated for the Prussian army, in which he became an officer. He emi- 
grate d to the United States, and when the war broke out entered the service as major of Missouri volunteers, serv- 
ing with Fremont ; under Grant in the Vicksburg siege and the operations at Chattanooga ; and under Sherman 
In the Atlanta campaign, the march through Georgia, and the campaign in the Carolinas. Before the war was over 
be had been promoted to the rank of major-general. On being mustered out of the service in 1866 he was made 
United States consul at Lyons. France. 



He did not complain, but as he was short 
of officers at that point, he asked me to go 
with a party of cavalry towards Mechanics- 
burg to find if it was true, as reported, that 
Joe Johnston was advancing from Canton 
to the Big Black. We had a long hard 
ride, not getting back to Vicksburg until 
the morning^of the 8th. The country was 

like all the rest 
around Vicks- 
burg — broken, 
wooded, unpopu- 
lous, with bad 
roads and few 
streams. It still 
had many cat- 
tle, but the corn 
was pretty thor- 
oughly cleared 
out. We found 
that Johnston 
had not moved 
his main force as 
rumored, and 
that he could not 
move it without 
bringing all his 
supplies with 
him. 

Soon after this 
Sherman was or- 
dered to the 
northeast to 
watch Johnston. 
He went into 
camp on Bear 
Creek, about 
fifteen miles from 
Vicksburg. I 
went up there 
several times to 
visit him, and al- 
ways came away 
enthusiastic over 
his qualities as 
a soldier. His 
amazing activity 
and vigilance 



and finally I did so, but he was too sick to 
decide. 

" I will leave it with you, Mr. Dana," he 
said. I immediately said we would go 
back to Haynes's Bluff, which we did. 

The next morning Grant came out to 
breakfast fresh as a rose, clean shirt and 
all, quite himself. "Well, Mr. Dana," he 
said, "I suppose we are at Satartia now." 

" No, General," I said, " we are at 
Haynes's Bluff." And I told him what had 
happened. 



pervaded his en- 
tire force. The country where he had 
encamped was exceedingly favorable for 
defense; and he had occupied the com- 
manding points, opened rifle-pits wherever 
they would add to his advantage, ob- 
structed the cross roads and most of the 
direct roads also, and ascertained every 
point where the Big Black could be forded 
between the line of Benton on the north 
and the line of railroads on the south. 
By his rapid movements, also, and by thus 
\vide # ly deploying on all the ridges and 



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26o MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



open headlands, Sherman produced the the rest of the siege, in order to prevent 

impression that his forces were ten times any possible attack by Joe Johnston, the 

as numerous as they really were. He re- reports about whose movements continued 

mained in his camp on Bear Creek through to be contradictory and uncertain. 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



261 



THE FLEET ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 

Another variation in my Vicksburg life 
was visiting Admiral Porter, who com- 
manded the fleet which hemmed in the city 
on the river side. Porter was a very ac- 
tive, courageous, fresh-minded man and 
an experienced naval officer, and I enjoyed 
the visits I made to his fleet. His boats 
were pretty well scattered, for the Con- 
federates west of the Mississippi were 
pressing in and unless watched might man- 
age to cross somewhere. 

The most serious attack from the west 
during the siege was that on June 7th, 
when a force of some two thousand Con- 
federates engaged about one thousand 
negro troops defending Milliken's Bend. 
This engagement became famous from the 
conduct of the negro troops. General E. 
S. Dennis, who saw the battle, told me 
that it was the hardest fought engagement 
he had ever seen. It was fought mainly 
hand to hand. After it was over many 
men were found dead with bayonet stabs, 
and others with their skulls broken open , 
by butts of muskets. " It is impossible," 
said General Dennis, "for men to show 
greater gallantry than the negro troops in 
that fight." 

The bravery of the blacks in the battle 
at Milliken's Bend completely revolution- 
ized the sentiment of the army with re- 
gard to the employment of negro troops. 
I heard prominent officers who formerly 
in private had sneered at the idea of the 
negroes fighting express themselves after 
that as heartily in favor of it. Among 
the Confederates, however, the feeling 
was very different. All the reports which 
came to us showed that both citizens and 
soldiers on the Confederate side manifested 
great dismay at the idea of our arming ne- 
groes. They said that such a policy was 
certain to be followed by insurrection with 
all its horrors. 

PROGRESS OF THE SIEGE. 

Although Joe Johnston on the east and 
the rumors of invasion by Kirby Smith 
on the west compelled constant attention, 
the real work behind Vicksburg was always 
that of the siege. No amount of outside 
alarm loosened Grant's hold on the rebel 
stronghold. It went on steadily and effec- 
tively. By June 10th the expected re- 
enforcements began to report. Grant 
soon had 80,000 men around Vicksburg. 
The effect was marked ; we even be- 



gan to receive encouraging reports from 
within Vicksburg. Deserters said that the 
garrison was worn out and hungry; be- 
sides, the defense had for some time 
been conducted with extraordinary feeble- 
ness, which Grant thought was due either 
to the deficiency of ammunition, or ex- 
haustion and depression in the garrison, 
or to their retirement to an inner line of 
defense. 

These reports from within the town, 
as well as the progress of the siege and 
the arrival of reinforcements, pointed so 
strongly to the speedy surrender of the 
place that I asked Mr. Stanton in my de- 
spatch of June 14th to please inform me by 
telegram whether he wished me to go to 
General Rosecrans after the fall of Vicks- 
burg or whether he had other orders for 
me. 

VICKSBURG WAKES UP. 

The next day after this letter, however, 
the enemy laid aside his long-standing in- 
activity and opened violently with both 
artillery and musketry. Two mortars 
.which the Confederates got into operation 
that day particularly interested our gen- 
erals. I remember going with a party of 
some twenty officers, including Sherman, 
McPherson, and Wilson, to the brow 
of a hill on McPherson's front to watch 
this battery with our field glasses. From 
where we were we could study the whole 
operation. We saw the shell start from 
the mortar, sail slowly through the air 
towards us, fall to the ground and explode, 
digging out a hole which looked like a 
crater. I remember one of these craters 
which must have been nine feet in di- 
ameter. As you watched a shell coming 
you could not tell whether it would fall a 
thousand feet away or by your side. Yet 
nobody budged. The men sat there on 
their horses, their reins loose, studying 
and discussing the work of the batteries, 
apparently indifferent to the danger. It 
was very interesting as a study of human 
steadiness. 



THE ARTILLERY ASSAULT OF JUNE 3OTH. 

By the middle of June our lines were so 
near the enemy's on Sherman's and Mc- 
Pherson's front that General Grant began 
to consider another general assault. The 
chief difficulty in the way was that Mc- 
Clernand's lines were too backward. This 
obstacle was soon removed, for on the 
18th of June McClernand was relieved 
and General Ord put into his place. The 



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262 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



immediate cause of McClernand's re- 
moval was a congratulatory address to the 
Thirteenth Army Corps which he had ful- 
minated in May, and which first reached the 
besieging army in a copy of the Missouri 
" Democrat. " In this address McCler- 
nand claimed for himself most of the 
glory of the campaign, reaffirmed that on 
May 22d he had held two rebel forts for 
several hours, and imputed to other offi- 
cers and troops failure to support him in 
their possession, which must have resulted 
in the capture of the town, etc. Though 
this congratulatory address was the occa- 
sion of McClernand's removal, it was not 
the cause of it. That dated further back. 
The cause, as I understood it at the time, 
was his repeated disobedience of impor- 
tant orders, his general unfortunate men- 
tal disposition, and his palpable incompe- 



tence for the duties of his position. I 
learned in private conversation that in 
General Grant's judgment it was necessary 
that McClernand should be removed for 
the reason, above all, that his bad relations 
with other corps commanders, especially 
Sherman and McPherson, rendered it im- 
possible that the chief command of the 
army should devolve upon him as the senior 
major-general, as it would have done were 
General Grant disabled, without some per- 
nicious consequence to the cause. 

Two days after McClernand's removal 
Grant began, at four o'clock in the morn- 
ing, an artillery attack in which about 200 
cannon were engaged. The assault lasted 
about six hours, but accomplished almost 
nothing. During the firing no Confeder- 
ates were visible, nor was any reply made 
to our artillery. Their musketry fire also 
amounted to nothing. 
Of course, some dam- 
age was done to the 
buildings of the town 
by our concentrated can- 
nonade, but we could 
not tell whether their 
mills, foundry, or store- 
houses were destroyed. 
Their rifle-pitsand earth- 
works were, of course, 
little injured. 



GENERAL JOHN A. RAWI.INS. BORN IN 1831 ; DIED IN 1869. 

Grant first knew Rawlins at Galena, Illinois, near which place the latter was born and where 
he had raised himself, in spite of poverty, to the rank of a respectable lawyer. He was a Douglas 
Democrat and a strong Union man. When Gtant was promoted to brigadier-general he asked 
Rawlins to become a member of his staff, with the rank of captain. Rawlins joined Grant in Sep- 
tember, 1861, at Cairo, became his assistant adjutant-general, and finally his chief of staff, remain- 
ing with him to the end. He was promoted to brigadier-general August 11. 1863, and brigadier- 
general and chief of staff of the United States Army March 5. 1865. Grant, as President, made him 
Secretary of War March n. 1869. He died September 6, 1869. 



Mcpherson springs a 
mine. 

After the artillery at- 
tack on the 20th, the 
next exciting incident 
of the siege was the 
springing of a mine by 
McPherson. Directly 
in front of his position 
the enemy had a great 
fort which was regarded 
as the key of their line. 
As soon as McPherson 
had gotten into position 
behind Vicksburg, he 
had begun to run trench- 
es towards this fort, 
under which he subse- 
quently tunneled, hoping 
that by an explosion 
he would open it to our 
occupation. After a 
month's labor he had 
his mine ready and 
charged with 1,200 
pounds of gunpowder. 
About four o'clock of 



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CHARLES A. DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



263 



the afternoon of June 25th the mine was 
sprung. The explosion was terrific, form- 
ing a crater fully thirty-five feet in diam- 
eter; but it did not open the fort. There 
still remained between the new ground 
which we had won by the explosion and 
the fort an ascent so steep that an assault 
was practically impossible. From this 
point a desperate at- 
tempt was made, 
however, to gain 
ground which would 
be of practical value. 
The fight was kept 
up with fury for sev- 
eral days, but we 
were never able 
either to plant a bat- 
tery or open a rifle- 
pit there. 

Eventually Mc- 
Pherson completed a 
new mine, which he 
exploded qn the first 
day of July. Many 
Confederates were 
killed, and six were 
thrown over into our 
lines by the explo- 
sion. They were all 
dead but one, a ne- 
gro, who got well 
and joined our army. 
McPherson did not, 
however, get posses- 
sion of the place 
through this mine, as 
he had hoped. 

APATHY AMONG THE 
BESIEGERS. 




Little advance- 
ment was made in the 
siege after McPher- 
son sprang his first 
mine on the 25th of 
June, except in time, 
and to hold the lines 

of investment. Several things conspired to 
produce inactivity and a sort of listlessness 
among the various commands — the heat of 
the weather; the unexpected length of 
the siege; the endurance of the defense; 
the absence of any thorough organization 
of the engineer department; and, above 
all, the well-grounded general belief of 
our officers and men that the town must 
presently fall through starvation, without 
any special effort or sacrifice. This be- 
lief was founded on the reports from 



GENERAL JAMBS HARRISON WILSON. BORN IN 1837. 

General Wilson was born in Shawneetown, Illinois. He 
graduated from West Point in i860, and was assigned to the topo- 
graphical engineers. He served from the beginning to the end 
of the Civil War, taking part in the Port Royal expedition, the 
bombardment of Fort Pulaski, the battles of South Mountain and 
Antietam, the siege of Vicksburg, the operations at Chattanooga, 
the calvary raids in Virginia in 1864, the Shenandoah campaign 
in the foil of 1864, and Sherman's march north from Atlanta. In 
the spring of 1865 he conducted a cavalry expedition through 
Alabama and Georgia, capturing five fortified cities and nearly 
7,000 prisoners, among whom was Jefferson Davis. For his ser- 
vices he was commissioned lieutenant-colonel and brevetted 
major-general in the regular army. In 1870 he was honorably 
discharged from the army at his own request. He is the author 
of several books, among them a " Life of General V. S. Grant," 
written in conjunction with Charles A. Dana. 



within W.ksburg. Every new party of 
deserters which reached us agreed that the 
provisions of the place were near the 
point of total exhaustion, that rations had 
been reduced lower than ever, that extreme 
dissatisfaction existed among the garrison; 
and it was generally expected — indeed, 
there was a sort of conviction — on all 
hands that the city 
would be surrendered 
on Saturday, July 
4th, if, in fact, it 
could hold out as 
long as that. 

The general indis- 
position of our troops 
to prosecute the siege 
zealously, and the 
evident determina- 
tion on the part of 
the enemy to hold out 
until the last, caused 
General Grant to 
hold a council of war 
on the morning of 
June 30th, to take 
judgment on the 
question of trying 
another general as- 
sault, or leaving the 
result to the exhaus- 
tion of the garrison. 
The conclusion of 
the council was in 
favor of the latter 
policy; but two days 
later, July 2d, Grant 
told me that if the 
enemy did not give 
up Vicksburg by the 
6th, he should storm 
it. 

PEMBERTON ASKS FOR 
AN INTERVIEW. 



Happily, there was 
no need to wait until 
the 6th. The gen- 
eral expectation that something would 
happen by July 4th was about to be con- 
firmed. On the morning of Friday, July 
3d, a man appeared on the Confederate 
line, in McPherson's front, bearing a flag 
of truce. General A. J. Smith was sent to 
meet the man, who proved to be an officer, 
General J. S. Bowen. He bore a letter 
from Pemberton addressed to Grant. The 
letter was taken to headquarters, where it 
was read by the general, and its contents 
made known to the staff. It was a request 



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264 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR, 



for an armistice to arrange terms for the 
capitulation of Vicksburg. To this end 
Pemberton asked that three commissioners 
be appointed to meet a like number to be 
named by himself. Grant immediately 
wrote a reply: 

"The useless effusion of blood you propose stop- 
ping by this course can be ended at any time you 
may choose by an unconditional surrender of the city 
and garrison. Men who have shown so much en- 
durance and courage as those now in Vicksburg will 
always challenge the respect of an adversary, and I 
can assure you will be treated with all the respect due 
to prisoners of war. 

" I do not favor the proposition of appointing com- 
missioners to arrange terms of capitulation, because 
I have no terms other than those indicated above." 

Bowen, the bearer of Pemberton's letter, 
who had been received by A. J. Smith, ex- 
pressed a strong desire to converse with 
General Grant. While declining this, 
Grant requested Smith to say to Bowen 
that if General Pemberton desired to see 
him an interview would be granted be- 
tween the lines, in McPherson's front, at 
any hour in the afternoon which Pember- 
ton might appoint. After Bo wen's depart- 
ure a message was soon sent back to 
Smith accepting the proposal for an inter- 
view and appointing three o'clock as the 
hour. Grant was there with his staff and 
with Generals Ord, McPherson, Logan, 
and A. J. Smith. Sherman was not pres- 
ent, being with his command, watching 
Joe Johnston, and ready to spring upon 
the latter as soon as Pemberton was cap- 
tured. Pemberton came late, attended 
by General Bowen and Colonel (L. M.) 
Montgomery. 

It must have been a bitter moment for 
the Confederate chieftain. Pemberton was 
a Northern man, a Pennsylvanian by birth, 
from which State he was appointed to West 
Point, graduating in 1837. In the old 
army he fell under the spell of Jefferson 
Davis's influence, whose close friend he 
was. Davis appears to have thought 
Pemberton was a military genius, for he 
was jumped almost at a stroke, without 
much previous service, to be a lieutenant- 
general, and the defense of the Mississippi 
River given over to his charge. His dis- 
positions throughout the entire campaign, 
after Grant crossed at Bruinsburg, were 
weak, and he was easily overcome, al- 
though his troops fought well. As Joe 
Johnston truthfully remarks in his " Nar- 
rative," Pemberton did not understand 
Grant's warfare at all. Penned up, and 
finally compelled to surrender a vital post 
and a great army to his conqueror, an al- 



most irremediable disaster to his cause, 
Pemberton not only suffered the usual 
pangs of defeat, but he was doubly humili- 
ated with the knowledge that he would be 
suspected and accused of treachery by 
his adopted brethren, and that the result 
would be used by the enemies of Davis, 
whose favorite he was, to undermine the 
Confederate administration. As it tran- 
spired, it was indeed a great blow to 
Davis's hold upon the people of the South. 
These things must have passed through 
Pemberton's mind as he faced Grant for 
this final settlement of the fate of Vicks- 
burg. 

The conversation was held apart be- 
tween Pemberton and his two officers and 
Grant, McPherson, and A. J. Smith, the 
rest of us being seated on the ground 
near by. 

We could, however, see that Pemberton 
was much excited and was impatient in 
his answers to Grant. He insisted that 
his army be paroled and allowed to march 
beyond our lines, officers and all, with 
eight days' rations drawn from their own 
stores, officers to retain their private prop- 
erty and body servants. Grant heard 
what he had to say, and left him at the 
end of an hour and a half, saying that he 
would send in his ultimatum in writing be- 
fore evening; to which Pemberton prom- 
ised to reply before night, hostilities to 
cease in the meantime. Grant then con- 
ferred at his headquarters with his corps 
and division commanders, all of whom 
except Steele, who advised unconditional 
surrender, favored a plan proposed by 
McPherson, to release on parole the en- 
tire garrison, which Grant finally adopted. 
The argument against the plan was one of 
feeling only. In its favor was urged that 
it would at once not only tend to the demor- 
alization of the enemy, but release Grant's 
whole army for offensive operations against 
Joe Johnston and Port Hudson; while to 
guard and transport so many prisoners 
would require a great portion of its 
strength. Keeping them would also ab- 
sorb all our steamboat transportation, 
while paroling them would leave it free to 
move our troops. Paroling would other- 
wise save us an enormous expenditure. 

After long consideration, General Grant 
reluctantly gave way to these reasons, 
and at six p.m. sent a letter by the hands of 
General Logan and Lieutenant-Colonel 
Wilson, in which he stated as terms that, as 
soon as rolls could be made out and pa- 
roles signed by officers and men, Pember- 
ton would be allowed to march out of our 



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CHARLES A, DANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



265 



lines, the officers taking with them their 
side-arms and clothing, and the field, 
staff, and cavalry officers one horse each. 
The rank and file were to be allowed all 
their clothing, but no other property. If 
these conditions were accepted, any amount 
of rations deemed necessary was to be 
taken from the stores they had, and also 
the necessary cooking utensils for prepar- 
ing them. Thirty wagons also, counting 
two two-horse or mule teams as one, were 
to be allowed to transport such articles as 
could not be carried along. The same 
conditions were allowed to all sick and 
wounded officers and soldiers as fast as 
they became able to travel. 

The officer who received this letter said 
that it would be impossible to answer it by 
night, and it was not till a little before 
peep of day that the proposed reply was 
furnished. In the main the terms were 
accepted, but Pemberton proposed as 
amendments: 

** At ten a.m. to-morrow I propose to evacuate the 
works in and around Vicksburg, and to surrender 
the city and garrison under my command, by march- 
ing out with my colors and arms, stacking them in 
front of my present lines, after which you will take 
possession ; officers to retain their side-arms and per- 
sonal property, and the rights and property of citi- 
zens to be respected." 

General Grant in his reply said: 

** I can make no stipulations with regard to the 
treatment of citizens and their private property. 
. . The property which officers will be allowed 
to take with them will be as stated in my proposition 
of last evening. ... If you mean by your 
proposition for each brigade to march to the front 
of the line now occupied by it, and stack arms at ten 
A. M. , and then return to the inside and there remain 
as prisoners until properly paroled, I will make no 
objection to it. 

41 Should no notification be received of your ac- 
ceptance of my terms by nine a.m., I shall regard 
them as having been rejected, and shall act accord- 
ingly." 

The answer came back promptly: " The 
terms proposed by you are accepted." 

4TH OF JULY, 1863, AT VICKSBURG. 

We had a glorious celebration that day. 
Pemberton's note had been received just 
after daylight, and at the appointed hour 
of ten o'clock the surrender was consum- 
mated. I rode into Vicksburg at the side 
of the conqueror, and afterward perambu- 
lated among the conquered. The rebel 
soldiers were generally more contented 
even than we. Now they were going 
home, they said. They had had enough of 
the war. The cause of the Confederacy 
was lost. They wanted to take the oath 



of allegiance, many of them. I was not 
surprised to learn a month later that of 
the twenty odd thousand well men who 
were paroled at Vicksburg the greater 
part had since dispersed; and I felt sure 
they could never be got to serve again. 
The officers, on the other hand, all de- 
clared their determination never to give 
in. They had mostly on that day the 
look of men who have been crying all 
night. One major who commanded a regi- 
ment from Missouri burst into tears as he 
followed his disarmed men back into their 
lines after they had surrendered their col- 
ors and their guns in front of them. 

I found the buildings of Vicksburg in a 
better condition than I had expected. 
Still, there were a good many people living 
in caves dug in the banks. Naturally the 
shells did less damage to these vaults 
than to dwellings. At the end of the 
first week after our entrance 66,000 stand 
of small arms had been collected, mainly 
in good condition, and more were con- 
stantly being discovered. They were con- 
cealed in caves, as well as in all sorts 
of buildings. The siege and sea-coast 
guns found exceeded sixty, and the whole 
captured artillery was above 200 pieces. 
The stores of rebel ammunition also proved 
to be surprisingly heavy. As Grant ex- 
pressed it, there was enough to have kept 
up the defense for six years at the rate 
they were using it. The stock of army 
clothing was officially invoiced at $5,000,- 
000 — Confederate prices. Of sugar, mo- 
lasses, and salt there was a large quantity, 
and 60,000 pounds of bacon were found 
in one place. 

The day after we entered the town (July 
5th) I wrote Mr. Stanton a long telegram, 
describing the surrender and giving him 
all the important facts I had gathered con- 
cerning the condition of things in Vicks- 
burg, and at the same time telling him 
Grant's plans. The telegram, for some 
reason, has never found its way into the 
War Records, so that I give it here in full: 



Office of U. S. Military Telegraph, War 
Department. 

The following telegram received at Washington, 
10 a.m., July 11, 1S63. 

From Vicksburg, Miss., ii p.m. 
Dated July 5, 1863. 
Hon. E. M. Stanton : 

The surrender was quietly consummated yesterday 
morning at the appointed hour of ten o'clock. The 
rebel troops marched out and stacked arms in front 
of their works, while General Pemberton appeared for 
a moment with his staff upon the parapet of the cen- 
tral fort. The occupation of the place by our forces 

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266 



MEN AND EVENTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



was directed by General McPherson, who had been 
appointed to command here ; Logan being assigned 
to command the post under him. The divisions of 
Logan, J. E. Smith, and Herron now garrison the line 
of fortifications and furnish guards for the interior of 
the city. No troops remain outside ; everything 
quiet here. Grant entered the city at eleven 
o'clock, and was received by Pemberton with more 
marked impertinence than at their former interview. 
He bore it like a philosopher, and in reply treated 
Pemberton with even gentler courtesy and dignity 
than before. 

Of the number of prisoners we have as yet no 
precise information. Major Lockett, Pemberton's 
chief of engineers, reported it unofficially yester- 
day at twenty-seven thousand ; but to-day, when 
the rebel brigadiers brought in their requisitions 
for food — which they did, notwithstanding Pem- 
berton's clause in the capitulation that he should 
draw eight days' supplies from his own stores — 
the aggregate of the men for whom they thus 
drew rations was a little over thirty thousand. Mc- 
Pherson issued to them five rations per man, all they 
are to have. No citizens have yet applied for ra- 
tions. The paroling is being pushed with all possi- 
ble rapidity, and will doubtless be completed by the 
close of day after to-morrow. Among the officers 
already paroled are nineteen generals, with their 
staffs, including one lieutenant and four major-gen- 
erals. Large numbers of the men express a warm de- 
sire to take the oath of allegiance, and it is certain that 
their officers will find it difficult to march them to 
their camps east of the Tombigbee. They have fifty- 
four hundred men on their sick lists ; of these 
twenty-five hundred must be left behind here. 
Their losses during the siege are estimated by Judge 
Hamilton, an intelligent citizen of the place, at six 
thousand. Grant intends that they shall move 
from here to the Big Black by the Baldwin's Ferry 
road. Of course he will put no guards over them 
after they are out of the city. Pemberton having 
complained that the thirty wagons agreed upon in 
the capitulation were not enough, Grant has told him 
to take fifty. The universal testimony of the rebel 
officers is that their conscript soldiers have been 
worthless to them. 

The official return of the field artillery surrendered 
makes it one hundred including many \ rench, Span- 
ish, and Austrian guns and two pieces [word omit- 
ted]. No report of siege and sea-coast guns has 
been made. Their number is from thirty to fifty. 
Neither do we yet know what quantity of ammuni- 
tion the rebels had remaining, but some of their offi- 
cers say they had only twenty rounds per man and 
per cannon. Captain Comstock, Grant's chief en- 
gineer, to-day visited the fortifications. He reports 
them as simple field works, but of considerable 
strength from the natural conformation of the ground 
— with one single exception the forts are all open at 
the gorge. Grant has ordered Comstock to find, if 
possible, a shorter line ; but he reports that no line 
can be found which can be defended by a smaller 
force than the present. He says that this line can 



be repaired and strengthened so that five thousand 
men can hold it against twenty thousand. 

This he will at once proceed to do, as also to ob- 
literate the siege approach on which we have worked 
so hard and so long. The buildings of the town are 
much less damaged than we had expected. There 
is a considerable supply of railroad carriages here, 
with one or two locomotives in working condition. 
Orders have been given instantly to put the railroad 
in repair as far as the Big Black, and it will be ready 
to transport supplies to Sherman before to-morrow 
night. Of Johnston's movements we have no posi- 
tive intelligence, except the report just brought in that 
Breckinridge's wagon train has started from Bolton 
under orders to go east of Pearl River. 

Sherman is moving after Johnston with the utmost 
speed practicable. His bridges were laid on the 
afternoon of the 3d, and his forces started yester- 
day, as soon as Pemberton finally accepted Grant's 
ultimatum. Part of Ord's corps is also already 
across the Big Black, and Steele s division must be 
ready to cross at daylight to-morrow, though we 
have reports that the marching of the last of Steele 
and Ord from here was not completed till this fore- 
noon. The Ninth Army Corps has moved forward 
towards Bear Creek, from its previous position in front 
of Haynes's Bluffs, but will not go further unless Sher- 
man finds that he can compel Johnston to a general 
engagement. This is not now expected. It is sup- 
posed that Johnston is moving east and has the bulk 
of his forces already out of our way. This Sherman 
will ascertain positively by to-morrow or next, day, 
and in that event the Ninth Corps will instantly re- 
turn to Kentucky. The steamers are now waiting 
for them ; meanwhile it is hardly possible that Sher- 
man can fail to cut off some portion of Johnston's 
army and trains. 

Grant yesterday evening sent a message to Banks 
to know if he still needs reinforcements. Another 
messenger was sent on the 1st inst. on the same 
business, and should be back here to-night. If 
Banks requires it, Herron's division will at once be 
sent to him, to be followed by as many other troops 
as may be necessary. As soon as the prisoners here 
are out of the way, an expedition will be sent to the 
Tensas, under Logan, to clear out the rebel troops 
there, chastise their people for the share in the recent 
raids on the Mississippi, and bring away the negroes 
and cattle. Grant designs to organize for the per- 
manent garrison of Vicksburg one or two negro regi- 
ments of heavy artillery ; for these he will ask the 
privilege of himself nominating the officers. 

General Grant, being himself intensely occupied, 
desires me to say that he would like to receive from 
General Hal leek as soon as practicable cither general 
or specific instructions as to the future conduct .of the 
war in his department. He has no idea of going into 
summer quarters, nor does he doubt his ability to em- 
ploy his army so as to make its blows tell towards 
the Great Result ; but he would like to be informed 
whether the government wishes him to follow his own 
judgment or to cooperate in some particular scheme 
of operations. C. A. Dana. 



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VESPERTINA QUIES. 
From a copyright photograph by Frederick Hollyer, London, after the painting by Sir Edward Burne-Jones. 



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SAIRY SPENCER'S REVOLT. 



By Carrie Blake Morcan. 



ABRAHAM SPENCER came up the 
lane from the fields, carrying his 
discolored old straw hat in one hand and 
mopping his face with a red cotton hand- 
kerchief. He walked stiffly and slightly 
bent forward from the hips, as do most 
hard-working men who have passed the 
half-century mark, but he set his heavily- 
shod feet down with a firmness that be- 
spoke considerable physical vigor as well 
as mental decision. 

He scanned the house sharply as he ap- 
proached, and his shaggy brows were 
drawn almost together in a frown. It 
was the middle of a sultry August after- 
noon, yet the doors and windows were all 
closed and the green hoi land blinds 
were drawn down. He tried the back 
door and found it fast, and though he 
pounded on it with his horny knuckles, 
there was no response save a startled 
" cuk, cuk, cuk! " from an old hen with a 
brood of downy chicks wallowing in the 
dust beside the steps. 

" Now this is mighty strange," he mut- 
tered, perplexedly. "I wouldn't 've 
thought Sairy 'd go away from home this 
way all of a sudden. She didn't say a 
word about it at noontime. She's never 
done such a thing before, as I know of." 

He stood still for a little while, medi- 
tatively rubbing his thumbs and forefin- 
gers together while he pondered the un- 
precedented situation. 

" Couldn't be asleep, I reckon," he 
conjectured. " Never knowed her to sleep 
in daytime." 

Nevertheless, he came down the steps 
and went around the house to a chamber 
window, where he parted a tangle of hop 
vines and rapped sharply on the sash. 

"Sairy!" he called. "Sairy! are you 
to home ? " 

There was a slight sound from within, 
as of a creaking board beneath a careful 
footstep, then a shade was lifted at one 
side, and a thin, startled, elderly face 
looked out. 

"What on earth's the matter, Sairy? 
What's the house all shut up like a jail 
for?" demanded Abraham Spencer, in a 
high-pitched, irascible tone. " Don't you 
know the Rhynearsons 've been here 



and gone away again ? " he went on. 44 1 
saw 'em from the north medder, and I've 
come clear home to see what's the matter. 
Was you asleep ? Didn't you hear 'em 
knock ? " 

Mrs. Spencer rolled up the shade, and 
lifted the sash with hands that trembled. 

"Come, now, speak up quick," added 
her husband, impatiently, " for I'm goin' 
after 'em and bring 'em back, and I want 
to know what to tell 'em." 

" No, no, Abra'm, don't go after 'em." 
Mrs. Spencer dropped on her knees and 
leaned her arms wearily on the window sill. 
She spoke pleadingly, and there were tears 
in her voice as well as in her eyes. " Oh, 
Abra'm, I kep' 'em out a-purpose. " 

"You — what?" Abraham Spencer's 
tone implied that he was forced to doubt 
the evidence of the ears that had served 
him well for nearly threescore years. 

" I kep' 'em out a-purpose. I knowed 
you'd be mad, but I couldn't help it. I'm 
just too mortal tired and miser'ble to care 
what becomes of me. I ain't able to get 
supper for you and the hands, let alone 
all that Rhynearson gang. I've worked 
so hard to-day, and I didn't sleep much 
last night for my rheumatiz. I'm gettin' 
old fast, and breakin' down, Abra'm. I 
can't hold out much longer if I don't slack 
up a little on hard work." 

"Well, why in thunder don't you slack 
up, then ? What's to hinder you from 
goin' to bed after breakfast and stayin' 
there till dinner time ? " 

" Now, Abra'm, that's what you always 
say, and it's so unreasonable. Who'd do 
the work if I went to bed ? Who'd feed 
the chickens and pigs, and milk the cows, 
and churn the butter, and clean the vege- 
tables, and bake the bread and pies, and 
keep the whole house in order ? You'd 
come out slim if I went to bed, Abra'm." 

" Well, slim or no slim, I want you 
to either go to bed or else shut up your 
complainin'." 

" Now, Abra'm, if you only would be a 
little reasonable. All I ask is that you 
let me slack up a little bit in ways that I 
can. There ain't no sense in us havin' so 
muchcomp'ny, now, since the girls are mar- 
ried and gone. Comp'ny makes so much 

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SAIRY SPENCER'S REVOLT, 



269 



hard work, 'specially town comp'ny. 
Them high-flyin' town folks don't care a 
snap for us, Abra'm. They just like to 
be cooked for and waited on, and kep' 
over night and over Sunday, and fed on 
the best of everything, from spring chicken 
to watermelons. Now, them Rhynear- 
sons " 

44 Them Rynearsons 're my friends," 
sternly interposed Abraham Spencer; 
44 and so long's I have a roof over my head 
my friends 're welcome under it. I 
wouldn't 've b'lieved such a thing of you, 
Sairy. I hain't any doubt you're tired. 
I'm tired myself, most of the time; but I 
don't make that an excuse for slightin' my 
friends." 

"But you don't have to cook for 'em 
and wait on 'em, Abra'm, when you're so 
tired and worn out that you can't hardly 
drag one foot after the other, and " 

44 Don't begin that old tune all over 
again. I've heard it a many a time 
already. You're gettin' so you're always 
complainin', and if there's anything I hate 
it's a naggin' woman. Now, understand, 
I'm goin' after the Rhynearsons; I'm 
goin' to make 'em come back if I can. Am 
I to say you was away from home or 
asleep, or what ? It won't do for me to 
tell 'em one thing and you another; so just 
tell me what to say, and be quick about 
it." 

44 Tell 'em anything you like, Abra'm, I 
don't care what. All I ask of you, if 
you're bound to go after 'em, is that you'll 
stop at Selwood's and get Sophrony to 
come over and do the work while they're 
here." 

44 What, hire her?" 

44 Why, of course. You wouldn't ask 
a poor girl like Sophrony to work for you 
for nothin', I reckon ? " 

44 My land, Sairy, how often 've I got 
to tell you I can't afford to pay out money 
for help in the house ? If you once be- 
gin it you'll be always wantin' help, and 
there's no sense in it. Why, there was 
my mother " 

Mrs. Spencer staggered to her feet. 
She was a tall, stoop-shouldered, weak- 
chested woman; her scant hair was iron- 
gray ; her hands were hardened and 
swelled at the joints with years of toil; 
and her face was deep-lined and sallow. 
Just now it was as near white as it could 
be, and a sudden hunted, desperate look 
bad come into it, a look that stopped the 
words on her husband's lips. He broke 
off abruptly, and looked at her in stern 
surprise and displeasure. 



44 1 never knowed you to act up so 
cranky, Sairy. I can't see what's gettin' 
into you. Now, I've got no time to fool 
away. I'll tell Mis' Rhynearson you was 
asleep and didn't hear 'em knock, shall 
I? " 

44 Tell her anything you like," was the 
reply, in a strange, still voice, that suited 
the look in her face. 4< I won't contradict 
you." 

44 But how do you know you won't ? We 
ought to have a clear understandin'. What 
you goin' to tell Mis' Rhynearson when 
she asks you where you was ? " 

44 She won't ask me." 

41 Well, now, I'd like to know how you 
know she won't ?" 

14 Because I'm not goin' to give her a 
chance." 

The window sash slid down to the sill, 
and the shade dropped back to its place. 
Abraham Spencer let go the hop vines and 
watched them cluster together again, with 
a slightly dazed look in his deep-set gray 
eyes. 

41 Now, what in blazes can she 've meant 
by that last?" he meditated, uneasily. 
Then his flat, straight-cut lips closed in a 
hard line, and he added, as he turned 
shortly away: " But I ain't agoin' to ask 
her. When a man can't be master in his 
own house, it's time for him to burn it 
down or blow his brains out." 

Mrs. Spencer heard his heavy heels re- 
sounding on the hard-beaten path as he 
went around the house, and each relent- 
less step seemed to grind its way into her 
quivering nerves. Ordinarily she would 
have taken timid note of his movements 
at the edge of a window shade, for her 
husband's anger had always been a dread- 
ful thing to her. But now she opened the 
outer door and stood there, watching, 
while he brought a horse and wagon out 
of the barn and drove rapidly away. 
When he had passed out of sight she ex- 
claimed bitterly: 

44 I'll not stand it! I'll hide myself! 
I'll get out of this before he gets back 
with that gang, if I drop dead in my 
tracks! " 

As a first and very womanish step in the 
execution of her resolve she sat down on 
the doorstep and cried. Her meager frame 
shook with dry, convulsive sobs, such as 
are born of worn-out nerves, aching mus- 
cles, a lonely heart, and a starved soul. 

She did not heed approaching footsteps, 
and scarcely started when a neighbor 
paused at the foot of the steps and spoke 
to her. 

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SAIRY SPENCER'S REVOLT. 



" Why, Mis' Spencer, what's the matter ? 
I hope nothin's gone wrong ? " 

Mrs. Spencer's sobs ceased, and her face 
hardened, as she met the woman's inquir- 
ing eyes. 

41 It ain't nothin' that I want to talk 
about, Mis' Howard. I've about got to 
the end of my rope, that's all. I'm tired 
of livin', and wish to heaven I was dead 
this minute." 

Mrs. Howard held up her hands. 

41 Don't say that, Mis' Spencer," she 
remonstrated. " Now, I don't know what's 
gone wrong, and I hain't the least notion 
of tryin' to find out; I only beg of you 
not to wish you was dead. It's such a 
fearful wish. We don't any of us know 
what death is." 

"We all know it's rest, and that's all 
I care to know," said Mrs. Spencer. She 
leaned her chin on her hands, her elbows 
on her knees, and gazed into vacancy with 
red-rimmed, unlovely eyes. 

11 No, we don't even know that," said 
Mrs. Howard, with impressive earnest- 
ness. "That's just one of the things 
we've been taught, and we like to think 
it's so. We don't know the first thing 
about death, Mis' Spencer, except that it 
turns us cold and stiff and fits us for the 
grave. We don't any of us know what 
goes with the livin', thinkin', sufferin' part 
of us. Sometimes I think maybe it stays 
with us in the grave, so that we hear and 
know things, same as when we was livin'. 
I shouldn't wonder if we could lay in our 
graves and hear the birds singin', and the 
rain fallin', and feel the sun shinin' above 
us. Now, s'posin* you was in your grave, 
out there in the little buryin' ground in 
the medder, and s'posin' you could hear 
these little chicks chipin' to be fed at sun- 
down, and you not here to feed 'em; and 
the cows comin' up the lane to be milked, 
and you not here to milk 'em; and your 
husband trudgin' home, slow and tired and 
hungry, and you not here to get supper 
for him. Do you reckon you could rest 
then, Mis' Spencer ? 

"And s'posin' that after a bit you'd 
hear some other woman's voice a-callin' 
the chickens, and some other woman's 
hands rattlin' the stove-lids around a- 
startin' a fire to cook supper for your hus- 
band. You'd most likely want to get up 
out of your grave then, but you couldn't. 
You'd just have to lay there and hear 
things goin' on without you, day in and 
day out, year in and year out, and watch 
yourself goin' to pieces inch by inch and 
crumblin' to dust. There wouldn't be 



much rest about that, Mis' Spencer, would 
there, now ? " 

Mrs. Spencer arose with the slow pain- 
fulness of stiffened rheumatic joints, and 
turned a shocked, resentful face upon her 
visitor. 

"Mis' Howard," she said, sternly, "if 
I found a fellow mortal in trouble, and 
couldn't think of a single comfortin' 
thing to say to her, I'd go away and leave 
her alone; I wouldn't try to knock out the 
last prop from under her. If a body can't 
b'lieve in the rest that's in the grave, I'd 
like to know what we can b'lieve in! I 
never heard such scand'lous doctrine since 
I was born! " 

She turned abruptly and went into the 
house, closing the door between herself and 
her unorthodox neighbor, and listened until 
the sound of receding footsteps died away. 

" There, I hope she's gone, with her 
croakin'. I was that afeard that she'd 
hang around and hinder me too long. 
Land, four o'clock a-ready! " — as a time- 
piece in an inner room gave four hard, 
metallic strokes. She hurried into the 
bedroom and came out rolling a pair of 
heavy gray blankets into an uncouth bun- 
dle. Then she took a bottle from a shelf 
in the pantry and filled it with rich, sweet 
milk. As she put the cork in she sud- 
denly stopped and listened, then opened 
the door a little way and listened again, 
intently. 

"Wheels!" she ejaculated. "Now, if 
it should be them, goodness help me to 
get into the cornfield before they come in 
sight!" 

She caught up the blankets, and snatched 
a raspberry pie, in its tin plate, from the 
table. Thus equipped for flight, she opened 
the door and went hurriedly out. At the 
foot of the steps the brood of little chick- 
ens met her in full force, fluttering around 
her feet and impeding her progress. 

"Shoo! Shoo!" 

She pushed them aside with one foot, 
and waved the pie at them frantically; but 
they followed close at her skirts, with dis- 
mal chirps that went to her heart. 

" Poor little things, how well they know 
it's their supper-time. If I'd only had 
time to feed 'em. Like as not nobody 
else '11 do it." 

She hesitated and looked back at them, 
pityingly. But the rattle of wheels sounded 
closer now, and her heart hardened. She 
went on again, striving to redouble her 
speed; but the blankets were cumbersome, 
and the raspberry pie was shedding its 
sticky juice up her sleeve. 



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SAIRY SPENCER 'S REVOLT. 



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H 
»ng, 
minj 
chee 

the cornfield and stumbled in 
between the tall, green rows. 
She dropped the blankets and almost fell 
upon them in her exhaustion. The bottle 
and pie were allowed to shift for them- 
selves, and the latter poured out the last 
remnant of its crimson juice at the roots 
of a cornhill. 

Presently Mrs. Spencer sat up and lis- 
tened again. She could no longer hear 
the sound of wheels, nor any sound save 



WHY, MIS' SPENCER, WHAT'S THE MATTER?" 

the rustling of the millions of corn-blades 
in the great field about her, and the voice 
of a meadow lark singing from the top of 
a tall, charred stump near by. She sat 
still and rested a little while longer; then 
she stood up and tried to see the house; 
but the tasseled tops of the corn were two 
feet above her head. She made her way 
cautiously to the outer row, and peered out 



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SAIRY SPENCER'S REVOLT. 



between the stalks; but the low sun beat 
straight into her eyes, and the higher 
ground of the meadow, full of hay-cocks, 
intervened. She could see only the 
weather-worn roofs of the house and 
barn. She crept back and took up again 
her burden of blankets and bottle and 
pie, and trudged on deeper into the shel- 
tering labyrinth of corn. When she had 
put half the width of the field between 
herself and the house she felt safe for the 
time being, and sat down again to rest and 
bide her time. 

Her objective point was an old dugout 
in the face of a stony ridge just beyond 
the cornfield. It had been constructed for 
a potato cellar, and was used only for stor- 
ing those edible tubers in winter. From 
March to November it was empty and 
forgotten, given over to rats and spiders. 
She had chosen it for her refuge over all 
other nooks and crannies on the farm be- 
cause of its isolation. No roving member 
of the objectionable "gang" would be 
likely to stumble upon it and discover 
her. But it was well up the face of the 
ridge and visible from the house, so she 
did not think it best to risk discovery by 
approaching it in open day. 

She partly unrolled the blankets and lay 
down upon them, turning her worn face up 
to the sky, with a deep-drawn breath of 
rest and a delicious new sense of freedom. 
Her close environment of tall corn shut 
out the horizon, but she knew when the 
sun had sunk below it by the tinted glow 
that overspread her small vista of sky, 
und the fresher breeze that came whisper- 
ing among the corn-blades, precursor of 
the coming night. 

After a time dark shadows began creep- 
ing along the furrows, as if striving to 
steal upon her unawares, and in the pur- 
pling firmament above two or three pale 
stars took form and blinked coldly down 
at her. She sat up and shivered, and her 
heart sank a little at thought of the potato 
cellar and the lonely night. 

"Dew's a-fallin'!" she exclaimed in 
dismay, with care for her rheumatism; and 
as quickly as might be she gathered up her 
belongings and resumed her flight. In 
the fast-gathering night the way to the 
potato cellar seemed long and rough, and 
when she had reached it she found it a 
stronghold defended by wild blackberry 
vines that she must tear away with her 
naked hands before she could gain an en- 
trance. 

The clumsy door opened outward, and 
yielded only inch by inch to her repeated 



jerks. Each time a blackberry vine was 
wrenched out by the roots, it brought down 
a shower of loosened gravel upon her de- 
fenseless head from the crumbling banks 
that towered high on either side. But at 
last a dark aperture yawned before her 
wide enough to give her entrance. She 
wondered why she had not foreseen the 
need of a candle and some matches, as she 
groped her way within and pulled the door 
shut. As she did so there came a great 
roar and crash of falling gravel outside. 
It sounded a perfect avalanche, and she 
congratulated herself on having escaped it. 

The atmosphere of the little cave-like 
place was close and musty from long lack 
of ventilation, and Mrs. Spencer found 
the abrupt change from the pure outer air 
almost stifling. She decided that she must 
reopen the door and leave it so through 
the night. But when she attempted to do 
this, she found the door immovable, held 
shut by the mass of gravel that had fallen 
against it. The discovery left her aghast. 

" Why, now — if I can't get out, and 
nobody has the least notion where I am, 
why — it's 'most like bein' buried alive! " 

The situation was disheartening, but the 
direst forebodings must yield to extreme 
bodily weariness, and soon she had spread 
her blankets on the dry straw of a potato 
bin and stretched her aching frame upon 
them. 

For an hour or more her mental worry 
and her " rheumatiz " united in tormenting 
her; then came sleep, and wooed her to 
rest with the welcome thought of no 
breakfast to get in the morning and no 
disturbing voice to break in upon her slum- 
bers with the announcement of " gettin'- 
up time." 

But she dreamed, and all through her 
dream sounded the chirping of hungry 
little chickens, the lowing of unmilked 
cows, and the slow, heavy tread of her 
husband's feet coming up the lane at 
evening time. " Tired and hungry, and 
you not here to get supper for him," 
droned the reproachful voice of her neigh- 
bor, running like a dirge through the other 
sounds and making of the dream a 
wretched, haunting nightmare. 

"Drat that Mis' Howard! I'll never 
speak to her again," was Mrs. Spencer's 
first waking thought. A thin shaft of 
daylight, with the yellow glint of a well- 
risen sun in it, was forcing its way into 
the cellar through a crevice an inch wide 
above the door. Involuntarily Mrs. Spen- 
cer sat up and listened for the familiar 
sounds of her dream. But she heard only 



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the bickering of a pair of wrens in the sprouts and a winding-sheet of cobwebs, 
blackberry vines outside, and the scurry Near the center of the earth floor stood a 
of a rat that scampered across the cellar battered old sheet-iron stove, with some 
floor and plunged into his hole in a corner, rusty joints of pipe rising shakily to 

the thatched roof, ten 
feet above. The hired 
men had set it up during 
the cold snap in March, 
and built a Are in it to 
keep themselves warm 
while they cut potatoes 
for seeding. A dozen 
matches and a clay pipe 
half full of burnt to- 
bacco lay on its hearth, 
forgotten. 

Mrs. Spencer felt a 
little light-headed when 
she stood up, and thus 
was brought to remem- 
ber that she had eaten 
nothing since noon of 
the preceding day. She 
looked about for the pie 
and bottle of milk. The 
latter was intact, but the 
former had vanished, 
leaving only its tin plate 
as tangible evidence that 
it had existed. Two 
little, knowing, exultant 
eyes were shining up 
from the rathole in the 
corner. Mrs. Spencer 
looked troubled. 

"Weil"— a long, 
quivering breath — "I 
cert'nly said I wished I 
was dead, but slow star- 
vation is a little more'n 
I bargained for." 

She spoke aloud and 
shrunk from the sound 
of her voice, it was so 
shut-in and sepulchral. 
She turned to the door 
and strove now with all 
her strength to push it 
open, but it withstood 
the onslaught without a 
tremor. 

She desisted at length, 
and sat down on an up- 
turned apple-box, ex- 

44 SHE TOOK UP . . . HHK BURDEN OK Itl.ANKETS AND LOTTIE AND IIK, AND haUSted aild gaSping fOT 

TRUDGED ON DEEPER INTO THE SHELTERING LABYRINTH OF CORN." breath TllC PlaCC W3S 

stifling. Oh for a breath 

This served to draw her attention to her of pure, sweet air! Her outraged lungs 

surroundings. seemed burning in her breast, and her 

In an opposite bin lay some sorry- mouth and throat were parched. She 

looking potatoes, with long, ghostly white opened the bottle of milk, and took a por- 



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SAIRY SPENCER'S REVOLT. 



275 



and watched for the men to come in from 
their work in the far north meadow, she 
descried a curl of smoke rising from the 
kitchen chimney, a queer, ghastly little 
caricature of a smile flashing across her 
face. 

44 Now, if I was near enough to hear the 
stove-lids rattle," she whispered, 4I I could 
'most imagine I was dead and in my grave, 
like Mis' Howard said." 

For a long time she stood with her eyes 
at the crevice and her hands grasping 
the rough frame of the cellar door, watch- 
ing that changing, darkening spiral of 
smoke. Once the kitchen door opened, 
and a woman stood for an instant in sight. 
The watcher squinted her eyes in a desper- 
ate endeavor to concentrate her gaze. 

14 1 s'pose it's Mis' Rhynearson," she 
muttered, with a resentful snap in her 
tone. 44 It's just like her to take pos- 
session of a body's house and act as if 
she owned it! I can't see how Abra'm 
can like them Rhynearsons so well; they're 
such pestiferous folks. To think of her 
there, a-livin' high off the fresh bread and 
cakes and pies that I baked, and the 
cheese I made, and the butter I churned, 
and me here a-starvin'! " 

The contrast was too pitiful. In all her 
hard, meager life she had never before 
known the pangs of hunger and thirst. 
Her eyes filled, and the vision was for a 
time shut out. When she looked again, 
the curling smoke was scarcely discernible, 
and all the angles of the old house were 
toned down by the softening shadow of 
approaching night. 

She could make out the figure of a man 
standing by the bars. It might be one of 
the hands, or — it might be — yes, it was 
Abra'm! He had turned and was going 
slowly toward the house, and she knew him 
by the forward stoop of his body and 
that characteristic something in the way 
he set his feet down as he walked. 

She thought he would go in at the 
kitchen door, but he passed around to the 
front porch, and sat down alone on the 
steps. 

Presently it struck her that his head was 
bowed upon his hands and that his atti- 
tude was one of deep dejection. But she 
was not quite sure; he was so far away, 
and the shadows lay deep between. 
Still, the longer she looked the more his 
fading outline seemed to appeal to her, 
until at last she was overcome with the 
conviction that sorrow, rather than anger, 
ruled in her husband's heart. 

44 He ain't mad at me! I just seem to 



feel he ain't mad at me! Oh, Abra'm! 
Abra'm! " 

She shrieked his name aloud again and 
again, each frenzied effort shriller than 
the last; but the narrow crevice threw the 
greater part of the sound back into the 
cellar, and Abraham Spencer sat still, with 
bent head, unhearing, until the night had 
thickened and shut him from her sight. 

The black hours that followed were 
terrible to her. Remorse and a reawak- 
ened longing to live, and to go back to 
her deserted duties, now united with hun- 
ger and thirst to torture her. In the 
middle of the hot, stifling night she was 
forced to drain the last swallow of milk 
from the bottle, and still her thirst was so 
great that she tossed and moaned in the 
fitful bits of sleep that came to her. Once 
she was awakened by a touch, a weight 
like that of a hand upon her shoulder, and 
she started up with a glad cry on her lips; 
but it was only her cell-mate the rat. He 
scampered away to his own corner, and she 
lay there with a convulsive horror upon her, 
watching and listening lest he return. She 
told herself that he would come back to- 
morrow night, when she would have less 
strength to frighten him away; and all 
the nights after, when her poor body 
might lie there lifeless, at his mercy. 

She wondered, with an awful, shuddering 
wonde