YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
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THE
EVOLUTION OF A LIFE
DESCRIBED IN THE MEMOIRS OF
MAJOR SETH EYLAND
LATE OF THE MOUNTED RIFLES
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" To be thrown upon one's own resources is to be cast in the very lap of fortune, for our faculties then undergo a development of which they were before unsusceptible."—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
NEW YORK
S. W. GREEN'S SON, PUBLISHER
69 BEEKMAN STREET
1884
Cc 3 .:#57
COPYRIGHT, 1854.
THE CHAS. M. GREEN PRINTING Co., 74 and 76 Beekman Street,
NEW TORE.
PREFACE.
AN esteemed old lady, of my acquaintance, owned a curious narrative, in manuscript, which had been presented to her, in fact, written for her when a young lady, by an old Tory gentleman residing in Canada, an expatriated American, who had served in the British Army during the War of the Revolution, attaining the rank of Colonel. The manuscript, though written in extreme old age, crabbed, careless and desultory, was interesting and valuable, and I edited it for publication as a serial in a weekly newspaper, under the title : " Serving the King." It detailed the author's career from the period of his early youth in a New England village, through many eventful campaigns to the close of the great struggle for Independence; and it was especially attractive from its candid Tory views of men and events, and also, because it was written entirely from a personal standpoint, in such a straightforward, unconventional manner as to convey no impression of mock-modesty nor offensive egotism. In editing the Old Colonel's recollections, and finding so much that was precious and diverting even in such unpretentious sketches of distant times, I was reminded of a number of undistinguished, but entertaining, persons I had known, whose true experiences, if written out in. the Colonel's, or any other, simple style, would assuredly exceed in interest the verbose and florid romances of our day. Un fortunately, such persons are accustomed to think that only the lives of so-called eminent people have value; or else, they imagine they lack art in writing, though they talk so well, and thus the world loses
4	PREFACE.
many recitals of fact which would often supplant wholly idle or vicious works of fiction; or furnish data that, in the aggregate, might form the basis of exact studies in history, sociology, or individual character.
These reflections, and some of the model features of the Colonel's autobiography, were retained in my mind for many years, and out of final leisure to recall circumstances which seemed to me, unusual enough to be entertaining, about people both prominent and obscure ; as well as to dwell upon incidents of a memorable historic epoch, which I had personally observed—grew this volume of Recollections.
In relating incidents in the lives of others, with whom I have been brought in contact, I have sometimes suppressed or changed names of persons and places in order to avoid giving possible pain or annoyance to worthy people : there is not, otherwise, a page of intentional fiction in this book.
With these Recollections is included the story of my own somewhat too varied career—a career which has been of barely sufficient importance to be occasionally misunderstood and misjudged : but that is of no consequence, unless, as I hope, the narrative itself should prove of interest.
I shall have accomplished a chief purpose if I have fairly outlined the evolution of a life through the period of most marked transition in modern progress, in many respects the type of other lives of the same period; and thus, perhaps, have afforded material of value to the student in that golden time coming when the tendency of a youth's mind, even if it be not in the direction of purely practical pursuits, shall be fostered and encouraged, and shall blossom in an environment favorable to the best training and development.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE.. 	3
CHAPTER I.
First Recollections—Baptized by a Future President—A Passion for Art—Daniel Boone—Studying to become a Raphael—Seeking Fortune Afoot—Away from Home—An Unsuccessful Artist's Advice—An Appreciative Patron—Return in a Fast
Coach 	13
CHAPTER II.
The Antislavery Agitation—A Manager of the Underground Railroad—Leave Home again—Studying Blackstone and Rus-kin—Two Boys who are mentioned in History—In a Studio
—Religious Tendencies—A Biblical Valentine	 24
CHAPTER III.
Beginning Life in the Metropolis—Art and Artists—The Authors' and Publishers' Festival—Irving, Bryant and Milburn—De-signing in a Law-office—Embarking as an Artist—Meeting a Life-long Companion—The Bryan Gallery—Thomas Nast—
A Remarkable Valet. 	31
CHAPTER IV.
The History of Felix—A Lesson in Diplomacy—The Oaksmiths—A Family of Geniuses—Poetry allied with Piracy—A Literary
Slaver—A Niobean Mother 	41
6	CONTENTS.
CHAPTER V.
PAGE
Edgar A. Poe's Susceptibility—At Pfaff's—Bayard Taylor, Doe-sticks and Walt Whitman—Saved by Enthusiasm—A Student at the Academy of Design—A Masked Model—The Sweet Dreamland of Adolescence—Blighted Love—Sailing for Eu-
rope	 56
CHAPTER VI.
On Shipboard—Landing on the Scilly Islands—Wild Freaks of Nature—Druidical Superstitions—Giant's Castle—A Colossal Footprint—The Glacial Theory—The Bay of Penzance—Ar-rival in London—Impressions of Turner—A Successful
American Artist—Thackeray. 	63
CHAPTER VII.
The Yellow Envelope—A Fellow-countryman in Distress—Wretched Consequences of Crime—An American Patriot under a Cloud—Extraordinary Coincidence—A Piece of Pom-peiian Design—The English Paganini—Sympathy that caused Hardships—Selling Pictures for Songs—Return to America.. 77
CHAPTER VIII.
Second Voyage to Europe—A Companionable Priest—The Sights of Paris—Brussels—A Hospitable Commissary of Police—The Delights of Little Paris—St. Gudule—Charlotte Bronte—A
Carving in Ivory—An Eccentric Artist. 	89
CHAPTER IX.
The Field of Waterloo—A Patriotic Chicken-painter—Mystify-ing a Guide—The Black Virgin of Hal—By Moonlight to Louvain—Masterpieces in Wood—Mechlin—A Flemish Bride —An Enticing Acquaintance—Count Fulme's Fast Life—A Great Surprise   101
CONTENTS.	7
CHAPTER X.
PAGE
A Tempest-tossed Career—A Bohemian Alliance—A Visitor from New York—A Council of War—Departure for Germany—The Academy at Dusseldorf—Beauties of Rhineland—An Er-
ratic Student—Arrested for sketching Fortifications.	 111
CHAPTER XL
Dreaming in a Foreign Language—Schiller, Heine and Goethe -Effects of German Literature—A Student of High Art—A Broker's Opinion of Achenbach—Sketching a Ghost—A Student's Ovation at an Opera—Mistaking a Palace-park for a Beer-garden—A Row with Emperor William—The Untried
	Needle-gun   122
CHAPTER XII.
A Precarious Profession—Dawning Convictions—Entering upon a Course of Law—The Banks of the Mohawk—On an Evening Paper—Espousing the Union Cause—How the Times re-
buked the Budget—Spirits on the Rampage 	. . 135
CHAPTER XIII.
The Firing on Fort Sumter—The Great Uprising—Enlisting—First Night on Guard—Entering Washington—Reviewed by Lincoln and Gen. Scott—Artist for Harper's Weekly—Boston Corbett—Crossing the Long Bridge—Wounded while posing —In the Shenandoah—The First Man killed in Action—A Confederate Prisoner—Array of Fugitive Slaves—Relics of
	John Brown..    140
CHAPTER XIV.
" Shadow of the Sword"—Recruiting a Cavalry Company—Com-missioned Lieutenant—Seven Months' Camp-service in Wash-ington—A Student's Escape from Prison—Cavalry enough—
8	CONTENTS.
PAGE
Sabres preferred to Law-books—Lovers separate—First Scout —Tested under Fire    150
CHAPTER XV.
Dismal Swamp Fugitives—First Cavalry-charge—A Straggler sabred—Falling under Fire—A Lonely Retreat—Why a Pistol failed to explode—The Fate of Two Sergeants who vol-unteered—Along the Blackwater—Lieutenant Fant's Treason
—His Trial and Death-sentence—Emancipation	 161
CHAPTER XVI.
Picnicking in the Heart of the Dismal Swamp—Out of Service —Several Months' Pay missing--Interview with Governor Seymour—Promotion to Captain—Political Influence miscar-
ries—The Siege of Suffolk—A Bullet in a Pocket	 172
CHAPTER XVII.
Rebel Hospitality betrayed—At South Mills—Capturing a United States Senator and a Member of Congress—A Rebel Mail—Battle in a Thunder-storm—The Wraith of the Dismal Swamp
—A Rifle-barrel shot through—Dark Hours of the War	 179
CHAPTER XVIII.
On the Peninsula—A Deserting Sergeant's Romance—Executing a Bushwhacker—His Comrade deserts to the Union Lines—Capture of Charles City Court-house—A Dramatic Scene—
A Woman in the Ranks—Escapes from Libby Prison	 186
CHAPTER XIX.
Wistar's Projected Capture of Richmond—Causes of Failure—Plunkett's Adventures—Camp-life—An Elaborate Joke—A Tragedy in the Woods—Celebrating the Third Anniversary of Enlistment—Provost-Marshal of Williamsburg..   194
CONTENTS.	9
CHAPTER XX.
PAGE
Sumptuous Head-quarters—Gen. Dix's Threat—Historic Ground —Scouting in the Path of Capt. John Smith—Revolutionary Relics—The Mansion of Governor Page—Discovery of Valuable Autographic Letters—Jefferson's Correspondence with Page—Washington's Rent-receipts—Treasures for Historians
and Biographers	 204
CHAPTER XXI.
Two escaped Union Prisoners—Perilous Adventures—Governing a City — Scouting dismounted—A Lady Spy — Line-day—Obtaining Richmond Newspapers—A Belle's Dreadful Fall—The Last of the Chickahominies—Indian Tactics—Attempts
to capture a Rebel Scout	 210
CHAPTER XXII.
The Rules of Civilized Warfare—A Wounded Confederate Offi-cer—Bitter Female Rebels—Ordered beyond the Lines—Six Remarkable Shots—Scouting at Night—Conciliatory Refresh-
ments.	.. 	 217
CHAPTER XXIII.
The State Lunatic Asylum—Odd Phases of Insanity--Theories verified—Insane on the Subject of Negroes—The Case of Gen. Francis Marion—How he was cured—His Escape to
	Richmond .    222
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Visit to the Front at Petersburg—Butler's Dispatch from Stan-ton—A Wrathful Interview with Butler—Under Close Ar-rest—Liscard's Tyrannical Treatment—What President Lin-
coln said of Butler..	 225
10	CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXV.
PAGE
Suspecting a Rebel Guide—His Challenge—His Death—Veteran Re-enlistment—Corporal Lucky's Luck—In Kautz's Division —Movements around Richmond—Capture of Fort Harrison—Inspecting a Rebel Battery—A Target for Point-blank Shells. 233
CHAPTER XXVI.
A Night-attempt to enter Richmond—Curious Causes of Failure
—Visiting the Enemy's Advance—Butler's Grave Mistake—
A Reconnaissance in Force—A Close Shot    239
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Battle of the Darbytown Road—Plan of the Field—How the Action began—Viewing Gen. Lee and Staff—The Cavalry Stampede—In the Rifle-pits—Charge of the Texas Brigade-Gen. Hawley's Sixteen Shooters—After the Battle—Dead on his Knees    244
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Leave of Absence—Capturing a Woman on Picket—Judge-Ad-vocate of Kautz's Division—Saving a Soldier designated to be Shot—The Case of a Maryland Lieutenant—Appealing to Webster's Dictionary—Gerehart's Adventure—The Final Grand Movement—The Last Charge—Placing Pickets around Richmond—Assassination of Lincoln—Visiting Southern Relatives   252
CHAPTER XXIX.
Administering the Oath—The Battle-field of Spottsylvania—An Era of Good Feeling—The Blacks—Madison's Influence on Jefferson—Stonewall Jackson's Chaplain—Incidents of the Battles of Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg—On a Military Commission—Beverly Johnson's Reminiscences—A Pro-
CONTENTS.	11
PAGE
teas for bleaching Ivory—A General's Terrible Disgrace—
	Mustered out—The Last Glimpse of Alice.....   260
CHAPTER XXX.
A Victim of Andersonville—Return to Civil Life—On a New York Newspaper—Resuming and abandoning Art—Admis-sion to the Bar—Colonel Queux's Divorce-experiences—" An Old Offender"—The Development-theory--Wimleigh's Me-teorite—Anecdotes of Lincoln—Removal to Parlorville—Jour-
	nalism.    274
CHAPTER XXXI.
A Socialistic Discourse—" The Equal Distribution of Wealth"—Comments of the Press—Letters from Reformers—Features of the Times—" Serving the King"—" Down among the Dead "—Establishing a Morning Newspaper—Anecdotes of Gen. Grant—Rev. Dr. Lilliput—Illustrating Books—Frofes-sor in a Military School—Pictures in the Academy of Design
	—Arrest of Mrs. Surratt   295
CHAPTER XXXII.
A Period of Introspection—The Sense of Ownership—Direction of Efforts changed—A Railway Project in Texas—Arrival in the Lone-star State—Gathering Facts—Tarantulas and Centi-pedes—Why Texans shoot—Trying Experiences—A Would-
	be Assassin shot—The Judge and Colonel Fisk    316
CHAPTER %XXIII.
Expanding Skies—Curious Climatic Influences—" The Coming Billionaire"—Features of Railway Enterprises—The Soldier and the Speculator—President of a Railway Company—
Studying Wall Street—Conclusion.	 332
EVOLUTION OF A LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
First Recollections—Baptized by a Future President—A Passion for Art—Daniel Boone—Studying to become a Raphael—Seeking Fortune Afoot—Away from Home—An Unsuccessful Artist's Advice—An Appreciative Patron—Return in a Fast Coach.
MOUNT ANTHONY, a lofty spur of the Green Mountains of Vermont, is situated so near the edge of the State of New York that its base almost marks the dividing line between the two States. From its summit, most extensive and enchanting views may be obtained of the valleys of the White Creek, the Battenkill, and the Hudson. The blue Catskills arise faintly in the far South, the plains of Saratoga spread away in the West, and, on a clear day, may be seen the shimmer of Lakes George and Champlain. The mountain stands out conspicuously from the range to which it belongs, not only because of its noble height, but also on account of the peculiar markings of its side and peak which have been denuded of timber in such a way as to leave a clearing resembling in outline a combined shovel and tomahawk.
Within sight of this notable mountain, near the banks of the Battenkill, a few miles from where it enters the Hudson, in a large frame house, painted yellow, situated at the intersection of two streets in the village of Greenwich, N. Y., I was born. I mention this mountain particularly, as it was the commanding feature amid the grand and picturesque surroundings of my early years, and took such
14	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
hold upon my imagination and memory that often, in after-years, in foreign lands, in Southern climes, in the bivouac and on the battle-field, I have found peaceful sleep in turning my thoughts back to its dear, placid profile, and watching the clouds settle on its purple bosom.
My life began in the midsummer of 1839.
My earliest positive recollection is of an incident that would be likely to make a lasting impression on the mind of a boy of five years. I was down on the bank of a deep pool in the Battenkill and a number of boys and young men, including my elder brother, were in swimming. I became infected with their hilarious sport and undressing, sat alone on the bank, timidly paddling my feet in shallow water. While thus absorbed, a big boy whom I knew as Chet Arthur, and who lived in the Baptist parsonage opposite our house, made a stealthy detour on my left flank, and before I could divine his baptismal intent, he seized me firmly around the body and dove with me into ten feet of water. My first sensation was that we had gone down to stay. When we came to the surface I was kicking and screaming in an agony of terror, while he was laughing convulsively. He tossed me out on the bank. I grasped my clothes and ran toward home, looking back through my tears to see Chet and my brother, like two Greek athletes, engaged in fierce combat on my account. The bath effectually cured me of any fear of water and I became a tolerably good swimmer before I was ten years old. Later in life I recalled the circumstance to the "big boy" and he remembered it well, laughing heartily. He has since become President of the United States.
A predilection for Art was born with me. As I grew older it became an overruling passion. For nearly half my life I have been engaged in attempts to suppress this passion. I cannot remember when I made my first essays in drawing, but I was fondly considered somewhat of a prodigy at eight, and spent much of my time amusing my school companions with pencil and chalk. Our family removed to the neighboring village of Salem, and when I
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	15
arrived at the proper age, I entered the Washington Academy there—one of the oldest and best preparatory institutions of learning in the State. Having a good memory I learned easily, but was for a time more addicted to frolic, fighting and athletic exercises than to study. I recall the fact that I was especially addicted to fighting, in my youth, though all my life afterward I have been very rarely involved in personal altercations.
When I was about eleven I happened to read an interesting book : " The Life and Adventures of Daniel Boone." Up to that time, I had read only tedious and dreary books from the Sunday-school library of the Presbyterian church, all closing with a trite and monotonous moral. I was unregenerate enough to prefer that the moral teaching of a story-book should be invisibly woven in the text of the narrative. They created in me a vague feeling of dislike for books generally : but the reading of the exploits of Daniel Boone was one of the great events of my life. It opened a new field of entertainment, which I explored, at first, without any thought of instruction, but wherein, eventually, I sought Pierian springs. I formed a lasting taste for reading and study; I ceased fighting and was a changed boy. The village-school library was an extensive and well-selected one—I believe that I read every book it contained, that I could understand, before I was thirteen and I sought elsewhere for more. I read without discrimination or system, having no one to direct me, but I was a lover of history and biography, particularly the biographies of illustrious artists. I found, in the school library, Harpers' edition of Cunning-ham's " Lives of British Painters, Sculptors and Architects," which influenced me, more than anything else, in choosing the career of an artist.
When I was thirteen my father and mother died. They were intelligent, respectable, thrifty people devoted to the care of their nine children. They bad married when very young and their affection for each other was so true and their union so perfect, that one could not live without the other, and there was but a few weeks' interval between
16	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
their deaths—my mother dying from the prostration of grief.
My dear mother had always encouraged my natural aptitude for drawing. I acquired some facility with pencil and crayon under the direction of a lady who was an accomplished amateur, and who, I remember, was possessed of great personal beauty. She easily persuaded me that, with persistent effort, I could become famous and leave behind me works that would be loved and cherished long after I had crumbled into dust—the most seductive prospect that my imagination could then hold—to be numbered among those individuals, so few and rare, who live after they are dead. How clearly I can now recall her tenderly expressive features, as, looking over my work, she taught me right rudimentary methods, and dwelt enthusiastically upon the rewards that await industrious merit. Before I was fourteen, I had taken a course of lessons in oil-painting from another lady who had studied under professional New York artists. About this time a rather extravagant notice of one of my pictures appeared in the village paper, and this, with other harmful flattery, had a tendency to persuade me that I was already something of an artist.
In the spring of the year when I was fifteen, I was nearly as tall as I ever became, very slender and sedate, and governed mainly by my love of approbation. I possessed a natural pride that through all the threatening circumstances of my life has never been wholly subdued. I was not aware, at that period, that any one thought me prepossessing, but had formed the notion that I was quite ugly from the criticisms of my elder sisters who were doubtless severe with good intentions, having regard to the surprising growth of vanity upon the slightest provocation. There being a dispute about this matter in the family, I shall take the benefit of the doubt, and shall believe that in my youth, I was materially aided, on my way in the world, by an unconsciously favorable personal presence. I made my way among all classes without rude attrition. Throughout my life, I have rarely been slighted or insulted: the many
MEMOIRS OF SETH RYLAND.	17
people I have encountered in the Struggle for Existence have almost invariably treated me kindly and well : oftentimes, I have received most generous treatment from total strangers, and I have found sympathetic and open-hearted friends in many vicissitudes.
My early devotion to study kept me apart from society. I rambled in field and forest alone, and for two years was almost without companionship. One of my favorite retreats was in a primeval glen, far in the depths of the forest, where, resting on shelves of lichened rock, I could see through the openings of the hemlocks the jutting bald cliffs of Bare Mountain and the folding blue lines of Mount Equinox. Here I passed many an hour in lonely reverie—a pastime, as I now think, not altogether conducive to wholesome mental development, nor beneficial in preparing one for masculine encounters with the forces of the world. In this way, unfortunately, and being afflicted with the notion that I was ugly, I acquired habits of shyness and supersensitiveness which many years of contact with all sorts of society have never entirely removed.
From early boyhood I had been surrounded with rather oppressive religious influences of the austerely puritanic school. Notwithstanding their repulsive nature I evinced strong religious tendencies. At fifteen the Presbyterian minister of our village, a conscientious as well as a cultivated man, called me into his study, and, with a good deal of formality and solemnity, tried to induce me to study for the ministry, offering, as an encouragement, a free course of instruction at Middlebury College, Vermont. I told him of my determination to become an artist, and argued that a painter could preach as powerful sermons with his brush as a minister could with his lips. This he admitted, and instanced some of the religious works of Benjamin West. Perceiving that I was in earnest, he dismissed the subject.
I left the Academy before I was fifteen, with a slight knowledge of Latin, a little more of French, and otherwise with an ordinary academic education; but in most respects, I have been a student ever since. The year before I left
2
18	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
school I fell deeply in love with a blue-eyed, sunny-haired maiden—a schoolmate of my own age. This attachment influenced considerably the whole course of my life.
After leaving school, I devoted myself to the study of painting with a view of making it a profession. My ambition was unbounded: nothing less than attaining an imperishable niche beside Murillo, Titian and Raphael. Happy are the youth who cherish such illusions and die young! I concluded to leave home and seek fortune and independence among strangers. I mentioned the intention to my sisters who smiled incredulously and asked me what I could do. I replied that I could go to the neighboring towns and give lessons in drawing and painting. They hinted that I was too young, and reminded me that I was not yet fifteen: but I was too restless and sanguine to regard this as a serious obstacle, and when they saw that I was really desirous of becoming self-supporting, they went to work and prepared my outfit.
I was well dressed, with a portfolio filled with drawings in one hand, a valise in the other, and six dollars in my pocket, as early one May morning I gayly bade my sisters good-by and started forth on my expedition. I walked toward the town of Argyle, twelve miles distant. It was a beautiful morning; the birds sang joyously; my step was elastic ; my hopes exalted. The road lay through charming woodland and rolling meadows. I rested occasionally in the shade of lofty pines whose murmurs were translated into poetic prophecies of success. My heart throbbed buoyantly as I entered the town in the afternoon and called upon two kind friends who had formerly been favorite teachers at the Washington Academy.
Upon making known to this worthy couple the object of my visit, which was, to form a class in drawing and painting among the youth of Argyle, an evident expression of surprise beamed from their benevolent faces, but they gladly undertook to aid me in my plans. The same evening they accompanied me and my portfolio to the houses of citizens with teachable children, and introduced
MEMOIRS OF SETH MAIM.	19
me with warm commendations. The village was small, and it was quite apparent, before we had completed the round of our visits, that I should not secure an extremely large class. Indeed, upon reaching their home; where I was cordially invited to pass the night, the total result of our labors was one pupil—a deplorably freckled and very little girl. They encouraged me to hope for a number more upon a more extended inquiry the following day—but I concluded that my prospects would expand in a larger place, and next morning thanking them for their efforts and bidding them farewell, I took the stage-coach for Fort Edward, where I stopped at the principal hotel. I made my rounds of the pleasant village, stopping in every house which appeared likely to contain inhabitants of taste. But what means I had of judging of their superior cultivation I have forgotten: except that I avoided houses whose front yards were adorned with such common plants as hollyhocks and sunflowers. What a great change in decorative taste has occurred since that day ! One of the finest paintings by the masterful Dore, that I have ever seen, was a huge panel of golden and lavender-tinted hollyhocks upon a background of pearly gray; and quite recently the aesthetic sunflower has become a reigning fashion.
I continued my efforts in the town after dinner and until evening. The result was one precocious little boy whose genius, his parents believed, ought to be more fully developed, but they expressed grave doubts about my ability as a teacher until I exhibited and explained all the drawings in my portfolio. The following morning, after reflecting that I had fully canvassed the village, and that one boy would not constitute a profitable "class," I determined to try my luck in the not distant village of Sandy Hill. I have not forgotten how, when I came to settle my hotel bill, the venerable landlord, with courtly grace, inflicted a deep wound upon my dignity by declaring that he never charged " boys" but half price.
I strolled toward Sandy Hill, stopping on the way to look at the remains of the celebrated Jane McCrea tree and visit-
20	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
ing the beautiful cemetery by the wayside to sketch a lovely group of dark firs around her grave. Arriving in the town I lodged at an old-fashioned hotel. During the evening while sitting in the reading-room, I noticed a stranger examining me intently and finally he engaged me in conversation. He asked me my name and when I gave it, remarked that I bore a strong resemblance to a lawyer of that name whom he knew in Salem, and upon my telling him that the lawyer was a relative, he introduced himself as Mr. Baker of the Sandy Hill Herald. When I related my business there, he kindly offered to befriend me, any way in his power, and invited me to call at his office the next day. I made fruitless visits to several dwellings in the morning, finding only another specimen of the same precocious boy. I called upon the editor and told of my ill-success. He left his desk and took a walk with me to the principal part of the town and pointed out various mansions, in which, he thought, there was a promise of pupils, and he especially recommended me to call at the residence of Congressman N., where I should find several young ladies just returned from boarding-school. I called at the places he pointed out, and lastly at the home of the Congressman. I was shown into the parlor where I found myself in the midst of several good-looking young ladies and gentlemen. One of the ladies was playing upon a piano. She stopped playing as I entered and all turned their eyes toward me as I modestly stated the object of my call. It appeared to me that their smiling amazement exceeded the bounds of politeness. One of the ladies asked me what I could teach. I answered: " Drawing in pencil and crayon and monochromatic painting." " Indeed 1" she exclaimed, pertly, " perhaps you can teach oil-painting, too?" " Yes," I replied : when immediately there was a roar of derisive laughter from the whole company. I shot out of the door and closed it with a bang and a pang. When I re-entered the hotel I caught a glimpse of myself in a large mirror and, all at once, it flashed upon me how youthful-looking I was 1 I understood now that I had been properly laughed at for my presumption in offering to
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	21
" teach" mature young ladies, endowed with all the accomplishments of a fashionable boarding-school. My feeling of mortification was so intense that I summarily abandoned all thought of Sandy Hill as a field for artistic enterprise, not, however, renouncing my determination to succeed in some other place. I had recourse to my excellent friend—the editor. He expressed sympathy, and gave me a letter of introduction to an editor at Glen's Falls and to this place I extended my tour. Selecting a fine hotel, I took a survey of the town, pausing to view the Falls which were made interesting as the scene of one of the most thrilling incidents in " The Last of the Mohicans." I delivered my letter of introduction to the editor, who was an Englishman, and who, I had been told, was formerly a portrait-painter. He received me coldly, almost discourteously, and when I confidently announced my desire to obtain a class in drawing and painting and my intention of becoming an artist, he broke forth in blasphemous wrath and fairly roared in giving me advice. He declared that art was the most degraded profession in the world; that there was no appreciation whatever for painting in America, where there was less regard for talent that was not directed to money-getting than in any other part of the civilized universe; that a young man might much better learn to swing an ax than wield a pencil, and that if I had any respect for myself, or relatives, I should abandon and outgrow all such silly ideas. For a moment I was stunned by his furious passion and felt as if I had fallen into a lion's den, but I recovered myself, withstood his clamor quietly, and then reaffirmed my resolution. I have since regretted that his remarks did not make a deeper impression upon me, no matter how disagreeably delivered. He examined the drawings in my portfolio, some of which he faintly praised but most of which he savagely criticised. He then invited me to accompany him to his home and examine some of his own works, which at that callow period, I thought very wonderful indeed, until he claimed, as entirely original, a painting that had been copied from an engraving of Land-
22	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
seer's " King Charles Spaniels," which I had seen. Thereafter, I regarded him as a soured humbug, and parted with him without any positive desire to continue the acquaintance. Many years afterward, at an annual exhibition of the National Academy of Design, I passed him, an old man, in the gallery, and I fear I experienced a feeling of triumph not altogether justified by my moderate success.
I wrote a letter, in the evening, to my eldest sister, and in writing it felt a slight touch of heartache and twinges of home-sickness—v. hich I resolutely suppressed. In the morning I went to mail my letter and after doing so, lingered in the post-office which was also a bookstore. My fancy was taken with a beautifully bound lady's album and I inquired the price of it. The image of my youngest sister was in my mind and I thought how much it would please her to receive such a gift; and, without further consideration, I purchased and mailed it. After paying the postage it occurred to me to examine my pocket-book. To my surprise I had only thirty cents left.
From the outset, however, I had regarded my portfolio of drawings as a valuable resource and a bulwark against want, devoutly believing that I could dispose of them at good prices. I cannot say, therefore, that I was discouraged at the gravity of the situation, although I could scarcely realize that the crisis had come so suddenly, and that I must turn peddler at once. I had a large crayon drawing of an old Arab's head, copied from one of the examples of Julien. I offered it for sale to a druggist next door. He admired it, asked me many questions about myself, but declined to purchase it. I tried another merchant and another. I began to glow with anxiety—for there was the hotel-bill to pay. I canvassed the town thoroughly and energetically the entire day. It was morning when I started out to sell it; it was evening and it remained unsold. Night was coming on when I returned to the druggist's and he politely inquired if I had disposed of my drawing. I replied gravely in the negative, and he asked me if I had
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	23
been down to Mr. Chapin's, pointing out a large white house down by a bridge. I had not. Then he informed me that Mr. Chapin was rich and very fond of pictures and he was worth trying. I did not wait for further advice. I almost ran to the house, for it seemed my last chance, and my courage, after the day's trying experience, was fast dwindling away. Mr. Chapin received me pleasantly; the lamps were lighted in his elegantly furnished parlor; he examined the picture closely and then scrutinized me. He asked me a few questions, noticed, probably, that I was in a state of extreme nervous anxiety, praised the drawing and inquired the price. The price had fallen considerably since morning, but he insisted upon my taking seven dollars, and requested me to put my name upon the margin, saying he expected to hear of me " one of these days, as a great artist." Such delicate sympathy, despite my efforts at resistance, brought tears—and heartily thanking him I ran to the hotel, and paid my bill just in time to take the fast evening coach. The next morning when I beheld afar the disfigured peak of Mount Anthony, I experienced the delightful thrill of a long-absent and way worn traveler approaching his beloved home.
CHAPTER II.
The Antislavery Agitation—A Manager of the Underground Rail-road—Leave Home again—Studying Blackstone and Ruskin—Two Boys who are mentioned in History—In a Studio—Religious Tendencies—A Biblical Valentine.
I WAS welcomed back by my sisters with some wonder, but they kindly forebore to ask many questions. It was not necessary. My face told them I had not succeeded to my entire satisfaction, though my reserved bearing might have been mistaken for some of the self-poise acquired by extensive travel. I resumed work, drawing and painting during the summer and studying from Nature, as I had been taught, planning meanwhile another attempt to seek fortune away from home.
I had once before been away with an elder brother, riding over the new railroad to Troy to witness the grand public reception of the Hungarian patriot Kossuth; and besides many other novelties, I saw, for the first time in my life, men wearing mustaches. This my memory retains quite as much as it does the marvelous working of a telegraphic instrument then first introduced. Moreover, I had once been to a distant town to hear Horace Greeley deliver an address at an agricultural fair, and I remember that one side of his standing collar was turned down and one leg of his trousers was above the boot. But he was my ideal of a great man. Next to him, in my estimation, was Henry Ward Beecher. Their names were household words and their printed utterances carried great weight in our community. Mrs. Stowe's " Uncle Tom's Cabin " had appeared shortly before; public opinion was in a state of commotion; the great antislavery crusade had begun and sln:very wag the all-ahsorhing tonic of cligniission_
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	25
A gentleman who had great influence at this period in the formation of my opinions and character, was our neighbor, Doctor Gilman. He was called " an Abolitionist" --a terrible epithet in those times; and furthermore, what was still more dreadful, "a Universalist," which would be more than equivalent, at this date, to calling a man an infidel. Although he enjoyed as large a practice as any physician in the county, he and his family were often slighted on account of his political and religious views. Indeed he had once been mobbed in the village for freely expressing his views on the iniquity of slavery. His house was known to be a station for runaway negroes on the mysterious " underground railroad " to Canada, and was the occasional home, for weeks at a time, of forlorn political refugees—French, Polish, Hungarian and Italian. He sympathized with the downtrodden of all races and nations. I believe now that he was the largest-hearted and most enlightened man in our village.
He often invited me to a seat in his " buckboard " in which he was continually driving about the country, attending to the calls of the suffering. He loaned me valuable books; he explained to me the political condition of the different nations of Europe and the causes of the recent revolutionary outbreaks there; and he made me as thorough an abolitionist as himself. He inspired me with an indestructible love of liberty, not only for myself but for everybody else—both personal liberty and liberty of conscience. I have ever felt, since that period, that I would rather be an outlaw than a slave—physical, social or moral.
The range of the Doctor's tastes and sympathies may be inferred from the names he gave his sons, which were, respectively: Orville Talleyrand ; Osceola Butler; Charles Origen Tholuck ; Benjamin Brodie and Kossuth Mazzini.
During one of my rides with the Doctor he explained to me why he used a " buckboard." For years, in making his professional visits, he rode in a buggy, and being seated so many hours out of the twenty-four without exercise for
26	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE
the lower limbs, he discovered that arterial circulation in them had become impeded and that they were, in fact, partially atrophied. Being too heavy a man to mount a horse, he was trying the effect of riding in a buckboard which gave some sort of motion to his limbs and promoted circulation. He said, however, that he could not stop to cure himself, for he had too large a family and too many patients, and that it was only a question of time when his brain would become engorged with the blood that ought to find free circulation in the extremities, and, he added, that he should die of apoplexy. He was thus himself dying gradually, but perceptibly, while devoting his time and skill to the cure of others; and a few years afterward, he did die, suddenly, of apoplexy. He was a true and noble martyr, far ahead of his age in politics, philosophy and humanity.
Before the summer was over, I had accumulated a small sum of money through the sale of paintings to village patrons, who, considering the immaturity of my attempts, were as munificent, in their way, as any of the Medicis. I am amused now to think that one of these efforts was entitled the " Expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise" after Milton's description, and it was purchased by an excellent lady, not, I am sure, on account of any conspicuous merit, but because she desired to aid an ambitious boy. Ah ! Indeed ! I have been generously treated. I have seen the brightest side of human nature, as well as the darkest, but the brightest is predominant.
With this sum of money in my pocket, and with many presents of pious books, which I promised to read, in my trunk, I said good-by to many dear friends whose warm handshakes and hearty blessings I have never forgotten, and departed to try my fortunes in the city of Troy.
From this period, I was forever free from any sort of positive restraint, except that imposed by my previous incomplete and rather desultory training: my unbiased tendencies as regards most things, and all there was flexible and plastic in my nature were exposed to the current influ-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	27
ences of my time. I fell in with these influences and was swept on, and was shaped and developed by them, exercising as much individual choice as is rarely ever granted to a youth at the age of fifteen and continued to the period of maturity. The mistakes I made were my own.
Upon my arrival in the city, I sought the studios of the two artists residing there, in the hope that either one or the other would accept me as a student for the services I might render : for I had read of such a custom among artists in Italy and the Netherlands: of young G-iorgione assisting. Bellini and of Van Dyke's doubtful touches in the backgrounds of Rubens.
Mr. Moore, who had made a moderate fortune in portrait-painting, received me kindly, but not desiring pupils, he exerted himself warmly in my behalf in other directions, and tried by many discouraging arguments to shake my resolution to become a painter. One very practical argument he employed has often forcibly recurred to me. He assured me that the time was shortly coming when photography would supersede portrait-painting—at least, the ordinary portrait-painting that young artists, without means, then depended upon for support, while pursuing their studies of the figure or landscape. So earnest was he in dissuading me from what he considered an " unwise course for a young man who wished ever to amount to anything," that he found me a position as apprentice in a drugstore, which I declined—and afterward, a position as messenger in a bank, which I also declined, not forgetting to thank him and explaining my aversion to mercantile pursuits and my persevering determination to become an artist.
I called upon the other portrait-painter—Mr. Conant. He was comparatively a young man, thoughtful and enthusiastic, and after several conversations, promised to receive me as a student on the following first of January. In the mean time, it was necessary to be employed, and learning that a clerk was wanted in a law-office on State Street, I secured the position, earning my weekly wages by
28	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
copying and serving papers, running to Court, and filling up the intervals of work by reading Blackstone and Kent and other, more attractive, books from a private library.
A fellow-clerk in the law-office, a bright-faced, companionable boy, was named Frank Brownell. At the same time, where I boarded, I became acquainted with a young man, somewhat older than myself, whose name was Ellsworth. He was a clerk in a collar-store on River Street. He displayed a fondness for military exercises, and it was his delight, of an evening, to assemble some of the boarders, including several young ladies, and arming us with broomsticks, canes and umbrellas, to form us in line in the hall and teach us the French-Zouave drill. Several years later, on a certain memorable morning, I was a Union soldier on picket-duty in the outskirts of Alexandria, Virginia. A number of excited citizens approached and informed me that Colonel Ellsworth of the New York Fire Zouaves had been killed, while hauling down a Confederate flag, by the landlord of the Marshall House, who, in turn, had been killed by a soldier named Brownell. I sent the news to the headquarters of our regiment. This was the same Ellsworth and the same Brownell I had known in Troy. Ellsworth, it will be remembered, was the first Union officer who fell in the war.
At the beginning of the year I entered the studio of Mr. Conant and received, for the first time, practical instruction in drawing and painting. I joined the Young Men's Association and had access to its library, one of the largest and best in the country.
I read with profound interest Ruskin's " Modern Painters," and often re-read it. It oppressed all my early studies and its pernicious Pre-Raphaelite teachings deflected me widely from the path to success in Art. His harsh criticisms of the works of famous masters disturbed my standards of excellence; his claims to perceive neglected phases of Nature that few or none of the greatest painters had ever properly observed, or certainly not skillfully portrayed, engendered mistrust of my own ability to
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	29
attain the superlative powers of perception and depiction possessed only by Turner and a very few others. I was too immature then to see that much of the matter in "Modern Painters" is mere fine verbiage, often wanting in ordinary good sense. It encourages over-preparation—the tendency to be ever preparing the studies for a great picture and never having confidence enough to make the attempt. With the exception of certain excellent maxims, such as " Only the phenomena of Nature should be painted," which I have always moderately maintained, and some other unremembered dicta, I regard many precepts in "Modern Painters" as vain phrases, likely to lead a young artist astray—in cultivating false ideas relative to the proper—that is the restricted—imitation of Nature. Some of the most distinguished of modern painters, like Corot, Dau-bigny and Millet, have produced immortal works while ignoring the theoretical principles most vehemently insisted upon by Ruskin, and even by reversing important rules he has dogmatically laid down. Still, of course, " Modern Painters" is universally regarded as a masterpiece of literary composition and is full of valuable suggestions to a mature artist.
I remained with Mr. Conant until the summer when I was sixteen, and had the advantage of constant practice in painting heads from life and drawing from the cast.
As an artist, Mr. Conant's style was unpretentious, though vigorous and sincere. He was practical in his views of life, and of an amiable and generous disposition. Later, he removed to St. Louis and became a successful portrait painter, accumulating a fortune. He also became widely known in the scientific world as a student of archaeology and his book entitled, " Footprints of Vanished Races in the Mississippi Valley," has been highly commended by European savants.
After spending a few pleasant weeks at my old home, sketching and painting from nature, I carried out my long-considered plan of trying my fortune in the great Metropolis and reached New York in September, 1855.
30	EVOLUTION OP A LIFE:
At the period of my first residence in Troy, I was an exceedingly pious youth, attending regularly the bible class in Dr. Baldwin's church, absorbing much sacred literature and often saying my prayers as I walked along the streets. I recollect how shocked I was in reading the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, whom I venerated as one of the wisest of men, to find that he regarded the immortality of the soul as a doubtful question; and again, in hearing a prominent physician say that no anatomist had ever succeeded in finding the exact location of the human soul, but he believed some good dissector would yet place his finger upon it. Such shocks created much mental confusion, and excited trains of thought altogether too deep for one so young and so free from direction.
On St. Valentine's Day when I was a student at Con-ant's, I received a valentine simply recommending me to read the First Epistle of St. John, chapter iv., 7. I readily guessed that it was a message from the dear little maiden whom I had not seen in two years, and from whom I had parted angrily in a love quarrel. The valentine led to tender correspondence, and I spent much time, and postage, in keeping her informed of the varying condition of my emotions and of my plans and prospects. She possessed the same taste for Art as myself—it was this drew us first together—and she had a firm belief in my future—a taste and belief that very naturally rendered her congenial and lovable to me. In these memoirs, I shall call her Alice.
CHAPTER III.
Beginning Life in the Metropolis—Art and Artists—The Authors and Publishers' Festival—Irving, Bryant and Milburn—De-signing in a Law-office—Embarking as an Artist—Meeting a Life-long Companion—The Bryan Gallery—Thomas Nast—A Remarkable Valet.
I ARRIVED in New York with the purpose of attending the antique school of the National Academy of Design, but was obliged to wait a few weeks before it was decided there should be no school that season. I secured lodging in Murray Street, and improved these few weeks in visiting artist's studios, where, I may say, I was always politely welcomed, and in repeatedly viewing the exhibitions in the Bryan and Diisseldorf galleries. Here, for the first time, I had opportunity to examine the works of renowned masters.
There was little general regard felt for the arts of design in New York, or America, in those days. The American Art Union which had given such a generous impulse to the development of native talent, had been dissolved by the enforcement of the laws relating to lotteries, and there was very poor encouragement for even the best American artists. The names of some of the figure painters then in their prime are almost forgotten now : such as Mount, Ranney, Bingham, Edmunds, Lillie M. Spencer, and John Quidor. I made the acquaintance of Elliott, Ingham, Huntington, Gray, Baker, Kensett, Stearns, Cropsey, and Robert M. Pratt. The last was my good friend for many years, until his death at a ripe age. He lived a most beautiful life as an artist and as a man. None of these, however, received students in their studios, but nearly all were kind enough to give me general directions as to methods of study.
32	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
The first positive art-awakening in New York came a year or two later, when Church's great picture of " Niagara" was exhibited in a print store in Broadway, and attracted crowds.
A young man, named Fenner, whom I had known in Troy, and who had preceded me in New York, filled a good position in a large publishing house, and through him I was enabled to procure a ticket to the Authors' and Publishers' Festival, held in one of the wings of the Crystal Palace in the autumn of this year (1855). The decorations, the music, the people, and the speeches at this Festival survive with great distinctness in my memory. Some of the most celebrated of American authors were present, and I had the privilege of first viewing them all from the gallery, and afterward of mingling with them on the floor and listening to their remarks in response to toasts. William Appleton presided. Washington Irving sat near him and, according to his invariable wish on public occasions, was spared from making a speech. I noticed that much of the time during the evening, he sat with his head leaning against his hand, as I had seen him represented in por-traits—a habit caused, as some phrenologist gravely affirmed, by the weight of his bump of " Ideality," which unconsciously sought rest on the tips of his fingers ! Not far from Irving sat Bryant, who delivered a finished address. I thought the best speech of the evening was made by Milburn, " The Blind Preacher," who was led to the center of the floor, and raising the green shade above his eyes, spoke in a rich, sympathetic voice amid profound attention. I remember well his beautiful peroration, in which, alluding to the two most distinguished of those present, he said : " If I were the author of the ' Sketch Book' (pointing toward Irving), or of those lines beginning "Me groves were God's first temples ' (waving his hand in the direction of Bryant), gladly would I wear this badge of suffering (touching his shade), and wear it as a badge of triumph." I was also much impressed with Rev. Mr. Chapin's eloquence in response to the toast of " The
MEMOIRS OF SETH RYLAND.	33
Press," and can repeat one of his thrilling sentences: " The rattle of the steam press is more powerful than the rumbling of artillery. Each type as it clicks into place hits a mark, though it be a thousand years ahead." Beecher, my early ideal of a great man, following Chapin, disappointed me, for he was evidently not so well prepared as the latter, but I thought it quite an event to get sight of the great preacher and writer. I regarded with much curiosity Professor Morse and Peter Parley (S. G. Goodrich), N. P. Willis, " Fanny Fern" his sister, Mrs. Sigourney, and Alice Cary. Many of those present, who were then considered to have attained substantial fame, are now scarcely ever mentioned.
At the end of a month, I found upon examining the condition of my purse, that in order to exist longer, I should either be compelled to return to the country, which I was disinclined to do under any circumstances, or else find remunerative employment in the city.
I began at the Battery, one Monday morning, and sought some kind of occupation west of Broadway, below Chambers Street, where at that time the rows of business houses terminated, and within that area, during the next few days, I called in almost every store and counting-house, offering my services as clerk or in any other desired capacity. As a rule, no help was required, but I found a few merchants who would direct me to other establishments where there might be a chance; and two or three even went so far, after asking questions concerning myself, as to accompany me to other business-houses, and telling the proprietors where I was from, and what I wanted, recommend them to employ me. I greatly doubt whether such courtesy could be found among the New York merchants of to-day. I soon discovered, however, that having had no previous business experience whatever, there was little chance of obtaining a position in this way : but I persevered for three days, mapping out in my mind certain blocks and not omitting to call in every place where work was visible, no matter how unpromising the outlook. On the fourth day
3
34	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
it occurred to me that, as a law clerk, I had the required " previous experience," and abandoning the plan of seeking employment in commercial houses I began at the lower part of Wall Street, calling at lawyers' offices, skipping none. Going up Wall Street to Nassau, thence through to Beekman, then down Broadway to Bowling Green. Several lawyers took my address, promising to send me a note in case they should require a clerk. I recall one eminent practitioner who greatly elated my hopes, one morning, by politely requesting me to be seated, and then, after nearly half an hour's practice in cross-questioning concerning my birth and lineage, political views and notions of a salary, he remarked, much to my disappointment, that he was in no need of a clerk, but that he would like to have me call any Friday evening at the address upon a card which he presented me. I examined it and saw that it was a printed invitation to a church prayer-meeting. Perhaps, he had simply utilized me to exercise his powers as a cross-examiner before going into court.
I spent the rest of the week visiting lawyers' offices, and when Saturday evening came, tired and dejected, I sat in my lonely attic room in Murray Street reflecting upon my desperate circumstances; for, really, I had no home to go to: I was, in fact, out in the wide world, without employment, friends or funds. Suddenly, there was a rap at the door and the servant handed me a letter. It was from a law firm in Nassau Street with whom I had left my address, requesting me to call Monday morning. I did not wait until Monday morning, but bounding across the Park reached the office before it was closed, and was hired as a clerk for the following week, or as long as I suited.
In my leisure hours I resumed the reading of Bent and Blackstone and other elementary works on law, not with any intention of becoming a lawyer, but to better understand my duties as a clerk, and to avoid idleness. I remember particularly the deep impression made upon me by reading an old copy of Pufendorf " On the Law of Nature and Nations," and attribute much of my sub-
MEMOIRS OF SETH =AND.	35
sequent love of philosophical abstractions to the influence of this profound, yet very lucid work.
My duties led me frequently into the courts, and there were not many prominent lawyers practicing at the New York bar, in those days, whom I did not hear argue a motion or plead a case. James T. Brady, John Graham and Charles O'Conor were then the leading spirits in the profession.
The evenings I passed in my room drawing from casts. The noted designer, Samuel Wallin, had kindly made me a present of an anatomical statuette, which I copied repeatedly, until the advent of a new and extremely modest servant girl, who, during my absence, threw it out of the window and smashed it—because she considered it " too naked to have around." I almost cried with rage over her modesty.
John McLenan, another designer, one of the best America has produced, had given me some practical hints in drawing on wood, and he had permitted me to see him at work. I carried him some of my attempts at designing which he praised, after asking me suspiciously if they were original. I regarded his suspicions as the greatest encouragement. My salary being but three dollars per week, just equal to the cost of living, I found some difficulty in procuring box-wood and other materials to work with, and in order to obtain them I parted with my overcoat, and during the rest of the severe winter, I kept my blood in circulation by going on the double-quick between my lodging and the office, cutting across the City Hall Park to save distance.
Thanksgiving day, being a general holiday, I went to the office and drew all day. It was extremely cold weather, there was no fire in the grate, and in the midst of my labors I was surprised by the entrance of the senior partner of the law firm—Mr. Lawrence, who was equally surprised to find me at work in such a chilly room. He inspected my drawing with considerable interest and when I told him it was my intention to study art, and not law,
36	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
he warmly approved of my plan, saying: that a person who loved and followed Art would derive much more happiness out of life than the mere lawyer : that although himself a pretty successful lawyer, he was not particularly fond of the practice, and sought mental solace outside of it; had he a talent for painting he would never think of pursuing the drudgery of the law. This conversation led to his taking a decided interest in my future and in the following spring, with his aid and encouragement, together with that of an early and always good friend at my old home; and with several orders for pictures from Fenner, and other acquaintances I had made, I opened a studio on the upper floor of the People's Bank Building in Canal Street. It was in this building that I first met my lifelong friend Liscard, who occupied a studio on the floor below me.
Liscard had early aspirations and real talent for art, which his family sought to repress by establishing him as a junior partner in an extensive manufacturing business. The firm was unfortunate in some of its ventures: he revolted against business pursuits, and in opposition to the wishes of his family' and friends, and even of his sweetheart, who married another in consequence, set up his easel as an artist. As he was ten years my senior he had much influence upon my early life, with which he was closely identified, being my companion on my second trip to Europe and fellow-student while there. He also served with me during the War of the Rebellion as a lieutenant and quartermaster of the cavalry regiment in which I was a captain. Necessarily, he is a conspicuous figure in these recollections. At the period of our first meeting he was somewhat foppish in his dress, wearing a silk beaver and much exquisite jewelry, and prided himself upon not looking like an artist. His liberal training, high social connections and business experience naturally made him despise the long-haired and broad-brimmed affectations of so many brethren of the brush. He was well educated, a
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	37
natural student, honest to the extreme of conscientiousness, and so self-commanding and gentlemanly that in all the years we spent together we never had a quarrel.
During the following summer my friend Fenner and myself boarded together in an ancient, elm-shaded mansion on Staten Island, near Quarantine. There were several local cases of yellow fever that season and much alarm prevailed. We often went in bathing near the shore, and it was thought that he came in contact one evening with articles thrown over from some infected vessel, for he was prostrated with the fever not many days afterward. When his physician told me the nature of his illness; that it was a veritable case of yellow fever and advised me to leave, I refused, and staid by and took care of him until he recovered. His escape from death was a very narrow one, and, though I took no thought of credit for remaining, he was my firmest friend cver after.
At the beginning of autumn I was offered the position, with a salary, of clerk in the Bryan Gallery, where, at the time, I was copying. Finding that the duties of the place would not interrupt my studies, I gave up my unprofitable studio and accepted it. I succeeded Thomas Nast, since famous as a caricaturist. He was quite a boy then, younger than I was, and he left the position to take a more remunerative one on Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, which had been started the year before. He was always " bright, cheery and brave," and decidedly industrious. I met him in after life and he related to me several incidents of his interesting career—in Italy as the companion of Garibaldi and in Washington as the guest of President Grant.
The pictures composing the Bryan Gallery were collected by Mr. Bryan, an American by birth, during a residence of forty years in Paris. While a young man he had inherited a large fortune, his father having been at one time in business with John Jacob Astor, and he possessed the mental tastes, the physical health and the prudence to enjoy his fortune during a lengthened life. With such a rarely for-
38	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
tuitous combination of the elements of happiness, he only required to place himself in the neigborhood of pleasures more varied and seductive than is elsewhere found on the earth, and he did so—in Paris. If he failed to fully enjoy this state of human existence—who, then, can expect to?
As a connoisseur, Mr. Bryan was well known and quoted in Continental art circles. Beside a genuine love of pictures, he betrayed shrewd business sense in making purchases for his collection: and some of his most highly prized paintings were obtained in obscure places where their merits were unknown, and in times of panic. The Revolutions of 1830 and '48, compelling many wealthy families to hurriedly quit Paris and France, gave him peculiar opportunities to secure some of their art treasures at prices far below their estimated value. In forming his collection, he aimed to obtain at least one specimen of the work of each of the famous old masters, and in point of historical sequence his gallery was quite complete, although many of these specimens had been seriously injured by time and defaced by unskillful attempts at restoration, while others were well preserved and extremely good examples of the work of the greatest artists.
It was Mr. Bryan's highest ambition to found a national school of art in the American metropolis, using his own collection as a nucleus. In this he was disappointed. All facilities were afforded students who desired to copy, yet few took advantage of them and the gallery was mach less frequented than he had anticipated. Had he discovered a spirit of co-operation he intended to present his gallery to the city, but the city authorities were indifferent to his offers and this embittered him: and with everything to make him happy he had, like other mortals, his grievance. At the time I speak of, the exhibition rooms were on Broadway, near Union Square. Upon the completion of the Cooper Institute the paintings were removed there, but Mr. Bryan quarreled with Mr. Cooper, one day, because the latter rather recklessly singled out to a visitor the beauties of a precious picture by Rembrandt with the point of his
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	39
umbrella. The collection was finally presented to the New York Historical Society.*
Toward me, Mr. Bryan was invariably kind and complimentary, predicting for me a successful career as an artist. Through his warm praise of some of my copies I was enabled to dispose of a number at reasonably good prices.
He was a handsome old bachelor, of courtly bearing, and dwelt in apartments in the Gallery building on the opposite side of the main hall. A French valet took charge of his household and prepared his breakfasts. He invariably dined at his club.
The valet I shall call Felix. He was about thirty-five, and of rather a noticeable figure, with precise mouth and good-natured dark eyes. Sometimes he appeared to be the very type of a meek-looking, melancholy priest, and again, he seemed an effeminate Gil Blas overflowing with lively, conversational humor. I noticed that his face was seldom closely shaven ; he wore a cap like a cook's, baggy trousers, and long peasant's blouse. At noon, when I went out to lunch, he took my place in charge of the gallery. On my return I frequently found him talking with interested visitors, with whom he was a great favorite. Men who were prominent in the church, on the bench, at the bar and in the local world of art, were regular patrons of the gallery, and it was the custom of many, in the absence of Felix, to inquire, in a complimentary way, after his health. He spoke French with a pure Parisian accent and some of these gentlemen took pleasure in conversing with him in that language and exercising their accomplishment. Among these excellent judges of pictures I remember Archbishop Hughes, Rev. Dr. Cummings, Judge C. P. Daly, Richard Grant White and Henry Peters Gray, the artist, who considered the gallery the best collection of paintings in the New World. Felix was also a favorite with the ladies : in fact his winning tone of voice and polite manners prepossessed every one. I became very much attached to him and
* In 1878 I wrote a somewhat lengthy, reministic description of this gallery, which appeared in the Sunday edition of the New York World.
40	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
vastly interested in his descriptions of his early life and native surroundings. He had been a close observer as well as an extensive reader, and was fond of gossip. As I grew intimate with him, there appeared an undefinable singularity of manner which always baffled me to account for.
I wondered sometimes why he was so easily startled by trivial incidents, and laughed at him for his candid timidity. Ooming upon him suddenly from behind a door, one morning, I so frightened him that he came near fainting, and I was quite alarmed over the time it took him to recover. One day I heard a woman's voice in a distant room in the gallery—singing; and as I had seen no lady pass in, I stopped work and went to explore. I found only Felix, and wonderingly inquired where that woman was who sang so beautifully. He laughed, and accused me of having women so constantly in my thoughts that I imagined them in impossible places. I blushed probably, because it was half true. As months rolled by, I became accustomed to his peculiarities and almost ceased to remark them.
I painted as a present for him a portrait from life of his father who was quite an old man, a survivor of the wars of Napoleon. He wore the St. Helena medal and upon his cheek was an ugly scar received from a Cossack, whom he killed, on the retreat from Moscow.
One day, at lunch time, I was waiting impatiently for Felix to come and relieve me. It was much later than his usual time of coming, and finally I rushed over to his room. I knocked, and scarcely waiting for an answer, pushed open the door and surprised him—dressing. The mystery was solved. Felix was a woman!
CHAPTER IV.
The History of Felix—A Lesson in Diplomacy—The Oaksmitlis—A Family of Geniuses Poetry allied with Piracy — A Literary Slaver—A Niobean Mother.
I MUST now use the feminine in speaking of Felix, although I have always thought of her in the masculine. It was impossible ever to overcome my first impressions, and my friendship for her was always that of a man for a man.
When surprised she had slammed the door upon me and presently appeared in the gallery, deathly pale and trembling. There was no one present and she made me promise solemn secrecy. I pledged myself never to betray her secret to her injury.
Afterward she told me the story of her life. When a girl of about thirteen she was apprenticed by her parents, who were past middle life and poor, as a servant to the wife of the governor of Havre and she was required to dress in male attire. The lady desired a femme-de-chambre to wait upon her in her own apartments and a valet to accompany her in the streets. She preferred to have the two offices united in one person. For a long time, Felix could not overcome the feeling that every passer-by suspected her disguise, and she took exceeding care to dress in such a manner as to conceal feminine outlines. She cultivated a harsh voice and a boyish swagger. In time she began to shave, and one day she was surprised in the act by her mistress, who scolded her severely, predicting that if she kept up the practice she would surely have a beard. This caution, instead of dissuading her, only prompted her to renewed, though more secret attempts to produce a beard: and she so far succeeded that she thus acquired her chiefest disguise; for though she wore no length of beard,
42	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
her face plainly indicated that one could be grown, and she was careful not to shave closely. Besides, the cut of her hair, as well as the style of her clothes, disarmed suspicion. W hen she was about seventeen she had a serious adventure. It was her custom, when allowed a holiday, to visit her parents, who lived in the city of Rouen, and she generally made these visits afoot. On one of these trips, she fell in with an ugly tramp, who insisted upon keeping her company. They stopped to rest by the wayside. He suspected her sex, accused her of it, and grasping her by the throat tore away her neck covering. She saw a carriage approaching, screamed for help and struck him in the face with all her might. He drew a poniard, stabbed her in the head, and stretched her senseless. When she recovered consciousness, she was in a swiftly moving carriage with a lady and gentleman bending over her. She had strength enough to say that she belonged to the governor of Havre's household, and fainted. It took a long time for her recovery and there remained ever after a deep scar. Her assailant was captured and sent to the galleys for life.
The father of Felix was one of those men, often described, who were generated in the crimson soil of the first French Revolution, and whose trade was military fighting. His life up to Waterloo had been one of convulsion and catastrophe. Surviving that grand and decisive battle, he looked forward to a life of pleasant repose. But the Revolution of 1830 called him again to scenes of strife. Finally, the Revolution of '48 found him old and infirm and he began to despair of the stability of any government in France. He was tired of revolutionary clamor and confusion and determined to seek a peaceful home iii another country.
When Louis Philippe escaped from Paris in 1848, he fled to Havre and thence to Southampton. At Havre he was concealed in the governor's palace. After the King's departure for England, the governor, who was, doubtless, like Felix's father, disheartened by incessant political changes, went out in his garden and fired a bullet through his brain.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	43
The report of the pistol was heard by Felix, and she was the first to reach the corpse.
The death of the governor caused an eventful change in her fortunes. Her father decided upon coming to America. The subject of a change of dress for Felix was fully debated and all the consequences considered. She was now accustomed to masculine garments and being devoted to her parents, she was influenced in her decision solely by the question of wages. As a man, she argued, she should find little difficulty in supporting the entire family, in which there were two girls much younger than herself ; but as a woman, she, as the only able-bodied worker in the household, might scarcely earn enough to save them from starvation. Accordingly, she retained her male attire, and with valuable letters of recommendation from the governor's widow and other friends, she with her family came to New York, where she at once secured a situation as valet in the family of the French consul. Subsequently she found a position in the home of a wealthy silk merchant, whose daughter unluckily fell in love with her, and carried the passion to such extremities that Felix was compelled, in order to preserve her secret, to find employment elsewhere. She found it as the valet of Mr. Bryan, then first returned from Europe, who, I am sure, never suspected her sex. I remember, one Christmas, that the daughter of the silk merchant, who had become a happy married woman, came in her carriage to the gallery and sent her footman up to Felix with a handsome holiday present.
After Mr. Bryan's departure for Europe, (he died at sea), she obtained a situation as collector for a commercial house, where she remained many years. She often visited the office of The Revolution, the organ of the Woman's Rights party, and she was a great favorite with its man-agers—including Mrs. Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony and others. She laughingly related to me how she used to argue with them against the doctrine of " Woman's Rights," simply for the sake of teasing, while at the same time she enjoyed the contemplation of the fact—if they but
44	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
knew it—that her case was the very best exemplification of what they were advocating so eloquently—" A man's wages for a man's work." She was prosperous, and accumulating some money as a " man," whereas, had she declared her sex, she might have earned only the scanty and irregular wages of a scrub-woman.
Felix was a devout Catholic, with little superstitious veneration for priests, however, and little awe of men generally. In her capacity as collector she could adopt a brusque, business-like, masculine tone, when she liked, that would inspire immediate attention and respect.
In the course of years her parents died and her sisters married and emigrated to New Mexico. She was strictly economical in her habits and prudent and circumspect in the extreme. For years, I was her legal adviser, for she developed considerable talent for business; and I ascertained for her, one day, that the mere act of a female's wearing male apparel in an orderly manner is not unlawful in the State of New York, though it might influence judgment in a case of disorderly conduct. A few years ago, being in failing health, she followed her sisters to New Mexico, where carrying out a life-long purpose, which I often heard her express, she no doubt resumed female attire and entered a convent.
The story of Felix may seem somewhat marvelous, but it is true.
I copied a large number of paintings in the Bryan Gallery under Mr. Bryan's observation and direction. The soundness of many of his theories concerning color was approved by subsequent investigation. He pointed out the pervading grayness in the works of the great Flemish colorists as the basis of all brilliancy in color. He claimed, that in both the Flemish and Venetian schools, an artist's ability to produce " sweet grays" was the test of his ability to produce rich and luminous effects. The Flemish school was his favorite, technically, because shadows were painted with transparent color, and therefore never darkened with age, as did the opaque shadows of other schools; and the
MEMOIRS OP SETH EYLAND.	45
lights were loaded on, giving firmness of body and modeling that withstood the effects of time.
The observations of Mr. Bryan, if followed, could not fail to properly guide the few students who came to the gallery to copy. He had made theoretical art a life-long study; some of the most distinguished modern artists had been his intimate friends; he had acquired vast knowledge of artistic canons and methods and was withal acutely and convincingly critical.
In copying, I was often interrupted by visitors, whose admission fees it was my first duty to receive and then to offer them catalogues. One day I was mounted on a stepladder, copying a large picture, when an old gentleman with broad bald head and benevolent countenance made his appearance in the gallery. I descended, took his fee, offered him a catalogue which he declined, and again mounted the steps. He followed me and began asking questions about the various paintings on the walls. For a while I answered pleasantly; but I was so often annoyed in this way by persons who were too indifferent or parsimonious to purchase a catalogue, that I finally informed the persistent questioner, rather rudely, I must admit, that if he had twenty-five cents about him, he could purchase a catalogue and obtain all the information he desired. " Ah ! Quite true; thank you," was the old gentleman's response; and then he took a quiet survey of my work and exclaimed, " What an excellent copy you are making!" He not only warmly praised my work, but assured me that I was very far advanced for so young a man. This diplomatic turn to the conversation touched my vanity and convinced me that he was a very tolerable judge of pictures ! I put my palette by and, again descending from my lofty pedestal, accompanied him in a tour of the collection, pointing out masters and describing subjects. I found him thoroughly appreciative, and learned that he had seen many of the most famous galleries of Europe. We were just parting, mutually pleased, at the door, when Mr. Bryan entered. While I was withdrawing to my perch, I noticed that Mr. B. took off his hat to the
46	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
venerable man and with all the French style at his command bowed and shook hands. He would not permit the
visitor to go until he took another tour of the rooms. After his departure Mr. Bryan came up to me and asked quite blandly " Do you know who that gentleman was?" I replied of course in the negative. " Well, sir, that was Martin Van Buren, ex-President of the United States." He had taught me a little lesson in politeness, and, upon after thought, in diplomacy.
I made several friends among the visitors to the gallery, with some of whom I afterward became intimate. Among those most prominent in my memory is Edward Oaksmith, a genial young man of literary accomplishments, who was some years my senior. As long as I knew him we were warmly attached.
He belonged to the class of eccentric youth regarded as "geniuses," with the difference that he possessed substantial merit and, with all his out ward affectations, had great horror of incurring the epithet of " prig," which Thackeray so freely bestowed upon men of his type; for his love of literature was genuine and his tastes exalted. His energies, however, lacked concentration, and he was at a loss to determine whether he should select, as a pursuit, literature, music or painting. For the latter he had no perceptible talent, though decided preference, but he was gifted with a rare tenor voice, and besides had displayed considerable ability as an actor in one or two clandestine ventures on the stage. He inherited his taste for letters, being a son of Seba Smith and Elizabeth Oakes Smith, two well known authors whose sons had legalized their change of name to Oaksmith.
Edward's personal appearance was imposing. He was over six feet in height, symmetrical in figure, with handsome features, expressive blue eyes, and blonde hair, which he wore long—in short, he had all the attributes of the conventional hero in old romances. For years, he was an attractive personage on Broadway, where he frequently appeared in richly embroidered Mexican sombrero amd
MEMOIRS OF SETH ETLAND	47
concho, awakening wonder in adult minds and receiving much attention from inquisitive small boys, whom he usually treated with grave and dignified contempt.
I- painted his portrait in monkish habit, with upturned eyes .and spiritual expression, and called it " Young St. Francis." I gave it to his mother, who was much pleased with it, regarding it as a fair, though idealized likeness.
The family resided in a spacious and elegantly furnished mansion opposite St. Mark's Church. It was a happy household, where a certain courtesy was blended with all demonstrations of affection. I often attended Mrs. Oakes Smith's literary receptions, where I met some of the noted authors and artists of the day. She presided at these receptions with queenly grace and with natural social tact, still retaining, though in maturity, beauty that had evoked one of the best portrait efforts of the artist Sully, who had also painted Queen Victoria from life: and she inspired in me the same personal veneration in which she was held by all her sons. Longfellow's estimate had placed her at the head of American female poets, and Edgar A. Poe had characterized her " Sinless Child " as one of the most original of American poems. At the time I refer to she and her husband edited the United States Magazine afterward consolidated, under their management, with Putnam's Monthly. Toward me this gracious lady was very kind and encouraging—an attention I sought to repay by presenting her with some of the copies I painted in the Bryan Gallery. One of these copies, after Vandervelde, she described in a sketch in the magazine, mentioning my name with conspicuous praise, and rendering me very happy and grand. The day before I sailed for Europe, she invited me into her carriage and we made several calls together upon some of the wealthiest families in the city, she presenting me as a young artist going abroad to study and bound to distinguish himself. What golden days those were! and how fast I seemed to be getting on in the world.
Seba Smith, at the time I knew him, though somewhat aged, was still an industrious writer. He was best known as
48	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
the original author of the "Major Jack Downing. Letters," which had much influence and popularity and many imitators during President Jackson's administration, and which are said to have lent inspiration to the more famous author of " The Bigelow Papers." Mr. Smith was also a mathematician, and his Geometry was at one time a text-book in nearly all public schools. He was likewise a poet. His quaint piece, "An Auction Extraordinary," may be found in old and new collections of American poetry, sometimes mistakenly ascribed to Lucretia Maria Davidson. During his early life he wielded wide influence as editor of the Portland (Maine) Courier. It was there he married Elizabeth Oakes Prince, who at the date of her marriage was a very young lady—less than sixteen.
Seba Smith had published a dramatic poem entitled " Powhatan," which Poe had criticised unmercifully, attacking the author in his most caustic and venomous, not to say scurrilous style. At about the same time a review of the works of Mrs. Oakes Smith, from his pen, contained laudatory expressions undoubtedly deserved, but unusual in Poe's critical reviews, except, perhaps, those written in his patronizing or partisan moods. Poe's critical opinions were decisive authority at that period.
No one could help noticing the widely different estimation in which the mother and father were held by their sons—the Oaksmiths, who were all grown. The father always appeared a genially kind old gentleman, though he seemed to accept a retired and almost obscure position in the household, while the mother, as I have intimated, was almost worshiped. She was indeed a worshipful woman. It was remarked that the different estimates of their merits formed in the literary world, had penetrated the family domicile, and openly prevailed there. I have thought since that I could recall in the manner of the old gentleman a sort of sturdy, silent protest against something in the conduct of his sons that was concealed, even, I believe, from the mother. It was, perhaps, the family skeleton, then closely hidden, but afterwards relentlessly exposed to the public.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	49
As the history of the Oaksmiths is a remarkable one, and as much has been written concerning them which is unjust and untrue, I think in justice to the blameless Nio-bean mother, that now, as all have passed away, I should give my version of incidents which brought them into national notice and, in a measure, overshadowed the lives of all.
There were four sons, all manly, handsome and gifted: Appleton, Sidney, Abner and Edward. At the time I first knew them, Appleton was reputed wealthy, although temporarily embarrassed by the seizure of the bark " Amelia" by the United States government. He had become interested in the filibustering schemes of Walker in Nicaragua, and had been appointed by Walker Nicaraguan ambassador to Washington, but was not recognized by our government. He purchased the bark " Amelia" and loaded her with arms and munitions of war, which he bought with his own money, amounting, it was said, to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The vessel and cargo were seized while en route to Central America, in violation of our neutrality laws, and after a long legal contest confiscated to the United States.
When it was finally decided that the " Amelia" was a lawful prize, Appleton was financially wrecked. But where and how had he obtained the fortune he had invested in her? No one appeared to know. He had been absent from this country for years and was known simply as an enterprising sea-captain who had been successful in commercial voyages. Sidney had held the position of U. S. consul at Port au Prince, Hayti.
Edward I have partially described. His temperament was highly poetic and religious. He leaned toward theological disquisition. Accidentally, he became acquainted with the persuasive Father Hecker, and with his peculiar tendencies it is not surprising that he turned Romanist, to the dismay of his family and friends. But he was firm and sincere in his convictions, which were, after the first surprise, practically unmolested by his family. One day, shortly after
50	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
his conversion, when he was discoursing to me privately on what he termed the "Religiosity of Art," he alluded to pictures by old masters that he had seen in South American churches. I had never heard him speak before of having been so far away, and as he was such an interesting talker I eagerly urged him to tell me more about his travels, and inquired if he had traveled anywhere else than in South America. " Yes," he replied, " in Europe and Africa, too." He said he had been on several sea voyages as cabin-boy with his brothers, but I could never prevail upon him to dwell upon the subject or give me further particulars of his distant tours. I am sure, now, that he must have looked back upon them with horror.
Although Edward was polite to the verge of excess and of a sweet and noble nature, I have seen him on occasion, when a small boy made some reflection upon his eccentric personal appearance, give vent to terrible fits of passion. His crest would seem to rise like a lion's, his eyes flashed, his lips curled above his incisors and he would look a very picture of wrath. He contributed articles to the magazines, principally metaphysical essays, and poetry. After coquetting with pictorial art for a time, he finally decided to devote himself to the cultivation of his voice and become an opera-singer. It was in this mood I found him on my return from my first trip to Europe. We were much together during the brief interval before my second departure, and upon announcing to him that my friend Liscard, whom he knew, was going abroad with me he became infused with the desire to accompany us and finish his musical studies in a world-famous conservatory. His family could not, he said, afford to send him, but he resolved to make an effort in another direction. He told me that a large-hearted 'friend of his and of his family, a wealthy manufacturer, had more than once invited him to come to him for the means, whenever he desired to go abroad to study. So, having made up his mind to go with us, he felt sure there would be no financial obstacle in the way, and he agreed to be ready before the day fixed for our
Jantonts OP SETH ELAND.
Alepartnre. I shall never forget his appearance as he entered my studio on the same day of his interview with the gentleman upon whom he had so confidently relied, and told me, with tears in his eyes, that he could not go with us: that he had been disappointed and grossly insulted by his supposed friend. The latter had commenced the interview by offering to provide him with ample means to go to Dresden or Milan, or any other European city he might select, and to grant him an allowance larger than that of any other American student abroad, but on one condition, and that was, that he should renounce the Romish religion, which, it was argued, was not the religion of his family, but had been adopted by him merely in a spirit of youthful enthusiasm when under the influence of designing priests. This condition made Edward a martyr at once, and he resolutely and indignantly spurned the offer. Although I had, at the time, vague prejudices myself against Romanism, I could not help heartily sympathizing with him for his firm adherence to his sincere convictions and his resistance to auth a powerful temptation.
Edward's later career was rather checkered. While I was a student in Belgium, I learned that he had concluded to become a priest. In company with a son of Dr. Brown-son (of Brownson's Review), who was also a candidate for the priesthood, he sailed for Europe, where both, being promising proselytes, were received with unusual ceremony by the Archbishop of Paris and other church dignitaries. Edward entered upon his novitiate in some cloister in the south of France, but remained there only one year, and then, having grave misgivings about his intrinsic fitness for the priestly profession, (or, as he afterward told a mutual friend, finding that he was " too human"), he returned to America, married happily, and began a literary career. His translation of " Narcisse" from the French was highly praised by reviewers. His health failing, he went to Havana, where he died about 1867.
Appleton, after his reverses, became manager of the United States Magazine and developed uncommon talent 4
52	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE
as a writer. His poem entitled " Maggie Bell," a pleasant melody, full of tender and touching pathos, was widely reprinted. It would seem incredible that the author of such a poem had ever been the captain of an African slave-ship, or that he would be tried and convicted for connection with what the law terms " piracy and murder on the high seas." When I recall his winning features and mild, suave and polished manners, I cannot associate him with any of the class who " ever scuttled ship or cut a throat."
The prosperity of the magazine, which, so far as its contents were concerned, was well conducted and popular, was seriously affected by the outbreak of the Rebellion, and its publication was suspended. Appleton early espoused the cause of the Union and at a largely attended mass-meeting held in January, 1861, in the Cooper Institute, for the purpose of cultivating sentiments of loyalty to the government, he was appointed one of a committee of three " to visit conventions in the seceding States and confer with the delegates of the people in regard to peace and the integrity of the Union." He was rising into national prominence, and, with the opportunities so fast approaching, almost any distinction was possible to one of his adventurous spirit and ability. In November of the same year he was arrested on the coast of Long Island while secretly attempting to go aboard his bark " Augusta," which had been fitted out as an African slaver and which was waiting for him off Fire Island. He attempted to reach her in a small boat, at night, but a severe storm compelled him to seek shelter with the lighthouse keeper on the island, who, having his suspicions aroused, sent word to the authorities. The prisoner was committed to Fort La Fayette. Several other arrests were made, and it appeared that there was a number of hitherto respectable merchants in New York who had been engaged more or less directly with the infamous traffic for years. The confusion incident to the beginning of the war was taken advantage of by these traders and several expeditions were fitted out. Among those arrested was Captain Gordon, who was tried, convicted and hanged
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	63
while Appleton was awaiting trial in prison. Investigation showed that the latter had long been engaged in the trade and the newly aroused spirit of aggression toward slavery foreboded determined prosecution.
His trial occurred in Boston and lasted several days. One of its remarkable features, reported in the press, was the presence in court of a large number of handsome ladies, sixteen in all, including his wife and mother. A golden-haired child sat at his feet. After his conviction, and while awaiting the result of an appeal for a new trial, he broke from his prison and escaped to Europe. The war practically disposing of slavery, the government made no serious effort to recapture him. After the war he quietly returned to this country and settled in an obscure region of North Carolina where, after several years, and after his pardon by President Grant, he successfully engaged in railway enterprises.
A few years ago, the newspapers contained harrowing details of the drowning of his three children, before his own eyes, in the harbor of Newberne. They were all in a boat which capsized, while they were far from shore on a pleasure excursion. It is said that he never recovered from the shock of helplessly witnessing their drowning struggles, and at last accounts he was considered a hopeless victim of melancholia.
Sidney Oaksmith, who, it was averred, used his official position as consul in Hayti to co-operate with Appleton in procuring proper clearances for his vessels and securing secret landing of the slaves in Cuba, became a practicing lawyer in New York. He, too, was of a most amiable and engaging disposition and exercised his literary proclivities in the columns of the Magazine. After the war, our government sold to Hayti the captured iron-clad " Atlanta," and Sidney was selected by the Haytian authorities to negotiate the sale and deliver the vessel. He was on board of her when she left Hampton Roads on the voyage to Hayti. She was never seen nor heard of after she left the harbor. As she was heavily incased with railroad iron; it
EVOLUTION OP A LITE:
is supposed that she was ingulfed in a storm off Cape Hatteras, and went down with all on board.
Of the dismal domestic scandals. in which the other brother was involved some years ago, and which created intense excitement at the time, I know little except that newspaper reports (which I believe were exaggerated) accused him of extreme brutality.
The lineage of the Oaksmiths, could it be remotely traced, might deeply interest students of the laws governing inherited resemblances. The developed characterists of these brothers seem at variance with well recognized natural laws, except perhaps the partially understood law of revertible tendencies. The parents being of a highly superior order, morally and intellectually, and the training of the sons, up to a certain period, almost perfect—whence did the dark strand in their otherwise noble compositions come?
Even those statesmen who believed slavery a divine institution would not undertake to defend the inhuman cruelties of the " middle passage," and it would seem beyond our powers of reconciliation that such products of refined training as the Oaksmiths, with their lofty aspirations in literature and art, should ever consent to chain together helpless human captives; and in defiance of the law of nations traffic in their misery.
Instead, however, of seeking for the hereditary source of such barbaric traits, which, in another age, might have made them sea-roving vikings or military chiefs and conquerors, it would be less difficult to borrow from the homi-lists, and show that the corrupting influences of our social organization, with its flimsy cant and fluctuating standards of honesty and morality, are chiefly responsible for such paradoxical phases of character.
The faculty for excellence in literature or art is almost invariably accompanied with a dominating love of approbation. The desire to win admiration and love of his work constitutes the supreme inspiration of the artist in words, or colors, and the Oaksmiths possessed this love of appro-
MEMOIRS OP SETH EYLAND.	55
bation to the degree of criminal weakness. They were not long in perceiving that general society scoffs at merit unless allied with material prosperity, at least in this quarter of the globe ; and that, in certain stratas of the social ascent, money alone is king, and they were determined to win it at whatever hazard. It is well enough to remember that they might have preserved a spirit of independence in a limited, though humble, circle of admirers; like many others they preferred the glitter and display which pleases the multitude.
CHAPTER V.
Edgar A. Poe's Susceptibility—At Pfaff's—Bayard Taylor, Doesticks and Walt Whitman—Saved by Enthusiasm—A Student at the Academy of Design—A Masked Model—The Dreamland of Youth—Blighted Love—Writing Poetry—Sailing for Europe.
A LITERARY lady, distinguished in those days, whose receptions I attended at her residence in Brooklyn, was Mrs. Estelle Anna Lewis. Among her guests I met Mrs. Clemm, the mother-in-law of Edgar A. Poe, for whom she had cared, in a devoted, motherly way, during much of his life. She told me among other things about him, that his delicate nervous system was so sensitive to the action of stimulants that a very slight quantity would produce immediate and noticeable mental excitement, and that a moderate quantity would quite derange him. She had known of instances, at social gatherings, of heartlessly curious persons, who were aware of his extreme susceptibility, giving him a glass of light wine simply to observe its effects upon him. It would change his whole manner at once ; for naturally sedate and reserved he would become exceedingly genial and talkative, launching forth upon almost any subject in the most interesting and charming manner.
About this time, I often accompanied Liscard and Edward Oaksmith to a humble German restaurant in a basement on Broadway near Bond Street, where there were very few customers and where our lunches were cooked by the proprietor's wife and served by the proprietor himself. There was a novel foreign flavor to the food and an odd attraction in the ways of the newly arrived German, who spoke but little English, and whose name was Pfaff. Oak-smith introduced many of his literary companions there, among them the, at that time, very popular author of the
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	57
" Doesticks Letters" who brought his fellow-reporters of the Tribune. Liscard guided his artist-friends there. Poets appeared: gentle Caleb Dunn, thoughtful Nathan D. Urner, and inspired George Arnold, and they sat around tables with versatile men of the world and brilliant journalists like Henry D. Clapp, Thomas Picton and Frank Bellew —the last of whom was also one of the most fertile and original of our caricaturists. In time, waiters were employed and the facilities of the place greatly expanded. Eventually, it became the chosen resort of gentlemen in some way connected with art or letters; knightly fellows—" free-lances, whose corselets were napkins and casques mugs of beer." They formed a distinct coterie in which there often appeared men of such mark as Walt Whitman and Bayard Taylor. As a group they probably approached nearer the descriptions given of the better class of Parisian Bohemians than any similar gathering ever seen in a New York café. The place became famous and the proprietor rich.
While I was copying in the Bryan Gallery it was visited by a distinguished French painter whose specialty was the portraiture of horses, and who had come to this country on a short visit to execute commissions received from wealthy sporting gentlemen. He admired the collection exceedingly, and was so fascinated with a white horse in the sunlit foreground of a marine piece by a Flemish master, that although he was on the eve of returning to Europe and had in fact engaged his passage for the next day's steamer, yet he determined to secure a copy of it. He went to work immediately, but not finishing it that day came again, early in the morning, and was absorbed in his subject, his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy of enthusiasm, when Mr. Bryan rushed in and inquired if he were not going in the steamer which sailed that day. " Yes!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch, " my baggage is aboard." Then hurriedly boxing up his copy and calling for a cab he rode to the dock, reaching it too late to take the steamer which had already departed. A few days later news came that it was wrecked
58	NVOLUTION O1' A LISS
in a collision with another vessel off the foggy coast of Newfoundland, and many of the passengers were drowned. The painter believed that the copy had saved his life and declared that he should never part with it.
During the winter of these years, I attended the evening classes of the National Academy of Design, drawing from the antique. It was a poor school with but little direction by inferior teachers. Of the students who turned out creditably and who gave evident signs of promise then, were Nast, Fredericks, Whittaker, Benson, Hennessy, W. H. Philp, and John S. Jameson. There was a general desire among the students for the establishment of a " life-school." The managers of the Academy had been recently stirred up by critical comments, in journals and magazines, accusing them of failing to afford facilities for study commensurate with the Academy's aims and ability.
These articles, I fancy, must have prompted a certain fair enthusiast, who evidently had the courage of her convictions, to address a letter to Vice-President Cummings. He read her letter to the class. She began by saying that she had read of the difficulties experienced by the Academy in procuring good models, and was unable to perceive why her young countrymen should be compelled to go abroad in order to study from life. She went on to say that she believed all art-students were gentlemen, and as she flattered herself that her own figure was as perfect as that of the average woman, she would have no objections under certain conditions, and for a reasonable recompense, to pose as a model for the benefit of the class. She added that her husband was a professional man and an invalid and she wished to earn something toward their support. Her coming to the school would depend upon her receiving a certain specified sum each evening and on these conditions : that she should appear before the class masked; that she should never be spoken to, except by the Vice-President himself, and that she should be permitted to leave the school building at least fifteen minutes before any of the students. After the reading of this letter the students all
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	59
promised to faithfully comply with her stipulations and she was engaged. She posed amid the most respectful silence for several evenings, nude, except the mask, and her figure was declared as beautiful as that of the Venus di Medici. But alas ! she was too sanguine in her belief that all the students were gentlemen. One evening she failed to appear, and in her stead came an indignant communication averring that the compact had been rudely broken by one of the students who had waited outside, at the street-door, and asked to accompany her home. Thus the female branch of the life-school was suspended, and the suspected student, a tall, raw-boned Don Juan from Wisconsin, was banished.
I had been nearly a year in the Bryan Gallery, when, concluding I had copied the works of others long enough, I gave up my position and returned to the study of Nature in my native county. Here amid varied and inviting landscapes, and imbued with the teachings of Ruskin, I sought to imitate the most elusive effects of sky, lake and running water, the most delicate mountain-tints, the richest combinations of foliage and the mellowest outlines of perspective.
I was still devoting spare hours writing to my beloved Alice who was then far away on the shores of Lake Michigan. I was in the sweet dreamland of adolescence when all the world appeared clothed in ecstatic loveliness, waiting to be perpetuated by my pencil. My letters to her reflected the transcendental hues of my imagination, without any thought of the possible reactionary effect that so much gushing sentiment might produce in the mind of a practically disposed young lady who looked upon love as preliminary to solemn marriage. My dreamland was all destroyed one day, when I received a letter from her—a short letter—saying that she was not worthy of so much devotion; that she was far from being the perfect angel I conceived her to be, and that upon a candid examination of her heart she feared she didn't love me as much as she ought to, and—she proposed a cessation of correspondence. My first thought was that women do not like to be called
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angels, except in jest, and that I had been too innocently serious in my compliments—and my first thought was right. As it was my nature to resent a slight from a lady as quickly as I would an insult from a gentleman, I replied in bitter terms. She rejoined, suggesting that we should continue the correspondence as friends only, but this my wounded vanity ha'ughtily declined and with emotion more profound than I had ever experienced before, or ever have since, I tore my heart away from her in a mournful farewell. I had now arrived at that first period of manhood, described by the romancists, when one has a grievance that has come to stay—and the world assumes soberer colors and more positive outlines. Henceforth my favorite poem was " Locksley Hall " and I found relief in the effusive " Raphael " of Lamartine.
I returned to Troy, hired a studio, and began painting portraits with some success. I employed the time, not so occupied, in painting landscape and figure compositions, and applied myself so closely that more than once I quite forgot my dinner. Gradually, I accumulated quite a large number of such compositions. One of the oddest patrons I ever had was a rough-looking stranger who came into my studio, one day, without ceremony, and walking to a picture on the wall, asked the price of it, and being told, laid down twenty-five dollars on the table, put the picture under his arm and walked out without saying another word. Young artists, however, would be led very much astray if they thought such an incident happened very often in a lifetime.
Close application and the deep disappointment that preyed upon my spirits, began to affect my health, and friends expressed alarm at the change in my appearance. At this gloomy period I composed a rather lengthy poem entitled "The Grave of Gold," which Mrs. Oakes Smith praised and published in her magazine. It was copied into several journals and re-appeared some years later.
There was then quite a group of artists in Albany and Troy. Besides Palmer, the distinguished sculptor, in
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	61
Albany, there were Launt Thompson and Joseph Young, his pupils ; James M. Hart, in his prime a landscapist of fervid and delightful power; Gay, Homer Martin and George It. Boughton. In Troy there were Wallace, a sculptor, Tyler and Bucklin, both painters of real merit; also J. C. Markham, an architect, afterward the designer of the Saratoga Monument.
I exchanged visits with George H. Boughton, then quite unknown to fame, who painted dreary brown landscapes with little promise of his brilliant future. I enjoyed his social companionship and his fertile wit and humor. We often visited at the same house and I have pleasant recollections of his vivacity and table-talk. I can even recall one of his ever-ready puns. At the tea-table one evening, while helping himself liberally to home-made biscuit, he said: " Mrs. W., I really do admire your biscuit, although I am running them down all the while." Of all the young artists I have known, he became the most successful and distinguished, attaining the degree of Royal Academician, and occupying a high place among the best modern artists. One of his masterpieces, in this country, a scene from " Knickerbocker's New York," is in the Corcoran Gallery at Washington.
My health continuing to fail, my physician advised rest and an immediate change of scene. As this coincided directly with my intense desire to study abroad, I resolved to make an effort to go : and with the aid of liberal notices in the local press, I was enabled to sell all my pictures at public auction, realizing between three and four hundred dollars. This, with a generous advance from my elder brother, prepared me for a foreign voyage, and fully equipped, I bade farewell to several good friends who witnessed my departure, never dreaming that my sickly and wasted figure would come back to them, some, day weighing more than two hundred pounds.
I intended to take passage on a vessel advertised to sail for Naples, but after remaining in New York several days, and learning that she would not complete her cargo in two
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weeks, I changed my plans and sailed for London, in February, on the packet-ship Christiana. My funds had been converted into English sovereigns and stowed away in a money-belt which I wore close to my skin around the waist.
CHAPTER VI.
On Shipboard—Landing in the Scilly Islands—Wild Freaks of Nature—Druidical Superstitions—Giant's Castle—A Colossal Footprint—The Bay of Penzance—Arrival in London—Impres-sions of Turner—A Successful American Artist—Thackeray.
THE first incident of the voyage outside of Sandy Hook, was the loss of my very wide-brimmed Rubenesque hat which was lifted high into the air by a sudden squall, just as I was coming on deck, and whirled half a mile away. With it also vanished my taste for the "sublime and beautiful" in hats, and I was content the remainder of the voyage with a less eccentric sailor-cap purchased from one of the mariners at an exorbitant price.
I remained on deck much of the time and daily discovered some new grandeur in the waste of waters, particularly noting the change of color from the olive green of the coast to the sapphire blue of deeper waters and the purple blackness of mid-ocean : and I witnessed some magnificent sunset effects whose well-managed stratification of cloud, accurate valuation of tint and phenomenal distribution of light would, I felt sure, have been highly approved of by Ruskin.
Like most verdant passengers at sea, I had a curiosity to learn the uses of the bewildering variety of ropes and other nautical tackle. I one day inquired of the second mate what there was in the leather tubing around the gunwales of the life-boats. To my surprise he answered " hair." I asked him if there was anything peculiarly buoyant about hair. He glanced at me with a look of disdain, remarking that if I didn't know that, I didn't know much—and I was quite humiliated to think of my simplicity and ignorance. I kept the matter in mind, how-
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ever, and a few days later, having a good opportunity, I asked the captain why it was that hair was so buoyant in water. He confessed that he didn't know and that he never heard that it was—and inquired why I thought so. I then told him that the mate had informed me that there was hair in the tubes about the life-boat to make it float in case it capsized. The captain thought a moment—" Ah,', said he laughing, " he's a cockney—he means air."
The only cabin-passenger, beside myself, was a young man, an Englishman by birth, who had passed most of his life in New York. He was going to London on a visit to its widowed mother and sisters. His real name was Isaac Chellis Corpse, but this was so strange a cognomen, and afforded his boyish companions so many opportunities for disagreeable punning that, before he was twenty-one, he " buried the Corpse" as he expressed it and took the surname of Chellis. Being so much older than myself he was a valuable guide and companion. Afterward, in London, at his invitation, I frequently visited the home of his mother and sisters where I enjoyed the few opportunities I ever had of observing happy phases of English household life. Poor Chellis resumed his first name in the War of the Rebellion being one of the early victims of the struggle.
We were four weeks at sea and became exceedingly weary of our monotonous life. Head-winds drove us toward the coast of Ireland. One morning our attention was directed to the delicious land-breeze laden with the odors of early spring from the Emerald Isle, and the same day we were visited by a Cork pilot-boat whose crew of swarthy, brave-looking natives interchanged friendly greetings with our captain; told him we were about forty miles from Cork harbor, and then skillfully turning their craft about were soon speeding on their way further out to sea in search of vessels requiring their services.
After their departure we were discouraged by the information that, if there was no change in the adverse wind we had so long encountered, it would still be a month before we reached London. We inquired what
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	65
pilot-boats we might next expect to visit us and discussed the feasibility of getting ashore in one of them. The next pilot-boat, we were told, would probably reach us from the Scilly Islands which were situated ten miles from the Land's End of England.
A day or two afterward we descried, late one afternoon, a broad sail bearing down toward us, which the skipper declared was a Scilly Island pilot-boat, and we rushed below to get our baggage in readiness for departure. The boat was soon alongside, and the pilots were notified that two passengers wished to go ashore. They assured us that we could reach St. Mary's Island in two hours, and we soon struck a bargain for passage. Three of the ScilHans put off in a small boat and came aboard the ship. They descended to the cabin with the captain and remained some time. When they appeared on deck, we barely noticed that they were burdened with large-sized canvas-covered baskets. There was a ringing " good-by" from all hands on board our vessel as we went over her side and were rowed to the rocking little sloop beside her. With prow directed landward, a light breeze soon carried us away from the ship, and we stood on deck awaiting the first sight of land. The breeze, however, gradually died away and the sea became a dead calm. Evening came on with a glorious full moon.
The pilots were extremely attentive and sociable, and provided us with an excellent supper of freshly caught fish. After supper we were told that unless there was a change of wind, there would be no prospect of reaching shore for several hours, and we retired below to our berths. Before dropping asleep, a strange hush which pervaded the vessel, aroused our curiosity, and taking a peep on deck we discovered but one man there and he at the helm. A cautious search was made to see what had become of the remainder of the crew, and finally a light was perceived through a crevice between the sliding doors that separated the forward part of the boat from the cabin. Peering through this aperture we saw a dimly lamp-lighted group
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whose attitudes, expressions and surroundings were worthy the pencil of Rembrandt. The pilots were arranged in a circle; one man with an ax, in the center, was chopping up something which he took from the covered baskets we had noticed, and which we soon perceived was plug-tobacco. As he cut the large plugs in two, he placed a heap of pieces before each man, not forgetting an extra pile for himself. He cut rapidly and as the baskets were exhausted and the piles finished, none but a practiced eye could discern any difference in the quantity. But there evidently was a difference, for in order that there should be no suspicion of partiality in the division, the men turned their backs to the heaps, and at a given word began circling swiftly around until an order was given to stop and turn about, when each, seizing the pile nearest in front of him, stowed it away in a canvas bag, or tied it up in a large colored handkerchief. As they made a movement to separate we quietly returned to our berths. It was clear that they were smugglers as well as pilots, and risked the penalty of transportation to evade the payment of the highest revenue-duty in Great Britain.
Shortly afterward we were called on deck to get a view of the distant land. The breeze had freshened and the pilots thought we should arrive at St. Mary's before midnight. As we gazed in the direction pointed out to us a low dark line appeared in the remote distance. While trying to persuade ourselves that this was indeed land, suddenly there beamed over the waters toward shore, and far out at sea, a brilliant white light. As we watched its reflections mingled with those of the golden moon, it as suddenly disappeared. This we were told was the revolving light on St. Agnes Island, which, in order to be distinguished from every other light-house in the English Channel, appears and disappears every minute and a half.
As we approached the irregular outlines of land there was another lull in the breeze and we sailed lazily between great masses of dark rock, barely above the surface of the water, and abruptly entered what appeared to be an
MEMOIRS OF SETH EY LAND.
inland lake, dotted here and there with huge bosses of naked rock, and closed in by far-away peaks, pillars, pyramids and crags. Rising high and bold above cavernous arches were turrets, pinnacles and massive towers, half destroyed castles and frowning fortresses. We passed by slippery stone hummocks whose sides and summits glimmered in the moonlight, many of them taking the grotesque shape of animals of the primeval time. Here was a herd of mastodons apparently wading in the water, and there heraldic griffins and bat-winged monsters climbing the walls of castles and balanced on toppling eminences. In other places rocks seemed hurled on rocks with perpendicular and slanting lines—confused, towering, terrific and grand. Certainly, we had never dreamed there was such a wild weird land in all the world.
It was toward midnight when our boat guided by experienced hands passed through this rocky menagerie and anchored off the long stone pier at Hughtown, on St. Mary's Island. The pilots lowered the small boats to go ashore telling us that our trunks would have to remain on board until the next morning, in order to be inspected by the Custom-House officials. We observed, however, that each one of the crew carried his bag or handkerchief of tobacco, and when we ascended the stone steps of the pier, a revenue-officer cordially saluted our friends—never showing the slightest curiosity as to the contents of their bundles. We were informed that we were the first Americans, other than sailors, to visit the Scilly Islands.
We were guided through dark and narrow streets to an ancient inn where the pilots bade us good-night, promising to call in the morning. I was too excited with the strangeness of my surroundings to fall asleep on my first night in old England, and it was late the next morning before we were prepared to accompany the pilots to the Custom-House. After a most rigid examination all our effects were passed.
It was Sunday, and one of the first things to attract our attention was the costumes of the people, particularly 5
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of the women, who were dressed invariably in black, most of them in rich silks and satins and in the fashions of past centuries. Some of their dresses had been handed down as heirlooms for many generations, and were worn only on Sundays. Many of them wore mantillas in the Spanish style and we learned that a century, and more, before, the Scillians had enjoyed free trade with merchantmen returning from the Indies and gathered ideas from the Spanish and Dutch of how to dress in the fashions of their countries. This free trade having been suppressed, the fashions remained stationary.
The people were particularly friendly toward us and we were objects of marked curiosity and attention. St. Mary's, we were informed, was the largest island and is about three miles in length and two in width. Then follow in line of size and importance Trescawen, St. Agnes, St. Martin's, St. Helen's, besides many other islands, islets and rocks—altogether more than three thousand.
The pilots devoted the day to introducing us to their neighbors and showing us some of the remarkable features of the islands, including the reputed work of certain old-time giants. We were also shown many remains of Druid worship. Our visit which was first intended to be an exceedingly brief one, was prolonged several days and we had ample time and opportunity to investigate the marvelous works attributed to the olden giants and hear something of the history of this out-of-the-way spot.
One of the first excursions we made was to the west end of St. Mary's to gain a view of the famous Giant's Castle. On our way thither we were startled by the colossal appearance of men on the hills at a distance. The only way we could account for this optical illusion was by a rarefied condition of the atmosphere and by the absence of trees and other familiar objects which prevented any comparison of relative sizes. It was not strange to us that some of the scenes in the nursery-book " Jack the Giant-Killer " were laid in Cornwall, for here the very atmosphere seems to aid the imagination in magnifying the power of vision.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	69
Giant's Castle is composed of an irregular mass of rocks piled in the wildest confusion, yet often suggesting castellated architectural lines and rising seventy or eighty feet above high tide. In its immediate vicinity we were shown a celebrated rocking or " Logan Stone" of a character similar to many others found in Cornwall. The immense upper stone rests upon one point only, and although it is estimated that it would take the power of one thousand men to place it there, it is so nicely poised that a boy of ten years, with a long pole, made it rock for us, like a cradle. When told by our guides that this was the work of giants employed by the Druids to erect such objects for religious worship, we shook our heads wonderingly, but could give no better explanation; especially as they immediately directed us to a place not far distant, where they pointed out in corroboration of their statement, imprints in the solid rock of a human foot nearly three feet in length. At a long stride's distance from this impression was the heel-track of the other foot, the toe of which had touched earth and left no lasting trace. This was puzzling if not wholly convincing. We noticed that the edges of these imprints were abrupt, yet smooth, showing that the "tracks" might have been made when the rocks were comparatively soft.
The common groups of stones attributed to the agency of the Druids, which we saw on these islands, are circular temples, like that at Stonehenge, but much smaller, basins, " canopy-stones " and " holocaust-altars," for it is asserted that the Druids practiced human sacrifices. There are also erect slab-stones with perfectly round holes which the superstitious natives crawl through for the cure of lameness and rheumatism. There are nine vast stones on the edge of the circle of Giant's Castle, not however uniform in shape, nor placed at equal distances. There are many other circular temples in the Duchy of Cornwall, as well as in other parts of England and France, nearly all of which originally contained in their centers cavities filled with rubble-stones and foreign, adventitious earth which is
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sometimes identified by its yellow color as the natural soil of hills some distance from them. These cavities were always supposed to be places of sepulture.
The rock-basins were the most perplexing of these marvels. Thirteen of these are found in rocks composing Giant's Castle. In shape, diameter, and depth they are not uniform; some are oval or irregular, others exactly circular and symmetrical to the bottom. They are hollowed out artistically, and vary from a diameter of six inches to six feet, and are alleged to be the work of the Druids who designed them to contain holy water. Some idea of the terrible storms which frequently visit these islands may be derived from the fact that the basins in Giant's Castle, seventy feet above the sea-level, almost al ways contain sea-water which during storms is dashed up to them in spray.
All these wonders and many more not here described,* including the frightful cave which extends under and across St. Mary's, impressed my mind very deeply then, and long afterward I sought to rationally account for them. Very learned men have made such laborious attempts, trying to explain how it was possible for the ancient inhabitants to transport and elevate such mighty masses of rock. • Not until many years later, when studied and comprehended the glacial theory newly presented by Agassiz, did a reasonable solution of the problem occur to me. This theory is now almost universally accepted by scientists and has entirely satisfied me as to the agencies employed in producing the phenomena of the Scilly Islands.
In the light of this theory we may safely assume that at some period in the earth's history a monstrous glacier melted and disappeared off the Land's End of England. The work is too wondrous to be ascribed to any other than the hand of Nature. The islands are covered with traces
* Some years ago I wrote a magazine article describing the phenomena of these islands, and their history, under the title: "The Giants of the Scilly Islands."
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	71
of glacial action and evidences of the mighty power of hydraulic force. The circular temples which have been the subjects of so much erudite speculation, may easily have been formed by whirlpools created by rapidly melting ice. Through the cavities in their centers, now partly filled with small stones polished by long attrition, and earth from surrounding hills, the whirling waters probably escaped. Afterward, to form their temples, the Druids may have cleared away the smaller stones in the circular detritus left by the receding waters, leaving the larger ones to be chiseled into shape more or less uniform. The round basins which were believed to be wrought with human hands, are doubtless also produced by the action of whirling water—rotary hard stones wearing holes in the softer rock. Basins of a similar character are found in Watkins Glen, Howe's Cave, and in other parts of the United States. The " Logan" stones and other groups of rock have been plainly pushed into position by the tremendous force of moving ice, which, melting away, has left them in every imaginable position. The track of the " giant's foot " may have been produced quite naturally, when the rock was comparatively yielding, by the weight of stones, which by a sort of coincidence, left marks which a lively imagination converts into the prints of a giant's foot.
The historical monuments in these rarely visited islands are scarcely inferior in interest to the natural marvels. On one of the highest points of St. Mary's are the ruins of Star Castle—built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It was constructed in the shape of a star with eight salient angles, in every point of which is a watch-tower. From its rugged battlements may be obtained one of the grandest views in the world. The mainland of England is distinctly visible on a clear day and a scene is presented comprehending the surrounding islands with their surf-beaten shores: including Brehar, the rockiest of the whole group, and Samson with its two pyramidal hills rising abruptly out of the waves and visible to sailors far out at sea. There are beau-
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tiful glimpses over the limpid green waters of St. George's and the English channels, with their never ending processions of ships beating slowly before the wind or sweeping serenely toward port.
It was with hearts warmed with the polite and generous reception we had received from the Scillians that we stepped aboard the little cutter bound for Penzance. A few hours' sail carried us close to Land's End, where we attained a clear view of the largest and most renowned of Logan stones. Passing by the mouth of the great arched cavern called " Mouse's Hole," we entered the magnificent bay of Penzance with the abbey-crowned height of St. Michael's Mount in the distance.
From Penzance, we crossed by railway to Hayle, then took steamer to Bristol, and arrived in London by the Great Western railway two weeks before the sailing vessel we had left reached her dock.
I did not know a soul in the great city, nor did I have a single letter of introduction: but, as I have heard other Americans say, Dickens' stories and Thackeray's had filled it with imaginary acquaintances whose positive existence was never questioned. I arrived late in a foggy afternoon and was driven to the "Angel Inn," Islington. The next morning I found lodging in St. John's Road, and immediately after I hired a cab and set out for the National Gallery. The cabman halted in front of it, dismounted and found it closed for the day. I then directed him to the British Museum which we also found closed. Then we tried the Tower, a long distance away—but entrance was likewise denied there. Then I began to cross-examine the cabman. He said it was Good Friday, and all places of public amusement were closed on that day—but he pretended to have forgotten the immemorial custom. It seemed a strange custom to me, for in the non-conformist community in which I was reared, it would have been thought Popish, and almost wicked, to make special celebration of the day. I settled with him, and then noticing that he appeared very good-natured, at my expense, told
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him that I was from New York, and desired to see how London compared with it. This aroused his interest, at once, and he remarked that he had a cousin in America. I re-engaged his services and he drove me through many of the principal streets and parks, turning frequently about in his seat to tell me the names of localities, and pointing out public buildings, squares, bridges, statues and other objects of interest. Before night-fall, I had formed an idea of the general features of the city--lsome notions of the grandeur and gloom of London.
Upon other days, afoot, in cabs and omnibuses, I visited nearly all the objects of note and saw many of the cheerless and sad as well as many of the noble and stately aspects of life peculiar to the great city: its grand palaces, churches and monuments, and its pitiful hovels, its appalling child misery. The poor of London ! what a multitude of those who have nothing at all and who suffer for so little. The vastness of human suffering there, dwells drearily and ever uppermost in my memory.
My favorite places of resort were the National Gallery, British and Kensington Museums and Westminster Abbey. I never tired of the public parks and took many trips in the suburbs. I have a most pleasant recollection of a walk over beautiful fields to Dulwich and a day spent in the celebrated gallery there.
I gave some of my impressions of London and of Turner's pictures in letters that were printed in the United States Magazine. I had naturally formed great expectations of Turner's powers from Ruskin's eloquent descriptions, but was deeply disappointed with those of his pictures on exhibition in the National Gallery, some of which appeared to ,me as the refuse from a curiosity-shop. Indeed, I recall but one of his creations that seemed to me, then, equal in truth to nature, to the work of some of our American landscapists. That was a view of the Bay of Penzance (which I had recently seen) and was in the Kensington collection. I have considerably modified my first impressions of Turner, but still think his merits stupen-
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dously overrated; and so far as " truth to Nature" is concerned, it is not the stand-point from which his productions should be viewed, though Ruskin would seem sometimes to infer that only himself and Turner knew how nature looks.
It was my cherished aim to study figure, or what is termed historical painting, and though I had read the heart-touching autobiography of B. R. Haydon, I was not deterred by his dismal fate from also attempting the perilous steeps of " High Art." Naturally, I had much curiosity to examine some of his paintings and found two or three of his most ambitious ones, only to be amazed and disappointed, for I had expected to see almost perfectly correct drawing, while this appeared his most radical deficiency. He may be regarded as a good example of many other complaining artists who suffer from want of sympathy, because they, themselves, have no sympathy with the prevailing taste of their age, but insist upon imposing their own erratic individuality as a standard of excellence. Such men must wait for recognition and cannot rely, for subsistence, upon the profession of art.
I had heard that Mr. Cropsey, the American artist, was residing in London and having informally met him once in New York, I called upon him and was received in the friendly spirit of a fellow-countryman and even of a fellow-student. Americans were then rare in London. The only art student from this country whom I heard of was Paul Duggan, a promising sculptor who died young. Mr. Crop-sey lived in a pleasant neighborhood at the West End. His paintings were highly appreciated and much sought after—especially his American autumn scenes. I recollect that at an exhibition of his pictures in Pall Mall, an English connoisseur, having been introduced to me as an American, asked me pointedly if the autumn tints in Cropsey's pictures were not gross exaggerations. When I replied that I thought it was impossible to exaggerate or even rival, with mere paint, the brilliancy of American foliage in October, the gentleman went about the gallery uttering expressions
MEMOIRS OF sient EY.LAND.	75
of astonishment, repeating to his friends what I had said. Cropsey was so liberally patronized that he acquired a fortune in a few years. People distinguished in society, art and literature, were guests at his table, to which I was frequently invited, but was too shy then to get much acquainted with great people. Sir Charles Eastlake, the President of the Royal Academy, came often, and once I met Thackeray at the door as he was coming in and I going out—just too late I was told, to receive an introduction to that really great literary artist—truer to Nature than any Pre-Raphaelite. " Pendennis" had as much influence in forming my views of social life as any work of fiction I ever read.
Mr. Cropsey gave me many useful hints in my studies and I enjoyed occasional walks with him in Kensington Gardens. During one of these walks, I recall his speaking of the substantial value of reputations acquired in Europe as compared with the fleeting consequence of reputations in America. This is too true, and many years afterward was exemplified in his own case. Had he remained in England, his reputation as an artist might have been maintained and probably greatly extended, but he returned when a new generation of critics was in the field and the works of his prime were unjustly ignored.
With his wealth he built a beautiful castle after his own designs, on the Orange Hills ; and with an excellent wife and charming family, the whole scope of a young artist's dreams seemed to be fulfilled in his career. Shadows came afterward, but, as I write, he is again favored with the sunshine of prosperity.
Mr. Huntington, afterward the President of our National Academy of Design, was then in London and I frequently visited him in his studio, where I found him busy painting "The Counterfeit Note" which was exhibited in the Royal Academy of that year. He was an amiable, intellectual man, approachable and kind. One afternoon I read to him my poem " The Grave of Gold "—which he thought well of, but advised me not to write poetry for
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publication, but simply as exercise in composition, and with the purpose of learning exact shades in the meanings of words. I followed his judicious advice : thereafter considerately sparing editorial waste-baskets.
I removed from St. John's Road to Arlington Square, Islington, where I painted industriously, having the advantage of viewing at any time, examples of great masters in various galleries and preparing myself for admission as a student in the Royal Academy.
My plans for a prolonged course of study in London were, however, thwarted by curious and embarrassing incidents.
CHAPTER VII.
The Yellow Envelope — A Fellow-countryman in Distress —Wretched Consequences of Crime—An American Patriot under a Cloud—Extraordinary Coincidence—A Piece of Pompeiian Design—The English Paganini—Sympathy that caused Hard-ships—Selling Pictures for Songs—The First Cable Message —Return to America.
I wAs living in a neat house in Arlington Square, when my landlord informed me, one day, that a gentleman residing next door had inquired of him if there was not an American in his house, explaining his inquiry by saying that he had noticed the postman delivering a letter in a yellow envelope, and as white envelopes were universally used in England he had concluded that it was delivered to an American. The landlord then told him of me and he promised to call ; all of which I approved, for my London life began to be extremely lonely and oppressive. The sight of an American was like meeting a fellow explorer in the depths of the Dark Continent. A few evenings later, the gentleman called and introduced himself. I shall call him Mr. Jarrey. He was a small, thin man with a wearied expression of face, of winning address, about thirty-five years of age, a native of New York and a graduate of Yale. We had a cordial first interview and he repeated his visits until we were much together. I noticed, from my window, there were several members of his family and learned later that it consisted of his wife and infant and her father, stepmother, two sisters and one step-sister and her child. Jarrey told me that his wife was born in America of Scotch parents; that he had first met her and her family in Glasgow after their return to Scotland and he had married there. Be gave me to understand that he was in the corn
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mission business in the city, dealing in American wood naphtha and turpentine. For exercise, I often walked with him of a morning as far as the Court of the Royal Exchange, where I took an interest in observing the scenes of busy commerce and in noting the features and dress of merchants from all parts of the globe—sometimes high-hatted Armenians, turbaned Turks, and richly clothed Parsees. He introduced me there one day to another American—Capt. Mandy (I shall call him) of Kentucky, who, I learned, had been in London, a year or more, as an agent for the sale of American lafids.
We had been acquainted some weeks when I invited Jarrey to accompany me in a visit to the Tower of London. We enjoyed a delightful holiday and after inspecting curiosities, antiquities and the crown jewels, he took dinner with me at a neighboring chop-house. On our way homeward, he asked me if I would accommodate him with the loan of a sovereign, which I did, very freely. Then he surprised me by saying that the dinner was the first he had eaten in three days and that he had not even tasted a mouthful in twenty-four hours. I was greatly shocked to learn that he was in such distress, for I had noticed no outward token of want. He went with me to my room; and sitting in the twilight by the window, he related the story of a wayward and wretched life.
His parents, he said, were wealthy and his father was
the president of the	 Savings Bank in New York. After leaving college he remained at home trying to decide what occupation to select. One day his mother intrusted him with a check for about twenty thousand dollars with instructions to draw the money and deposit a portion of the sum at a certain down-town office, where it was to be placed as a loan on bond and mortgage. He did not know where the impulse came from, he said, unless it was from Satan himself, for he had never contemplated such a crime, but after drawing the money he went to an exchange office and converted it into foreign currency. The first realization of what he had done came to him when he found him-
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self in mid-ocean on board a steamer bound for Havre. It was then too late to retrace his course, and he described his remorse as terrible in the extreme. For days he lingered along the bulwarks of the vessel, depressed beyond the relief of tears, hesitating to plunge overboard and conjuring up other modes of terminating his miserable existence, but courage failed, and unfortunately, he said, he concluded to live. Upon landing amid novel and inviting scenes, these feelings were overcome, and with the exciting incidents of foreign travel partially wore away. He extended his tour all over Europe and visited Asiatic Russia, Egypt and Palestine, falling in with jolly fellow tourists in Jerusalem, who helped him while away the monotony of life in the Holy Land. But his journeyings to and fro were listless, vague and unsatisfactory, like those in a dream, until, finally, he wandered into Scotland and woke up in Glasgow, when he discovered he had less than ten thousand dollars left. Here he formed the acquaintance of the Scotch-American family I have mentioned, married the eldest daughter and entered into business with his father-in-law, embarking all his capital. The business was that of distilling spirits and for a time it prospered : but the father-in-law turned out a thorough rogue; their distillery was invaded, one day, by a force of revenue inspectors who examined the premises and machinery, discovering a number of vats with false bottoms. The distillery was seized and, on the charge of defrauding the revenue, Jarrey was arrested; though his guilty partner slyly escaped and secreted himself in London. The proofs of illicit distillation were so positive that Jarrey's plea of ignorance and non-participation did not avail him and he languished many months in prison. While there he wrote an appealing and contrite letter to his mother, describing his misfortunes and asking for pardon. Mother-like she forgave him and immediately began devising means for his release; but she •wrote him that he must not expect any clemency from his father, for he had solemnly sworn that if his son ever set foot again upon American soil he should
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go to state-prison. Through the influence of George Peabody, the banker, and other Americans in London, prompted by the earnest petitions of his mother, Jarrey eventually was released, though all his property was confiscated to the crown. He joined his wife and her family in London, where he obtained the employment I have spoken of, which was, however, too unremunerative to support the whole family, the father in-law not pretending to work. Had it not been for an occasional draft from his mother, sent to him without his father's knowledge, they must have starved.
Jarrey's late partner spent much of his time carousing in gin-palaces and was often very violent in his behavior. Being a man of large stature and great strength, he overawed little Jarrey, whom he abused and threatened in all sorts of ways whenever the latter failed to furnish means for the family's support and his own indulgences. One of his most frequent threats, trading upon Jarrey's affection for his wife and babe, was that he would carry them away and disappear forever. As a fugitive from justice, he had learned London's secret haunts, and once, a few months before I became acquainted with Jarrey, he had actually disappeared with the whole family and only returned to view, after his son-in-law, by dint of many pathetic appeals, had succeeded in getting funds enough from his mother to set them up in the respectable house where I found them in Arlington Square.
The family had been well-to-do for so many years that they did not accept their decline gracefully. The two young women were quite pretty and lady-like and did not contribute anything toward their own support, and the burden of the whole household rested upon Jarrey. Though externally, all, somehow, managed to preserve a decent appearance, there were often times, as he related, when there was not a morsel of food in the house, not even for the children, of which there were two. It seems that the father had been a widower and had married a widow with one grown-up daughter. The old reprobate had a
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child by this step-daughter. When Jarrey's wife discovered the paternity of the child, she was thrown into convulsions and prematurely confined. She was never well afterward, but had recurrent fits of epilepsy.
It may be imagined what a profound impression was made upon my youthful spmpathies by this narrative of crime and wretchedness. Jarrey was utterly prostrated when he finishe4 his story and cried like an Ishrnaelite. He was then in such fear that his father-in-law would carry out recent threats of again secreting his wife, that he dreaded to go down to his precarious business in the city, lest he should find her and his child gone upon his return.
It need scarcely be mentioned that I advanced money liberally to relieve Jarrey—he, of course, promising to return it upon the arrival of the next draft which he expected, every day, from his mother.
As I was walking through the Court of the Royal Exchange one day, I encountered Captain Mandy, the Kentuckian whom Jarrey had introduced. He was a powerfully built old man, erect and soldierly in his bearing, with smooth-shaven face and keen gray eyes, and though in his seventieth year did not appear much above fifty. He had served as a soldier in the War of 1812. I often visited him at his favorite seat in the Court of the Exchange and listened to his reminiscences of the war, and of early days in the Western wilderness, of voyages in flat-boats down the Ohio and Mississippi.
One morning, as I sat beside him, a veteran, bent with age, in the garb of a military pensioner and decorated with war medals, passed in front of us. The captain spoke to him; he turned, saluted, and then with a smile of recognition came forward, shook hands with the captain and sat down. They chatted together, pleasantly, for a while. " Now," said the captain, addressing me, " I must tell you something extraordinary about meeting my old friend here,"—introducing him. " Not long ago I was sitting in this very spot, and he, then a stranger, came along and sat where he is now. We began talking with each other and,
6
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as I usually do when I meet an old soldier, I asked him where he had seen service. He answered, ' In the Indies; Cape of Good Hope and in America.' I inquired whereabouts in America and he mentioned several places in Canada, among them Lundy's Lane. I told him I was in that battle. ' Well,' said he, I shall never forget the narrow escape I had there. A long-legged Yankee chased me down a narrow road. I had" lost my gun and he had lost his, but he had a bayonet in his hand.' Hold on ' said I, interrupting him, there was a big muddy pond at the side of the road and you jumped into it.' The old gentleman here was so astonished at my remark that he couldn't speak for a moment. Yes,' said he, and you threw your bayonet after me into the water.' I did,' said I, and I swore and laughed when you dove in the mud.' We must celebrate this, we both declared at once, and we did, with a good dinner, and we have had many a talk since, for you see we met each other before on the field of battle—more than forty years ago." While the old captain was relating this, the pensioner was smiling and nodding confirmation of the story of their remarkable renewal of old acquaintance.
The captain pointed out to me, one day, a pensioner whom I examined with considerable awe. He had been formerly in the Marine service and was stationed at St. Helena when Napoleon died. He shaved the dead Emperor, and was present and assisted the surgeons at the post-mortem examination, helping to place the heart of the great hero in a large bucket, which it nearly filled. The newspapers had cast considerable ridicule on this Marine because he had petitioned Parliament for an increase of pension on account of his " services at the autopsy of Napoleon."
Another morning, I found my friend the captain in a state of great mental distress. He told me, after considerable reserve in answering my sympathetic questions, that he had walked the streets all night, having been ejected from the private residence where he had been boarding, for non-payment of his bill. He had not eaten breakfast, did not have a penny, and I was glad to relieve him. I saw him
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often and relieved his wants. He expected remittances daily. My conscience would not permit me to forsake an old patriot who had fought for our country, and who, through some misadventure, had become stranded in the cruel streets of London.
About this time, through acquaintances of my landlord, I was invited to spend an evening at the house of a Mr. Tawson—an evening of entertainment which is unmatched in my memory as a combination of the beautiful, the whimsical, the dismal and the grotesque.
Mr. Tawson lived in the neighborhood of Bunhill Fields, in an obscure street branching out of the City Road and lined with diminutive but comfortable-looking dwellings—his own being much like the rest, but furnished with the oddest assemblage of sofas, chairs, bureaus, clocks, bronzes and wood-carving that I ever saw in a private parlor. The host himself was an elderly, plainly attired, gentlemanly personage—baldheaded, side-whiskered, with an unmistakable cockney accent and thoroughly English type of countenance. It seems to me, now, as strangely incongruous that he should be associated in my mind with a period as far back in the world's history as the 24th day of August, A.D. 79; with the great blue bay of Naples, with towering Vesuvius in a state of sublime eruption, belching forth dense clouds of smoke and livid lava, showering a deluge of volcanic cinders and burying beyond help or hope the beautiful cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum.
Mr. Tawson was considered a musical genius of a very high order; and though I had been somewhat informed of his antiquarian tastes, it was the marvelous stories I had heard of his skill upon the violin which enlivened my curiosity and aroused a strong desire to witness his performance. His reputation as a musician had been attained by displaying his powers at the homes of the nobility and gentry, and extended over all England. He had even achieved the title of " The English Paganini," and yet, he invariably refused to appear before the general public, being a strict Wesleyan and afflicted with a morbid conscience. He had
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passed his prime when I saw him, and had renounced all musical performances except on rare occasions, when he played for a few select friends. One of these rare occasions was brought about for my benefit, his friends dwelling upon the fact that I was a foreigner and an artist and might have a serviceable opinion to give concerning a rare piece of antique art which he had discovered and then possessed.
The musical part of the programme came first—and it was evident that he was an artist of extraordinary skill. No instrument I had ever listened to exceeded his five-stringed violin in the production of bird-like notes, of varied and interwoven sounds of melody, of a certain weird and wavering tone of diablerie suggestive of haunted spirits.
Among other pieces, he played the celebrated Paganini solo on one string; he gave us a " Walk in the Highlands" accompanied by an imitation of feathered songsters, trickling brooks and plashing waterfalls; with the aid of an ink-bottle placed upon his violin he dexterously mimicked the unintelligible conversation of a very aged and stammering couple who were supposed to be having a domestic difficulty in the adjoining apartment. Then he rendered, in his own peculiar style, an imitative composition which he called " Gray's Elegy." This was a solemn, but exquisite melody, interspersed with striking resemblances to natural sounds, beginning with the far-off " curfew bell and the " lowing herd ;" the "droning flight" of the beetle was deceptively rendered, the " moping owl " complained most audibly, while "drowsy tinklings" lulled the distant folds; the " twittering swallow" was a ravishing songster, and there were distinct associative notes in the " cock's shrill clarion" and the " echoing horn." But the most remarkable feature was the almost visible church interior when " the pealing anthem swelled the note of praise ;" and the performance closed when he " woke to ecstasy the living lyre."
Having finished his remarkable exhibition of a talking as well as a singing violin, Mr. Tawson, for the first time, welcomed his guests, and made a few curious inquiries of me, evincing an intelligent interest in American affairs.
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He then, to my surprise, told me he knew the secret of my visit to England : he wondered that more of my countrymen did not come, but nevertheless I should be accommodated with a view of the "Pompeiian Design" and could make a report upon my return home. I saw a sparkle of merriment in the eyes of the guests, and as I had been previously apprised, in a vague manner, that there was something else to come after the music, I perceived that this conversation was the prelude to the exhibition of his work of art.
Our host now retired for a few minutes and re-appearing in a costume wholly new to my vision, he began a solemn discourse. He looked something like a Don Quixote half turned into a Vicar of Wakefield—the dress was so unrelated, grotesque and unique. I soon gathered from his remarks that he was supposed to be an inhabitant of ancient Pompeii who had just stepped in to report the particulars of his escape from the recent eruption; for he assumed to be speaking in one of the last years of the first century, and I have no doubt his remarks were historically accurate.
He then proceeded to detail the circumstances attending the finding in London of a genuine Piece of Pompeiian Design, consisting of a chest of drawers, inlaid with various colored woods forming rare pictorial embellishments. It appeared that some years before my visit, Mr. Tawson, who had been a collector of historical relics, found in an old garret somewhere in London, this identical piece of furniture—then disguised in the shabbiest manner; dingy, worm-eaten, covered with black varnish, cracked and mildewed—all its delicate wood-mosaics concealed beneath the slime of ages. He purchased it for a trifle, and after two years of almost uninterrupted labor he had succeeded in restoring it to something like its primitive condition, and had traced its history back to its possession by a distant branch of the Orleans family who had doubtless brought it to England. The most learned antiquaries had pronounced it a piece of veritable Pompeiian manufacture, dating from the first century of the Christian era.
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After finishing his somewhat lengthy disquisition, our host drew aside a damask curtain attached to a side of the room and there, in a rounded niche in the wall, was the wonderful Piece of Pompeiian Design. I was, of course, disappointed in its appearance—after all I had heard; still it was a beautiful specimen of workmanship. It was about three feet in height, by perhaps' two in width, with a flat top, and contained three drawers like those of an ordinary bureau. But the external surface of these drawers was richly decorated with handsomely drawn and colored pictures, representing scenes from Roman mythology, with borders unmistakably antique. The differently tinted woods had been inserted so deftly that it was difficult to believe at first that the transparent color and high polish were not produced by painting.
As soon as Mr. Tawson had exhibited his treasure, he began to dilate upon the immense value of so rare a remnant of antiquity. I soon discovered, what I had already suspected, that he was a monomaniac. I afterward learned that his mind had become affected by too close application in restoring this Pompeiian relic and that he had caused his family a vast amount of anxiety and trouble. The Design was exhibited in the London Exhibition of 1851, and Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer had offered five hundred pounds for it—while Mr. Tawson's price was ten thousand.
Of course we all expressed admiration of his precious relic; and when he asked me if I did not consider it worth ten thousand pounds, one of his friends nudged me to say " Yes," and I remarked that no mere sum of money seemed too large for so priceless a treasure. We left the strange genius in great good humor over an opinion so thoroughly in accordance with his own.
I continued to assist both Jarrey and Captain Mandy, until one day, upon examining my money belt, I perceived that unless the money I had loaned was soon returned I should be obliged to send home a request for my own relief. Accordingly, I wrote to my elder brother, who replied that, if my studies were costing me at such an extraordinary rate,
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I might better return at once. Finally, I was compelled to draw the last gold piece from my belt, and after that was gone I began trying to sell the pictures I had painted to sordid dealers in Cheapside, Ludgate Hill and the Strand. I took long tramps, often without a meal, in pursuit of a purchaser. I sold my productions, at the usual prices received by young artists who carry their pictures in their hands, to dealers who are keen and remorseless at the prospect of a bargain, and who buy in a market vastly oversupplied. That is, I sold them for a song—which I sang at a good dinner.
The exhaustion of my funds materially affected the wellbeing of my fellow-countrymen. Captain Mandy, who, I am convinced, was of honorable intent, disappeared from his seat in the Court of the Exchange, and I have never seen nor heard of him since.
Jarrey was away in the city every day and I seldom saw him. One day, my landlord asked me what kind of people my American neighbors were. I parried the question in an uneasy way. " Well," said he, " it seems they haven't paid their rent and the bailiff is in their house." Very early, the next morning, I was awakened by a peculiar noise in the street and, going to the window, I saw the whole family, Jarrey excepted, file out of their house, burdened with household utensils, and pass along the street. One of the poor, proud girls carried a washboard with considerable stateliness and the other bent over a bundle of blankets. A small cart-load of furniture, drawn by a man, accompanied them, and the stalwart father bearing a huge brass kettle led the forlorn procession as it passed down the street and disappeared in the morning mist.
I heard, afterward, that the bailiff had been so well dosed with liquor that he did not notice the removal of the furniture and the escape of the family. Jarrey had been called away by a fictitious business note, probably written by the diabolical father-in-law. When he returned and found the family gone, he was distracted with grief and despair. I gave him all the change I had, told him the direction they
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had taken, accompanied him a distance down the street and bade him good-by at the corner. I have not forgotten the utterly jaded figure and the worn-out expression of his face as he turned away to search for his wife and little one. I never saw him nor heard of him afterward—he disappeared in the intricacies of the modern Babylon.
A little later, a draft came to me from America. When I had settled with my landlord I had only sufficient left to secure a second-cabin passage on a sailing vessel. I remember, while waiting at the dock for the ship to receive the last of her cargo, I procured a copy of the London Times containing the first news dispatch that ever crossed the Atlantic, by cable—the report of a marine disaster off the coast of Newfoundland. I felt greatly disappointed when I arrived in New York to learn that the dispatch was not only the first but the last news message, the cable having failed almost immediately after transmitting it.
I was forty-eight days at sea and had ample leisure to study the faces, figures and costumes of my companions, a motley crowd of emigrants—future sovereigns of the Great Republic, and to further study beautiful sunset effects upon the restless billows of the Atlantic. Above all, the length of the voyage taught me a valuable lesson in patience. I landed upon my native shores in September, and thus ended my first attempt to study Art abroad.
CHAPTER VIII.
Second Voyage to Europe—A Companionable Priest—The Sights of Paris—Brussels—A Hospitable Commissary of Police—The Delights of Little Paris—St. Gudule—Charlotte Bronte—A Carving in Ivory—An Eccentric Artist.
AFTER remaining in New York for a few weeks, my friend Liscard and myself began forming plans for an extended stay abroad. We persuaded each other, and our friends, that after six months' or a year's study in some one of the art centers of Europe that we should find no difficulty in maintaining ourselves by the sale of our paintings, either there, to traveling Americans, or, we might send there home for exhibition and sale. With these flattering expectations, and after I had satisfactorily explained how inadvertently my funds had been invested during my first trip, we made arrangements for our departure, and sailed for France in the steamship Saxonia, in November, 1858. We landed first at Southampton and crossed in a Channel boat to Havre.
From Havre we traveled to Paris in company with a German family and a lively young Frenchman whose acquaintance we had made on the steamer. We took a night train and were all in one compartment of the car. Our party was a very pleasant one, the gay Frenchman describing for our entertainment, in exceedingly broken English, the grand sights we should behold in Paris. At Rouen, Liscard and I got out as the train halted and purchased luncheon for the party, including some candies for the children, and among other things some sandwiches peculiar to France, made of soft rolls with unsalted butter. While some were eating and others smoking, and just before the train started, a stout, round-faced priest with
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cocked hat and lustrous black robe, put his smiling face in the car-window and politely requested admission. The Frenchman told him we were all smoking and the compartment would not, therefore, be agreeable to him. He replied that he was very fond of cigar smoke. The Frenchman then informed him that we were all speaking English, and that our society would bore him. " Ah," said the priest, " I speaks ze English ver' yell." " But" urged the suave Frenchman who was indisposed to give way to an intruder, particularly a priest, " we are not English but Americans." " Oh ! indeed !" exclaimed the priest, laughing, " I'm ver' glad to hear it. I was in New York once and preached some ver' bad sermons dere." There was no further denying him and he entered, chatting gayly in English, his corpulent figure filling the whole door. The seat near the door opposite me was vacant, and 0 ! horrors ! before I could prevent it, he sat down on an open sandwich with the buttered sides up. I was about to exclaim that I did not know of their being there, when I saw that he was utterly unconscious of their presence ; but I thought every moment that he would discover them and then think we bad intentionally placed them there in retaliation for his persistence in urging his society upon us. Still, he did not—and my distress began to wear away and the more I thought of his predicament the more I was inclined to laughter, he evidently attributing my good nature to his many witty remarks. I secretly whispered the situation to my next neighbor who passed it to the other members of the party, and then the " touch of nature" which " makes the whole world kin" inspired general jollity, and we kept the good priest in a state of engaging sociability by greeting every one of his bon mots with peals of laughter. Before we were half way to Paris, I believe he was convinced that be was the drollest wit France had produced since the days of Moliere. When the train reached Paris by daylight, I rushed out on the platform of the station followed by Lis-card. The long-robed priest emerged from the car without making any discovery, and as he touched his hat and
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merrily bade us " Bon voyage" he turned up the street. We looked at his voluptuous robe and beheld, much to our dismay, a missionary map of the Sandwich Islands.
Paris did not disappoint us. To an American art student it is the paradise of the earth. In the Louvre, I first fairly comprehended the power of art, its dignity, and height of achievement. I have known more than one American who had been reared amid such hard and practical surroundings as made him regard the fine arts with contemptuous indifference, to have all his ideas, in relation thereto, permanently transformed during a single visit to the Louvre.
We spent much time there and also in the Luxembourg gallery: we visited all the noted public buildings, the churches, parks and gardens : saw Napoleon's cocked hat and sword in Des Invalides, and the wooden-legged stork in the Zoological Gardens : went to the opera, theatre, and concert-halls. In short we inspected Paris pretty thoroughly.
When I was a school-boy, away off amid the hills of the Upper Hudson, our teacher, a severely lovely and pious woman—a Puritan of the Priscilla Alden type, described to the class one day, the dreadful wickedness of Paris, comparing it with Sodom and Gomorrah, and using such graphic phrases in her description of its immorality and irreligion that an awful impression of its character remained with me for many years. She told us of the gloomy avenues of the Catacombs beneath the streets of the City, and predicted that God would some day punish its iniquity with a mighty earthquake that would precipitate all the buildings and inhabitants to the tombs below. She merely reflected the Puritan ideas of her class, which to some extent, still survive. And yet, of all cities, Paris is the city of Light and Science, , the abode of refinement, art, and civilization. The nice cultivation of the sensed, which is so abhorrent to the dreary minds of the Puritans and Anti-burghers, is here sought as the most desirable earthly attainment, and the promotion of physical as well as mental
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enjoyment is regarded as the supreme duty of man The picture-gallery, the opera-house and the Zoological and Botanical Gardens fitly environ the elegant cafés, where some of our countrymen for the first time, learn that there is a subtle, delicate and delightful art called cookery—and that it is not wicked to enjoy it.
It was not our intention, however, to remain in fascinating, expensive Paris, but to go to a smaller city where living was less costly even if the schools of art were not so renowned, and eventually, we hoped to reach Italy. We had canvassed a list of many attractive places and decided upon Brussels, which then had the reputation of being one of the cheapest cities in Europe. Our stay in the French capital was therefore limited to a few weeks.
We arrived in Brussels perfect strangers to every one in it, and were obliged to rely upon the services of a hotel courier to find us suitable rooms, which he did—in the Rue St. Jean. Liscard had attempted to exercise his French in Paris and though he read and wrote it with ease, he could scarcely make himself understood, even in directing a cabdriver. My knowledge of spoken French was even less than his, and though we were studying constantly with aid of grammar and dictionary, we were both for a time almost wholly dependent on others.
One of our first duties was to surrender our passports for registration at the office of the Commissaire of Police of our district. Accordingly, we presented ourselves at his office, accompanied by our rather officious courier. The police officer, an old, stern-visaged man with a stentorian voice, was sitting at a railed desk, in full military uniform, dispensing permits of travel to a group of peasants whom he addressed, as each presented himself, in the rudest and harshest manner. They fairly cowered beneath his threatening eye and startling voice. We watched him for some time, expecting similar treatment when our turn came. Greatly to our surprise, however, when our courier spread out before him our two passports displaying the powerful proportions and alert gaze of the American eagle, and with
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;ome difficulty made it clear to him that we were not Austrians, but Americans come to Brussels to study art, the features of the haughty functionary relaxed, and removing his hat with extreme courtesy and rising from his seat, he invited us within the railing, shaking our hands warmly and welcoming us to the Belgian capital in a mild tone of voice and in broken English. This was not all: he was so much interested to learn that we had come all the way from the United States to study art in Brussels, that, after asking us and the courier many queer questions, he suspended labor for the day and said he would esteem it an honor if we would visit his house and partake of a bottle of wine. Had we been reigning princes we could not have received more deferential treatment. On our way to his home, he told me he had been a sergeant at the battle of Waterloo and had been in the police service ever since. We stopped at the residences of two artists—his friends—one of them quite celebrated for his still-life and interiors—and he introduced us to them and their families who gave us cordial reception and regarded us with undisguised curiosity, as, they told us, we were the first Americans they had ever spoken with. At his home, the Commissaire placed us at luncheon in easy chairs, surrounded by his cabinet of curiosities, composed principally of weapons used by noted murderers and the implements of burglars and counterfeiters. It appeared that he had been a distinguished detective, a sort of Monsieur Lecoq, and many of the objects in his collection possessed interesting histories which he related to us. He showed us the process of sweating gold and other methods of debasing the currency.
We passed a delightful afternoon with the hospitable and entertaining official. When he learned our intention of applying for admission as students of the Royal Academy, he at once sat down and drew up an application in due form which we signed and which he promised to forward through the proper channels. This he did, and a day or two latei, we received by a special messenger a
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huge piece of parchment bearing the Royal Arms, and with a heavy seal attached, granting us all the privileges of students in the antique and life schools of the Academy.
My student life in Brussels was one of the happiest periods in my existence. The city itself is delightful, and graced with many objects of historical and picturesque interest.
St. Gudule is my ideal of an ancient cathedral—superb, solemn and grand. It contains a remarkable and beautiful work of art—a pulpit carved in oak. The stranger finds many other objects of interest within the walls of this stately edifice. He admires the rare altarpiece above the richly decorated chancel, the unrivaled pictures in stained glass, the magnificent organ, the colossal statues of the twelve Apostles fixed upon lofty pedestals and fronting the main aisle: he lingers beside the crumbling tombs of the Dukes of Brabant or wanders amid clusters of curious Gothic ornaments in stone. But there is nothing which more powerfully impresses his eye and mind than the carved pulpit. It is not merely a pulpit—it is a sermon in wood.
The design is the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Paradise. The life-size figures of our unfortunate progenitors stand in the foreground in attitudes of cowering flight, terrified and bewildered, as if they heard the dread voice of the Almighty pronouncing the fearful curse. Behind them pursues the angel with flaming sword, and before them, half concealed by masses of foliage, lurks the grim skeleton of Death. In the background the tree of Good and Evil rears aloft its overshadowing branches. These infold the pulpit, fashioned in a spherical form to represent the terrestrial globe. Its dome is surmounted by statues of the Virgin and Child. Twining upward around the tree appear the huge and ugly folds of the Serpent, whose head, emerging at the top is crushed by the foot of the cross held in the hands of the Infant Saviour. A little stairway in the rear ascends to the rostrum. Perched throughout the branches of the tree and in the garden
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below are various species of birds, insects and animals wrought with minute and scrupulous fidelity to Nature.
The whole group is considered the. masterpiece of Verbruggen, one of the last, and most famous, of Flemish carvers in wood, and belongs to the close of that era when the passion for elaborate decoration culminated in rich Flanders, and scattered abroad those marvelous monuments of human skill and patience, which still remain—some of them in almost unimpaired ornature—to charm the lover of the picturesque and to embarrass and subdue the critic.
There was exhibited in all the details of this carving a kind of art entirely new to us. We were ignorant, until now of the almost plastic properties of wood in the hands of a cunning and accomplished master.
We often made sketching tours in the suburbs of the City. At Laeken we made elaborate drawings of the beautiful statue of Madame Malibran in the little cemetery, as well as of the charming vistas toward the palace of old King Leopold, whom we often saw in a carriage, riding rapidly by, surrounded by his handsome body-guard. We dined, sometimes, where we could look out upon the building in which the famous ball was given to honor Wellington on the eve of Waterloo, and we often passed the unattractive pensionnat where Charlotte Bronte lived and taught, and wondered how she could find, in such an unsuggestive spot, material for one of her most vivid creations.
I have not forgotten a curious piece of carving in the Royal Museum. It is a human skull wrought out of a block of ivory, a product of the Middle Ages, probably the handiwork of an ingenious monk endowed with an affluence of time and a spirit of patient labor. The skull itself is carved so truthfully to Nature that, externally, it might, at first, be mistaken for one by an anatomist. An ivory snake coils within the jaws and protrudes its head from one of the eye-sockets: a little toad squats above the brow and a locust rests on the dome. Each scale of the serpent is minutely developed, the warts of the toad seem almost
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porous and the legs of the insect are so slender and frail that one wonders how the artist could cut the hard ivory away and leave them unbroken. There are indications that the snake, toad and locust were originally colored in their natural tints-- the whole forming a startling and fascinating Memento Mori.
Among my most vivid recollections of Brussels is the studio of Monsieur Wiertz, who bore the title " Painter to the King and Court of Belgium." * Notwithstanding his distinguished title the reputation of Wiertz was then somewhat local, and not at all commensurate with the enlarged and original character of his genius. This may be sufficiently explained by the fact that few, if any, of his chef d'ceuvres had even been exhibited beyond their immediate place of creation, and he was chiefly known and appreciated by curious travelers, inquiring art-students and the cultivated inhabitants of the city. His works afford a striking illustration of how great powers of invention and mastery of technical language may be perverted to strange uses by a morbid, undisciplined imagination. Nearly all his productions are pervaded with a sort of crazy sublimity—a kind of riotous excellence. After a visit to his studio and a careful survey of his pictures there on exhibition, I could readily credit many stories as to his odd mental derangement. He claimed the title of " The Modern Rubens" and to be personally in keeping with his assumed character he dressed in the costume of the Sixteenth Century. He wore the wavy mustache and goatee: the broad hat and black plume : the mantle peculiar to the Netherlands of that period: slashed sleeves, silken hose and silver-buckled pumps. In short he appeared in the streets like a reduced copy of the bronze statue of Rubens in front of the Cathedral at Antwerp.
The studio of Wiertz, situated on the brow of a treeless hill in one of the faubourgs of Brussels, seems at a dis-
* An article of mine describing some of the works of this artist appeared in the Galaxy magazine, for May, 1868.
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tance to be a beautiful chateau in ruins. Upon a nearer view the counterfeited castle betrays its modern construction, and it is quite a shock to romantic anticipations to discover the very palpable fact that this pseudo magnificent pile is an ingenious fraud, well calculated to impose upon all lovers of the antique. The comparatively new towers have crumbled through the agency of applied force, and the pillars have been tumbled down, not by hostile elements, but by express command of the owner. In short the " ruin" was made to order.
The interior of this novel building is a sky - lighted studio and exhibition-room of extraordinary dimensions, the largest gallery devoted to the display of one artist's creations in all Europe. The pictures are numerous, many of them of colossal size and treatment and arranged with special care as to position and to the effect of graduated light, produced by a cunning combination of screens and draperies. Trickery in Art is, of course, a very reprehensible quality and I do not defend it in the works of Monsieur Wiertz : but there is, besides, so much in his paintings of real excellence that I chose rather to admire and discriminate than condemn. Witness, for instance, " The Great Day of His Wrath." It is handled with superior technical skill, the figures are powerfully drawn and disposed, the expressions carefully studied, and the whole composition consistent and impressive.
Perhaps the most characteristic of all his pictures, as showing the vagaries of a wonderful mind, are three, entitled: " Thoughts of a Head after Death" the first, second, and third moments. The written notes underneath convey the singular information that the artist was enabled to realize all the sensations necessary for the conception of so difficult a subject through the aid of mesmerism: having been placed in a mesmeric state with a criminal just before his execution. The first scene presents a view of the guillotine, surrounded by eager, yet horror-struck spectators. The individuality of • features and the varied expressions of the lookers-on are portrayed
7
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with the profound touch of a master. The victim is lying under the knife—the edge has just entered his neck; crawling over his naked body are furry spiders, stinging scorpions and huge insects of the most grotesque and hideous description. The flesh is pierced in numberless places with gleaming daggers; his hair is turned into writhing serpents hissing blue vapor and the fiery eyes sparkle in their sockets. In the second scene, the head has been severed from its trunk and is falling into a basket of sawdust, leaving a trail of phosphorescent flame: the daggers are red-hot and the tormenting insects more numerous and if possible, more monstrous than before. The eyes are shooting forth like forked lightning. The third and last "moment" defies description. It is a mixture of vague forms and vivid color enveloped in bituminous smoke and great depths of darkness. In the upper portion of the picture is seen a dim white figure—the soul of the executed ascending into paradise !
At one end of the great room is a curious arrangement of screens, partitions and draperies contrived in such a manner as to give to the paintings the most realistic effects. This is, of course, pure trickery and not " high art." You peep around the edge of a folded screen upon which is written conspicuously ; " costively No Admittance" and then start suddenly back when you discover that your movement was observed by a partially draped female, standing in a half open door, who is also peeping. The door and the figure are painted with such strength of light and shade that in the darkened corner, at the first glance, you are absolutely deceived. Next, you look through an oval aperture, over which is written " Likenesses Taken Instantaneously," and sure enough, there is a perfect facsimile of yourself, clothed in the garb of an ancient jailer, humpbacked and slender - kneed, opening a prison door. After the first sensation of surprise, this phenomenon is explained by the discovery that the jailer has no face of his own but in its stead a mirror, which reflects the spectator's. On a wall near by is a drawing of a great and ugly frog..
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Inserted in the wall over it is a narrow strip 6f metal pierced with two peep-holes. Looking through these holes the frog is foreshortened into the bust of a beautiful woman. A door is painted on one of the screens. You peep through the key-hole and behold a sleeping "Venus. A notice informs you that the key hangs overhead. It is a painted key, just out of reach, and yet, it is said, numbers have been disappointed in their attempts to take it down. The most elaborate, and at the same time the most horrible of this whole group of scenic effects, is the view of the interior of a burial vault. The large picture is darkened with drapery, and viewing it through a crevice in the screen it seems a frightful reality. A partly decomposed corpse has started into life and is springing from a half-open coffin. The flesh has decayed around the eyes and it glares at you with an expression of mingled ferocity and terror difficult to forget. I never cared to see this awful picture more than once.
In some of the grandest of the historical and classical compositions of this artist, he cannot forego his desire to astonish you and generally succeeds. In a large picture of the Crucifixion entitled the " Lighthouse of Golgotha" a painted ray of light shooting from behind a dark cloud in the upper part of the canvas, is carried out on the frame and thence out on the wall, producing a most illusive effect. In the colossal painting " The Fight over the Dead Body of Patroclus," a soldier's head has been lopped off in the contest and is painted close to the lower edge of the canvas. Its shadow is painted on the frame, which makes it appear to be falling out of the picture to the studio floor. A work of remarkable power and gigantic dimensions is "The Casting out of the Rebellious Angels." In the midst of the fighting angels is seen the apple of Eden with a wake of sulphurous light falling toward the Earth.
There are many other pictures that are free from all eccentric or offensive features and they are brilliant examples of legitimate art. One of these is "An Incantation Scene." A beautiful maiden has been bewitched by an old
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hag of 'most forbidding aspect, who is teaching her the black art of flying up the chimney on a broomstick. The coloring, especially the flesh tint, is remindful of Rubens' best works. " The Men of the Future Viewing the Things of the Past" is in the artist's happiest style. It is a group of three male figures of more than human proportions, holding in their great hands and examining a collection of tiny pieces of artillery, fortresses, ships, sceptres and crowns. The faces express curiosity, contempt and wonder. A representation of an angel breaking a cannon as if it were a toy and named " The Last Cannon" is a masterful sketch.
All the creations of Wiertz are also remarkable for their rich, luminous and harmonious color, except his latest works, which appear to indicate that he despaired of achieving the highest success as a colorist, and they are painted simply in black and white. The artist it seems had indulged slightly in literature. I saw a pamphlet in his studio with the title: " Mystere du Diable par M. Wiertz."
CHAPTER IX.
The Field of Waterloo—A Patriotic Chicken-painter—Mystifying a Guide—The Black Virgin of Hal—By Moonlight to Louvain—Masterpieces in Wood—Mechlin—A Flemish Bride—An Enticing Acquaintance—Count Fulme's Fast Life—A Great Surprise.
WE walked twice to the field of Waterloo, surveying the vast plain at our leisure, learning the historical landmarks and securing several genuine relics of the great battle. On one of our return trips we made the acquaintance, at a wayside inn, about five miles from the battle-field, of a skillful Parisian artist whose specialty was fowls and barnyard scenes, and who had retired to this isolated spot to study his subjects from Nature. He was quite insulted when we casually asked him if he ever visited the battle-field, and he swore that he never even looked in that direction, although he had lived in the neighborhood several months. He ridiculed our relics and told us our buttons and eagles were manufactured in England, brought by the basket-full to Waterloo and sown from bags by the peasants like so much grain; and then they were opportunely discovered whenever there was an influx of sentimental tourists. Liscard, as an offset to his sarcasm, offered a little sum in arithmetic, saying there were 60,000 men, many of them Frenchmen, left dead on the field; that on the uniform of each one of these there were at least six buttons and not less than four metallic ornaments of the cap or belt-plate, making a total of metallic relics alone of 600,000: that the annual number of tourists, since the battle, who purchased three relics apiece did not exceed 1000, making only, say, 129,000 relics that had been taken away, and—but before he concluded his figuring, the artist was out in the barnyard sketching a game-cock, and he paid us no more attention.
On our first trip to Waterloo we employed a stupid
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guide whose English was scarcely intelligible. Liscard anticipated, in a certain sense, a more famous humorist's later absurdity at the birthplace of Columbus, by professing to be entirely ignorant concerning the date when Waterloo was fought or what it was fought for. When the guide, in describing the battle, remarked with many gestures and flourishes, " Here de English lay down on dere bussums, and ven de Frenchmens fire away, de bullets go plump in de mud," Liscard went back and stooped down as if searching for the bullets. " Vat de mattair?" inquired the guide. "I don't find any bullets," replied Liscard. "Mon Dieu! dis battaille vas fought more'n forty years ago." " What?" exclaimed Liscard. " Do you think we came way out here to see an old battle-field. No! shbw us some fresh bullets and blood." " Vat you say?" queried the guide, observing him closely, " You not come to see yore de great Napoleon he get defeated?" "Napoleon," repeated the other thoughtfully, " why, he was a little boy forty years ago: I saw him at a review the other day in Paris." " 0 !" groaned the guide, " Not dat Napoleon, de odder Napoleon, boom vat fight Wellington, you know heem! Yees! Eh!" " Oh 1" exclaimed Liscard, raising his eyebrows, " Ah there was another Napoleon! Eh !" Then there was a volley of " Sacre bleus" from the disgusted guide who turned toward me to see if I betrayed any signs of intelligence, but I was used to Liscard's ways and gave no sign. Then he looked upon us both as a couple of hopeless idiots, and for the rest of the way he confined his remarks mainly to the weather, or to Belgian agricultural statistics.
We made an excursion to Hal to see the old church there with its miraculous black statue of the Virgin. The tradition is that during the memorable siege of the place the Virgin descended from her pedestal and going out on the ramparts caught the cannon-balls of the enemy in her mantle. In verification of this feat, a number of cannonballs enclosed in an iron cage, are shown in the vestibule of the church, and it is gravely alleged that no person can
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count them twice and make out the same number. Another story of her miraculous interposition relates to an heretical plot to destroy the particularly favored little church. A hogshead of gunpowder was placed in one of the aisles and a lighted candle, stuck in the powder Sand left to burn. It burned down close to the point of ignition when the statue quietly snuffed it out—lest it might cause damage to the furniture. In proof of this miracle the old woman in charge of the edifice offered, for half a franc, to show us the identical piece of candle.
One moonlight night we walked from Brussels to Louvain twelve miles away and arriving before daylight were obliged to arouse the watchman at the city gate in order to have the portcullis raised and be let in. Being unsuccessful in arousing the drowsy inmates of the hostelries, we accepted the hospitality of the town-guard who were extremely polite, and we were accommodated with quarters in the beautiful hotel de ville, one of the finest specimens of Gothic architecture in Europe. Later we saw the remains of the celebrated university where poor Goldsmith is said to have unavailingly offered his services as a professor of Greek while on his unique tour as " The Traveller." In the cathedral we saw another remarkable example of Verbrug-gen's wood-carving: " The Miraculous Draught of Fishes." The most miraculous part of it, is the delicate carving of the meshes of the net with the great variety of fish caught in it. To hew these out of solid oak and shape them so true to nature, would seem infinitely beyond the skill of the human hand. Wallace, the naturalist, objects to a part of the theory of Darwin, and in excepting humanity from the process of evolution, points to the human hand as too complex in its powers to have been so produced. And here is Verbruggen's hand to sustain the objection.
From Louvain we walked away over a straight and paved avenue, lined with trees, to the tower of St. Rombaut in Mechlin, twelve miles distant, which seemed never nearer until we were close to the city. Here we staid several days, sketching street views with quaint mediaeval
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buildings whose irregular outlines fell together as if composed for a picture. At the inn we sketched a Flemish bride just after she had left the wedding ceremony in the cathedral. She posed for us, at our request, which she rightly regarded as a compliment, and from her rich Mechlin lace head-dress, with long flaring wings, her pretty and demure face beamed upon us—a subject fit for the pencil of Greuze or Millais.
It was almost as tourists that we spent the first few weeks of our residence in Belgium, perpetually charmed by our new surroundings—the time-corroded buildings, the rolling, dreamy landscapes and the neat, orderly and amiable people. Then we settled down to more systematic labors which we pursued happily for a while, making but few acquaintances.
One evening, after dinner in the Café Renaissance, Lis-card and I engaged in a game of chess. A comparatively young man, a stranger of good appearance, approached and overlooked the game. Some trifling remark he made in English about the disposition of a piece, led to conversation in which he proved himself so intelligent and entertaining that we formally made his acquaintance. He gave us his name (for which Bolingbroke will serve as well), and dropped a few details concerning his personal history: we responded with similar information. Though born in Scotland of a Scotch father and French mother he was educated at a military school in France and had served in the French army in Algeria. Afterward, he had been a British army officer and was now, evidently, by his dress, manners and tone of conversation a gentleman of leisure. Subsequently, we met him often and he seemed as much interested in us as we were in him. He was indeed a delightful companion, and highly accomplished, though sometimes his manners were dashed with the free and easy sty le of a clever turfman or a polite auctioneer. He seemed familiar with all the great cities in Europe and spoke several Continental languages: his discourse abounded with incidents of his career in the Crimea and in Algeria where he held rank in
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the Foreign Legion. He betrayed a spirit of true camera-derie in all our intercourse, and served as our guide in introducing us to the gay enjoyments of "Little Paris"—as Brussels is appropriately styled. As Liscard was of rather convivial disposition and I fast becoming so, we were not at a loss for opportunities of diversion, nor did we lack inclination, being as free from social restraint as if we were encamped on a prairie. From this period, our studies were often interrupted by excursions in the suburbs, ostensibly for sketching but really for pastime; we attended the theater, opera, casino and other places of amusement; fre-quenty partaking of midnight dinners, and what was new to me, I sometimes awoke in the morning with a headache. I learned to smoke and enjoy light wines. My companions who were eight and ten years my seniors were my mentors in what was right and wrong, and I was of an age and temperament to be easily influenced in the direction of pleasure by any one whom I considered honest and refined.
Not long after we had chosen Bolingbroke's companionship, we noticed increased attention on the part of waiters in our favorite café, and later, on the part of shopkeepers and people generally. We had already observed that Bolingbroke introduced us to his numerous acquaintances with an air of considerable importance, as if we were persons worth knowing, and we were mystified by occasional questions concerning our South American plantations and the number of slaves we owned. We were candid enough to laugh away such questions and tried to explain that we were from North America and owned no slaves : but it seems that stories had flown abroad of our wealth and expectations, or else these were assumed from our apparent circumstances, and our denials were laughed at in return. So, for a time, we enjoyed all the attentions usually bestowed upon foreign magnates. Speaking of slaves reminds me of an embarrassing and unanswerable question propounded to me one day by one of our acquaintances—a French Republican: " How is it den, ven you have slaves in your country, dat you can call him a Republique ?"
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The reputations we had unwittingly acquired of possessing vast wealth invoked something like a corresponding outlay, and almost involuntarily, we spent much more money in Bolingbroke's company than was justified by. the size or productiveness of our " plantations." To do him justice, he kept pace with us, in this respect, and we did not know but that he possessed mines somewhere in Algeria.
Among the notabilities to whom he introduced us was a certain Count Fulme, celebrated in his day, but not under that name. Gracefully waiving considerations of rank, this gentleman paid us assiduous attentions. He accompanied us to the opera and theatre, and dined with us frequently, without remorse. Decidedly handsome in person and still youthful, although somewhat lamed from a shock of paralysis, he was a high type of cultivated gentility in outwardly comfortable circumstances. By birth he was an Englishman, though his rank and the decorations he wore were conferred by the Pope. Like Montalembert, he was a Count of the Holy Roman Empire. In time, we learned much of the Count's real history which was an unusually romantic one.
He was the son of a lieutenant-general in the British service and at twenty-one inherited a large fortune said to hay( been two hundred thousand pounds. Being of an adventurous as well as of a poetical cast of mind and a madly. enthusiastic admirer of Lord Byron, the first use he made of his fortune was to take a tour in imitation of Childe Harold, visiting all the localities described so enchantingly in that
poem, and attracting attention every	where by his lavish
expenditures. He knew the poem by heart and could repeat it entire, without hesitation. Much of his time was spent in Greece and the East where he was mistaken for a relative of the English Lord and received corresponding attention. He knew Continental Europe thoroughly and had been sent to the Court of Brazil in a diplomatic capacity. Bolingbroke had first heard of Count Fulme, at a military school in a town in Eastern France, when the
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Count was in all his glory, owning a magnificent chateau in the neighborhood and astonishing the rural community by the number of his horses and hounds and the extravagance of his social entertainments. He was alleged to have a full harem, also, and to live in the domestic style of an Oriental, with the freaks and tastes of a Monte Christo. In Paris he created a sensation as the reputed lover of a Princes of the House of Bonaparte. His sumptuous turn-outs attracted so much attention on the Boulevards, where he appeared with Arabian horses, outriders and the gorgeous entourage of a Prince that he received a command from the Emperor direct, to moderate his style in public or leave the city. The largest fortune could not long withstand such unbounded display—and when we knew him in Brussels, his Monte Christo days were over, the glamor of his prime was gone, penury began to set in; and Earth was claiming him, threatening to foreclose its lien of paralysis.
But we were quite unaware of the Count's circumstances then, and thought it a mere eccentricity—his living in a second-class hotel, where he once invited us with considerable ceremony, to dine, and where we were regaled with a delicate repast and a copious display of wine. Somehow, I received the impression that his landlord was an extremely surly fellow, scowling whenever the Count ordered an additional bottle, and groaning as he filled the glasses.
The gay period of our life in " Petite Paris" with Bolingbroke and the Count as almost constant companions covered several weeks. The Carnival days came round and we attended a grand ball in one of the faubourgs of the city. Liscard and I were attired in handsome suits and wherever we went were centers of attraction. Evidently, our immense wealth had become widely known and we were forced to accept the flattering attentions usually bestowed upon scions of affluence. Fulme and Bolingbroke sailed about us like moths about electric lights. What more particularly attracted attention was Liscard's large and dazzling breastpin composed of a dozen brilliants of apparently
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the first water. Apparently—for the truth about these so-called diamonds must be related even at the risk of exposing our recently acquired audacity.
A few evenings before leaving New York, in sauntering down Broadway, we remembered that we must procure a French and English dictionary to take with us on our travels. It was in the days of " gift book enterprises" and we called at one of these establishments and purchased the book. With it, we received a bottle of perfumery and the sham piece of jewelry in question. The night of the ball the glittering gems, all forgotten, were pulled out of a trunk with some articles of clothing, and Liscard was seized with the comical idea of wearing them. No one, he argued, would ever suspect him of wearing other than genuine diamonds, and besides, they could not be minutely examined in a ballroom. Then he remembered that some one had told him that sham jewelry was not manufactured in Belgium—the law prohibited it almost as severely as it did the uttering of counterfeit money. Consequently, he further reasoned, Belgians would not be able to distinguish real from false when exhibited.
The eyes of Bolingbroke had no sooner encountered Liscard in the ball-room than they rested upon the magnificent pin and were spell-bound. He was the students' aid and adviser the whole evening. His frequent praise of the brilliancy and purity of the diamonds almost caused Lis-card to think he suspected them. But no, there was nothing but admiration, except perhaps a little glint of covetousness expressed in those wide-open eyes.
We danced and flirted with a number of fair Belgian and French ladies, but Liscard was the real hero and an object of great rivalry. Later in the evening, in a moment of weakness and indiscretion, when Bolingbroke was particularly enjoying the rich and sparkling effect of the quartz jewels, Liscard, with an air of performing the most ordinary act of generosity in the world, quietly unloosed the pin from his bosom and deposited it in the hands of the astounded Bolingbroke, saying: " There my dear fellow !
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Accept it and be happy." Our friend seemed quite overcome, even dazed by receiving such a munificent token of regard, and earnestly wanted to know if the donor " meant it." Being repeatedly assured that he did, Bolingbroke muttered that he should always keep it as a memento of friendship, though he really thought it was " too much." Liscard laughed, intending, of course, if the other did not soon discover the joke to tell him of it, and we forgot the incident and went on dancing. After the ball, we looked about for Bolingbroke and the Count—but they were nowhere to be found.
The next morning Liscard and I indulged in a serious discussion as to the alarming void in the condition of our finances and the necessity of changing our course. We began to reflect ; reminding ourselves of our original purpose in going abroad ; and we resolved, before it was too late, to turn over a new leaf : to abandon the expensive companionship of our new friends, and to begin a system of the strictest retrenchment combined with a course of severe study. We intended to notify our new friends, when we saw them, that we were not millionaires but merely art-students with very limited means at our disposal, and that for us the round of pleasures had ceased. But we saw neither of them for several days, though we sometimes passed by our old haunts. One day, however, we met the' hitherto affable Count and were surprised with his change of manner toward us—he scarcely recognized us and evidently evaded us: but this we did not mind and we attributed his conduct to embarrassment caused by his being with a shabby companion. We inquired in several places for " Milord" Bolingbroke, but could obtain no trace of him —he had entirely disappeared. We pursued our new course with the determined self-denial of the most austere order of monks, for several weeks. Then as a reward for our virtuous abstinence we went, one afternoon, to an English chop-house, in the suburbs, for a good dinner. There were several tables in the main room around which sat a number of gentlemen whose dress, as the saying is, loudly pro-
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claimed their British nativity. We sat down at one of the tables, picked up London newspapers and waited for attendance. Soon .a waiter with neat white apron and tray in hand stood before us. We looked up to give our order. The waiter was Bolingbroke!
" Have you ordered, gentlemen?" said he, and his face did not betray the slightest token of recognition. He looked at us steadily and did not even blush. If anything his face was paler than usual. In a confused, distracted way we gave our order and he departed.
We sat back in a state of wonderment. " Is it a freak or necessity?" I queried.
" What a transformation !" remarked Liscard.
And we both subsided into silence. Bolingbroke brought our food, placed it before us with the air and manner of a trained and accomplished waiter, and then busied himself with other customers. Our appetites which had been ravenous were soon satisfied, and we paid our bill to another waiter and arose to go. Bolingbroke followed us to the ball and whispered " Be at your rooms at eight o'clock this evening and I will call on you. I confess I am sham—like your diamonds, but I will explain all to-night." And he left us.
CHAPTER X.
A Tempest-tossed Career—A Bohemian Alliance—A Visitor from New York — A Council of War — Departure for Germany—The Academy at Dusseldorf — Beauties of Rhineland — An Erratic Student—Arrested for Sketching Fortifications.
AT the appointed time Bolingbroke arrived and found us awaiting him. He greeted us in his customary free and graceful manner, but in some respects he was quite changed—more subdued and deferential. He had ceased acting and now, exhibited his proper self for the first time since we had known him. Had not Liscard and I been reared in a democratic country we might have withdrawn from one whose position in the world was so ambiguous and tainted with social inferiority. But aside from being entirely unembarrassed with social considerations, we were filled with considerable curiosity to hear our former comrade's explanation and we received him as nearly as we could, as if nothing unusual had occurred since the carnival ball to disturb our exalted opinion of his merits; and when he sat down and began to outline his tempest-tossed career from the date of his departure from school until his accidental meeting with us—we were all attention.
What he had before told us of his parentage, education and army experience was true, and what he added showed that he had been a spoiled child and a reckless dare-devil. He had been allowed to resign from the French army for killing a brother officer in a duel, under circumstances which, he claimed, were misunderstood and misrepresented. He had been dismissed from the English service for striking a superior officer while on duty, and to the severity of this disgrace was added the misery and humiliation of having his engagement absolutely broken with a
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young lady of high social connections, whom he evidently deeply loved. He removed to the Continent and lived a wild life in the large cities, throwing away a fortune his mother had left him, at the gambling tables of Baden-Baden and Monaco. Afterward he drifted to Brussels where he learned to live by his wits, sometimes writing for the press or winning a few louis from rich strangers. Here he found Count Fulme engaged in the same occupation, and we were surprised to learn that the Count had an extensive reputation as a writer of feuilletons in the journals of Brussels and Paris, Bolingbroke frankly told us that they had intended to make use of us, but had not precisely determined in what way, as we did not gamble. He declared, however, that he never made use of anybody except in a legitimate, gentlemanly way, and thought we were so rich that we could afford to be generous. The gift of the quartz breastpin had effectually dispelled all impressions of our wealth and, he added, he had narrowly escaped arrest for trying to induce a banker whom he aroused from sleep the night of the ball, to advance five thousand francs on the " spurious stuff." After that incident he and the Count concluded to abandon us, and he had become so thoroughly ashamed of his course of life, that in a fit of remorse and despair he had accepted the position of waiter, intending to honestly earn enough to leave the country.
"Had you," said he, "confined yourselves to the French cafés you would never have seen me again. But I did not come here for any sympathy, nor to renew your acquaintance, but merely to set myself right. If I were not so proud, I wouldn't care. I hope you will have a good time abroad and get the worth of your money. Good-by."
And Bolingbroke arose to go : but we stopped him. There was something in this man's nature so frank, manly and independent, that it compelled a certain admiration and sympathy, and we would not permit him to go before we had corrected some of his erroneous impressions of
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us. When we told him, under what circumstances we had come abroad, of our short allowance, and of the thoughtless extravagance that had brought a crisis in our affairs, by reason of which we were then doing penance, he sat down again and evinced a lively interest in our confession. So soon, in fact, as he understood we were in anxious straits ourselves, the old spirit of a comrade which had first won us to him, shone from his friendly features and he exclaimed, enthusiastically : " Why, I will sell all the pictures you can paint, and you can live like nabobs !" Such a prospect, my experience had taught me, was a little rose-tinted, but before the conversation, which was carried far into the night, was finished, we had concluded an alliance. Liscard and I were to make the effort to produce works that would sell, and Bolingbroke was to be our agent and salesman. So with the brilliant programme before us, we prevailed upon Bolingbroke to share our apartments and we joined in a general copartnership.
But the business of hurriedly painting pictures to sell, did not thrive in Brussels to any large extent : it was something like carrying coals to Newcastle : though no blame could be properly attached to our salesman who was indefatigable in his search for purchasers and cleverly persistent at a bargain. The pictures which were best framed brought the highest prices and it was finally suggested, but not acted upon, that leaving the paintings out altogether and dealing in frames, exclusively, would produce more remunerative results.
We were happily surprised one morning upon returning to our studio from a mild breakfast, to find sitting calmly before the reckless specimens of unfinished " high art" on our easels, an American art-student whom we had known in New York, and who had just arrived from there, by way of Antwerp. We had received no intimation of his coming: he had planned to surprise us and succeeded. He was a breezy, companionable, ambitious youth, with as much practical application and industrious devotion to art, as any student I have ever known. He eyed our pictures
8
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curiously and seemed amazed at the consequences of studying in a Royal Academy.
He was on his way to Diisseldorf, where he had a friend who persuaded him that the school of Art there, afforded advantages to students superior to any other in Europe. After visiting with us a few days, the proposition was made that we should all go there together. To this I was much averse, having in some way acquired a vague prejudice against Germany, German art and German methods of study. But this prejudice was overruled by the more potent argument that if there was a chance of finding a cheaper place to live in than Brussels, our term of student life abroad might be extended. Diisseldorf it was claimed surpassed " Little Paris" in every point of cheapness, and the best evidence of this was afforded by the fact that English families in reduced circumstances, so numerous in Brussels, were fleeing from it and seeking homes in the city on the Rhine. It was finally decided that we should all go, Bolingbroke too—he having decided to emigrate to America by way of Bremen.
We rather hurried our preparations for departure. Brussels was associated in our minds with acts of folly and miscalculation. Our pretty little triumphs had been succeeded by distressful efforts to keep our heads above water, after having them nearly drowned in wine. We did not even say " Good-by" to Count Fulme.
It required almost an entire day to go by rail from Brussels to Diisseldorf. Our party sat on opposite sides of the car compartment, contemplating from the windows, in rapt admiration, the beautiful scenery through which we were passing—the unsurpassed Valley of the Chaude-fontaine. The views on either hand were so novel and diversified—here, a lofty castle-crowned mountain covered with groups of noble trees; there, a far-away glimpse of hollows filled with straggling thatched cottages; now, an ancient chateau in ruins towering close to the iron road ; and then a receding landscape of fields and orchards with clumps of poplars, or a brook lined with drooping willows,
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or an old mill artistically composed; and scattered here and there, bits of brilliant blue and red—peasants clad in rich colors,—that all seemed like one of my early dreams of foreign lands.
At night-fall we reached the termination of our journey in a cold, drizzling rain. We were on the banks of the Rhine, opposite Dusseldorf. We stood a moment on the bridge of boats and gazed through the darkness, mist and falling rain upon the lights of the little city. Everything was strange, even . the language of those around us was uncouth and jarring to our ears, and cold, dampness and fatigue rendered our first impressions of Diisseldorf gloomy, forbidding and full of foreboding. We turned our thoughts back upon the fair Belgian capital with a pang of regret—but " Repentance is the most useless of emotions," says the philosopher Lessing.
Our view of the city by daylight and our cordial welcome by a group of American students, wholly removed the first gloomy impressions. We surveyed the streets with contented hearts, finding the old part of the town filled with interesting buildings of various unknown styles of architecture, erected, some of them, about the time the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth. The crooked spire of St. Lambertus rises over all, and the tower of the massive Art Academy, formerly a palace, chipped by the cannon balls of an invading French army, overlooks the broad river and the busy market place with an air of languor and venerable decay that is quite grand. The city boasts a magnificent park called the Hofgarten and there, besides many species of exotic trees, may be seen the downy stems of the American mullein, carefully cultivated. The Hof-garten is surrounded with many elegant modern structures and near one of the entrances is the homelike chateau of the Prince of Hohenzollern. Adding the long, low roofs that cover the great military barracks, and the spacious parade ground in front, and we have the principal features of the Dusseldorf of that time.
Artists here outrank all other classes, below hereditary
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nobility; they are honored and respected in a manner scarcely conceivable in this utilitarian age. One secret of this is—the townspeople live and thrive on the renown of the place as an art city. Some of the artists were men of wealth as well as reputation. Achenbach or Lessing would receive more popular notice in walking through the Allee Strasse than would Vanderbilt or Gould slipping through Wall street; hats would be raised in all directions. We noticed that while the great painters were undistinguished by eccentricity of dress—they appeared much like ordinary men of business—many of the younger aspirants sought to make their calling known by adopting novel features of dress or abundant hair. But they were high-minded, honest fellows, and their harmless little vanities made them all the more interesting. The Academy was governed and conducted by some of the greatest German artists, and the course of study in the antique and life schools was thorough and scientific. There was little to distract the attention of a student; few places of amusement, and scarcely any of the temptations of large cities.
We soon made the acquaintance of all the American students, of whom there were about a dozen—from various parts of the United States—all youthful, brotherly and enthusiastic. We secured pleasant lodgings, found the cost of living incredibly low, and prepared ourselves to take advantage of our liberal opportunities. Bolingbroke left us with many hearty farewells taking with him several letters of introduction to people in New York. From there he continued on his way around the world and several years afterward died in Calcutta.
As is usual among a group of students, and I think especially art students, there were a few among our new acquaintances of striking characteristics, and in the year or more I passed in Dusseldorf with such congenial associates, I learned to know them well. Some were my companions on many an extended sketching tour, and to two or three I became so warmly attached that it gives me, even now, a deep touch of sorrow to think of them.
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The sketching tours on foot, or " Studenten Reisen" were the most delightful episodes in our studies, and they were considered a necessary part of them. We started out fully equipped, according to the most approved German style. Each student carried in his hand a stout pointed staff, which on occasion was made to serve either as a support to an umbrella handle, or as a weapon of defense in contests with aggressive dogs. A knapsack strapped upon his shoulders contained the necessary material for drawing and painting from nature, and a tin drinking-cup hung from its side. Affixed to the top of the knapsack were a short-handled gray umbrella, used while sketching to keep off the sun's rays from the painter's work, a camp-stool folded together so as to form a short stick, and a rattan easel ingeniously contrived to assume a shape at once compact and cumberless.
Our route often lay along the banks of the Rhine, a river too renowned in song and story to admit of new-phrased extolment ; through fields speckled with hosts of blooming wild-flowers; along roads separating billows of rtening grain, past ivied chapels, snow-white farm-houses and pleasant inns. Sometimes we would stop to rest in a queer little dorf stowed away in the midst of stately trees as lonely and quiet as a phantom village. Often we lingered by the roadside to sketch a holy shrine wherein was a sculptured effigy of the Savior crucified and crowned with thorns, or a carved figure of the Virgin, or some venerated saint, invariably decorated with the floral offerings of pious peasants. Again we were attracted by the huge, grass-grown remains of some ancient tower or castle away from the main highway. In the shade of broad-spreading trees we would halt to make studies of some simple objects for foregrounds—a rifted bank with mosses, creeping plants, and scattered sods, or a lichened rock clasped by a bush with delicate, dead stems. The distance too, invited our pencils: some dreamy effect of shadow across the haunted Drachenfels, a feathery mass of foliage, or far-off church steeple—built for a picture.
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At night we quartered in a cheery wirthschaft where we refreshed ourselves with pipes and beer, and talked together merrily in a tongue new and wonderful to the gaping country folks who crowded around and studied us with curiosity and awe. The next day was but a repetition of all this. There was presented along our route one class of buildings which seemed endless and innumerable—the little wirthschafts where beer was sold. Cowie, one of the students, declared that these shops destroyed half of the beauty and poetry of Rhineland; while Tenogue, another student, contended that without them the province would be a barren waste—fit only for the habitation of howling dervishes and joyless savages. Once, such an argument was closed by discovering near the road a spring of bubbling cold water, and we unstrapped our cups, filled them with the delicious fluid and drank. At that moment there happened to pass an old peasant woman. She stood still and gazed at us with a look of astonishment. " Why do you make yourselves sick with water?" she earnestly inquired. " There is a wirthschaft half a mile beyond, and good beer." We laughed and she passed on, doubtless still wondering, not knowing we were foreigners, how persons could deliberately drink water when they knew that beer could not be far off.
The most erratic of the American students was Tenogue, a Westerner, whose odd personal appearance would attract attention anywhere. He was above middle height, somewhat fleshy, with round and ruddy face, and small humorous eyes that twinkled incessantly. The most noticeable peculiarity about him was his long hair, which was so blonde as to be in reality almost white. It was parted in the middle and rolled down the sides of his head in graceful curves, slightly tinged at the end with yellow. A wavy, golden beard, short and heavy, softened the lower outlines of his face. His head, altogether, resembled the rudely carved heads of saints which one sees scattered along the highways of Rhineland, with the difference that the golden halo seemed to have slipped down under his chin.
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He was not particularly addicted to study : he preferred travel, though his ignorance of the language, careless habits of observation, and a peculiar absent-mindedness, led him continually into blundering adventures, sometimes unpleasant, but often quite laughable.
Once he accompanied a party of students on a sketching tour up the Rhine to Cologne. They stopped at a hotel there, all night, and in the morning they went out in different directions to view the numerous attractions of the place. Tenogue took his sketch-book intending to secure outlines of interesting objects in the suburbs. About midday he found himself on an elevated roadway outside the fortifications and spreading out in perspective below him were the irregular outlines of old-fashioned houses, sinuous streets, countless chimney groups and graceful gothic spires. The primitive stone fortresses, once massive and impregnable, were now slowly crumbling away, and compared with the modern and scientific defenses beside them were valueless and effete. They presented, however, fine subjects for artistic study, and Tenogue was particularly enraptured with the tottering grandeur of an immense round tower partly overgrown with ivy. He sat down on a grassy hill-side sloping to the moat below, and opening his sketch-book was soon deeply absorbed in adding to his collection a picture of the old tower and surrounding works.
It was about the time when war was formally declared between France and Austria, and all Germany was alarmed over the impending political complications which that event foreshadowed. Prussia was particularly anxious concerning the part she might be compelled to assume in the affair and had been busily engaged in protecting her frontiers. Cologne being an important stronghold, and near the French lines, had been extensively fortified and placed in the most formidable condition for a possible siege.
Consequently, when a vigilant gen d'arme who was patrolling the suburbs, caught sight of Tenogue, intent, as the policeman supposed, upon stealing a plan of the redoubtable fortifications, he naturally concluded that
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the busy artist was a French spy. He approached Mr. Tenogue cautiously from the rear, seized him by the collar with a fierce and iron grasp, lifted him from the grass, twisted him around with one hand and with the other snatched away his suspicious-looking sketch-book. Then he released his grip and opening the book, saw the evidence of the prisoner's guilt—a plan of the city's defenses!
Tenogue's first thought was to try his fist against the mass of helmet, saber, brass buttons and blue cloth before him. Wisely, however, he desisted. He asked for an explanation. For reply the gen d'arme drew his blade and marched him off to the guard-house where he reported the case to the commanding officer. That personage examined the sketch and was instantly impressed with the vast importance of the arrest. He immediately ordered out a squad of infantry. With the aid of this imposing force, the prisoner was safely conducted through the streets of the town to the head-quarters of the commandant. The news of the Frenchman's capture flew rapidly, and the soldiers were soon followed by a multitude of men, women, and children, all striving to obtain a good view of the bold and crafty spy. The commandant first cautiously inspected the drawing and then the prisoner. He put several direct questions to him and asked for his traveling permit, but Tenogue had left this in Dtisseldorf. Now, -the artist regarded the entire proceedings in the light of a huge joke, and replied to the officer's questions in a loose, jocular way, and in very poor German. In fact Tenogue had never fully mastered that language; he was too careless to study it. The officer seemed astonished at the reckless and hardened manner of the offender, and motioning to an adjutant, ordered the fellow's answers to be taken down verbatim.. Then various questions were asked concerning the captive's family, even to his remote ancestry. When Tenogue was asked who his grandfather was, he responded that he didn't know, but had heard that he was the first man who made sauerkraut west of the Mississippi River. This audacious claim nearly overpowered the obese and digni-
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fled commandant He paused and grew red in the face as if he were going to have a fit. He then gave instructions to turn the prisoner, the book and the memoranda of the prisoner's replies, over to the city authorities ; and Tenogue was marched down to the Stadt-haus and formally transferred. Here he was submitted to another searching examination by a benchful of officials. By this time Tenogue was tired out. The joke had become an insipid farce. " Let me go !" he exclaimed in a rage, " I am engaged to go to the theatre to-night with some ladies." This miserable attempt at evasion further exhibited the hardened character of the prisoner and produced a profound sensation. He was ordered to be immediately incarcerated until instructions were received from Berlin. Fortunately, one of the other students who had friends in Cologne, heard of his arrest, and through their intercession Tenogue the next morning was released, but his sketch-book was confiscated and he was officially " warned."
CHAPTER XL
Dreaming in a Foreign Language—Schiller, Heine and Goethe—Morbid Effects of German Literature—A Student of High Art—A Wall Street Broker's Opinion of Achenbach—Sketching a Ghost—A Student's •Ovation at an Opera —Mistaking a Palace Park for a Beer Garden—A Row with Emperor William—The Untried Needle-gun—All Saints' Day—At Sea with a Botanist.
MY original opposition to the scheme of a student course in Germany, grew, after my arrival there, into an unreasoning aversion to all things Teutonic, including even the language, which I rebelled against acquiring: and perhaps this was partly due to my Celtic blood and imagination upon which Teutonic grafts are supposed to have little affinitive growth. In going abroad, I had dreamed of the classic culture of sunny Italy, and not the Gothic realism of Northern Europe. To-day, however, I am satisfied that the latter shows a larger state of intellectual development, verging toward that eclecticism and universality that must eventually characterize the truest culture.
I was in hopes that something might yet occur to permit our going to Florence or Rome, and months passed by before I made an effort to understand and speak the German; for though I heard it so continually spoken around me, constant association with American students obviated any apparent necessity of acquiring it. At length, however, the unconscious action of the brain, in such an environment, produced results which overcame the will. I often discovered that I thoroughly understood long sentences in German, without, however, having the power to repeat them; that I frequently used German phrases which seemed more exactly descriptive than their English equivalents; and, queerest of all experiences, I
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actually began to have dreams in which all the conversation, though in German, was perfectly intelligible. One morning, I recalled one of these dreams and repeated the German conversation to an American companion proficient in the tongue. He would scarcely believe that I had dreamed it and said it sounded like something taken from a book, and that I spoke it quite accurately. His praise prompted the first desire to become more familiar with the language, and procuring books and the services of a tutor, I went systematically to work, determined to accomplish a mastery. In time I read German with the greatest pleasure and before I left Rhineland spoke it easily, being often mistaken for a native : though, considering the number of provincial dialects in Germany, this is not always a test of accuracy of speech. I am positive that, except in rare instances, no mature person ever acquires a foreign language so as to speak it as well as he does his own, and a boast to the contrary should not be literally interpreted.
Not yet twenty-one, my incursions in German literature left deep and abiding effects. I read some of Schiller's dramatic works before my knowledge of the vocabulary rendered such reading easy, and for this reason, often being obliged to study and dwell upon the involved meaning of sentences, some of the most tragic of his pieces produced painfully profound impressions. The most sorrowful and pitiful touches in all literature appear to me in the pages of " Die Rauber" and " Don Carlos," so shudder-ingly tragic, yet so fascinating. On the whole, I do not think these gloomy tragedies did my mind any good : their distressing wail of despair and mourning haunted me long afterward and affected all my ideas of life, of love and death. This reading which continued for months, carried me to the verge of melancholia and self-destruction, and prepared me to receive somewhat later, and without objection at first, the morbid cynicism and desolating truth of Heine. There is a nobility, however, in the tragic pathos of Schiller; it exalts though it pierces; while Heine's
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sweetest strains are always saddening, and there is an odor of coffin-varnish about his highly polished lute, though it be twined with Spring violets and honeysuckle.
But, ultra skeptic as he was, he admitted that immortality might be a great surprise the Almighty had reserved for us.
Heine was born in Dusseldorf, and his early youth was passed there. Often we sat in the arbor and sketched where tradition says he rested and mused—and we bought " Paradiesen Apfeln" (love apples) underneath the bronze equestrian statue of the Elector, in the Market Place, from whose pedestal Heine listened, in 1806, to the proclamation of the Revolution ; and 0 ! shade of Heine ! we discovered that these love apples were nothing more than what are known in America as tomatoes, though their edible use was not yet recognized in slow-moving Fatherland, and the market girls warned us that we should be certainly poisoned if we touched our lips to them—these love apples.
In the same arbor I have mentioned, also came and sat, long before our day, Goethe, the guest of Herr Jacobi, the owner of the adjoining garden. The great Goethe ! I must confess it took me many years to comprehend the sources of his dominating influence not only in German literature, but upon modern thought: partly, because I always approached him in a mood of too great caution and veneration, ever looking for some hidden double meaning. I had read in America, translations of some of' his essays on Art, and the story, or plot, of " Faust" was familiar in early years; but his widely pervading spirit in modern English literature, often unacknowledged and unrecognized, was manifestly disclosed when I attempted to read his works in his mother tongue. One of the most original of all writers did not so impress me, at first, because I had previously encountered many of his finest thoughts filtered through another language. My first impression that his style of utterance is complicated, wore away : the subject-matter makes him often abstruse or remote : directness and simplicity convey his profoundest thoughts.
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Before I got through with German literature my ideas of the moral and material universe were almost wholly unsettled, and I dared to speculate upon topics that involved the origin of worlds and the gravest problems of human destiny.
Another of our strange fellow students was Mr. Cowie. He was a tall, spare gentleman surmounted with a huge Humboldtian forehead; of a very dark complexion, black hair and full beard. His face was massively modeled and its usual expression was as somber as the portico of an Egyptian temple. There was a dreamy introverted look about his sunken eyes, and when he spoke his muffled voice seemed to issue from a cupboard in his chest. A long pipe, with a bowl shaped like a skull, was his invariable companion in his studio, whose walls were hung with numerous unfinished pictures: studies of anatomy, saintly old heads, dark landscapes in which were effects of moonlight, firelight or storms with lightning. He was a pupil of Weber, one of the earliest forerunners of the modern " Impressionist " school. Cowle rarely completed anything, though he was always preparing to conceive and execute a picture that would astonish the world. He was an exaggerated type of other artists I have known, highly gifted with the endurance necessary to sustain habits of indolence, a fritterer, a speculator in sleepy philosophy, filled with rules and aphorisms.
I remember his accompanying me one morning in a tour about the " Kunst-Ausstellung" where pictures of resident artists were kept on exhibition, for sale: and we were both guiding a well-known wealthy broker of New York who was taking the tour of Europe, and who had come to Diisseldorf to purchase pictures for a new and magnificent residence. The purchaser was undecided whether he would secure specimens of Lessing, Hasen-clever, Camphausen, Gude, Carl Muller or Leutze, but finding the examples of these artists large in size and high in price, he selected a little marine piece by Achenbach which we assured him was one of the best in the collection.
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He inquired the price. We ascertained that it could be purchased for a few thousand dollars. But the price seemed to stun the New Yorker who was palpably unfamiliar with the merits or demerits of works of art, and gazing upon the little picture, which could be easily covered with two hands, he exclaimed: " Why ! who is this Achenbach? He must do a smashing business!" Then my friend Cowie, perceiving the visitor's lamentable lack of culture, took him in tow, and quite puzzled and befogged him with some extraordinary statements concerning the high and holy mission of artists, their priestly duties toward mankind and their close affinity with the mysterious and beautiful truths of nature. He also added a list of some of the immense prices fetched for works of other eminent artists, which seemed more profoundly to impress the visitor than all his other talk. He was evidently delighted to discover a field which had remained unknown to him all his life, where there seemed to him to be such a large percentage of profit upon so little outlay; and in his enthusiasm he hinted that he would invest heavily in the stock of any reputable company dealing extensively in works of art.
Flake, who next to Liscard, was my most congenial companion, possessed few outward features particularly noticeable. He was gentlemanly and scholarly in his tastes, absorbed in his studies, and with a deep fondness for the supernatural element so much dwelt upon in German literature. Burger's ghostly " Leonora" was his favorite poem; and he was inclined to believe in clairvoyance and spiritism, and to puzzle himself over strange coincidences.
We occupied a studio together, employing the same models, for several months until his departure for Munich and Italy. This studio, a one-story stone house, was just the place for one thoroughly devoted to study, being situated in a lonely, retired neighborhood not far from the river bank. It stood at the end of a lane with a half ruined archway before the door, overrun with masses of ivy
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and pale green plants which had become rooted in the accumulated dust and crumbled mortar of centuries. It was a dear old nook, and here we received our friends on their return from distant sketching tours and listened to many a tale of travel and adventure.
Flake, whose exactness and truthfulness I could not question, once related to me a strange little incident of his travels in Westphalia. He was a most industrious sketcher and came back from his trips through Germany with drawing-books filled with all sorts of subjects—trees, rocks, fences, buildings, figures and faces. One of these faces, that of a long-bearded old man, he pointed out to me, with whispered awe, as " a ghost," and then told this story.
" I was stopping one night in a little dorf in an isolated district of Westphalia. I took up my quarters in the only inn in the neighborhood, and feeling thoroughly fatigued, after a whole day's pedestrianism, I retired early. My room was in the upper story and provided with one window. It was a calm moonlight night and before going to sleep I remember tracing the moonlight which came through the window and rested in squares on the floor: and I was impressed with the unusual stillness of the place. I was awakened by hearing a violent shaking of the window, opened my eyes and saw the sash trembling as if disturbed by a gust of wind. Presently, it stopped. Then a knock came at the door. Without moving, I said ' Come in,' and there entered the figure of an old man, who, without appearing to notice me, walked forward to the window, raised it up and shut it down. As he stood in the moonlight, I saw that he was extremely aged, his hair and beard long and white, his features prominent and cadaverous. Without saying a word he returned to the door and passed out, shutting it after him noiselessly. I was so powerfully affected by his remarkable appearance that I immediately arose, lighted the candle, and while the remembrance of his looks was strong in my mind, made what I consider an accurate drawing of his face.
" At breakfast I inquired of the innkeeper who the old
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man was, about the house. He replied there was no old man there. I told him he must be mistaken. ' No,' he replied, ' there is not an old man in the whole dorf but one.' That one had been ill for some time; 'but,' he added, ' I just heard this morning that he died last night.'
" I immediately took out my sketch-book and exhibited the drawing I had made. He instantly recognized it as a portrait of the man who had died. He showed it to his family each one of whom declared it was a good likeness of the same individual. The host inquired when I had drawn it. I told him the circumstance of the night previous. He was incredulous of course, but called in some of his neighbors and sent for the old man's son, who had sat up by his father's bedside the whole night before. All asserted it was a correct picture of the man who had died. Now," concluded Flake, mysteriously, " account for it." But any attempt to do so, on the theory of hallucination and coincidences never satisfied him—he persisted in believing he had sketched " a ghost."
Among the stories I recall of Tenogue's " Studenten Reisen" is one describing his triumphant entry into the capital of Saxony and, as near as possible, I will let him tell it in his own way :
" It was late in the evening when I arrived in Dresden. I had made up my mind to do the place in four days—so every moment was precious. I stopped at a fifth-class hotel, bolted some bolognas, brushed up my hair a little and brushed my clothes a trifle (for I had been marching afoot on the dusty road all day), and inquired my way to the Grand Opera House. I had heard a good deal of its immensity and splendor—the largest in the world I believe, except one in Naples—and I thought I would improve the evening by viewing it—though I knew the performance must be more than half over. I found the building, and on going to buy my ticket was asked in what portion of the house I desired a seat. Not knowing how it was arranged, I asked which was the most commanding part and was told there were two vacant seats near the orchestra. I was
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asked a high price for one of them, I fancied, but then I was in a hurry to get a look at the decorations in the interior, and thinking I might never have another chance, I paid the extravagant sum demanded, was ushered to my seat and sat down just as the curtain was rising. I was instantly absorbed by the movements on the stage. It was a French opera—" La Magicienne" and the stage was one immense chess-board, upon which were living figures representing the different pieces and a king on his throne in the rear, enjoying the game. I was completely fascinated throughout the act and not until the curtain went down did I have an opportunity to look about the house. I looked up at the vast dome and then away to the galleries and proscenium boxes. Finally I began my observations in my more immediate neighborhood. I was startled at the first glance, for I saw that I was surrounded by the creme de la creme of rank and fashion. Every one in my vicinity, except myself, appeared to be either an archduke or general, prince or field marshal. The decorations on their breasts were dazzling and the ladies 1—every one must have been a duchess at least. When I considered what an appearance I was presenting in my soiled rig, amid such a gorgeous assemblage, I must confess I blushed and felt terribly awkward and embarrassed; but my native coolness soon returned to me. Wasn't I an American sovereign and the equal of the best of them ? About the time I had fairly recovered tone and assurance, I noticed a distinguished looking personage, pushing his way toward me, and eyeing me intently. I concluded at once that he had been ordered to pitch me out, so I watched him narrowly as he approached. When, at length, he presented himself, I stood up, intending to claim my right to the seat in the sauciest German I could muster. He said something which I didn't exactly catch the meaning of, and not wishing to appear ignorant, I bowed and said " Ja! Ja Mein Herr ! " With that he grasped me firmly by the hand, and to my great surprise, for I thought at first it was a movement to eject, shook it warmly, and smiling blandly, welcomed me to
9
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Dresden ! I was just a little thunderstruck ; but to receive such a greeting in my lonely circumstances and suspicious condition revived my spirits immensely, and I returned the grasp of his hand with equal warmth, bowed and grinned politely and thanked him in the highest German I could command. He then jabbered something else, which I didn't exactly catch, and turned toward the nobility upon my right and said something more. In a moment they were all coming toward me with extended paws and I was soon shaking hands with the whole crowd—ladies and all! I happened to look around toward the rest of the audience and saw dozens of opera glasses leveled toward me. My first natural impression was that these extraordinary attentions came from my being an American, but some one called me a professor, and I began to think there was a singular mistake somewhere. Suddenly, there was applause right in the rear of me, and it spread and grew louder and louder. The whole audience took it up. I saw the ladies were waving handkerchiefs at me and the gentleman their hats and I expected a bouquet every minute. I bowed very gracefully, of course, which only tended to increase the uproar. I was still holding a sort of levee with those about me and I couldn't tell whether I was Liszt or Wagner—for all their talk was about music, when, at last, the bell rang for the curtain to go up and I sat down, greatly relieved. But the individual who had first discovered me kept the vacant seat beside me, and though he kept up a chattering I pretended to be absorbed in the music, all the time contriving how I should get out. At last I arose with a look of determination and he tried to dissuade me from going, but he was doubtless struck with my firm expression, and desisted, though he insisted upon accompanying me. When the audience saw I was going, the applause began again and the play was interrupted a moment. I bowed graciously toward all sides and hurried out. My tormentor followed me to the outer door. " Who are you ?" I inquired coolly. " Der Herr Director, of course," he answer, " who else ?" " Well," said I, there is a great
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	131
mistake somewhere. I am an American and my name is Tenogue." It struck him dumb, and I didn't wait for him to find speech. I left Dresden the next day. In fact I was afraid of more attentions, perhaps from the police the next time."
One of the most absurd blunders of Tenogue on his travels was his mistaking the grounds about the Castle of Winneberg, the ancient family seat of Prince Metternich, near the Moselle—for a beer-garden. He saw tables and benches under the trees along the main avenue and entering, took off his knapsack and sat down, hammering loudly on the table with his stick. A fair young girl whom he saw at the other end of the avenue approached and he ordered a glass of beer and a sandwich. She looked at him curiously, and disappeared. Shortly afterward a servant in rich livery with tray bearing cake and wine, stood before him. He thought it a very stylish place, and when he asked how it was that cake and wine were brought when he only ordered beer and sandwich, the servant replied that he did not know ; that he had merely obeyed the orders of the Princess! Then Tenogue thought to inquire where he was, and when he was informed, coolly finished the refreshments, gave the footman a gulden to show that he was not a tramp, and begged him to apologize to the " Princess," and to say that he was " an American of noble descent traveling for pleasure and adventure;" that he would never forget her courtesy as long as he lived, but would carry her image in his memory to his prairie palace in the West. Tenogue half believed that the fair Princess was still pining for his reappearance, in her lonely old castle; but the students were convinced that the footman failed to understand his German, and told her something quite different.
I went to Cologne, with a number of fellow-students, to witness the grand ceremonies attending the opening of the new bridge across the Rhine. We secured a commanding position for observing the ceremonial procession by climbing a ladder which we found leaning against a high wall of the new fortifications extending along the street toward the
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entrance of the bridge. Ranged along this wall we obtained a very close view of the Princes of the Royal family and
court dignitaries, on their way to a golden throne, farther
up the street, elevated on a dais covered with spangled velvet and partly inclosed in a splendidly decorated pa-
vilion. These personages sat in open carriages surrounded by a troop of hussars, and there happened to be a delay in the procession which brought the carriage of the Princes to a halt, just below us. From my perch on a low projection of the wall, I looked directly into the eyes of the Prince Regent, now the Emperor William of Germany, and he returned the gaze with a frown; and glancing up and seeing so many of us profaning the walls of his new fortifications and others, above, coming to the same point, the imperious martinet leaned from his carriage toward a mounted officer, who saluted and bent low to hear his order, which was accompanied by another severe look toward us, and evidently related to the bold American students who were squatted on the wall in such familiar proximity. Then the hussars with drawn sabers made a rush at us and uttering shrill growls tried to reach us with the points of their sabers, but failing in this, they made a dash for a distant gate near the ladder. Some one raised a yell of alarm and we stampeded along the wall and gained the foot of the ladder just in time to escape a fierce charge of the Prussian cavalry.
Looking back now, and recalling what we saw in Rhineland of the precision of the Prussian military system, it is quite apparent that there was determined preparation for great achievements; though in those days we often derided the grand maneuvers and displays and had no faith in the untried needle-gun. We were, however, struck with the physical superiority of the German soldiers over the French, and being students of the human figure, naturally, often remarked the difference. We had been particularly impressed with the littleness and effeminacy of the French infantrymen we saw in Paris. The result of the Franco-Prussian war showed that even in the age of needle-guns and chassepots, Providence is on the side of the
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	133
army which possesses the greatest physical endurance. I little dreamed in watching the daily drills in front of the barracks in Diisseldorf, or in observing the Sunday dress-parades on the Allee Strasse, or the field manoeuvres on the slopes of Graefenberg, that military science would ever have any especial personal interest for me.
Among my pleasant memories of Rhineland are the beautiful religious festivals, observed by the whole population: and they are peculiarly impressive to a stranger from a Puritan land. " All Saints' Day" was celebrated with ceremonies of affectionate veneration for the dead, exhibiting the loftiest and tenderest of human emotions. In the afternoon of that day, in Diisseldorf, a stately procession consisting of priests in gorgeous vestments and white-robed maidens bearing aloft the golden image of the Virgin, followed by a multitude of people in holiday attire, carrying baskets, wreaths and festoons of flowers, visited the neighboring cemetery. Here high mass was solemnly performed and the graves decorated with floral tributes of th€ loveliest description. Crowds remained, after the church dignitaries departed, to complete with loving hands the garden of blooming sepulchres. As night approached the whole scene was illuminated with the flickering light of tapers scattered here and there upon the tombstones; and the only dismal shadows were those cast by living, moving, disconsolate humanity.
But all these beautiful days abroad were coming to an end, for me. I could no longer pursue my studies contentedly, under the conditions imposed by my very limited allowance and I saw before me some years yet of the severest study, if I would achieve high excellence as an artist—and there was no prospect of disposing of my works there until a certain stage of progress had been attained. I was too proud to be longer dependent upon the generosity of those who had already done so much ; and receiving a draft for a liberal amount, I concluded to return to America. Accordingly, I bade good-by to my dear fellow-students, including Liscard, and to all the pleasant associa-
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tions of student life in a German city, and departed for Antwerp.
Of the dozen or more American students I left in Dusseldorf, most of them laboriously preparing to produce works that would reflect luster upon their age and country—but few, very few, ever attained positions of mediocrity as artists and they were the ones who remained abroad. Not that talent was lacking among them, or even genius, but they came to the world in an age of transition and convulsion when chromos and parvenu millionaires were thrown to the surface, and when the importance of material issues overshadowed the achievements of culture. Most of these students abandoned the profession of art — two or three, .perhaps, will be casually mentioned in biographical diction-aries—and one, possibly the wisest of all, made a small fortune in stencil-plating "genuine oil-paintings" and selling them by the cart-load, frame and all, for a dollar apiece.
Two, John R. Tait of Baltimore and Frost Johnson of New York, should be excepted from the above. They acquired high and deserved reputation.
I remained a week or more in Antwerp, viewing its many interesting and celebrated features, and fell in company with an American who had been studying botany at the University of Heidelberg. He was also seeking a cheap passage home and clubbing our funds together we secured berths in the second cabin of a sailing vessel. We were sixty-eight days at sea, looking out upon the rolling, foamy waves—whose far extension might afford me some opportunity to study perspective, but gave him no chance at all to go botanizing.
CHAPTER XII.
A Precarious Profession—Dawning Convictions—Entering upon a Course of Law—The Banks of the Mohawk—On an Evening Journal—Espousing the Cause of the Union—How the Times rebuked the Budget—Spirits on the Rampage.
I SPENT a portion of the summer (1860) after my return from Europe in Washington county and then opened a studio in Troy. It had begun to dawn upon me how precarious was the profession of an artist, and how far I still was from enjoying any great degree of success, and I felt that I would rather be a good artisan than an inferior artist. The grave mistakes made and the misadventures which had circumscribed my studies abroad, had in some respects rather retarded than advanced me in my profession. I could never accomplish anything of value in art when the question of subsistence was an immediate and unavoidable problem. This defect of temperament and a certain independence that would not tolerate, much less solicit the kind of charity patronage so commonly bestowed upon striving young artists, did not fit me for survival in the world of art. The transition was indeed great—coming from Dusseldorf, a city so peculiarly dedicated to art, and returning where art was ignored, little understood or held in contempt.
I strove, therefore, to gradually deny myself indulgence in pictorial visions and seek a more certain revenue than that derived from portrait painting—which was my chief dependence—by devoting a portion of each day to the study of law, preparing myself to eventually assume it as a profession. I was twenty-one when I entered the office of a veteran lawyer who had served as attorney-general of the State. Here, for a time, I read law during the afternoons and evenings.
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At this time I renewed, through the good offices of a mutual friend, correspondence with unforgotten Alice and visited her at her home, now on the banks of the Mohawk. In the shady paths by that beautiful river we enjoyed many a morning walk and evening ramble. After years of separation and estrangement, the old loyalty was rekindled and we were re-engaged.
After the exciting Presidential campaign resulting in the election of Lincoln, for whom I cast my first electoral vote, I sought to employ all my-time and efforts in any direction away from Art, and became temporarily attached to the Troy Daily Budget as assistant to the editor.
Mr. Merriam, the editor, an accomplished writer with many amusing eccentricities of style, did not altogether share the Democratic pro-slavery views which the journal had up to this time advocated, and we both wrote articles espousing the cause of the Union. These did not add any new subscribers to our list : on the contrary the circulation immediately and materially diminished. I published a letter written by a firm of Georgia merchants to the house that my friend Fenner represented in New York, and which he had forwarded to me. This letter took the most advanced ground in its advocacy of secession, and predicted bloody and exterminating war if Southern independence were opposed by the people of the North. Few saw the dangers then threatening the country: almost every one believed that a compromise would be effected and actual war, if not impossible, a long way off. This letter with brief comments attracted considerable attention, because the writer, belonging to the mercantile class, was supposed to be naturally conservative and well informed as to the prevailing sentiment at the South. When I left the paper it was in a moribund condition, and finally expired as a daily—though still flourishing under other management as a weekly journal.
An incident occurred while I was assisting Mr. Merriam, which would have crushed an ordinary editor and rendered a sensitive protestor frantic. The proprietor was either
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	137
too illiberal, or lacking in enterprise, to pay for the associated press dispatches, and preferred that Merriam should manage to abstract them from the evening Times, delaying publication until that sheet made its appearance. It was the custom to make up the forms and have everything in readiness for the press, except the space reserved for telegraphic dispatches. Compositors stood ready to seize the copy clipped from the Times, and they worked so swiftly that the news was set up and the paper distributed on the streets almost as soon as its contemporary. At last the Times proprietor, who had become tired of such mean competition, determined to make an effort to stop it. One evening he printed a single copy of his paper containing some very sensational news, and the carrier boy dropped it in the usual way at the door of the Budget office. In half an hour all Troy was electrified by the announcement in staring head-lines : " John Morrissey Shot Dead !" Then followed thrilling details of his assassination while walking quietly down Broadway in New York. The noted pugilist had long been a resident of Troy, and scarcely any local news could have been manufactured better calculated to produce profound general excitement. After the first surprise, people began to wonder why there was no account of the tragedy in the Times. Telegrams were sent by Morris-sey's friends to New York, and the reply that he was alive and well followed. The next evening the Times explained how the false report originated and convicted the Budget of stealing its news. Thereafter, Merriam was careful to procure several copies of his dangerous rival, at points some distance from his office, before venturing to appropriate the dispatches.
The troubles between the North and South were culminating every day. During my absence in Europe my two sisters had removed to Virginia and married there. They had already become thoroughly imbued with Southern sentiments, and so it happened that in the great conflict that was coming, our family was divided.
One other incident of this period will always be particu-
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larly remembered. My fellow-student in the law office was also a fellow-boarder in a large brick mansion on Fifth Street, formerly occupied as a water-cure establishment. The rules of the house were unusually strict as regards closing at night, the hall light being invariably extinguished and the front door locked at ten o'clock. We were returning later than that hour one night, and were surprised to see the house all lighted up, and when we entered we observed the inmates in a hushed state of excitement, moving about in A, strange manner. In the parlor, on the first floor, an old lady had fainted and was attended by other ladies of the house. No one seemed to be willing to impart the cause of all the trouble, but replied to our inquiries by shaking of heads and speaking in so mysterious a tone that we could not fairly comprehend them. We ascended the stairs and found a number of people in the upper parlor. As we entered, loud knocks came upon a partition of an adjoining room, so violent that the pictures shook upon the wall. We finally secured the information that "spirits were in the house," and when we laughed, were solemnly adjured to keep silent. As we passed into the room from which the knocks proceeded all noise stopped, but as soon as we retired and left the room in darkness the raps continued, so loudly that they could be heard in any part of the house. After considerable experiment, we found it invariable that the raps would only be heard when the room was darkened, and not then if we were within the room. We noticed that all the panes in two large windows looking out upon a veranda had been burst, as by an explosion, outward—none of the fragments of glass being found within the room.
It appeared that a short time previously, a young girl, of about twelve, bad been hired as a servant to wait upon the dining table: and she slept in this room with the old lady whom we had seen below in a fainting condition. Soon after the arrival of the servant the old lady had been disturbed every night by raps on a door leading into a hallway, and supposing it to be some of the mischievous
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	139
children in the house, she had several times called to them to go away and stop their noise. On the night I have mentioned, after the girl and old lady had retired, the knocks were repeated with unusual violence, the bed was lifted in the air and its occupants turned out on the floor. The disturbance culminated with all the window lights of the room breaking and smashing in fragments on the floor of the veranda.
I have no doubt that this account of what had occurred was a strictly veracious one, but the mystery was never satisfaCtorily explained, although a number of Spiritualists who visited the house after the occurrence had produced a sensation in the local papers, affirmed as their theory that the little girl was a powerful " medium." They even offered to educate her, but her mother declined the offer. At all events, after the little girl who was a large-eyed, innocent looking creature, left the house, the rappings entirely ceased.
I have since investigated other instances of so-called spiritualistic phenomena, and my surprise is that men of the proper attainments have not oftener submitted these phenomena to the precise tests of science. That they exist cannot be questioned by any one who truly seeks an investigation. Not, myself, a believer in the supernatural, I have thought and still think, that liberal men of science will yet detect the natural force behind these mysterious rappings and gain a knowledge of its properties that may be of transcendent importance to mankind.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Firing on Fort Sumter—The Great Uprising—Enlisting—First Night on Guard—Entering Washington—Reviewed by Linclon and General Scott—Artist for Harper's Weekly—Boston Corbett—Crossing the Long Bridge—Wounded while posing —In the Shenandoah—The First Man killed in Action—A Confederate Prisoner—Array of Fugitive Slaves—Relics of John Brown.
BEFORE entirely yielding to the conviction that it was necessary to be divorced from Art, in order to wed' Law, forsaking a mistress of Beauty and Truth, for a passionless virago, I determined to make another effort in the city of New York. I occupied a studio in Broadway overlooking Union Square. The firing upon Fort Sumter occurred in April, and the great nation was at last fully aroused to its danger. An immense mass-meeting was held in Union Square and I witnessed its proceedings from my window. Broadway was crowded, both side walks and street, and there was a moving mass of people as far as the eye could see down Broadway to the bend at Grace Church, and over the Square in every direction. The flag that 'had waved over Fort Sumter was displayed; Washington's equestrian statue resplendently decorated, and patriotic speeches by distinguished orators fired the hearts of the people. I, too, was carried away by patriotic impulses, and having a friend, an officer in the Twelfth Militia which was then preparing to go to Washington, I went down Broadway to the head-quarters of the regiment, and, on the 19th of April, 1861, I enlisted as a private for the term of three months.
It is impossible for any one to describe all the exciting phases of the sudden and great uprising of the North after the fall of Sumter, but I, speaking only and
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	141
always as a personal observer and not as an historian, could perceive wherever I went among the people, the profound spirit of aggressiveness and firm resentment awakened by the great insult to national dignity. For a few days, ordinary business affairs were almost wholly neglected; public opinion rose to a state of ferment, and the noble resolve was created that the Union must and should be preserved. This decision was so supreme and commanding that the expression of contrary 'sentiments was attended with personal danger. Individuals of all classes vied with each other in displaying earnest and enthusiastic loyalty; banners waived over private residences as well as from public buildings; Union badges were worn by almost everybody, and even ladies appeared on Broadway promenading in garments gay with combinations of red, white and blue.
Our regiment, with three others, started for Annapolis the following Sunday, the 21st, and as we marched down Broadway from Union Square to the foot of Canal Street where we took steamer, the whole population of the city seemed to have assembled along our route to view our departure. The sidewalks were lined with spectators; windows and housetops were crowded with people cheering and waving flags and handkerchiefs, and many ladies were weeping—all evidently regarding the occasion as a most momentous one—as indeed it proved to be. Rumors had been circulated that the Seventh Regiment, which had preceded us two days, had been attacked, as the Sixth Massachusetts had been on the 19th, in Baltimore, and whenever we halted citizens crowded around us with encouraging words—all appearing to think we were going to actual battle.
As we halted at the end of Canal Street, previous to going aboard the steamer, the populace mingled with the soldiers and many were the expressions of sympathy over our possible fate. Generous donations of food and drink were offered. " Poor fellows! who knows how soon ye may be bitin' the dust," said one old Irishman handing
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a soldier a flask of gin. " Take that ! and comfort yourself : ye may be dead in a week." " Yes !" said the soldier, declining the flask, " I would soon be biting the dust sure enough, if I drank that stuff."
I found the members of my company a lively and rather mixed lot of young fellows, though most of them were intelligent and orderly, for they had been carefully selected out of nearly double the number who had presented themselves. Still, there were not a few representatives of the rough element of the city, and there were men of all occupations and professions—several of whom won distinction, later in the war, as officers.
We landed at Annapolis and thence marched up the railway track to Annapolis Junction, a distance of twenty-one miles, starting early in the morning. Walking with heavy knapsack and musket was a new experience with nearly all of us and in the course of a few hours the regiment was scattered along the track, stragglers and groups of exhausted recruits extending for miles. Pride in physical achievement sustained me, and I was among the first half dozen men who reached the Junction about noon. There was but one officer with us—Lieutenant Chamberlain, a fine-appearing young man, ambitious and brave—after-ward killed in action at Chantilly.
Entire lack of system and discipline necessarily prevailed among men so hastily assembled and so new to arms, commanded by officers totally inexperienced in the field. I well remember my first night's duty on picket. After the long march to the Junction, but few were found competent for guard duty. I was posted with another soldier to guard commissary stores in a piece of woods not far from the Junction, with instructions to keep a sharp lookout for rebels who were expected to come from the direction of Baltimore, and we were particularly cautioned to guard against being surprised by bushwhackers who might steal silently upon us from behind the trees in the darkness. We were posted at 8 o'clock to be relieved at 10, and walked up and down for awhile with perfect regu-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	143
larit, of step, keeping a bright watch of trees and bushes and pointing our pieces in the direction of every suspicious noise. It seemed a long time before the relief came around, and finally when it approached and we challenged it, the sergeant in charge informed us that he had not been instructed concerning our post and had no men to relieve us, and he promised to attend to us so soon as he returned to camp; but we saw him no more. At twelve the third relief came around and another sergeant told us the same story. Time began to drag very heavily. My companion was a fair specimen of the Bowery boy and he grumbled and swore furiously. I tried to entertain him in conversation and called forth his experience in " running with the machine" in the Volunteer Fire Department; but I was unable to maintain an interest in the subject and it soon became as thoroughly exhausted as we were ourselves. He declared he was not going to stand such treatment any longer and was going to take a snooze. I immediately warned him of the awful consequences of sleeping while on duty. But he said there was " a limit to human nature" and that he " didn't enlist to paw the earth all night." He sat doggedly down on a box among the commissary stores and with his musket between his knees, notwithstanding all my remonstrances, his head drooped and he fell asleep. I continued to pace my beat, leaning sometimes against a tree trunk to enjoy just one moment's delicious change from a perpendicular position, then moving quickly about whenever I experienced a feeling of drowsiness. It must have been about two o'clock, when the officer of the day glided among the trees and suddenly stood before me. He was about to reprimand me for neglecting to challenge him, when he noticed the other sentry sound asleep. Stepping softly up to him he snatched away his musket and shook him until he was awake, and then in stern, sepulchral tones, meant to be very startling, he inquired : " Young man! do you know the penalty of sleeping on your post I" " No !" growled the sentry, " nor I don't care." "Well, sir," said the grim officer, " it is death."
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" Just as I expected. Well, I'd rather be riddled with shot than killed by inches. in this way." Then I interposed, and related how we had been treated by the officer of the guard, and how long we had been awake on continuous duty after the severe march of the day before. The officer modified his tone; declaring that such a breach of military regulations was perfectly shameful, and promised that he would return to camp and have us relieved at once. But he never did. In the morning we concluded to take care of ourselves, and marching boldly into camp laid down upon some withered leaves in the shade and slept. Nothing was ever said or done about it.
Our regiment was one of the first to reach Washington after the President's call for troops. We were uniformed as Zouaves and provided with barracks in Franklin Square; and here I entered upon the real and laborious life of a soldier. Under the strict discipline and system of constant drilling established by our Colonel, afterward Major-General Butterfield, our regiment speedily became noted for its fine appearance and precision of movement. Several West Point officers, just graduated, taught us the manual of arms. Our company, I remember, was taught by Lieutenant Greble, the first Union officer killed in action—in the first battle of the war—Big Bethel.
Nothing reminds me so forcibly of the great changes in military methods wrought by the Rebellion, as the fact that we were then drilled in Scott's clumsy manual of arms, in which the heavy muzzle-loading, percussion-cap musket at a " carry," was held in the left hand, at the butt, and brought around the body to the right side and lowered at "order arms." What a contrast with the light breech-loading, repeating rifle of to-day, carried in the right hand and seized gracefully at the small of the stock.
Our dress parades in Franklin Square were witnessed daily by crowds of people, and we were twice reviewed there by President Lincoln with that sad face and certain majesty of figure, since so often perpetuated in marble and bronze. He was accompanied by members of his cabinet, Seward standing close beside him.
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I obtained leave from camp several times to visit the capitol. At that time Breckenridge was in the Senate and others who became prominent in the Southern cause, were still in Washington. General Lee himself had only just taken his departure and was lingering at his estate on Arlington Heights. In the Senate Chamber, I heard Andrew Johnson deliver his speech upon the expulsion of Senator Jesse Bright, charged with treasonable correspondence; and notwithstanding my changed estimate of the orator, I consider it one of the most manly and effective speeches I ever heard.
Our regiment was once passed in review before General Scott, then our Commander-in-chief, who was so infirm that he sat in a chair by the iron railings of his headquarters as we moved by—a grizzly, bare-headed veteran with deep furrows under his gloomy eyes.
Shortly after reaching Washington I received my credentials as artist for Harper's Weekly, but I did not seek to be relieved from any duty on this account. During the periods of relief, when detailed for camp guard, I had most leisure for drawing, and I made several sketches of life in camp.
While on duty at the guard-house, one day, I conversed with a prisoner, a private in one of the companies, who was undergoing punishment in the " stocks" for calling Colonel Butterfield to order at dress parade, for swearing. The colonel in giving a command which was not promptly performed, added an oath of considerable magnitude, when immediately a loud, clear voice was heard from the ranks: " I call the colonel to order for swearing." The colonel, red with wrath, ordered the speaker to step three paces to the front, and when he did so, ordered him to go to the guard-house. Here the stocks were prepared after the most approved ancient pattern and the wrists and ankles of the intrepid reformer were deftly deposited in holes and locked in. In this uncomfortable position he posed for several days as a martyr to the Second commandment. He was rather a remarkable looking young man with ex-
10
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tremely light hay-colored hair, and eyes very dark, large and expressive. He was reading his Bible when I asked him why he was so foolish as to speak aloud while in the ranks. He answered my question by reading copious passages from the Scriptures justifying his course, and then began exhorting me to imitate his and the Lord's example. I saw he was a fanatic, and, like other fanatics, self-righteous and sincere. I asked him his name which was odd enough to remember. It was Boston Corbett, and he afterward killed Booth, the assassin of Lincoln.
On the memorable moonlight night of May 31st, our regiment led the advance of the whole army in crossing the Long Bridge and invading Virginia, and I happened to be in .the first platoon of the first company, commanded by Captain James Boyle. Southern orators and newspapers were unanimous in declaring that if Northern troops ever set foot upon the " sacred soil of Virginia," war would inevitably and immediately follow, and this ultimatum had so greatly impressed me, that, as we approached the last plank of the bridge, casting long shadows before us in the moonlight, I reminded my nearest comrades of the rebel threat, and just as we stepped off on the " sacred soil"—the extreme vanguard of the mighty hosts to follow—we exclaimed together: " This is a declaration of war!" How little we could foresee, at that moment, the terrible scenes of the next few years; for the exclamation was made half jocularly, none of us believing that the rebellion would be of long duration, and many thought that it might even yet be settled by some measure of compromise.
On the following morning we encamped on the beautiful Heights of Arlington. Here I received an unsolicited and wholly unexpected promotion, temporary it is true, but I think it gratified me more than any ever received afterward, for it seemed to be the first step toward military might and renown. I was made Acting Corporal in command of two private soldiers and was ordered to march to a designated post on the outskirts of Alexandria. It was while on duty in sole command of this picket that I beard
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of the unfortunate death of Colonel Ellsworth, as related elsewhere, and I was the first to report the news to Colonel Butterfield who ordered the long roll to beat, and the whole army assembled in line.
The regiment marched several miles away to Roach's Mills where we remained a few days constantly expecting an attack. I made a sketch of our camp there, which appeared in Harper's Weekly. While making this sketch, one afternoon, sitting on an empty cracker box, near a group of officers standing to be drawn in the foreground, a member of my company, a sprightly young Frenchman who had served sometime with Garibaldi and who was now in our army through love of liberty and glory, asked me to include him in the picture. I assented, and he posed in a soldierly attitude with head erect and hands gracefully reposing on his musket. I had just finished outlining his figure when there was a distant report of a gun and the Frenchman with a shriek and a wail leaped forward and fell to the ground. It was the first time I heard that peculiar and indescribable wail, afterward familiar, which almost invariably follows a severe gunshot wound. He was promptly attended to and it was discovered that a bullet had shattered one arm near the wrist and the other above the elbow. One of a party of skirmishers drilling in the rear, had, without knowing it, a loaded gun, and in going through the form of firing, the piece was discharged, and my poor comrade was disabled for life. It was only one of the many accidents I have witnessed, caused by the careless use of fire-arms.
After a brief and bloodless campaign in front of Washington, a portion of the army, including our regiment, was sent to join General Patterson's command in the Shenandoah valley. We waded across the Potomac at Williamsport, the water being up to our armpits in many places, holding our muskets and ammunition above our heads. The ascent of the river banks was so muddy and slippery with the drippings of the thousands who had preceded us that it was very difficult to secure a foot-hold. At Harper's Ferry we viewed the site of the vast destruction of arms
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and munitions of war caused by the burning, a short time before, of the United States Arsenal. The little brick house in which John Brown and his party had fought and surrendered, was still intact, with fresh-looking port-holes large enough for their rifles. This insignificant little structure had recently contained the immediate cause of all this commotion, this moving to and fro of great masses of armed men, with beating drums, flying banners, and all " the pomp and circumstance" of war.
A long and dreary night's march brought us to Martinsburg where we encamped for several days. Here I had my first experience in the skirmish line before an enemy, which did not, however, engage us, although light encounters were had by other regiments. The Twenty-eighth New York lost one man in a skirmish with Ashby's " Black Horse Cavalry"—Corporal Sly of Rochester, N. Y. He was said to be the first Union soldier killed in action during the war, although others had been wounded previously at Falling Water, and one or two hit in picket firing across the Potomac at Edwards Ferry. I visited the camp of his regiment, as did thousands of other soldiers, to view his remains.
The army advanced from Martinsburg upon Winchester where General Johnston with Jackson's brigade and other troops were in position, and the movement was intended to keep them there. For some reason, never satisfactorily explained, even by the testimony taken before the Committee on the Conduct of the War, the army was halted within a few miles of the town and turned back toward Harper's Ferry, permitting Jackson to withdraw his brigade and join the Confederates under Beauregard, in time to win the title of " Stonewall" at the battle of Bull Run. We were encamped on Bolivar Heights when the news of that first great encounter reached us. Our orderly sergeant awakened us, at midnight, with details of the disaster magnified into monstrous fictions. When he related how the Fire Zouaves, in their flight from the field, seized the carriages of spectators who had gone out to witness the engagement, and turned out their occupants, in some
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instances ladies, several of our company actually wept tears of rage and mortification. It was some time before we knew that these first reports were false or exaggerated, but the reality was bad enough.
The first Confederate prisoner in uniform that I saw was at Bolivar Heights. He was a young officer who had been surprised and captured the evening before while incautiously visiting the home of his sweetheart near our lines at Charlestown. His new uniform was neat and handsome, and in passing through the long lines of men who had assembled quietly by the roadside to see him, he bore himself with a proud and defiant air, as if assured of the success of his cause.
One of the most impressive sights I remember during the whole war, was the vast array of fugitive negroes who lined the fences for miles along our way between Winchester and Charlestown, piteously begging to accompany us. They were of both sexes and all ages, from the accomplished house-servant with gaudy clothes and insinuating address, to the decrepit plantation hand and little pickaninny. But it was not then the policy of our commanders to welcome these fugitives to our lines—the word " contraband " had not yet been applied to them, and they were rudely advised to " go home and go to work." Our army was almost a unit in the belief that we had no right to interfere with the institution of slavery, and that it was " unconstitutional" even to coax negroes away from their masters.
There was much discussion among the soldiers as to the actuating motives of General Patterson, who never recovered from the popular odium attached to his abortive campaign in the Shenandoah. It was, however, charitably believed that he was not fully awake to the imminence of a general war, and thought, even at the last moment, that actual conflict might be avoided—and he dieaded to take the initiative.
Our regiment remained in service fifteen days beyond the expiration of its term of enlistment and received a great ovation on its return to New York where it was mustered out in Washington Square.
CHAPTER XIV.
" Shadow of the Sword "—Recruiting a Cavalry Company—Com-missioned a Lieutenant—Seven Months' Camp Service in Wash-ington—A Student's Escape from Prison—" Cavalry Enough " —Sabers preferred to Law Books—Lovers Separate—First Scout —Tested under Fire.
WAR on a grand scale now seemed inevitable, and under the President's second call for troops I considered it my duty to again go to the front. I conferred with Alice and found some difficulty in persuading her to coincide with my views—but my patriotism was sincere; she was high-minded, and at length reluctantly approved my course. I went to Washington county and co-operated with others in recruiting a company of cavalry. We encamped in the Fair Grounds at Lansingburg where other companies joined us and were organized into a regiment of two battalions of four companies each, a total of 800 men. We were known as the Seventh N. Y. Cavalry, Colonel Morrison, commanding.
I was commissioned a first lieutenant and was for a time mustering officer and adjutant. We were ordered to Washington in November, 1861, and there we remained in camp, drilling dismounted until the Spring of 1862, when we were mustered out of service, because General McClellan was of opinion that he was provided with cavalry enough, without us; a serious error—and shortly afterward plainly perceived. The peculiar efficiency of the cavalry arm for independent raiding had not yet been recognized.
The immense cost of recruiting and maintaining this regiment for more than six months, was a total loss to the government, and our discharge from service indicates the
MEMOIRS OF SETH LYLAND.	151
wasteful character of the early administration of army affairs, as well as the hopeful generalizations of the inexperienced commander-in-chief.
This regiment, more than any other I ever knew of in the service, was especially adapted to the cavalry branch. The rank and file were principally intelligent farmers' sons bred to the care of horses and at home on horseback. Most of the officers were college graduates, proud and ambitious, and consequently likely to be trustworthy in the field. Almost without exception, they re-entered the service and attained ranks higher than those they held in this regiment. Three were killed at Gettysburg, one at Olustee, two were killed in other battles and many were wounded.
At the conclusion of this term of service, I received quite a handsome sum in pay and allowances, and I was reminded of a letter I had received from Liscard, informing me that one of my American fellow-students with whom I had been intimate in Germany, and who had once generously aided me, was in a debtors' prison there, with so large an account against him that the other students were unable to extricate him. It appeared that the young student's aunt who had furnished his expenses abroad had died, and as he had been kept in suspense by her illness for several months, without remittances, he found himself almost hopelessly involved, and his principal creditor, a sordid wirth or keeper of an inn, had taken advantage of his misfortunes and consigned him to limbo, on the theory that some one in America might be interested in having him liberated. To our mutual friend, I sent a draft for an amount large enough, if properly disbursed, to secure the student's release and return him to his native shores. There was not enough to pay all his debts, but his fellow-students formed an ingenious plan for his escape. They quietly paid all his creditors except the restaurant keeper, whom I shall call " Wiig," the only one who insisted upon keeping him in prison, and who was obliged by law to pay for his provender while keeping him there, and moreover,
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to pay for it punctually at nine o'clock every Sunday morning. His fellow-students became well acquainted with his jailer, with whom he was a favorite, and they prevailed upon this worthy to aid them in effecting the prisoner's escape. It was agreed that whenever it should happen that " Wiig" was late in his payment of the weekly dues, even if the delay did not exceed the fraction of a minute, the prisoner should be set free.
Accordingly, one Sunday morning before the hour of nine, one of the American students who was known to have the German rage for painting everything in a picture directly from the object, even if it were as simple as a broomhandle, entered Wilg's place of business and inquired of that morose and exacting individual, who, by the way, was preparing to go out, if he had any foreign coins, explaining that he was painting a gambling scene wherein was a table piled with gold and silver and he intended to " paint everything from nature." Wiig answered in the affirmative and the student offered a fifty-thaler bill for exchange in French and Belgian coin. The wirth said he would be back shortly, putting on his coat, but the student declared it was impossible for him to wait, that he felt " inspired" and if-he didn't go to work at once, the feeling would pass off and he would lose the entire day; besides it would take but a moment and he would pay liberal rates of exchange. This last argument prevailed and the German brought forth a couple of bags, containing the coin, and placed them on the counter. The student furtively glanced at the clock. It lacked a few minutes of nine but the prison was only a short distance away. He had much difficulty in securing pieces that were bright enough, and then there was a dispute as to the rates of foreign exchange. Wiig was growing very impatient, even getting suspicious and angered, and the American, happening to touch one of the bags with his elbow, as if by accident, it tumbled over and the coins fell jingling and ringing on the floor. Wiig, with an explosion of oaths, stooped to pick them up and when the student offered to assist him angrily waved him away.
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The student noticed that it was several minutes past nine and took his departure. Presently, Wiig passed him puffing and blowing on a run for the jail. But it was too late. At precisely nine o'clock Liscard with other friends were waiting with a carriage in the street, around the corner from the jail, and a few minutes later the student appeared, and was hustled into the vehicle, which was driven across the Rhine to the railway station. It being Sunday, the creditor could not get his writ of attachment renewed and the unfortunate debtor, upon the arrival of the student with the foreign coin, made his escape to Antwerp.
Upon my return North, after the mustering out of the Seventh Cavalry, I found Alice and her advisers greatly averse to my again entering the army, and it was intimated that if we were ever going to marry it was high time I should be settling down and earning a livelihood. With this view, I could not well disagree, and seeing but extremely slight prospects of winning a living with my pencil, I again turned my attention to the completion of my legal studies and entered the office of an attorney in Salem. Here I applied myself closely for a few weeks ; but the ever resounding din of the struggle in the South, carried my mind away from statutes and digests. I strove hard to overcome the promptings of a desire to take part in the great historical achievements of the hour, and I tried to solve the nice distinction between my duties to the nation and what was due to my own, and Alice's personal future. The question was decided by the arrival of a friend who had been a fellow-officer in my last regiment and who was engaged in recruiting a company of cavalry—the government having already discovered its mistake in yielding to the opinion that there was cavalry enough. Impulsively casting law books aside, I joined my friend and began recruiting a company. My duties took me to the interior of the State and here I received a letter warning me of the probability of my engagement with Alice being broken off if I persisted in again becoming a soldier. I went to see
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her and after a very affecting interview and actuated perhaps by feelings of pique caused by intermeddling third parties, but believing that I was acting from a conscientious and paramount sense of duty to my country, the engagement was broken. It was a sad—a serious mistake. I was cruel to her, at least at the time, and to myself far more. This separation destroyed one of the strongest incentives to win rank and distinction and my isolation from all homelike influences was so complete, that now, as I look back upon the dark cloud that oppressed my spirit during three years of marching, skirmishing, scouting and battle, my supremest wonder is that I came out alive—at least without a neat wooden leg.
After McClellan's disastrous campaign on the Peninsula, we found it almost impossible to enlist men for any branch of the service, and it was only after the State and National bounty systems were organized that recruits began to present themselves, and in such numbers that in a few weeks the ranks of our company were filled. I was again commissioned first lieutenant and joined my regi-ment—the First New York Mounted Rifles—at Suffolk, Virginia, in August, 1862.
This regiment was increased from a battalion, of which two companies were raised by Captain, afterwards Major-General, Kilpatrick, and the other two first belonged to the Legion recruited by Colonel Van Wyck, who was later a brigadier-general and United States Senator. These four companies under Major C. C. Dodge had captured Suffolk immediately after the abandonment of Norfolk, and new recruits had made a regiment of 1200 men, the Major becoming its Colonel.
Colonel Dodge was almost all that is represented in an ideal cavalry leader : young, handsome and brave to the degree of rashness. He possessed the advantage of having recently observed and studied military tactics and maneuvers in Europe, and he exacted a high standard of discipline and efficiency, particularly prohibiting the promiscuous association of officers and enlisted men, which in most vol-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	155
unteer regiments, at the beginning of the war, was altogether too common for the proper enforcement of authority. The regiment under him acquired an esprit du corps which it never lost under other commanders. In rich and becoming uniform, mounted upon his superb gray horse with trappings of gleaming yellow, the colonel was a subject fit for the pencil of Detaille or Meissonier : and his men admired and intrepidly followed him.
As they were recruited and commissioned the men and officers were rapidly drilled and disciplined in the enemy's country, in actual field service, and in a very few months they exhibited the superior advantages of this system.
I had not been in camp many days when I saw, among a number of newly arrived recruits, a soldier with the chevrons of a sergeant, who advanced toward me with extended hands, and who, to my unspeakable surprise, was none other than my old friend and fellow-student, Liscard. During a long visit together he related all his interesting experiences since I had parted with him in Germany. He had enlisted in the regiment immediately upon his return home after hearing that I was in it, and had been appointed to duty as a sergeant in the Quartermaster's department. His own merits soon attracted attention and I used whatever influence I had with my superior officers in urging his promotion, and some months later had the satisfaction of welcoming him in his new uniform as a lieutenant and quartermaster of our regiment.
My first experience in a cavalry scouting expedition was unexciting until it was over. I accompanied Captain Hamilton* and thirty-nine men to the region of the Blackwater to reconnoiter the enemy's lines on the opposite bank of that river and to destroy all the boats found on our side. We remained out three days and leisurely accomplished the objects of the expedition, viewing the enemy's pickets at Franklin and other points, where they gathered in groups and appeared to observe our movements with some curl-
* A great-grandson of Alexander Hamilton.
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osity : but, though we were several times within gunshot distance, no shots were exchanged.
On our way returning toward Suffolk, we took shelter from a heavy thunder shower in a thick grove of pines surrounding a lonely old church, near Carsville. We dismounted, carelessly tied our horses to the trees, and entering the church indolently reclined in the pews. One of the men, of oratorical inclinations, entertained us, until he was ordered to desist, with a facetious discourse from the pulpit. The storm lasted about half an hour, when we remounted and proceeded slowly on our march. Less than half a mile from the church we passed a road leading to the Blackwater and noticed that the road in front of us was filled with fresh prints of horses' hoofs. As they indicated that a column was ahead of us, going in the same direction as ourselves, we supposed it to be a detachment of the Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry, then stationed at Suffolk, until one of the advanced guard with whom I was riding, called my attention to the fact that nearly all the tracks were made by unshod hoofs, and as the native horses were generally unshod, I could draw my own inference. I dismounted for closer observation. The impressions in the mud formed by the recent rain were very distinct and the captain joining me we halted the command and held a consultation. He rode back to the Blackwater road and examined it for some distance. On his return, we were both satisfied that a large body of rebel cavalry was not far ahead of us. We announced our suspicions to the men and directed them to prepare for action. Instantly, all signs of carelessness and indolence disappeared. Their eyes sparkled and their lips were firmly compressed. Like all soldiers before their first battle, we were really anxious for an opportunity to test our mettle. Saddle-girths were tightened, carbines carefully inspected and sabers drawn. Compactly arrayed in sets of fours, with sabers swung at the wrist and carbines at an advance, the men moved forward. The advance guard was increased, and I was given command of it with instructions to " charge" the moment
MEMOIRS OF SETH BYLAW).	157
we came in sight of the enemy's rear-guard. The column was then to close up, the men to first discharge their carbines and then " sail in" with the saber, cutting our way through to Suffolk. We moved rapidly, expecting every moment to have the long sought-for opportunity of exhibiting our valor. The County Almshouse was on our route, and as we approached it we were hailed with cries of distress from a number of superannuated negro inmates, assembled in the yard beside the road. " Oh ! you will all be killed!" they shrieked. One said: " The Surrey Cavalry is just ahead of you. Just left this minute, goin' mighty fast." Another shouted " 0 I I seed my ole massa; he's one of 'em." It was several minutes before we could get intelligent answers to our inquiries concerning the number of the enemy. There were various opinions. One darky repeated "There was a thousan' of 'em," and another said " There was more than a hundred," and the only clear notion we could derive from their different estimates was that there was at least a company. This number, however, did not appear very formidable to us, for we relied upon the superiority of our breech-loading, rapidly firing Sharpe's carbines to offset numerical opposition. The plan therefore was not changed, but we rode on with a little more circumspection, preferring to encounter them in a piece of woods where we might pass to right and left of them. The thought of going back and taking a circuitous route never once occurred to us. However, as it turned out, it was fortunate that we kept straight ahead, for there were four hundred of them and they were after us in a hurry, supposing us just ahead. When they approached Suffolk they were so enraged at not overtaking us that they charged into the streets after killing two of the outer pickets, and created great commotion in the town. In retiring they adopted the cavalry rule not to go back over the same road, and took another route at right angles with the road we were on. Consequently they barely escaped the charge we had so resolutely prepared for them. We found the army at Suffolk in a state of excitement and activity. General
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Mansfield and staff met us at the outskirts of the town and shook hands warmly with the captain and myself, telling us that our escape was " miraculous." It all seemed very strange to us, as we did not yet comprehend the great difference in the number of the enemy and our own would-be Spartan band ; indeed we were rather inclined to think that it was the rebels, and not us, who had the " miraculous" escape. Two regiments of our cavalry were sent in pursuit and though they dashed about in the vicinity of the Black-water for a couple of days, the rebels eluded them. They had, in fact, encamped within three miles of Suffolk all night in the woods, where remains of their camp were afterward discovered, and being perfectly familiar with every wood road in the country, they waited until our troops had passed by them and then retired by a route of their own to their camp across the river.
Although I had thrice volunteered in the service, I had not yet been exposed to the actual fire of an enemy. Liberal opportunities were coming, however—enough to surfeit the most ardent and deluded yearnings for " glory": and yet, I imagine, there were not very many in the army who saw more of the enticing side of war—for it has an enticing side—than I did. If I did not recall some of its picturesque, dramatic and unusual features, I could not be induced to write of it.
About this time a regimental court-martial, of which I was appointed judge-advocate, was convened, and two privates who were brought before us were convicted of absence without leave. After sentence had been pronounced the Colonel called them to his quarters and informed them that he intended to suspend execution of their sentence, because they had been generally good soldiers and daring fellows, and he had selected them for an especially hazardous enterprise: which was to go into the enemy's camp across the Blackwater at Zuni, disguised as Confederates, and return to him with all the information they could obtain. As both were Irishmen, with a broad accent, there was less risk of their being discovered as Northern soldiers.
MEMOIRS OF SETH RYLAND.	159
They eagerly accepted the mission and accompanied our troop on a scout. The first night we halted in a piece of woods where they left the command unobserved, changed their uniforms, and started for the enemy's lines, but a few miles distant.
The next morning our company halted at a point on the railway track overlooking the station and a few scattered buildings called Zuni. Observing several men near the buildings and supposing them to be citizens from whom information might be obtained, Captain Gregory galloped down toward them. He had not gone far, however, when he was greeted by the supposed citizens with a volley of rifle shots which missed him and whizzed and struck around us. The captain judiciously wheeled about and came back in a shower of bullets. It was the first time I was under fire, and the first impulse was to get immediately out of the way, but I looked about and noticed that my men were anxiously scanning me and waiting for orders. Pride instantly came to my aid, and I would rather have been shot dead than to have any of my men think I was afraid ; so I concluded to remain where I was, though the bullets came thicker and faster. The first feeling of getting out of the way was succeeded by one of intense rage of a more furious kind than I had ever before experienced. I gave orders to return the fire and we were soon engaged in a lively skirmish, the rebels on the opposite side of the Black water joining in at long range. We ordered up more men and with the rapid fire of our rifles soon sent the rebels about the buildings to cover. Then we cheered and retired at a walk. A few horses were struck on our side, and we learned from our two scouts, who were with the enemy on the opposite side of the river, and who rejoined us in the evening and described the action, that our shots had killed two and wounded several of the foe. This insignificant skirmish was important to me in deciding the question which had often arisen in my mind, whether I should show staying qualities under fire, and it gave me confidence ever after.
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The names of the two scouts were Fullager and Hearne and this was not their last adventurous trip into the enemy's lines. The former was killed by bushwhackers near Edenton, N. C. The latter won such a reputation for cool daring and ever ready shrewdness in evading detection as a spy that his services were in constant demand : so much so that when he received the well merited reward of a lieutenancy, he exhibited a final instance of his shrewdness in resigning and quitting the army, plainly perceiving the almost inevitable and ignominious rope that awaited the too frequent exercise of his talents. The rank and file of this regiment produced several other accomplished scouts: among them was Sergeant Judson, who, as " Ned Buntline," was widely known as a prolific writer of thrilling romances.
CHAPTER XV.
Dismal Swamp Fugitives —First Cavalry Charge — A Straggler sabered—Falling under Fire—A. Lonely Retreat—Why a Pistol failed to explode—The Fate of Two Sergeants who volunteered —Along the Blackwater—On Staff Duty—Lieutenant Fant's Treason—His Trial and Death Sentence—Emancipation.
OUR camp was situated at the edge of the Dismal Swamp, which, long before the war, had been a place of refuge for runaway slaves. In its pathless and mysterious recesses, almost impenetrable • to the white hunter, the fugitive negroes, cowering from the anger of their masters, somehow managed to find their way, living in the tangled undergrowth or upon some mound-like oasis rising from bog and fen. Mrs. Stowe in her story of " Dred" has closely described some of these haunts.
At the beginning of the war, the Swamp was a vast shelter for the slaves in Southern Virginia and Eastern North Carolina. They gathered there from the whole district of country extending west of Suffolk to the Chowan, and grouping together watched their opportunity to safely emerge and reach the railway track from Suffolk to Norfolk, their great highway to freedom. I have seen a continuous procession of these poor creatures all day, for many days, straggling along with all their worldly possessions, generally only the ragged 'plantation suits they wore, but sometimes with bundles of household goods, and the women carrying their babes. They were as simple and almost as ignorant as their ancestors in the wilds of Africa, and were often utterly bewildered with the new conditions of liberty. As officer of the guard, I passed out of our lines hundreds of these black people in a single night, all eager
11
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to be moving on toward the " Norf " before daylight should come, in dread of something happening to intercept them. Many thousands accumulated at Norfolk, and for a long time it was a serious problem how to feed them ; hundreds perishing from want before the problem reached solution. General Butler's energetic administration finally discovered measures of employment and subsistence.
The companies of our regiment took turns in picketing the road toward the Blackwater at Providence Church, about eight miles from Suffolk. I so much preferred picket duty to the monotonous life in camp, that I frequently volunteered to take the place of other officers who were ill or temporarily absent. I thus became acquainted with several families in the neighborhood of the station, and learned that my brother-in-law (my eldest sister had married a clergyman in the South before the war) had once been pastor of the church there and was well known in that part of Virginia. These families were composed of old men, women and children, the young men having entered the Confederate service.
In a large handsome, white house, a mile beyond the church and just outside our picket line, there resided a wealthy planter named Ely with his wife and a few servants. His position so close to our lines was an embarrassing one to him, but he promised to maintain a strict neu-trality—a promise which I believe he honestly kept. Like many others in Virginia he was not originally a disunionist, and voted against the ordinance of secession, but finally submitted to the will of the majority of the people of his State, to which he considered he first owed allegiance; a sentiment, which if mistaken, he sincerely held. His wife was a noble representative. of the Southern matron, of refined and commanding presence and cheerful hospitality. Their pleasant home became a frequent halting place on our raids toward the Blackwater and our officers were always politely entertained, the courteous hostess never allowing them to pay for their dinners. How ignobly this hospitality was returned will be told farther on.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	163
One Sunday morning I was ordered to go out to the Providence Church picket station and examine a ruined bridge about a mile to the right of the station on the Nansemond River, and to make an estimate of the time and labor required to restore it. I invited a brother officer to accompany me and we rode out to the reserve and met the captain in command of the picket. He joined us on our way to the river, and as we were all well mounted—I rode a large and powerful bay—he proposed a race. We dashed away over the level, sandy road at a dead run, only drawing rein when we reached the river bank. We had barely time to examine the half-burned structure when we heard firing in the direction of our pickets, and presently an orderly appeared at full speed, waving his hand, and shouting that the rebel cavalry had attacked the reserve. We ran our horses back as fast as if we were still racing and learned on our arrival at the station that the rebels after making a charge had retreated and that the lieutenant with the reserve was in close pursuit. The captain rode away after the lieutenant, and catching the infection of the chase, in spite of the objections of my companion, who remained behind, I joined in as a volunteer, forgetting that my horse was already pretty thoroughly blown. I caught up with our men about two miles from the station in a thick piece of woods, just as the rebels who had dismounted at a bend in the highway to reload their short Mississippi rifles, fired a volley into our ranks. There were about thirty of them. They had scarcely time to remount before we were upon them and then ensued a long and lively chase. I reached the head of our column and was closely pursuing a rebel whose fagged horse had nearly given out. I gained upon him and riding to his side with drawn revolver demanded his surrender. Instead of obeying, he leaned over the neck of his horse and plied the spurs. I called to him three or four times and then cocking my revolver, leveled it. At that instant a bullet whizzed so close to my horse's ears that he sprang to one side just as I pulled the trigger. I then saw that the
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muzzle of the weapon was directly at the back of the head of one of our men who had swiftly dashed in front of me. As the cap snapped close to his ear, he turned and glanced at me in . mazement and wheeled about. Had the cartridge exploded it would undoubtedly have killed him. I was so shocked that I put up my revolver and drew my saber. Meantime Lieutenant B. passed me with upraised saber and with fierce momentum ran the rebel through. The point seemed to go through his body as easily as if penetrating a sheet of wrapping paper. The rebel drew his knees up to his arms and with a shriek of agony rolled from his horse to the side of the road. I passed ahead. Turning an abrupt bend in the road, I came upon a large force of the enemy, probably a battalion, a few hundred yards away, who were hastily mounting their horses while the men we were pursuing rushed in among them. I checked my horse, and looked back to see how many of our men were with me. There was not one in sight. As I turned my horse to one side of the road, to get out of view, several shots were fired at me and my horse, now thoroughly exhausted, fell into a ditch. I was partly stunned by the fall and expected every moment that the enemy would charge up the road and either capture or finish me. Strange to say, they did not come, no doubt supposing I had fallen because I was hit. I was under the impression that my horse was wounded and jumping from the saddle, with much effort pulled him to his feet. I then glanced around the corner and to my great satisfaction saw the rebels making off in the distance. My horse was untouched, but he was so fatigued that I could not urge him off a walk, as I led him back, still occasionally looking around expecting that some of the enemy would return. I found the rebel who had been run through by the lieutenant, still alive, stretched alongside of the road. He begged me piteously not to kill him. After placing him in a more comfortable position, I continued my lonesome way haunted by the face of the dying man It was long after night-fall when I reached the picket lines where I was reported killed or cap-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	165
tured. I led my horse and walked all the way to Suffolk to make my report about the bridge the same night.
I have related this first experience in a cavalry charge, on account of a very singular coincidence. The next morning remembering the failure of my revolver which was a new one, loaded for the first time, I thought it needed cleaning. I fired off all the chambers but the one on which the cap had snapped. I placed a fresh cap on the nipple, but after repeated trials, that chamber would not explode. I took the pieces apart, withdrawing the cylinder and unscrewing the nipple. I discovered that the nipple had left the manufactory only partly bored through. There could be no contact between the cap and the powder. Had any of the other chambers happened to be first, after I cocked it in the skirmish, I should have shot one of our own men.
Our regiment was kept constantly active, scouting along the Blackwater for months, having many encounters with the enemy and losing men and horses without accomplishing much that would have a direct tendency to terminate the rebellion, but inuring the men to active service.
At Scott's Mills the Confederate cavalry attacked one of our battalions under Major Patten, as it was proceeding leisurely campward, after completing the objects of the expedition. The time of attack was cunningly chosen, while the battalion was crossing a narrow piece of corduroy road flanked on either side by a deep morass, and our force was completely surprised. The rebels charged from the rear with such fury that they were soon inextricably mixed up with our men and so closely jammed together on the narrow causeway, that in some instances, being unable to use their weapons, they actually fought with their fists, striking each other in the face and pulling each other from the saddle. Our loss, principally by capture was about twenty-five men. A few were killed and wounded and among the latter was Major Patten.
In this fight, Sergeant John Dolen, afterward a lieutenant in my company, was captured in a singular manner. He was pursued by a rebel officer while moving rapidly
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forward with the advance to gain an open field. As he left the corduroy road he reined in his horse to jump a brook. At that moment, when his elbows were drawn well back forming acute projecting triangles the rebel aimed a side blow with his saber, the flat of it striking the sergeant's two "funny bones" with great force and instantly paralyzing his hands and arms. He dropped his reins and revolver; the rebel seized him by the collar and dragged him off his horse, and he was a prisoner in Libby for nine months.
At Joiner's Ford, on the Blackwater, we had another serious skirmish in which our regiment was hotly engaged and suffered some loss. I was detached in command of a company which was held in reserve. I remember noting particularly the knightly appearance of the young orderly sergeant who happened to be my next in command. His name was John Habberton, and he afterward enjoyed a national popularity as the charming author of " Helen's Babies."
But the most noteworthy of these encounters is entitled in history the " Battle of the Deserted Farm" and on account of the result of it, General Roger A. Pryor, the Confederate commander, resigned his position as Brigadier-General and enlisted as a private in a Virginia cavalry regiment. Pryor, after taking up a position at the farm one afternoon, sent a saucy message by an old negro to General Peck, commanding at Suffolk. The challenge was promptly responded to the same evening by General Corcoran and the battle was fought in the night. The explosion of the shells in the darkness was one of the grandest sights I ever witnessed. Pryor retired across the Blackwater the next day, with heavy loss. Our loss was also severe.
In other scouts and skirmishes several of our officers distinguished themselves: Major Schieffelin and Captain Freeborn by their gallant charge upon the enemy at Windsor; Captain Poor by his fight on the Edenton road where he was captured and a prisoner for a few minutes but escaped; Lieutenant-Colonel Onderdonk by his raid into the Isle of Wight, and Captains Ellis, Masten, Pruyn, Siebert and
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Sanger and Lieutenants Hill, Dolen and Lyons by adventurous scouts far within the enemy's lines. Major Wheelan, now of the regular army, and a born soldier, made several successful raids toward the Chowan. His brother, Lieutenant Wheelan, a brave and promising officer, was killed in one of our first skirmishes on the Blackwater.
Sergeant Wilson of our company, a veteran of the Mexican war, had been detached in command of our battery of small howitzers—the same pieces which Lieutenant Greble was directing at Big Bethel when he was slain. As the howitzers did not always accompany the regiment on its raids, the Sergeant became wearied with camp-duty and frequently solicited permission to go with the command when the howitzers were left in camp. One night he passed by with the regiment while I was on picket duty at Providence Church. An hour later he was brought back to the little cabin at the station, shot throught the body. The ball that struck him, fired by an outpost of the enemy, passed down nearly the entire length of the regiment before it selected him. I cared for the poor fellow until morning and took his last messages for his wife. He died like a hero, without complaint or murmur and conscious to the last. He was succeeded in command of the battery by Sergeant Eddy, also of our company, who met with almost an identical fate. He also volunteered to go with the regiment under like circumstances, was shot about the same time of night by an outer picket, the ball striking within two inches of the same part of the body, and he lived only until morning. These twin misfortunes to volunteers produced a feeling not unlike superstition among the men of our regiment—a sort of prejudice against going on duty except when they were ordered.
There were few instances of disloyalty amounting to treason ever exposed in our army. The most notable case of course, was that of General Fitz John Porter; and it is now convincingly established that he was innocent of active or intentional treason. Perhaps an examination of the records in the Judge Advocate General's office might show
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other instances where an officer was convicted of treasonable conduct, but only one case came under my observation during the war. This case was so exceptional, that out of regard for those who may be still living, I shall conceal the officer's identity under the name of Lientenant Fant.
The lieutenant was one of the first of our officers to reach Suffolk while our original battalion was recruiting and growing to a regiment. As he was a graduate of the Polytechnic Institute of Troy and as we had some acquaintances there in common, we were drawn much together. He was young, unusually intelligent and accomplished, but rather conceited, churlish and obstinate in disposition. He chose to be so argumentative on all occasions that most of our officers openly disliked him, although he and I got along together fairly well.
We called, together, one day, on a couple of fair young ladies whose acquaintance he had made, at an old Virginia farmhouse situated in a lovely spot on a bank of the Nansemond. The subject of conversation turned upon the war, and I was surprised to hear him take side with them in denouncing the Yankees and extolling the Confederates. At first I attributed his tone to excess of gallantry, but he went far beyond proper bounds, and after we left the house I questioned him seriously as to his motives in trying to persuade the ladies to believe that he sympathized with the Confederate cause. I was considerably shocked to hear him declare that he had only expressed his true sentiments: that he believed the South would eventually triumph, and that having resided at the South before the war he liked its people and institutions. Had it not been for a love affair, he said, he would never have entered the Union army. I was still half inclined to think that this sort of talk was only the disputatious side of his nature exhibiting itself: but he uttered so much in the same strain, besides, that I was almost, but still not quite, convinced that at heart he was a rebel, and I plainly told him that if he were expressing his real sentiments, he was in honor bound to resign from our army at once and put himself in another uniform.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	169
I also declared that I would not converse with him further on the subject. His views of the rightfulness of secession crept out in his conversation with other officers of the regiment and he was finally shunned by nearly all of them, myself being one of the exceptions: for I still found his society agreeable by declining to hear his arguments on the question of State Rights or any other talk which I regarded as disloyal. Were he really sincere, I argued, he would conceal such sentiments: it was only vaporing combativeness and obstinacy, I thought, engendered by excessive reading of the snarling essays of Thomas Carlyle—his favorite author.
Fant and I were detailed about the same time for engineer duty on the staff of General Peck, commander of the large army then assembled at Suffolk. I was entirely unfamiliar with such duty, except perhaps the drawing of plans and maps: but Fant was well informed on all matters relating to military defenses and with the aid of books and explanations, I soon acquired sufficient knowledge to carry out in detail, the general's instructions. I superintended the building of a military road for the transportation of siege guns and aided in the construction of several of the large earthworks around Suffolk, which was being formed into an intrenched camp, consisting of redoubts, lunettes and connected forts, nearly ten miles in circuit. The whole army was employed and I often had five or six thousand men working under my general direction.
The lieutenant and I occupied the same quarters in town and took our meals at the only public restaurant in the place. Here we met officers from various regiments and it was not long before Fant, by his foolish parade of sympathy for the South, was in constant trouble with other guests at table, who resented his open expressions of dis-unionism so positively and hotly, that personal encounters were frequently averted only by the cool-headed interference of outside parties. Some of his remarks were finally reported to General Peck, but he paid little attention to them, praised Fant as a skillful engineer and smiled at the
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idea of his being disloyal. The provost-marshal of Suffolk was convinced, however, that Fant's offensive utterances proceeded from a treasonable spirit and had quietly but attentively watched all his movements. He informed the commanding general that Fant had publicly criticised his knowledge of engineering, representing that Peck had ordered him to raise the parapet of Fort Jericho two feet—but that he had not yet done so—and when the general visited the work afterward, he had shown his ignorance by remarking that the fort looked much better now that the parapet had been raised two feet. It may be imagined that the general pricked up his ears upon hearing this, and he instructed the provost-marshal to continue his surveillance.
A Sergeant B. of our regiment had been selected by Fant as his orderly and it was noted that they were constantly together as companions, contrary to the strict discipline which forbade intimate intercourse between commissioned officers and enlisted men. About this time, hearing of proposed promotions in the regiment from which my absence was likely to exclude me, I was relieved, at my request, from staff duty and returned to my command. I saw but little of Fant afterward and was entirely surprised when I heard of his arrest charged with treasonable correspondence. I still believed in him. Before the court-martial which followed, of which General Wistar was president, it appeared that B. had deserted to the enemy, at night, riding upon Fant's horse. The following day the provost marshal intercepted a letter from B. to his sister in New York, and inclosed with it was a note, in Lieutenant Fant's handwriting, saying, that her brother had safely joined the Confederates, by whom he would be much better treated than he had been by the " Yankees." It was circumstantially established, to the satisfaction of the court, that the sergeant had carried with him a plan of the fortifications of Suffolk, drawn by Lieutenant Fant. The place was shortly afterward invested by a rebel army under General Longstreet and it was noticed how readily commanding positions were
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	171
occupied, showing perfect familiarity with the plan of our defenses. During the siege which then commenced, the rebel General French's engineer was captured while surveying, and he had in his hands a map of the defenses of Suffolk, which he hastily tore in pieces.
There were other charges and specifications against Fant, beside the more serious one of treasonable correspondence, of which last he was found guilty. He was sentenced to be " shot to death with musketry." General Peck, who still had a lingering regard for him, notwithstanding Fant's severe reflections upon his engineering accomplishments, returned the proceedings of the court for • its reconsideration, recommending a milder sentence. It was therefore changed to imprisonment for life in Fort Norfolk. Even this sentence was annulled by the kind-hearted Lincoln and Fant was simply dishonorably dismissed from the service.
A year or more afterward, B. came into our lines at Williamsburg disguised as a Southern refugee, and through a singular freak of fate, delivered himself up to men of his own company who happened to be on picket duty and who immediately recognized him. He was kept in confinement for some time at Fortress Monroe, but owing to the difficulty of assembling witnesses and the exigencies of the service, he escaped trial and was, I believe, honorably mustered out.
The news of the President's Proclamation of Emancipation reached us at Suffolk and produced much difference of opinion. The moment was wisely chosen; for had it been issued a few months earlier it would undoubtedly have caused much dissatisfaction and many resignations of officers who thought the government had no " constitutional right" to interfere with slavery. They had now become reconciled to any measure that would injure the cause of the South, having had convincing and cruel proof that the South would stop at nothing to destroy the " Yankee army" and that there was no hope of compromise. The force of this great event in the history of the emancipation of labor, was therefore given practical effect by the feeling of retaliation and revenge.
CHAPTER XVL
A Picnic in the Heart of the Dismal Swamp—Out of Service—Sev-eral Months' Pay missing—Interview with Governor Seymour- Promotion to Captain—Political Influence miscarries—The Siege of Suffolk—A Bullet in a Pocket.
OUR regimental camp at Suffolk was largely and handsomely planned. It was laid out in the form of a parallelogram and the spacious quarters for men and officers, con. structed of pine logs, inclosed a level parade ground. Some of the officers' quarters were tastefully and even elegantly furnished, the deserted houses in the neighborhood affording an abundant assortment of comforts and even luiuries which it was claimed if not used, would have been destroyed.
Our camp became noted for its hospitality and was frequently visited by officers of other regiments who were sometimes entertained right royally at table. Colonel Dodge and Colonel Spear of the Eleventh Pennsylvania were the only cavalry colonels in General Peck's army, and I recollect a neat toast in their honor given at one of our camp festivities by the colonel of an infantry regiment:
Here's to our cavalry commanders: may the enemy never dodge our Spears, nor spear our Dodges."
A number of ladies, wives and relatives of officers, graced and enlivened our camp before the siege of Suffolk and they helped to make up a picnic excursion to Lake Drummond in the heart of the Dismal Swamp, which lives in my memory as one of the rarest of my experiences. Though it was at the end of winter, the air was as mild and balmy as that of a May day at the North. Our party entered a long eat-boat on the ancient Washington Canal, whose construction was one of Washington's feats as an engineer, and were poled languidly along by experienced negro boatmen
MEMOIRS OF SETH EY LAND.	173
for twelve or fourteen miles through a region so somber, so silent and doleful that it seemed enchanted by the spirit of Desolation—a vast tomb of nature. The wilderness, on either side of the richly stained juniper water of the canal, consisted of dead tree trunks with gaunt arms blackened by the destructive fires that so often sweep through the tangled timbers and matted grass. Many of these dreary trunks wore ringlets of living vine and from their branches trailed ashen moss, so softly pallid as to give the effect, in masses, of twilight openings through the forest. Scarcely a sound broke the brooding silence of these far-spreading morasses, this home of the will-o'-the-wisp and " accursed spot" of Indian legends. The bed of the swamp is impassable, the soft ooze being here and there interspersed with huge bogs of reeds and feathery grass. The impression produced by this monotonous panorama, through which we glided for many hours, is like journeying through spell-bound regions far removed from the familiar confines of the earth.
At Lake Drummond we found a footing in the little cabin of Duke, a hermit trapper, who figures as a negro chaser in Mrs. Stowe's " Dred." He was a gray-bearded, stalwart old man, quite simple and sociable. He showed me where he had been wounded in several places with buckshot while pursuing runaways. At night he guided us out to the middle of the lonely, starlit lake where some of the ladies joined in singing Moore's beautiful melody " The Lake of the Dismal Swamp." The effect of the weird music in such a spot was magically entrancing, like hearing Heine's " Lorelei" sung at night on the river Rhine, and I can never forget the ghostly gloom and my sense of remote isolation, when the refrain sounded far over the sad, black waters, plashed here and there with the wavering reflection of a star:
" Where all night long by a fire-fly lamp She paddles her white canoe."
Before retiring for the night the trapper took note of the number of our party and threw out the same number of
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lines from his door-sill into the lake, promising that each line would contain a fine fish, large enough for a breakfast, a promise that was literally kept. The supply never failed him, he said, and when he needed a change of diet he could find a deer or a bear. He told us the greatest danger of hunting in the swamp was not from wild animals or reptiles, but from coming in contact with the branches of the poisonous sumac, and he believed that any person who went to sleep under one of these trees would be fatally poisoned. He visited Suffolk about once a year and traded his pelts for a few necessaries, not found in his dominions, like coffee and sugar. As to the war, he professed to be neutral: being himself an absolute monarch, he cared little for the troubles of experimental governments beyond his own frontiers.
After my return to the regiment from staff duty, and before the siege of Suffolk, events occurred which kept me a few weeks out of the service. I was the senior lieutenant in the regiment and had been longer in the service than almost any officer in our command. When, therefore, the colonel appointed his adjutant to a vacant captaincy, I considered that I was unjustly treated and tendered my resignation. It was not accepted, and the colonel, whom I admired very much for his soldierly qualities and who was my friend, tried to persuade me to remain, endeavoring to convince me that according to custom the adjutant was regarded as senior to a lieutenant of the line. But I was hot-tempered in those days and resented what I considered a slight, and I persisted until my resignation was accepted. Shortly afterward there was a number of vacancies, caused, in part, by the promotion of our colonel to brigadier-general and of our Lieutenant-Colonel Onderdonk, a gallant and experienced officer, to colonel.
I went to Washington and drew my pay, which amounted to several hundred dollars. I stopped at the National Hotel, which was crowded with guests, and requested the clerk to place my money, which was in bills, in the office safe. He gave me an envelope to put it in and told me to put my name and address upon it, that no re-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	175
ceipts were ever given and that it would be perfectly secure. About a week later, when I concluded to leave Washington, I went to the same clerk for my money. The door of the safe was open and he pulled out a number of packages and examined them, but mine was not among them. Then he asked me several questions and made a further search in the drawers and pigeon-holes, but the money was not to be found. He professed to have no recollection of me or of receiving the envelope, and intimated that some one must have withdrawn it in my name. I argued that this was not likely, as no one else knew I had deposited it ; but argument was useless, the package was not there. I then called for the proprietor and fully stated the case. After some cross-questioning he seemed satisfied that I was in earnest and proceeded methodically to examine the contents of the safe, carefully taking out all the packets and papers for separate examination. He finally declared that the money was not there and he turned to the door to close it. It would not shut, but in swinging it around I noticed an envelope sticking in the slit between the door and the safe and directed his attention there. When the door was wide open this envelope disappeared behind it. He picked it up and it was the lost envelope containing my bills, which had accidentally fallen into the slit. As I should have had no remedy had I lost it, my relief was inexpressible.
I returned to Suffolk, intending to make sketches for Harper's Weekly and to correspond for newspapers. The new commander of the Mounted Rifles, Colonel Onderdonk, immediately appointed me a captain, and sent me to Albany with the appointments for all the vacancies in the regiment and with instructions to bring back the commissions. When I arrived there I found that Governor Seymour was indisposed to sign any of the commissions, because of a dispute among our field officers who had brought political influence to bear concerning the lieutenant-colonelcy, two of the majors claiming the appointment. I sent to the colonel for further instructions and was detained in Albany nearly two weeks. The Governor's final decision was, that as the
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matter of the appointments had not been explained to his satisfaction, he would take no immediate action. I then sought a personal interview with the Governor through the chief clerk in the Adjutapt-General's office, who had been very friendly toward me, and secured it. The Governor ordered me to be admitted at once, though many people were already waiting to see him in the anteroom of the Executive Chamber.
I have never forgotten his winning smile and affable reception. He invited me to be seated and sat down beside me; said he had often heard of me and, to my surprise, mentioned the names of several distinguished politicians who had called upon him in my behalf. He said that although he had decided not to issue any of the commissions to the other officers until the troubles in the regiment were settled, he took pleasure in making an exception in my case because of his long friendship with Senator T., who had personally and particularly requested him to do so. He directed the clerk to make out my commission, at once, which he signed and presented to me with a dignified suavity that won my warmest gratitude. I left his presence in a glow of delight, shook hands with and thanked the polite clerk, and went away greatly mystified to guess the name of my influential friend (for I had no acquaintance with Senator T.) who had aroused so many politicians in my support.
When I rejoined my regiment and was mustered again into service I was assigned to a company I had often commanded, composed principally of young farmers and merchants' clerks, orderly, well drilled and disciplined by varied service. I was then the youngest captain in the regiment.
Several weeks afterward I happened to be in a certain lieutenant's quarters. The commissions had not yet arrived and he was feeling extremely fretful, complaining bitterly of the neglect of the Governor, who, he told me confidentially, had promised his uncle, Senator T., as well as other prominent friends who had called upon him, that
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the lieutenant's commission as captain should be forwarded at once, regardless of the reasons which compelled him to keep back the rest. I said nothing: it was the first time I knew that Senator T. was- his uncle, and it was not difficult to guess that the Governor had mistaken me for the nephew, who had been using political influence to unfairly secure a grade above his seniors of the same rank—the grade being established by the date of the muster-in roll.
The advance of General Longstreet upon Suffolk was so swift as to be almost a surprise to our commanding general, who, in his excitement, ordered the bridge across the Nansemond to be blown up before our pickets at Provi-idence Church were notified and withdrawn. They were attacked with great fury on the morning of April 11th, (1863), by an overwhelming force, and barely escaped capture. They belonged to our regiment and I, with other officers, went down to the river near the remains of the bridge and watched the fugitives swimming their horses across, the rebels appearing in the distance. Lieutenant Lyons was among the last to cross and he rode up and informed us that he with his men had been nearly cut off by a party of the enemy, secreted along the side of the road, who poured in a terrific volley at short distance. I noticed that his horse was slightly wounded and he said very coolly feeling of himself about the chest, " I am hit somewhere, too." He showed a ragged hole through his jacket over the right breast and hastily throwing open his shirt there was a bloody line visible across his breast where a bullet had nearly broken the skin. Examining further, he drew forth a handkerchief from an inside pocket of his jacket and a minie ball dropped to the ground. I picked it up. The handkerchief was perforated in several places and had evidently resisted the force of the shot which had entered from the right, passed through his clothes to the skin, glanced over the chest and penetrated the pocket on the left side. He was practically uninjured.
Our gunboats came up the Nansemond as far as the site 12
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of the bridge, and I was riding alone through the silent and deserted streets of the village, one Sunday morning, when the first heavy gun of the siege was fired. The houses along the streets had shown no signs of habitation, doors were closed and windows darkened, and yet, when the thunderous discharge took place and the huge shell went roaring over the town, there arose a succession of wild shrieks and prolonged screams from these darkened dwellings, and, mingling with the frightful concussion in the air, they produced an effect too appalling to be described or forgotten.
The siege of Suffolk, as it is called, abounded with daring deeds and thrilling incidents which belong to the general history of the war, and their relation would be outside the scope of these pages. Recovering from his first excitement, General Peck's conduct of the defense was worthy of the highest praise. There is now no doubt that he was opposed by a largely superior force, though, at the time, the important designs of General Longstreet were generally misconceived and underrated.
Our regiment was on constant duty and took part in many skirmishes. If there is any romance in war the cavalyman is apt to see it. Our regiment was particularly fortunate in acting independently, during most of its career, upon the flanks of the army; raiding into the interior where Northern soldiers had never before been seen; fighting guerrillas under circumstances testing individual courage and alertness, and scouting generally in a country attractive in its natural features or interesting from its colonial and Revolutionary associations.
CHAPTER XVII.
Rebel Hospitality betrayed—At South Mills—Capturing a United
States Senator and Member of Congress—A Rebel Mail—
Battle in a Thunder-storm—The Wraith of the Dismal Swamp . —A Rifle-barrel shot through—Dark Hours of the War.
I HAVE spoken of the Ely family beyond our picket station at Providence Church and of their beautiful home. I always found the head of the family very candid in his statements, but it was his express desire to remain neutral and to give no information to either side. We knew that he had a son in the Confederate service, but the father was never suspected on this account, by any of our officers, of violating his promise of neutrality. Some of the men, however, were not so well satisfied, but on the contrary, as events proved, they were strongly prejudiced against him: though Mrs. Ely's refined and womanly qualities and cheerful hospitality seemed to be appreciated by all.
Our regiment halted one afternoon by the roadside in front of Ely's residence and the officers were invited in to dinner. (I was stationed at South Mills, N. C. at the time.) While our officers were enjoying Mrs. Ely's well cooked and varied fare, she presiding at the table and directing the servants, there was a sudden commotion among the men in the yard and then a quick cry of " Fire !" The officers rushed from the table and discovered that a barn, but a short distance from the house, was enveloped in smoke and flames. They did all in their power, aided by the men, to extinguish the flames but their efforts were of no avail. In a very few minutes the handsome mansion caught fire from the sparks, and in a brief space Mr. and Mrs. Ely were homeless. They were unable to save anything of value from the swiftly consumed building. The officers were
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deeply mortified and distressed and the regiment hastily departed. It was noticed that Mrs. Ely betrayed little of the ordinary symptoms of excitement. She seemed transformed into marble and stood by the roadside with dilated eyes watching the disappearance of our troops.
A new home was made in a small hut, formerly used as a blacksmith shop, near the site of the late mansion, and here, toward the close of the war, an infantry regiment halted and some of the officers asked Mrs. Ely for drinks of milk which were presently given them. In a short time they were all taken violently ill, with symptoms of poisoning, and two or three nearly died. The lady was accused and arrested. She fought her guards like a wounded tigress and had to be tied with cords before she could be placed in a cart and taken to the jail in Suffolk. The end of the war terminated her imprisonment.
South Mills, in North Carolina, where my company was stationed most of the time during the siege of Suffolk, was an important outpost at the southern end of the Dismal Swamp Canal. We were required to keep vigilant watch against surprise and made frequent scouts toward Elizabeth City, the Chowan River, and Albermarle Sound.
We happened to charge into Elizabeth City, one Sunday noon, just as the people, principally ladies and children, were leaving church and there was great scampering, screaming, and jumping of fences as we thundered by. Almost always we secured rebel prisoners by such swift dashes, the town being the rendezvous of partisan rangers. This morning we passed through the town very quickly in pursuit of a wagon with two occupants making great speed for a ferry on the Chowan River. Before overtaking them they threw away a mail bag which we recovered and which contained, beside a mail for the Confederate States, several pounds of quinine, then worth a large sum in the North and almost priceless in the South. The prisoners were civilians and one of them, Dr. Poole, claimed to be a devout Union man and felt greatly outraged over his arrest. The other, Mr. Cobb, confessed to having thrown away the
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bag but assumed to be ignorant of its contents. It was my duty to take them to head-quarters at South Mills, whence Major Wheelan would forward them under guard to General Viele at Norfolk. Poole was morose and silent the whole way, but Cobb was so lively, and so entertaining a companion that he quite won the confidence of his guards. He persuaded them that there was really no necessity for so closely watching him, as it would be one of the delights of his life to enjoy their society all the way to Norfolk and spend a few charming days with his many old friends there. He escaped, but was retaken before he got clear of our camp. General. Viele returned them with a safe-conduct through our lines, and Dr. Poole waved it before me triumphantly as convincing evidence of his loyalty to our cause. He was afterward United States Senator from North Carolina, and Cobb was a Congressman from the same State.
On another scout we captured a rebel mail carrier and brought him to our camp where we held a mock drum-head court-martial, our solemn preparations for hanging him inducing him to confess where he procured the mail We discovered a regular system of communication across the Dismal Swamp between Richmond and Norfolk, which was no doubt kept up, despite our vigilance, during the whole war, the vastness and intricacies of the Swamp affording ample and inscrutable facilities. Our prisoner's mail bag contained cipher dispatches supposed, from several circumstances, to be correspondence between the Confederate envoys in Europe and the Davis government. These were forwarded to general head-quarters. Some of the other letters from ladies in Norfolk to friends in Richmond amused us by their malicious descriptions of Yankee social entertainments where our officers were represented as dancing with negro wenches.
In the summer of 1863, our regiment under Colonel Onderdonk, with the Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry, both under general command of Colonel Spear, crossed the Chowan River into North Carolina with the intention of
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proceeding to Weldon, destroying the important railway bridge there and thus interrupting the transportation of supplies from the far South to the army of Lee. We moved with quiet celerity, in order to render the raid a surprise, but the Confederate General Ransom suddenly confronted us below Jackson, and a severe engagement ensued. The rebels threw up intrenchments near the edge of a piece of woods and opened fire with musketry and artillery. My company was ordered in advance to charge them. We were covered by a section of Howard's battery of regulars under the skillful direction of Lieutenant Beecher, who, by his precision in firing and obstinate courage under a concentrated fire, won the chief honors of the fight.* The woods were too dense for cavalry movements and we fought dismounted in skirmish line. We were reinforced by other companies and the action lasted a couple of hours, when a terrific thunder-storm put an end to it. The peals of thunder were so loud sometimes as to drown the noise of our artillery, and again it was difficult to tell which was the concussion created by man and which the roar of the lordly elements, or whether a flash of lightning was fired from the heavens or the earth. It was indeed a truly Homeric struggle—a sublime competition between the angry enginery of men and the frowning tempest of the gods.
We lost several men : among them, I remember, a boy whom I had recruited near my early home in Washington county, and who, though not at all vicious, but on the contrary of a mind and disposition quite innocent, had acquired the nickname of " Swearing Jim" by his habit of unmeaning profanity. While standing not far from me, watching his opportunity to fire effectively, he was shot through the mouth, the ball coming out at the back of the neck, causing instant death. He was hastily buried in the dark woods near the place where he fell. In permitting him to go with me as a recruit, his mother, with many
* A son of Henry Ward Beecher.
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tears, had confided him to my care, and I was deeply touched by his death.
Many reflective people might imagine that the thought uppermost in the mind of a soldier fighting in the field, would be the eternal welfare of his soul; yet, I am satisfied that no matter how orthodox his religious training may have been, a thoroughly disciplined soldier is, in action, a materialist, and, practically, no more believes that he lives after he is dead than he believes that he lived before he was born. Immortality to him is a notion not connected with the fiercely materialistic nature of his work, and there is such a strain upon all the faculties of perception that those of reflection are almost wholly inert. But after the battle come periods of introversion, and the profession of a soldier, more perhaps than any other, teaches the most important lesson of life—to be reconciled to death. Yet, though soldiers in the field seem so bereft of all thought of future consequences, they are not free from superstition, and it was remarked by some of the men as " singular" that " Swearing Jim" should be shot in the mouth.
A council of war was held during the storm, in an old barn, and Colonel Spear stated that a surprise was no longer possible, and the rebel position was evidently well supported with infantry and artillery. Colonel Onderdonk coincided with him and we withdrew at night-fall, our company composing the rear-guard. We were followed by the enemy's cavalry for several miles over a road rendered nearly impassable by the intense darkness and the heavy rain-fall which still continued. Our horses frequently plunged into mud holes up to their girths. The nearness of the enemy to our extreme rear-guard was revealed to us, and them, by occasional illuminations of distant lightning. Sometimes they found themselves so close to us that we could hear the "lowcommand of " Halt"—to take further distance—and yet there was no firing. When we were relieved from the rear-guard my top-boots were overflowing with rain and I was drenched to the skin. I was so completely exhausted that I slept soundly for miles in my sad-
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die, my horse keeping his place in the ranks. True enough, seemed the simple old saying: " A man doesn't know what he can do until he tries." After we had safely passed over a certain bridge on our route the column halted. I made a cot of fence-rails, placed at an incline, and composed myself to a sweet sleep in the still pouring rain. In the morning I found that one of my men had denied himself the shelter of his rubber blanket and placed it over his captain. I was touched by such generosity and kept watch of the man. Subsequently I made him a sergeant. He was de-tachedand became one of General Sheridan's most trusted scouts—Sergeant McNamara.
The expedition retired across the Chowan and reached Suffolk without further loss or encounter.
There was a piece of solid, elevated ground, away in the depths of the Dismal Swamp, called an " island" where the rebel guerrillas had their camp. We often heard descriptions of this mound from negroes who had been upon it, and we made several attempts to discover it—all unsuccessful. Once we dismounted in the road below South Mills and deployed through the swamp, picking our way carefully over fallen logs and brushwood and using poles to leap across wide morasses. Suddenly, there came in plain view a rebel officer on a sorrel-red horse dashing along the front of our line, so close that his features and long tawny beard were quite distinguishable. He came like an apparition, making no noise over the soft peat, and for an instant, the men were too greatly astonished to level their carbines, and when they fired he was out of reach and quickly disappeared. We followed the tracks of his horse for fully an hour and by that time we were so fatigued that we gave up the chase—the trail being still fresh before us—though it did not seem possible that any one could penetrate the bogs and underbrush beyond, especially on a horse. By describing him, we afterward learned his name, which was something like " Tom McCrocken," but this was so unsuited to the seeming unreality of his appearance and disappearance, that we felt poetic license would justify the elaboration of
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	185
his name, upon a yellow cover, into " The Wraith of the Dismal Swamp." He was a lieutenant of the bushwhackers, who hovered around us on our forays above and below Elizabeth City, and who sometimes feebly attacked us—and I often wondered with what little damage. With all their advantages in knowing the country, and a system of learning of our movements in advance, they showed but little of the dare-devil spirit of true partisan rangers and generally attacked at safe, long distance. Once, about twenty of them fired a single round into our advance guard from a near piece of woods, and then fled. The shots wounded two of my men and a Sharps rifle held at " advance" by Corporal Egan was struck on the barrel about six inches from the muzzle by a leaden ball or slug, which, instead of glancing off made a hole through it. Pieces of the lead remained about the ragged hole. This rifle was afterward exhibited in the ordnance department at Washington and was one of the most curious relics of the war.
The early summer of 1863 was the darkest period of the war to those who were fighting the enemy in the front and constantly hearing of his movements in the rear—that is, at the North, where copperheadism in the public press was deriding our lack of success in crushing the Rebellion, predicting the interference of foreign nations, discouraging enlistments and reporting disasters that never occurred. This spirit of the disloyal press reached its climax when Lee invaded Maryland and Pennsylvania, and only the firmest hearts were unshaken by the incessant croaking of Northern disunionists. It was the fiercely uncompromising utterances of men, often personally unpopular, like Stanton, Butler, Thad Stevens, Chandler and Morton who most helped to save the Union then by infusing new energy into the disheartened but not disloyal masses. It was the unyielding backbone of such men at critical periods that persuaded us there was to be no such word as fail, and really saved the nation. The victories of Vicksburg and Gettysburg came in the nick of time to arouse a determined perseverance in the prosecution of the war.
CHAPTER XVIII.
On the Peninsula—A. Deserting Sergeant's Romance—Executing a Bushwhacker—His Comrade deserts to the Union Lines—Capt-ure of Charles City Court-house—A Dramatic Scene—A Woman in the Ranks—Escapes from Libby Prison.
IN September our regiment was ordered to Williamsburg, Va. Here we were for some time the nearest Union troops to Richmond, and we were almost constantly in the saddle, scouting, raiding and skirmishing.
The little city of Williamsburg, one of the first settlements of the New World, and associated with some great events in the history of our country, was at this period in a rather wrecked and depopulated condition. The inhabitants were principally women and children with a few old white men and negroes. It contained the remnants of many of the first families of Virginia. Our picket-line was at the ruins of William and Mary College, where Jefferson, Monroe, Page, Randolph and other prominent public men had been trained, and extended on our left to Jamestown Island about seven miles away, where the men on duty were isolated at night, precisely as the first settlers were, by removing a plank bridge.
A sergeant of the Fifth Pennsylvania Cavalry with seven men constituted the local or provost guard. The sergeant was a tall, fine-looking fellow, a native of Philadelphia. He fell in love with a beautiful young lady who was regarded as the belle of local society, and whose family were bitter secessionists. He had unusual opportunities to press his suit, as beside his seven men and the picket-guard, all other troops were excluded from the place. She consented
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	187
to marry him on condition that he would first pass her outside of our lines to Richmond and then desert to the Confederate side. He was so infatuated that he agreed, and she departed from Williamsburg. Under pretense of searching for horses he was furnished with an extra detail of eight men, one of whom belonged to my company, and according to a preconcerted plan, the sergeant led them into a rebel ambuscade twelve miles from Williamsburg and all were captured. He married the young lady in Richmond, entered the Confederate service, and was recognized by some of our men who saw him on duty while they were prisoners in Castle Thunder. He died in the rebel service before the close of the war, it was said, from the effects of remorse—dishonored and ruined by a beautiful face.
Among the rebel scouts and bushwhackers in our front at Williamsburg, were two daring and notorious ones—Cotton and Wilson—who boasted that they had picked off, from places of shelter in the woods, over one hundred Yankee soldiers. They were the especial pride of the ladies in Williamsburg who gloried in their desperate prowess, and some of them never neglected to tell our men of their heroes' latest exploits, such as secretly visiting friends within our lines. The boldest of our scouts were sent in pursuit of them, but they rarely exposed themselves and evaded capture.
On returning from a scouting expedition toward Richmond, one afternoon, and when within two miles of our lines, our colonel sent forward the surgeon's servant, an un-enlisted young man, in a captured buggy, with instructions to have supper prepared for our arrival in camp. One of my men went with him. They were scarcely out of sight of the head of our column, when a lithe young rebel stepped out of the woods and faced them with his leveled revolver, fired and killed the surgeon's servant, drove the other man away at the point of his weapon, jumped into the buggy and escaped by a blind road into the forest. The advance guard coming to rising ground caught sight of him as he was disappearing and gave chase. He abandoned the ve-
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hide and led his pursuers a long way into the woods where he was run down and captured by Sergeant Major Owen Hale.*
The prisoner was brought to Colonel Spear, and after some questioning confessed that he was Cotton—in fact, boasted of it. The colonel asked him if he knew what was going to be done with him. " Yes," replied Cotton, " but I have killed over fifty of your men and taking my life will not restore their lives." The colonel interrupted his defiant, Indian-like braggadocio and said he would give him a chance for his life by permitting him to take thirty steps toward the woods. Cotton deliberately paced them off and then as he sprang forward a whole platoon fired at him. He fell dead, riddled with bullets.
Wilson, the other scout, whose name was so often associated with that of Cotton, probably influenced by, the circumstances attending the death of his companion, shortly afterward deserted to us and offered his services against his late comrades, and they were accepted. Unlike the conventional stage villain who is usually represented with swarthy lineaments and black beard, Wilson was a light-haired, blue-eyed, and rosy-complexioned young man, handsomely built, and with a not altogether unpleasant expression of countenance—when he was not aroused or angry. Nevertheless, he was a cool murderer and traitor.
He was our guide on our famous expedition in December, 1863, to Charles City Court-house, where within thirteen miles of Richmond, six companies of the Mounted Rifles surprised and captured about one hundred men of the Richmond City Battalion with their horses, rifles and equipments. (I wrote a somewhat detailed account of this exploit for the New York Times, which was reproduced in Moore's " Rebellion Record," vol. viii., p. 287.)
We left Williamsburg on a stormy afternoon and traveled rapidly until night when the storm increased in vio-
* Afterward a distinguished captain in the regular army and killed in an engagement with Indians.
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lence and, added to the darkness, greatly hindered our progress. The road, most of the way, led through tall forests, and at times the column became so entangled that it was impossible to proceed. The darkness was intense and the troopers were obliged to make their way by sense of hearing and touch; many left the road and were for a while lost in the woods. Every now and then the guide himself would be in doubt as to the right way, and all would be brought to a halt. Going ahead in the driving rain and moving about until he was certain of the road, he would smear his hands with the sulphur from a bunch of matches and holding them aloft beckon us on. It was like following a ghost in a dream. To add W the gloom, at least in my own soul that night, an officer who had just returned from leave of absence near my old home, and who rode beside me for some distance, occasionally remembering some interesting home items to tell me, casually, and without knowing I was particularly interested, informed me of Alice's marriage. Perhaps it was the best time to receive such a shock, when it was too dark for any one to see my face, and when I had no time to indulge in sad reflections and brood over unhappy " might have beeps." " Grim-visaged war" is not a sentimentalist.
The night could not have been better chosen for a surprise: the enemy was completely wrapped in security, little thinking that an attacking force would be abroad in such a roaring tempest. His pickets at the Chickahominy River had retired within a sort of coop of fence-rails and sat around with their shoes off, warming their feet by a sputtering little fire, and the howling of the winds prevented them from hearing our horses dashing through the stream. They were captured and disarmed without. ceremony. As the dawn was coming a brief halt was made to tighten our saddle-girths and allow stragglers to regain their companies; then we moved forward at a trot. A patrol of two men were overtaken and sent under guard to our rear. In jumping a little stream, Liscard, who was riding near me, was thrown from his horse which sprang away. I rode
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after and caught him and took him back to the wet and discomfited quartermaster and then returned to my place in the advance. We mounted a hill and saw the court-house and other buildings a short distance ahead and a camp to our left. It was now broad daylight and the storm had passed off, leaving a light mist. We quickened our trot to a gallop. An early-rising rebel sat by the road engaged in the Yankee pastime of whittling. He looked up and saw us coming through the mist, and never doubting that we were Confederates, turned away his head. A moment after he looked our way again. We were then close upon him. I have not forgotten his surprised face as he jumped to his feet and stared, and then turned and started for camp. A short " Halt!" brought him to a stop and we passed him.
The column dividing, three companies led by Colonel Onderdonk charged into the camp on our left, and the other three companies, ours leading, charged with wild cheers up the hill to the court-house. As we reached the crest, a well directed volley came from the upper windows of a large building, near the court-house, into which the rebels had retired. Several of our men were hit and three killed. Captain Gregory was wounded. We drew up into line and poured a brisk fire into the windows. In a few minutes the firing of the rebels was almost silenced. I had my revolver aimed at one of the upper windows where I had just noticed a moving object, when a shot struck Sergeant Wood close to my left, and for an instant my attention was distracted. As I looked back at the window it was open and there stood within it a young officer waving a white cloth, and striking his breast he raised his hand, shouting: "Fire —if you choose, but we have surrendered." Firing immediately ceased, and Major Hamilton and I entered the building and going up stairs to a room filled with smoke, marched the prisoners down. In the mean time the companies that had dashed into the camp under Wilson's guidance found the enemy in line at parade and inspection, with unloaded pieces, and they won an easy victory.
As we gathered our prisoners from the building, about
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	191
forty in number, and placed them in line, I learned that they were commanded by Lieutenant Ballard, son of the proprietor of the Ballard House in Richmond. He was the same young officer who had appeared in the window. The chief of the battalion, Major Robinson, was absent on his wedding tour. As I looked down the line, I noticed in the ranks a good-looking, newly uniformed private, whose peculiar appearance at once fastened my attention. The lieutenant noticed the direction of my looks, and calling me aside told me that I would find a woman in the ranks, who was not a soldier, but who had recently arrived from Richmond on a visit, and he requested me to secure her a place in one of the baggage-wagons. As we could not release her at that time, lest she should carry an alarm to Richmond, she was provided with a seat in a wagon.
The prisoners were in line, the lieutenant standing at their right, and I was standing in front counting them off, when Wilson, mounted on a large black hdrse, rode up from the camp. He wore a blue blouse with officers' buttons, top boots, and a slouch hat with drooping cock's feather. He was in fact, as to dress and figure, the very picture of a gay villain of the stage; he was en costume for the very dramatic scene which immediately took place. He had once belonged to this same command, and as his former companions looked up and recognized him, he curled his lips and sneered. 'Lieutenant Ballard sprang out in front of his men and pointing to Wilson exclaimed in a voice choked with rage and bitterness: " Men! Do you know who that is?" and then after a slight pause, still pointing his finger, he hissed forth: " That is Wilson, the traitor !" The guide jumped from his saddle and with cocked revolver in hand rushed furiously toward Ballard, but I stopped him; and Captain Ellis springing also in front of him, we made him put up his weapon, remount his horse, and withdraw to another part of the field.
We had to hasten away with our prisoners before news of our presence could reach the rebel forces around Richmond. On the return, my company was given the post of
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honor in guarding the prisoners, who were mostly young fellows recruited from the best society in the Confederate capital. After crossing the Chickahominy, Wilson rode with the advance guard, beside Captain Masten. A rebel lieutenant named Hume, one of the scouts formerly associated with Wilson, leaped from the woods a few paces in front of the advance guard and raising his rifle took deliberate aim at Wilson, who recognized him, fired, and then sprang back into the woods and disappeared. All his movements were so agile and cool that he was out of sight and safe before the men in advance recovered from their surprise. The shot he fired struck a button on the sleeve of Wilson's coat and penetrated his arm inflicting a serious wound. The surgeon probed it and withdrew the ball; but after suppurating for weeks it showed no signs of healing and was probed again. The button attached to a piece of cloth was found and then the healing process began, saving the arm from amputation.
Sergeant Wood died on the field. There were sad faces among the inhabitants of Williamsburg when we made our appearance with our ninety-odd prisoners. Women and children cried at the windows, and wails of despair resounded from closed dwellings.
A short time after this affair, a large number of Union officers escaped from Libby Prison through an underground tunnel which had occupied them months in excavating. This was one of the most notable incidents of the war. Upon the arrival of the first of these officers, half-famished and nearly dead from exhaustion, our whole force was sent out toward Richmond and gathered many of the poor fellows in. They soon recuperated upon a wholesome diet and told us many amusing stories of their escape, the comical features of it seeming to be uppermost in their memory. I recollect Lieutenant Randolph of the Fifth U. S. Artillery, describing a French officer who had been one of the most industrious and determined spirits in digging the tunnel, who did not even forget his native politeness when the supreme moment came to make use of the means of escape.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	193
He was preparing to stoop into the entrance when an officer brushed him aside and crawled out of sight. " Ah! excuse me 1" said he rising, when instantly another passed him, and another, giving him no chance at all. Then he began to plead for more courtesy : " Ah ! gentlemen permit me in ze hole! Excuse me: it is my turn ze next," and Randolph said he was repeating this when he sprang past him—think-ing it was no time for etiquette. Still he admitted that he never saw such an exhibition of true cameraderie and real politeness. It is scarcely surpassed in the history of knighthood. It was Randolph, who, knowing that it was the intention of Colonel Streight, the most distinguished of the escaped captives, to conceal himself in Richmond for a while, suggested to Mr. Shaw, the Herald correspondent at Fortress Monroe, the ingenious ruse by which Streight's escape was made secure. The correspondent wrote an account of an interview with the colonel, whom he represented as at Fortress Monroe, giving a description of his emaciated appearance, and relating the narrative of his wanderings since he left Richmond. He did not, in fact, leave that city until several weeks afterward, and the Confederate authorities, who were considering whether they ought not to hang him for his destructive raids in Georgia, were thrown entirely off the scent by the report in the Herald, which, it is scarcely necessary to say, entered .the Confederate lines daily by one route or another.
13
CHAPTER XIX.
Wistar's Projected Capture of Richmond—Causes of Failure — Plunkett's Adventures — Camp-life — An Elaborate Joke — A Tragedy in the Woods—Celebrating the Third Anniversary of Enlistment—Provost-Marshal of Williamsburg.
THE escaped Union officers all agreed in saying that Richmond was in a defenseless condition, mainly protected by feeble home-guards and they averred that an alert and well conducted cavalry force could penetrate to the prisons and liberate their late companions. Their reports coincided with the testimony of numbers of deserters, Union refugees and contraband negroes, which had been collected by Major Wheelan, the provost-marshal of Williamsburg, and transmitted to General Wistar commanding the troops on the Peninsula above Fortress Monroe. The General therefore projected a raid into Richmond having for its principal purpose the release of prisoners and the burning of the bridges across the James River. It might also accomplish the capture of rebel chiefs and the destruction of military stores. Absolute secrecy and expedition were essential to the success of the enterprise, and it was not intended to hold the place—a surprise and a swift dash through the streets were the general features of the plan.
In order to obtain the surest details of the condition of the city, Sergeant Plunkett of our regiment, one of the boldest scouts in the command, with a member of the secret service from Washington known as " Major Howard," were selected to visit the Confederate capital and return with specific information. They were also to secure the co-operation of persons within the city known to be faithful to the Union cause.
During their absence, the general began quiet prepara-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAJ{D.	195
tions for the expedition, obtaining the transfer to his command of two more cavalry regiments which were kept secretly encamped in the woods below Yorktown.
Lieutenant Disosway of our regiment, provost-marshal of Williamsburg, a young officer with a frank, boyish face and slight figure, noted for gallantry, talented and promising, was shot and instantly killed by a drunken provost guard named Boyle whom he had ordered to his quarters. Boyle was arrested, tried by court-marshal and sentenced to death, and was now awaiting execution of his sentence, in chains, at Fort Magruder.
The reports of Sergeant Plunkett and Howard, on their return, confirmed all that had been previously learned concerning the defenses of Richmond, and the former was ordered to return to the city and await our arrival, when he was to act as our principal guide. Certain officers in our regiment, which was to have the advance, were carefully instructed the night before the departure of the expedition in their special duties — to one was assigned the capture of the rebel President; to another the spiking of siege guns; others were to free the prisoners in Libby Prison and Castle Thunder and burn the bridges. Maps of the city's streets and the routes to be taken by each of them were furnished and studied.
On the night of the first of February, a guard placed over Boyle who was to have been executed the next day, filed off the chains of the condemned man and allowed him to escape. Instead, therefore, of Boyle being hanged the next day, the guard himself was tried by summary court-martial and shot at the hour appointed for the hanging.
A general search was instituted to discover the whereabouts of Boyle, and although some trace of him was supposed to have been found in the direction of Norfolk, he was not recaptured, although several days were spent in scouring the country before our lines.
On the morning of the 5th of February 1864, the troops for the expedition were promptly assembled at Williamsburg. They consisted of the Fifth and Eleventh Penn-
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sylvania Cavalry, the First District of Columbia Cavalry and the First New York Mounted Rifles. A stirring general order by General Wistar was read to the command, hinting at the objects of the expedition and the important re sults that would follow success. The reading of the order created great enthusiasm, and the brigade, under Colonel West of the Fifth Pennsylvania moved up the Richmond road.
Arriving near Bottom's Bridge, thirteen miles from the capital, the same night, the command halted to briefly rest the horses and men, and Lieutenant Weeks was sent forward in the darkness to examine the bridge. He reported it passable. At dawn the refreshed troops moved on—but as they descended a road toward the bridge long lines of Confederates were seen moving through the dim morning light, and hastily occupying the old earthworks on the opposite side of the river originally thrown up to obstruct McClellan's advance.
A few minutes later the boom of a piece of artillery in these earthworks was the knell to our commander's hopes of entering Richmond, for as I have said, it was not expected to accomplish that object except by a complete surprise. A severe skirmish took place, our regiment receiving the brunt of attack, and many were killed and wounded on both sides. One of my men, the same who had escaped from the pistol of Cotton when the doctor's servant was killed, had his head completely blown off by a shell. A man of another company had the remarkable luck to escape serious injury from a shell which entered his horse's breast and exploded in its body.
It was subsequently learned that Boyle, instead of escaping across the James, as had been supposed, had passed through our lines to Richmond, and reached that city in time to give the Confederate authorities notice of our approach. Troops to repel our attempt were sent hurriedly forward from the army of General Lee; although by a pre-concerted plan, an attempt was made to distract Lee's attention from the Peninsula by the corps of General Sedg-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	197
wick, which crossed the Rapidan and engaged the rebel army, on the day that we were so confidently expected to enter Richmond. A few years after the war, Boyle was seen and conversed with by men of our regiment in the streets of New York, but he was never apprehended.
Sergeant Plunkett's movements in Richmond attracted the attention of the authorities there and he was arrested as a spy and confined in Castle Thunder. After a few weeks' confinement he was given his choice, either to stand trial as a spy, or join " Jeb" Stuart's cavalry corps. He preferred the latter, and watching his opportunity, crossed the Rapidan and entered our lines. He was immediately seized on suspicion of being in the Confederate secret service, and a drum-head court-martial was ordered to try him. He pleaded so earnestly for delay, until a telegram could be forwarded to General Butler, that it was granted him. Butler replied that Plunkett belonged to his command and to send him to Fortress Monroe. He was given his honorable discharge from the army, and presented with a liberal sum of money from the secret service fund.
But his adventures were not quite ended. He went to New York and took passage on a vessel bound for South America. The vessel was overhauled by a Confederate cruiser. As a boat from the privateer was approaching the ship's side the sergeant recognized one of the occupants as an officer with whom he had been quite intimate during one of his visits to Richmond, and running below to his cabin, he secured his private papers including his certificate of discharge and attaching a weight, threw them overboard. He also made some changes in the " make-up" of his face, and as he was almost as skilled as an actor in this respect, he went on deck to submit to inspection with the rest.
The officer passed him once or twice, eyeing him keenly, and then inquired if he had not seen him somewhere before ; but the answer was returned so innocently and with such an abominable Spanish accent, that the officer merely sniffed and passed on. Plunkett was transferred
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with the rest of the passengers to another vessel which had been captured the same day and eventually returned to New York.
Life in our regimental camp was seldom monotonous. The officers were a young, jovial lot of fellows, many of them enthusiastic disciples of the " Charles O'Malley" school of warriors, ever ready for frolic, foray or fighting, and our colonel gallantly led the way. Our first colonel had inculcated a regimental pride, at the outset, which always remained, and it is not extravagant to say that the command was not much excelled in general discipline and efficiency by any other regiment in the volunteer or even the regular service. Members of other regiments, who remembered pleasant visits to the Mounted Rifles camp, often admitted this.
Rainy days in camp, when there were no drills, were the most difficult to dispose of agreeably. It was on such a day that the quartermaster and I perpetrated a rather elaborate practical joke, suggested by one of his teamsters finding a number of very ancient, curiously shaped bottles in the cellar of a deserted old house in Williamsburg. One was a long-necked Flemish flagon of a sea blue, another a flaring-topped vessel with fantastic figures blown around its girth, and others were wine flasks extremely thin and elongated. Some of them were doubtless more than a hundred years old. They were entirely empty, and it was their inhospitable vacancy as they stood in a row on the mantel shelf in the quartermaster's cabin, that inspired the thought, whether, if they had been found filled, there were any of the somewhat pretentious connoisseurs in our command who could have appreciated the ancient flavor of their contents. We thought it a good idea to test their ability as expert judges of fine liquors. Accordingly, procuring some very ordinary commissary whiskey we made a unique decoction by adding a little water and a variety of candies from the sutler's, even stirring in bits of cheese, some tobacco and a few drops of hair oil. This was well shaken up and carefully strained off into the
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	199
bottles. Corks were then inserted and mounted with sealing wax which was rubbed in the ashes of the fire-place before it hardened. Labels were prepared from the fly leaves of a very old book, found in one of the abandoned town mansiohs, and pasted on with mucilage which was not allowed to dry until it had been partly rolled in the soot of the chimney. Straw from a teamster's wagon was then carelessly strewn around them, and altogether they were a very imposing row of curios, as they stood on the shelf, bearing pale inscriptions in watered ink, such as " Old Marlborough 1761," " Vintage of 1662," " A present from Queen Anne 1711," " The Marchioness 1774," and so forth. As we sat there contemplating our enticing villainy, one of our captains entered and casting a look about, uttered an exclamation of amazement. Closely examining our works of art, he asked many questions of the quartermaster as to where they were found, when, and by whom, and what he proposed doing with them. The reply was that a teamster had found them in the cellar of old Lord Dunmore's Palace in Williamsburg and that he had a friend who was a member of the New York " Century Club" and he should forward them to be preserved in the wine vaults of the club until he returned from the war. " What a pity !" said the somewhat bibulous captain. " And do you mean to say that you are not going to open a bottle and give us all a taste?" "Not a drop !" protested Liscard. Here I interfered and taking side with the captain coaxed and persuaded the miserly quartermaster into a reluctant consent to open one of the bottles, but not the oldest, some-time—when the colonel and other officers were about. " 0! I can soon get them, if that's all," remarked the captain, and going out he speedily returned with the colonel, the majors, the surgeons and a few line officers. The bottles were examined very critically with many expressions of wonder, for externally they bore the keenest inspection, and not a doubt was raised as to genuineness. One of our surgeons who prided himself, and truthfully too, upon belonging to the politest society of the metropolis,
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made several affecting remarks concerning some of the wines he had tasted at the tables of certain wealthy connoisseurs, and above all he boasted that he had once helped to drink a bottle of genuine Johannisberger, direct from the cellar of Prince Metternich. No one indeed doubted that he was an authority in wines, and after much debate and diverse selection, Liscard was prevailed upon, though not without much sighing and declaring that it was a shame to destroy such priceless historical relics, to open the bottle dated 1761. " Just think " murmured the doctor " it is more than a hundred years old." Liscard insisted upon restricting each guest to a large table-spoonful which he poured into a tin cup and passed ceremoniously around, the eager doctor taking the first dose. " Ah !" said he, vigorously smacking his lips, " I declare, I never tasted anything like that in my life. Its bouquet is almost equal to Johannisberger." This was sufficient to establish its quality with the rest, and one or two remarked its " peculiar smoky flavor" and "fruity after taste," and either Liscard or I did not fail to elicit, in some way, an opinion from each one. Another surgeon, who had been an old regular army officer, inured to campaign life in Mexico and on the Plains, was the first to exhibit suspicion. He shook his head and asked for a little more, which he rolled about in his mouth, and then bursting into a grunting chuckle, shaking his heavy sides, exclaimed: " Well I if the people a hundred years ago didn't have any better commissary than this is, they must have suffered for something good to drink !" His laugh was infectious, the secret was out, and Liscard after enjoying the joke until he nearly strangled himself, was compelled to bring in some unadulterated " commissary" to appease the insulted thirst of our victims. Some of them pretended that they had noticed "a queer familiar taste." The aesthetic doctor gave us one severe glance and frowningly departed. He scarcely noticed me for six months after, and I was always thankful that I was lucky enough not to fall into his hands on the amputation table.
MEMOIRS OF SETH RYLAND.	201
Early in the Spring of 1864, I was detached with my company at Lebanon Church near Yorktown and performed picket service along the bank of the James River. Our little camp was beautifully situated near a tall pine grove skirting pleasant open fields, with a grassy level spot used as a parade ground. Fronting the parade was a six-sided summer house conveniently arranged for head-quarters. The neighborhood abounded with birds of handsome and varied plumage, and the men shot a large number and brought me their splendid wings with which I elaboratedy decorated the inner walls and ceiling of the summer house, besides painting a naval battle-piece on a large panel above the hearth. Materials for painting I always carried with me during the war, but could rarely use them, owing to the alternating excitement, fatigue and depression incident to service in the field. The birds' wings were spread out and grouped to show their most brilliantly colored feathers, and comprised the golden and red of a variety of woodpeckers, the mottled blue of hawks and jays, the fiery vermillion of cardinal birds and the metallic, lustrous green of ducks. The fame of the collection reached my commanding general's headquarters at Yorktown where there happened to be several ladies on a visit from the North, and they drove over to my camp, one fine day, and I cheerfully despoiled the walls to present them with pretty wings for their hats—it was such a rare event in our army life to see and speak with a Northern lady. This period is mentioned as a pleasant interlude in the rough experience of a campaign, and is further remembered on account of the dinner I gave, on the greensward of the parade, to our colonel and a number of my comrades. It was a lovely Spring day, and the third anniversary of my enlistment. The table was provided with an abundance of game from the neighborhood; oysters, fish and turtle from the James and York rivers, and set off with silver spoons and plate loaned for the occasion by a lady in the vicinity. The darky servants helped themselves so liberally to the silverware that it cost me a large sum to send North and
202	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
replace it. It was the most extravagant thing in the bill of entertainment.
In one of my scouts north of the York River, our command was made up of detachments, some from the Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry. We pushed up to West Point capturing a few of the enemy's scouts, and on our return, halted at night within twelve miles of Yorktown, at a collection of deserted wooden buildings, in a clearing in the forest, known as Belroy. The usual pickets were sent out, but being so near to our base, horses were unsaddled, fires kindled and preparations made for a night of repose. In looking about for a place to sleep, I discovered Lieutenant R. lying on a door which had been wrenched off one of the buildings and placed alongside the back steps, partly over an open cellar-way. The lieutenant, a very large and heavy man, was sound asleep close to the steps, and there was just space enough left on the door for me. I laid down and went to sleep on it. About midnight, the rebels, evading our pickets, surrounded our camp, and poured a volley from the woods into the midst of our men lying around the camp fires. At the first discharge the lieutenant bounded to his feet and I, followed by the door, went several feet to the bottom of the cellar. The situation did not seem so ludicrous at first as it did afterward : for the shock occurring when I was sound asleep, the first impression, coming with the rattle of musketry, was, that a shell had blown me all to pieces, and I could not say whether the accident had occurred in Maine or New Zealand. I was soon on my feet, however, though still dazed, and rushing out helped the men to kick out the fires. We were lively, and soon drove the enemy away. We discovered that the picket toward Yorktown had been surprised and captured, and as we charged in pursuit, the rebels fired upon their disarmed prisoners and fled. Two of the prisoners, belonging to the Eleventh, were killed and others wounded. Their comrades swore vengeance.
In the morning, I had charge of the advance guard and sent out flankers to the right and left of the road to sweep
MEMOIRS OF SETH =AND.	203
the woods. I soon heard firing on our left, and galloping over, found two rebels on their knees begging for mercy while the men of the Eleventh were remorselessly firing their revolvers at them. One of the rebels was falling forward as I gave the command to cease firing; the other seeing me, rushed to my side extended his arms and screamed for me to save him. " Oh ! Mr. officer, save my life ! I will take the oath, I will do anything. Oh ! save me! " I can hear his piercing appeal, still. He was already several times wounded, before, by the most energetic action, I could compel the frenzied men to stop shooting. I ordered him removed to the ambulance. He was a mere youth, a bushwhacker it is true, and the men had found him and his companion with shot-guns in their hands running through the woods away from our column. The bushwhackers were cousins and on the body of the dead one was found a letter from a young lady upbraiding him for not joining his regiment. The youth died in hospital. The tragedy profoundly impressed me as showing the horrors of irregular warfare and retaliation.
When the army of the James changed its base of operations to Bermuda Hundred our regiment accompanied it, with the exception of my company and another, which were sent to Williamsburg, and I was appointed provost-marshal of that city.
CHAPTER XX.
Sumptuous Head quarters—General Dix's Threat—Historic Ground —Scouting in the Path of Captain John Smith—Revolutionary Relics—The Mansion of Governor Page—Discovery of Valuable Autographic Letters — Jefferson's Correspondence with Page—Washington's Rent Receipts — Treasures for Historians and Biographers.
THE head-quarters of the provost-marshal in Williamsburg were in the spacious mansion known as the Vest House, a comparatively new brick building with modern improvements, situated on the main street nearly opposite the spot where the capitol of the Old Dominion had stood. The elegant and luxurious furniture had remained undisturbed, owing to the fact that the house had been continuously occupied as head-quarters, first by Generals Johnston and Magruder before the battle of Williamsburg, by General McClellan after that battle, and by successive provost-marshals since.
Beside the inhabitants I have elsewhere described, there were more than three hundred inmates of the State Lunatic Asylum. A provost-marshal before me had been captured in his bed during a raid by General Wise: whereupon General Dix had notified the Confederate authorities that he occupied Williamsburg solely as a matter of humanity toward the unfortunates confined in the asylum, and not for strategic purposes, his real military line being at Fort Magruder—a mile below; and that in the event of another raid upon the city he should abandon it and cast upon the Confederate government the responsibility of leaving so large a number of helpless beings without food or medical treatment. This threat produced considerable effect, for during my period of service there, no serious
MEMOIRS OF SETH =AND.	205
attacks were made upon our lines about the city, though the enemy's scouts under command of Lieutenant Hume were always active in our front and we frequently encountered them.
In scouting, I often sought to take the route I imagined would be naturally chosen by Captain John Smith in his famous excursions toward the Chickahominy in quest of Indian kings and princesses. One day, far in the shades of the forest we came upon a lonely tombstone which bore a date coeval with Jamestown's early settlement and which was inscribed to the memory of one who had been " killed near this spot by Indians."
Wilson, the rebel deserter, had been retained as a guide by General Butler after the brilliant affair at Charles City, and he was ordered to report to me for duty at Williamsburg. He married there, and lived in a house on the main street provided with a rear ladder-escape to be used in case of surprise. He never had my full confidence, and I gave orders to the provost guard to secretly keep watch of his movements.
Nearly all the residences in town, that had not been entirely deserted by their inhabitants after the battle of Williamsburg, were unmolested by our troops. The presence of even one servant would almost certainly save a dwelling from hostile visitation, and we all know how strict McClellan was in protecting private property ; but those that were entirely abandoned had been more or less despoiled. This was notably the case with the ancient mansion of Governor John Page, situated on the Bowling Green, near the remains of the colonial palace of Lord Dunmore. It had been a stately, handsomely-furnished relic of the pre-Revolutionary period and in its parlors Washington had executed a minuet and La Fayette had saluted a partner in the dance. It had contained a library scarcely surpassed in value by any other private library then in the United States. Page, who belonged to the Revolutionary epoch, was at one time Governor of Virginia; a personal friend of Wash-
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ington; a school-mate and intimate associate of Jefferson ; a true patriot and one of the ruling political spirits of his age and country. He seems to have been the confidential friend and adviser of many of the more active progenitors of the Revolution.
I was told that the occupants of the Page mansion were at dinner when the battle of Williamsburg began, and that in their haste to get away, they left the house without even a servant to take charge of the premises, and a portion of costly dining-plate remained upon the table. The invaders ransacked the house from cellar to roof ; there was no one to ask McClellan to protect it. I have never looked upon a more deplorable picture of the ravages of war than when standing amid the litter of half destroyed books, papers and documents on the floor of the Governor's library. Shattered marble busts and statuary, fragments of ornamented book-cases, heaps of old engravings, loose manuscripts, vellum bound volumes, torn files of precious colonial newspapers, bills of lading and commercial correspondence, pieces of window glass and crushed stucco, mixed with straw and mud, on every side. Hundreds of heavy-booted and spurred cavalrymen had played foot-ball with everything of value in the house.
When I took command, I placed a guard in front of the house and forbade all intrusion. Upon my first visit I picked up a bound volume of the Virginia Gazette, the first Virginia newspaper, containing files of 1776 and 1777; a rare old folio edition of Shakespeare's plays, and a copy of the book written by Captain John Smith, giving a general history of his explorations in Virginia, with a queer map of the territory and water ways, drawn by himself, and published in London in 1624. These relics I carried to head-quarters where they attracted the attention of my numerous visitors — principally officers from the command stationed at Fort Magruder. The files of the Virginia Gazette were of great interest and value. I recall a letter they contained from Boston, describing
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	207
an incident at a theatre during the investment of that place. Some one entered the theater during a performance and shouted " The Red-coats are coming" and immediately the audience arose in great consternation and left the house without ceremony. These files disappeared from my quarters and a long and close search to discover who had taken them was fruitless. The Shakespeare was given to some officer who fancied it. So was Captain Smith's very rare work. The same copy, or another of the same edition, recently sold in New York for a sum a little above a thousand dollars. I regarded these relics with less value at that time because they could not be carried about, and a soldier must be prepared to move at any moment. Indeed, they could possess but a momentary interest to those who were almost constantly in the saddle and facing death every day. Few of my visitors appreciated their true value.
Among these few was the acting assistant adjutant-general at the fort—Lieutenant B., a graduate of Brown University, Rhode Island. One Sunday morning he called and asked permission to explore the Page mansion and I accompanied him there. We first inspected the library, and passing through various rooms ascended to the garret. Here, the floor was cumbered with such a mass of dusty manuscripts, letters and packets of papers, that we could only turn them over with our boots like our barbarous predecessors; occasionally picking up something of interest, as, for instance, an autograph of some well known public man. In the course of our examination I seated myself upon an old pine box that had been tipped over upon its spilled contents, to read a couple of interesting letters signed by Meriwether Smith, a member of the Continental Congress from Virginia, dated in Philadelphia about 1778 and giving an account of the foreign relations of the United Colonies. I turned the box over and picked up a packet of receipts for rent of houses in Williamsburg all signed " Geo. Washington." There were about thirty of them. It seems Governer Page was his agent in collecting the
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rents of these houses. I called my companion's attention to these, and to the heap of letters emptied from the box, and we went to work, discovering a rich mine of historic ore.
I found a thick packet of letters from Thos. Jefferson to Page, dating from his school-boy days at William and Mary College, down to the close of Governor Page's life. Some were written while Jefferson was American ambassador in Paris. One, I remember, spoke of an eloquent English chaplain whom he had listened to there and, he added, that could he believe in Christian creeds, this eloquent divine would convert him. Another described an invention by an ingenious Frenchman for striking fire. It consisted of a pine stick inserted in a glass tube, containing some chemical compound, and if the stick were withdrawn quickly it would ignite—evidently the germ of the modern friction match.
Other letters gave Page confidential glimpses of Jefferson's courtship, and some of these letters had been copied in Tucker's Life of Jefferson."
We found besides, many other letters equally interesting and precious. One from Count Pulaski offering his services to the State of Virginia; several from Richard Henry Lee, one announcing the capture of Major-General Charles Lee and the suspicions aroused by it; two or three from Martha Washington to Mrs. Page; numbers from Madison, Arthur Lee, Peyton Randolph and other of the most prominent characters of the Revolution; besides, manuscript minutes of the secret sessions of the Continental Congress, covering forty or fifty pages, containing memoranda of a debate on the adoption of the American flag.
It was night-fall before we left the house with our bundles of treasure. Stopping at my quarters, we sought to make an equitable division of letters and autographs, I giving him half of my Jefferson letters for half of his letters from the Lees, and so forth; but I knew he was situated where he could better preserve them and I was very liberal in the division.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	209
The rain falling through the dilapidated roof of the old building where these relics were found, was fast destroying the papers in the dusty garret, and on the following day the lieutenant sent to town an army wagon accompanied by a few infantrymen with shovels. The litter of the garret was loaded in the wagon and conveyed to the fort, where there were several ladies who assisted in carefully looking over the miscellaneous mass. Many more letters of value were discovered, but active duties prevented my taking further interest in the matter. For reasons already stated, the letters I had obtained, as my share, disappeared rapidly. Visitors begged them; but feeling that I had no actual property right in them, all I cared for was that they should be preserved for purposes of history, and I gave the bulk of them to Lieutenant B. who intended to present the whole collection to the Rhode Island Historical Society, where they doubtless are at this date.
14
CHAPTER XXI.
Two Escaped Union Prisoners—Perilous Adventures—Governing a City—Scouting dismounted—A Lady Spy—Line Day—Obtaining Richmond Newspapers—A Belle's Dreadful Fall—The Last of the ChickahomMies—Iudiau Tactics—Attempts to capture a Rebel Scout.
ONE morning, the provost guard brought me two Union officers who had escaped from prison in Richmond. They were in a terrible condition: weak, emaciated, covered with mud and nearly barefooted. One was a major of the 132d New York, and to my surprise he called me by name and recognized me as an old acquaintance whom he had known in Suffolk. When he related the circumstances of meeting me I remembered them, but I could see nothing in the pinched and woe-begone features of the man before me to remind me of any one I had ever seen before. The other officer was a lieutenant of the Third New Jersey Cavalry. His boots were full of round holes and through each of these holes, which he had made with a knife, protruded an ugly sore. His sufferings on his long walk from Richmond may be left to the imagination. They had been nine days on their way, and cruelest of all their mishaps, they had arrived in sight of our videttes the night before, and mistaking them for rebels had turned back and trudged several miles away until they met an old negro who told them of their mistake.
A light breakfast of bread and butter and coffee made them wild with delight—the coffee especially—even the smelling of it, affording them the keenest enjoyment.
Their escape was ingeniously contrived. They were both taken ill in prison and removed to the hospital where they first met each other and formed their plans. When
31E110I1?S OF SETH EYLAND.	211
convalescent they managed to gradually trade off their good uniforms to the hospital guards and attendants for inferior Confederate dress. This was done piece at a time and the lieutenant had finally acquired a full suit of gray, wearing only the pantaloons and hiding the coat in his bed. The major had everything but a coat. He noticed, one day, that the coat of the attending surgeon was torn in one of the sleeves, and informing him that he was a tailor by trade, offered to mend it whenever it was convenient for the surgeon to leave it. The surgeon took it off at once and was to call and get it later in the evening. Just at nightfall, according to a pre-arranged plan, the major in the surgeon's coat, and with a cup and spoon in his hand called in a loud tone to the lieutenant to " come along" and he would mix his medicine. They passed the guard in the twilight at the hospital door, without detection, and in a very short time were outside of Richmond. They walked all night and in the morning discovered to their dismay that they were in sight of the city not far from the point where they had left it, having walked completely around it. They ran for some distance and secreted themselves by the side of the road where they remained all day hearing several troops of cavalry passing at a gallop. At night they made another attempt to leave the city behind them and about dawn met a colored field-hand who gave them cornbread and directed them to the Williamsburg turnpike. They traveled through woods for many miles, but becoming footsore and hungry the following day, and espying a house away from the main road, they took the risk of visiting it. They found an old man and woman within and introduced themselves as Confederate officers attached to the force at Charles City Court-house, the major passing, himself off as Major Robinson who, the darky had informed him, had command there. They were invited to dinner by the old couple and of course did not spare their appetites. The old man, however, grew unsociable and began to ask many suspicious questions, and at last the maior asked him if he doubted them. He frankly admitted
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that he did, because, he explained, that he had always supposed that black bands around the coat-sleeves denoted the rank of surgeon and not of major. This was a poser at first, but the major coolly replied: " You are right ; but majors and surgeons hold the same relative rank and I was obliged to put on the black bands because my cuffs were very much worn, and gray cloth is very scarce and expensive in Richmond." After dinner the major boldly said: "If you still have doubts about us, come with us back to our command." The old man quietly put on his hat and accompanied them. After walking a short distance from the house the suspicious veteran stopped suddenly, began to scratch his head in an embarrassed way—and then inquired if they were armed. " Of course," growled the major, " I have a pistol and he has a knife." After a mo-
ment's silence the old man turned away.	I was only
joking, gentlemen: just to try you. There are so many of those confounded Yankees about that we have to be a little suspicious." They moved on rapidly as soon as he was out of sight, and taking the main road reached a cleared country. But their worst adventure was to come. They had not proceeded far from the woods when they heard, close behind them, the tramping sound of approaching cavalry and running to a swamp as fast as they could, they jumped into the mud up to their necks and covered their heads with the long bog grass. The cavalry halted in their neighborhood and searched about, coming very close to their place of concealment, and they could overhear that their late host had minutely described them. They remained in the mud the rest of the day, and said that instead of absorbing any moisture from it, it seemed to absorb all the blood there was in them, and they came out of it at night-fall so feeble and famished that they could walk no farther than the woods, where they slept that night and the rest of the way was traveled very slowly, as I have related.
The several months during which I was provost-marshal of Williamsburg formed the pleasantest, as well as the most arduous, period of my military service. A young, ambi-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	213
tious officer could scarcely have been more agreeably placed. I had the confidence of the commanding officer at Fort Magruder, Colonel Steere of Rhode Island, who gave me a command far beyond my rank.
I was governed by these general instructions: First—Keep order in the city ; Second—Watch the movements of the rebel scouts in our front; and Third—Give timely notice of the approach of any large body of the enemy. For the government of the city, for it always received its title of " city," though so sparsely inhabited, I had immediately under my direction a provost-guard of infantry consisting of a sergeant and twenty-nine men. They were stationed immediately opposite head-quarters and were always within call by the sentry who patrolled in front of my door. To carry out the second and third part of these orders, I had charge of the picket line around the city and could, at any time, go scouting toward Richmond with two companies of cavalry and two of infantry. I generally preferred, however, to take selected dismounted cavalrymen from my own company, and I made an average of two expeditions a week, according to information brought me by deserters, refugees or contrabands, or by my faithful spy, who was a lady living about fifteen miles up the Richmond road. She was shrewd, zealous and perfectly trustworthy, having a brother in the Union navy. I kept two excellent horses, two negro servants and a table abundantly supplied from the market held at the lines every Wednesday—which was called " Line Day." On this day people living in front of our lines were allowed to come in with farm produce and trade with the inhabitants. At first, the people, chiefly ladies, were permitted to mingle freely, but detecting many attempts to pass letters and other prohibited articles, such as bonnets and shoes, I was obliged to stretch parallel
wires, attached to stakes, across the road, and between these watchful sentries paced to and fro. Bargaining was
done across the wires. During the watermelon season the lady outside who gave me information and who always appeared on " Line Day," secreted her news in a plugged
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melon which she indicated by resting the point of her parasol upon it. I purchased and handed it to an orderly who took it to head-quarters, where, after talking with several other outside ladies, so as not to show suspicious partiality, I followed him. The melon usually contained the latest Richmond papers which were immediately forwarded to head-quarters at Fort Magruder and thence to Fortress Monroe where the telegraph transmitted their most important items to the press of the Union.
Away from the main street the city was irregularly shaped having been originally laid out by Governor Nicholson, in 1698, in the form of a W and M in honor of King William and Queen Mary, but this plan was partly abandoned with a very heterogeneous result, rendering the little suburbs at night difficult of careful patrol. It was known that the enemy's scouts occasionally visited their friends in town by crawling between our outposts, and Lieutenant Hume, my opponent in the field, politely sent me word that he had passed me dismounted on the street, one evening, near bead-quarters.
My cook was a well bred mulatto woman, who, with her husband, inhabited a neatly furnished cottage, near the College grounds, where I took my meals and seldom dined without invited guests, generally officers from the fort. I noticed occasionally, in riding up to the house a gray-headed white woman who invariably fled at my approach. One day, I asked the cook who the white woman was. She replied much to my astonishment : " My mother." A citizen of the place afterward told me her eventful history. She was once one of the belles of Williamsburg and married a professor in the College. After the birth of the girl, who was my cook, the husband left for parts unknown and his wife was compelled to take up her abode among negroes, an outcast forever afterward.
A little colored boy of unusual intelligence and activity came into our lines one day from the region of the lower Chickahominy. I hired him as a servant and he remained with me, ever ready and faithful, to the close of the war.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	2l5
He was three fourths Indian. I learned through inquiries made in the neighborhood where he was born, that he and his sister held title to a tract of land in the upper Peninsula, formerly the reservation of the Chickahominy Indians, and that he was in fact the last male heir of that once numerous and powerful tribe. As a servant be was especially adapted to the exigencies of war times, as unlike the ordinary negro, he was a light sleeper, prompt and alert, and at headquarters vigilance was always necessary to avoid the ridiculous fate of an official predecessor who had been captured in bed in the same house.
I engaged in several attempts to capture Lieutenant Hume and twice almost succeeded—capturing some of his men and driving him from one sequestered retreat in the wilderness to another. I was obliged to resort to many stratagems to conceal my preparations for a movement from the people in the city, who, in various ways, all of which were impossible to detect, managed to keep up a correspondence with their friends—the scouts outside. I broke up a system of signaling with lights placed in windows visible from tall trees in the forest near the city. On " Line Day " the outside ladies smuggled letters through in cakes of butter, and inside of dressed poultry or stuffed in vegetables. Once my men detected a town lady exchanging sun-bonnets with another from the country, and interrupting the trade, discovered a little mail in the linings, one of the letters giving details about the movements of our command. There was one plan adopted to secure mail facilities difficult to terminate. At night the rebel scouts would fire upon an d drive back an isolated vidette, and after leaving a mail in some secret spot within the lines, already agreed upon, they would decamp before the reserve could reach the point of attack.
In going on scouting expeditions, I usually selected twelve or fifteen tried and faithful men, among whom were Sergeants Briggs, Turner, G-erehart, and Beakes, and Corporals Dunn and Nation, and left the town secretly at night, on foot, keeping within the woods, as much as pos•
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sible, until we arrived at our destination. With our breech-loading rifles we always felt ourselves a match for double our number. On the night march we avoided the middle of the white sandy roads, the men in single file following me as silent as Indians. We used two signals, one an imitation of the whistle of a quail, the other the note of the whip-poor-will. At the sound of the former, which denoted the appearance of an enemy, we laid flat in the grass beside the road and awaited his approach—and moved on at the other signal. In effect, we adopted the general tactics and precautions of our opponents, the bushwhackers. If, by accident, we encountered any exempt citizen or darky, we compelled him to go with us, releasing him upon our return to the lines; but generally we could trust a colored field hand, though house servants were often treacherous. To show how necessary these precautions were ; we were crawling in the grass across a meadow, one morning, to avoid traveling a long distance around through the woods, when one of the men last over, raised his head to look about. There was but one house visible and that was a long distance off, and yet so vigilant were the inhabitants that a woman in that house saw him, and then the rest of us, as we rose to our feet, near the edge of the woods. She defeated the object of the expedition by conveying the news of our presence to Hume, and she laughingly told me of it the next " Line Day," comparing us to so many " medder moles."
Very early one morning I arrived at the house of a planter eighteen miles from our lines where I had heard that Hume was stopping. I searched the house and premises without finding him. In passing a negro hut I looked within and seeing some one in bed asked an old auntie, sitting at the door, who it was. She replied, " That's my ole man, massa ; if you don't believe me come right in and see." But I was satisfied with her natural assurances, and did not go in. I learned afterward that it was Hume himself.
CHAPTER XXII.
The Rules of Civilized Warfare—A Wounded Confederate Officer—Bitter Female Rebels—Ordered beyond the Lines—Six Remarkable Shots—Scouting at Night—Conciliatory Refreshments.
A UNION infantryman, an unarmed straggler from Grant's army, then fighting north of Richmond, was killed by one of Hume's men after he had surrendered—and under extremely brutal circumstances. The deed was committed in front of a planter's house near Burnt Ordinary and was witnessed by several lathes sitting on the veranda. The rebel demanded his prisoner's money ; the latter pleaded to retain it, but finally put his hand in his pocket to deliver it, when the scout shot him through the body. Only one of the ladies betrayed any feelings of ordinary humanity and she ventured out to the roadside and received the expiring man's last words. He gave her his wife's address in Brooklyn, N.Y. and said that the money, quite a large sum, which the scout had taken, he had saved up to send his family. I was ordered to thoroughly investigate the case and should I find the facts as stated, to burn the planter's house. I appeared there at midnight with a dozen men. Arousing the inmates, I made a careful inquiry of all the circumstances, requiring the witnesses, who consisted of four or five young ladies and an old man, to testify under oath. There was rather an effective scene in the dimly lighted drawing-room. A few non-commissioned officers, all with becoming gravity, sat around a table forming a sort of court-martial, and the reluctant witnesses, pale with secret alarm, though outwardly haughty and defiant, replied cautiously to polite, though searching and solemn questions. Outside, the men stood watching against surprise. I soon satisfied myself that th3
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ladies, though avowed and bitter secessionists, did not altogether approve the murder, and that they had no time to interfere before it was done. However, I thought a " good scare" would tend to prevent future incidents of the kind, and accordingly, assuming the cruel air of a pirate, I told them my orders were to burn the house. They shrieked and raved so loudly that I was sorry I had said it. One of them finally came towards me, and drying her tears, and putting on the lofty mien of a Minerva, declared that if I burned the house I should be " guilty of violating the rules of civilized warfare." Quite willing to be convinced of this by so fair a pleader, I inquired how that could be when the inmates of the house had exhibited such inhumanity toward a wounded and dying soldier. " Because this house is a hospital," she exclaimed triumphantly, and asked me to follow them up stairs. There I found a rebel lieutenant in bed, terribly wounded and apparently in the throes of death. A bullet had passed through his jaws, another through his shoulder, and another had shattered his arm. He had been brought there in a conveyance from the battle-field of Cold Harbor. His presence, of course, was ample excuse for exercising the discretion allowed me by my orders, and I quietly withdrew. Shortly afterward, hearing the lieutenant was still alive, I sent out an ambulance under escort and had him brought into our lines for more skillful surgical treatment, and eventually, he recovered. He was a native of Williamsburg where I permitted him to rest for a few days, and where his presence evoked much ostentatious sympathy for the Confederate cause on the part of the ladies of the city.
In my relations with the inhabitants of the place, I made it a rule never to visit their dwellings or interfere with them in any way, except in the performance of duty —granting any reasonable favor within my power. A provost-marshal before me had been guilty of many petty acts of despotism, going so far as to arouse families in their residences at any hour of the night, searching, even under the beds, for articles contraband of war—in one
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	219
instance for harness—and I sought to remove some of the prejudices he had meanly created.
There were several aged citizens who had been accustomed all their lives to a morning dram, and it was easy to win their good will by welcoming them to the hospitalities of head-quarters where refreshment in the shape of " Commissary" warmed the cockles of their old hearts and provoked interesting and brilliant conversation, extending back to subjects connected with the early days of our Republic. They were all gentlemen of the old school: one of them, an old physician, was the son of the last President of the Continental Congress and a nephew of General Hugh Mercer who was killed in the Revolutionary battle of Princeton. He pointed out to me many historical landmarks in Williamsburg: among them the site of the old Raleigh Tavern, the colonial powder magazine, and the old building which, according to tradition, Cornwallis had occupied as head-quarters previous to the siege of Yorktown.
I made another and nearly successful attempt to capture Hume and his men while they were attending a ball in the house of a sociable widow, twenty miles away. I had reduced scouting to some sort of system. By killing all the watch-dogs in our front during my first expeditions we could afterward move silently and swiftly by night, resting in the woods by day. Late at night, we reached the mansion of the widow, where the rebel scouts were whirling in gay enjoyment of the dance. The windows were brightly illuminated and we could hear the sweet sounds of revelry as we spread apart and quietly marched forward to surround the house. Unfortunately, one of my nervous men, there always has to be one or two such in a company, stumbled in the darkness and his piece was acci dentally discharged. We made a swift rush, but before we could reach the rear of the building the rebels escaped, helter-skelter through the back door, leaving their arms and accouterments with their partners in the dance who were nearly frightened out of their wits. They admitted that the wily Hume was one of the guests. After destroy-
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ing the arms, and apologizing for our intrusion, we bade them a formal good-night.
While riding near William and Mary College, one day, my attention was attracted to the peculiar actions of the vidette on the Jamestown road, and going up to him I learned that he was watching a rebel who was prowling about in the underbrush a short distance away and who had suddenly concealed himself. He pointed out a brown spot amid the brush and withered leaves and said he believed it was the rebel lying close to the ground. One of my men, named Gibbs, an expert shot, happened to be with the reserve, and I called him. After shouting to the rebel several times to jump up and surrender, Gibbs opened fire with his revolver, aiming at the little brown patch in the distant underbush. At the sixth shot the fellow jumped up and yelled that he surrendered. He came limping in toward us and proved to be a German who could speak but little English. After cross-questioning, I was strongly inclined to believe him a deserter from our side who had procured Confederate uniform and returned. There was blood on his wrist and ear where he had been slightly hit, and on further examining him we found altogether six different flesh wounds, none of them serious, and he was quite able to walk to Fort Magruder. Gibbs had hit him each time he fired.
One of the most irreconcilable ladies in the city—a Mrs. X. took especial pains to show her contempt for " Yankees," by insultingly taunting our men in the street, and twice she stopped me on the sidewalk and gave me a severe scolding for not permitting supplies to come in from her plantation, several miles beyond our lines, except on " Line Day." Some of the men were so incensed by her stinging remarks that once, during my absence at Fortress Monroe, they attempted to burn her house. Finally she became so obnoxious that I was ordered to send her outside, to her plantation; for her own safety as well as an example to others. After formally notifying h►er of the order and providing an escort with wagons for the removal
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	221
of her household effects, I managed to have conveyed to her, without her suspecting that it came from me, an intimation that all her trunks and effects would be closely searched to discover articles contraband of war. On the day appointed for her departure, the escort and wagons were drawn up in front of her residence on the Bowling Green where were assembled the creme of Williamsburg society who had come prepared to witness an exhibition of " Yankee meanness." They gave me disdainful glances as I dismounted and entered the hall, where her trunks were all packed, and many followed and crowded about to watch a display of tyranny. I raised the lid of one of her trunks and inquired if she would give me her word of honor, as a lady, that there was nothing contraband in it. She declared, solemnly, there was not, and I dropped the lid, locked it and gave her the key. I did the same with the other trunks and boxes and then ordered their removal. The company were greatly disappointed and some, doubtless, felt even outraged at the mildness of my behavior. I supposed, of course, that this woman would always hate me. Strange to say, I met her in the streets of Richmond shortly after its surrender and she shook hands with me cordially, declaring she was " so glad " the war was over, and deploring the death of President Lincoln, who, she reiterated, was the best friend the South had possessed. I could scarcely recall in her altered ladylike manner and changed sentiments, the same scolding, irrepressible, bitter female I had seen on the rampage in the streets of Williamsburg, and I looked upon her sudden and complete conversion as one of the happiest auguries for the speedy reconstruction of the South.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The State Lunatic Asylum—Odd Phases of Insanity—Theories verified—Insane on the Subject of Negroes—The Case of "General Francis Marion "—How he was cured—His Escape to Richmond.
OF the more than three hundred patients in the State Lunatic Asylum at Williamsburg, about twenty were so harmless as to be allowed, at times, the liberty of the streets. Dr. Wager, the surgeon in charge, was formerly a lieutenant in the United States navy and a man of scientific tastes and attainments. He had made insanity the subject of long and close study and he imparted to me some of his theories concerning the causes of certain kinds of dementia, and illustrated them by pointing out and describing various cases, on my visits to the institution. One theory, now a common one, was, that insanity is often caused by an exhaustion of the gray matter of the brain through prolonged cerebral excitement of any kind: especially long-continued sleeplessness which invariably produces sonic disorder of the mind.
I was surprised at the large number of patients in the Asylum, classed as monomaniacs. One had been a distinguished physician and a writer upon medical themes, and he was apparently rational upon all topics save one—he could not be prevailed upon to wear pantaloons, but preferred red flannel drawers. Opposition to this whim would render him extremely violent. He read the New York journals which I sometimes sent him, with great eagerness, and talked of the progress of the war clearly and intelligently. Another, also a physician, who was allowed the freedom of the street, and who visited my quarters very often, was an amiable and well informed old gentleman whose mania was directed toward negroes. We were unable to detect in his conversation any hallucinations upon
MEMOIRS OF SE7H EYLAND.	223
Dther subjects: and he readily and freely related the history of his own case. He said that several years before, he had inherited about twenty slaves and left his home in Maryland to go with them to Mississippi and sell them. They fetched good prices and the aggregate was a large sum of money which he lost, on his way returning, at the gambling table. Upon his arrival home he was aware, and admitted, that his mind was slightly disordered and solicited a medical investigation. " But" (and here he would betray evident signs of insanity), "had I known that they were going to consign me to an asylum where there are none but negro servants, I would have concealed my infirmity. Just think ! I caught a negro this morning trying to steal my sugar by inserting a straw through the keyhole."
And yet the man with such morbid illusions occasionally uttered sentences worthy of a rational phraseologist, some of which, by their iteration, left a lasting impression upon me. This he frequently repeated: " We should pray for intellectual clearness and quieting thoughts." Again he would abruptly say : " Just think of it ! The rest of the people in the world are all poor creatures, just like ourselves." And again: "There is no happiness nor misery beyond our skull bones."
The Asylum afforded the usual number of patients who directed their disordered thoughts upon the science of ballooning and perpetual motion. Many were afflicted with chronic melancholia.
One of the patients furnished a memorable confirmation of the gray-matter theory. He appeared to be rational upon everything relating to the universe except himself—fur he was " General Francis Marion of the Revolutionary Army" and he did not desire any one to overlook his military status. Diverted to other topics, his mind seemed to have a tolerably clear grasp and he often discoursed with much shrewd common sense. He was unusually tall and well proportioned, with a military step and bearing: and decorated with blooming roses in his button-holes and hat,
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he would parade the streets with a strut of self-consequence only likely to be attained, after long practice, by full major-generals. During the season of gathering chicka-pins, a nut like the hazel, I gave him passes to go below our lines and gather them. He returned punctually at sunset, because I told him that full major-generals were always punctual, and surrendering his pass, would invariably announce the exact number of chickapins in his basket, for he counted them all day long as he picked them, one by one, from the bushes. This pastime lasted some weeks. One evening he did not return and we did not see him again. A few days afterward one of the Richmond papers, brought to our lines, contained the report of an interview with a gentleman, just arrived from Williamsburg, who gave a very intelligent account of military affairs in the town and also details of the management of the Lunatic Asylum. The gentleman was undoubtedly our " General Marion," and Dr. Wager sent by flag of truce, a note to the editor of the paper, relating the patient's manner of escape. The doctor declared it his firm belief that the " General," by devoting so many weeks to the counting of chickapins, had given his mind so much rest that the gray matter of the brain had accumulated and restored him to sanity—that in fact, he was, in some degree, if not completely, cured, when he took his departure. Ordinarily, his reference to military affairs would not have been possible without immediately preferring his claim of being " General Francis Marion of the Revolutionary Army," and had he mentioned that delusion a newspaper reporter would have stopped taking notes. Nothing came of the flag of truce letter.
Since my experience with the patients in Williamsburg, I have always taken a deep interest in the subject of insanity and have not neglected opportunities to visit institutions established to treat it. The modern method of treating it as a purely physical disease now receives almost universal support, and the " gray-matter" theory, though still held in dispute, is verified in many cases, and is likely, at last, to be fully demonstrated.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Visit to the Front at Petersburg—Butler's Dispatch from Stan-ton—A Wrathful Interview with Butler—Under Close Arrest—Liscard's Tyrannical Treatment—What President Lincoln said of Butler.
I HAD not seen my regiment, which was engaged in the movements about Petersburg under General Butler, for months. The General was finally " bottled up" as described by Grant; and as all was quiet in front of our lines at Williamsburg, I chose the occasion to apply for a five days' leave of absence and visited my regiment at Bermuda Hundred. I enjoyed meeting my old companions, listening to their various experiences; their views of the campaign, and of the prospects of ending the war. On my return to take the boat down the river James, I met on the landing Colonel D. who was the quartermaster of the post, and whom I had known well when he was a lieutenant in Suffolk. The boat did not leave until late in the evening and he invited me to dinner. He also invited Captain C., a rotund, surly-looking fellow, to whom I was introduced for the first time. At the table conversation turned upon the general subject of the war and the dreary inactivity or inefficiency of General Butler. I had that day heard Lieutenant S. one of the officers of our regiment who held a subordinate position on Butler's staff, say to a number of dissatisfied officers who were discussing the same subject, that Butler had received a dispatch from the Secretary of War asking him impatiently, " What he was doing and why he didn't do something." Feeling as free as I would in my own camp, I thoughtlessly repeated the statement. Immediately Captain C. shouted that whoever told me so was a liar. I was astonished by his
15
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abrupt insolence, and rising excitedly from the table, I declared that the officer who made the statement was a
friend of mine, on Butler's staff; that I would not permit
him to be called a liar, and that Captain C. must take it back. He replied without hesitation that he would recall
the word " liar" but that he would report the matter to General Butler. Colonel D. here interfered, and told Captain C. that if he took advantage of a private conversation, at a private dinner-party of gentlemen, to report it, that he was no longer a friend of his—and we left the table.
I returned to Williamsburg, and was so pre-occupied with my duties that the affair at the dinner-table entirely disappeared from my mind. I went out on several scouting expeditions, had a skirmish, captured five men and a number of horses and was complimented for my activity and success by the commanding officer at Fort Magruder. One afternoon, I returned from a long and wearisome excursion toward the Chickahominy, and before I had opportunity of rest, I received a telegram ordering me to report in person, and immediately, at General Butler's head-quarters. I had so far forgotten the incident at Colonel D.'s dinner-table, that it never once occured to me in connection with the order; but I very vainly supposed that the reports of my services in front of Williamsburg had aroused recognition from the commanding general, and visions of promotion came uppermost in my mind. On the way up the river, in the steamer, I fell in with Captain S. a member of General Butler's numerous staff, whom I knew, and we passed much of the time together, very agreeably. Not until I arrived at the boat landing at Bermuda Hundred, did I experience the cold chill of doubt and suspicion. I remembered Captain C.'s threat of turning informer, and knowing General Butler's arbitrary character, I comprehended, at once, that I was in a perilous position, and that my period of future service was likely to be limited. In fact, I was not long in making up my mind that I was to be dismissed summarily, and I determined to make the
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	227
best of it. I was in full uniform when I made my appearance, about sunset before the door of the General's stately pavilion-tent and was formally announced. Generals Baldy Smith and Gillmore were seated with Butler in conversation. The commander-in-chief of the Army of the James looked up at me in a pleasant way and remarked : "Ah, captain, I am very happy to see you, and sorry to call you from such a distance." His bland manner did not impose upon me, for I had heard of his peculiar ways, and I stood erect, steadily facing him. He picked up a piece of paper from the table before him and appeared to be read-
ing. He said: " On the night of the	instant you took
dinner with Colonel D. and Captain C. at Bermuda Hundred." I replied in the affirmative. Glancing at the two generals he continued: " In the course of conversation at the dinner-table, did you make the remark that you had heard one of my staff-officers say that I had received a dispatch from the Secretary of War asking me what I was doing, why I wasn't doing something, and if I never intended to do anything?" This was something more than I had said, but, in the course I had marked out, I could not falter for trifles, and I answered firmly : " Yes, sir." " Then," said he, " all I called you here for was to learn the name of the officer who told you." To this, I replied that the remark was not made to me personally, but in the presence of several other officers, and that at the time, I regarded it as mere camp gossip, like other reports that were constantly afloat; and that while the remark was not made to me confidentially, I thought that under all the circumstances it would be unbecoming to divulge the officer's name. I admitted that it was a question of sentiment. "Ah !" said the general in his mildest tones: " I by no means blame you, captain, for repeating this remark : I should very likely have repeated it myself in your position : but you are aware that it is necessary for me to know what officer there is on my staff whom I cannot trust. Therefore I shall have to know his name." This, certainly, seemed a very just argument, and had I not been fully convinced that it
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would make no difference in the result of my case, whether I told him or not, it might have persuaded me. I remained silent. Finally he repeated: " I desire his name! Do you refuse to give me his name?" Looking him steadily in the eye I answered, " I do, sir!" Then his suave and benign manner suddenly left him: he shook himself with rage, and uttering a huge oath, that I will not sully this page with, called aloud for Captain S. (the same with whom I had traveled up the river) and when he appeared told him I was under close arrest and must not be permitted to hold conversation with any one, except Captain S., himself. A guard was called, who marched behind me to the captain's tent and then paced in front of it. Of course the rules and articles of war were somewhat stretched to justify close arrest under such circumstances, but General Butler on many occasions, before and after this one, showed himself superior to the printed regulations of the army.
Captain S. was astonished to find me in such a position, and inquired the cause. I told him all, frankly. He neither approved nor disapproved the course I had taken, nor did I seek his opinion, as it was a matter only myself could decide. I had already decided and rashly too, as the event proved. I was invited to dinner with him, the sentry following me from the tent-door and standing on guard behind me while I was seated at table.
Later in the evening the general sent for me. He was alone, but I happened to know that in the adjoining tent whose side pressed close to that of his, sat an invisible stenographer, who noted all I said. As I stood at the door, the general resumed the subject of our first interview; he coaxed as well as threatened. Finally, he coolly took the ground that no such remark was ever made, and hinted that I was uttering a falsehood. This innuendo was a terrible weapon; for to be dismissed the service on such a charge would blast a sensitive man's whole life. To offset this, I said that the remark was made in the presence of several other officers, who would doubtless remember it. He requested me to mention the names of some of these
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	229
officers and I did so. When I mentioned the name of Quartermaster Liscard, the general half rose from his seat and growling for the guard, said: " Bring Quartermaster Liscard here !" A moment after Liscard, pale, nervous and apparently quite broken down, emerged from the darkness in custody of the guard. I was stunned: for I had not heard of his arrest, or that he was in any difficulty. He stood beside me, unconscious of my presence, his eyes dazzled by the light in the general's tent. He was asked by the general if he, on such a day, giving the date, had heard one of his staff officers make the remark mentioned. Lis-card, who seemed to only half understand what was said to him, replied in a bewildered way : " I don't know." The general noticing his dazed condition, purposely confused him, I believe, with the rapidity of his questions, and gruffly ordered the guard to " Take him away !" Then turning to me he angrily exclaimed: " There goes one of your witnesses, sir ! Guard! take him away !"
I returned to my tent and rested for awhile. In the meantime, the General using his keen powers of analysis, doubtless noted the circumstance that nearly all the officers to whom I had been compelled to appeal belonged to our regiment, and that Lieutenant S. of his staff also belonged to it, and he sent for me again, surprising me by pouncing the question upon me whether the officer's name was not Lieutenant S. What should I do ? Was there any heroism in further obstinacy ? A declination to answer would be equivalent to an assent : and not without a secret admiration for his cunning as a cross-examiner, aided by his supreme powers as a military despot, driving me beyond the very last refuge of refusal, I replied in the affirmative. " Um ph !" he muttered, and I was escorted away, reflecting that though I had not escaped dismissal, the order would be based upon far less ugly grounds than those with which I had been threatened. Later in the night, as I sat in the entrance of my tent, I saw Lieutenant S. ride up to the general's quarters, dismount and enter. After a few minutes stay lie came out, mounted and rode away.
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I passed a sleepless night, for I felt as if my military career had come to an inglorious end. I was up early : so was the general, whom I saw lolling in front of his tent, taking the morning air, his bald head covered with a red night-cap--a sort of mock Richelieu, at the siege of Rochelle, I thought, or a second Marat, if that demagogue and " Friend of the People" had escaped Charlotte Corday to command an army. But then I was resentful and not in a mood to be just to the general's merits. At length, he retired within his luxurious pavilion. Shortly after, Captain S. brought me a paper—I thought, of course, an order of dismissal couched in the mean and cutting language characteristic of Butler's orders of dismissal. Great, therefore, was my surprise and relief, when I read an order releasing me from arrest, ordering me to rejoin my command, and cautioning me against, thereafter, repeating remarks disparaging of my commanding general. Evidently, he had reflected that sufficient fuss had been made over a matter whose further agitation could be of no advantage to him. For the same reason, probably, he retained Lieutenant S. on his staff for some time longer. The latter laughingly told me of his stormy interview with the " old man," who had first evidently thought that one of the confidential members of his military family had betrayed him, and was greatly relieved when the lieutenant told him he had read the report in a Philadelphia newspaper. The whole affair was " a tempest in a teapot," but it made me a much more serious man, and somewhat more discreet.
Liscard, when the guard was taking him away from head-quarters, turned back to see who it was the general was so angry with, and stopped in amazement when he saw standing in the strong light at the tent-door, his old comrade in France, Belgium and Germany, his chum in many a campaign of a different sort.
He had been placed under arrest the same clay, as was also the colonel of our regiment. charged with selling. in
MEMOIRS OF SETH BYLAND.	231
that the old intestine quarrel, about precedence of rank, among our field officers, had culminated in one of them preferring charges against the colonel, whose position he coveted. In order to sustain his specifications it was necessary to inculpate the quartermaster, who was not only perfectly innocent, but the last man in the world who would be guilty of peculation of any kind — even scorning the appropriation of an idea original with any other artist.
The general, however, was determined to turn the colonel out of service, which he eventually and unjustly did, but poor Liscard was kept in a small A tent for seven months, without trial, submitting to periodical cross-examinations by Butler, and was treated with such barbarous severity that it broke his spirit and permanently undermined his health. He was released, at last, without being accorded an opportunity to refute the charges before a court-martial, and the order of his release was so framed as to cruelly reaffirm the original accusations ; stating that he was "relieved from arrest, on account of his youth and inexperience." He was thirty-six years of age.
A few years later, when I was practicing law in New York, I urged the ex-quartermaster to proceed against Butler, who was frequently in the city, in a civil suit for damages. Some of the Democratic judges of that time would have been pleased to have granted an order of arrest against him; but Liscard was in too infirm health to bear the strain of a lawsuit, and before his partial recovery, for he was never his former self again, the lapse of time operated against any proceedings for redress ; even if they were ever practicable.
Lieutenant Butts, the provost-marshal who had prosecuted Fant at Suffolk, married a Southern, Union lady, resigned, and began practicing law in Norfolk. In the course of his practice, he procured a writ of habeas corpus from a judge whose functions had been practically, if not lawfully suspended by the war, and he had the writ served in a case of arbitrary military arrest. General Butler, who was at Fortress Monroe, sent for him. When Butts announced
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himself at head-quarters, Butler merely glanced at him, and taking out a watch, remarked : " Mr. Butts, it is now four o'clock. The boat for Baltimore leaves at five o'clock. You will go on that boat ; and if you return within the limits of my department I shall put you at hard labor on the streets of Norfolk." There was no time to go to Norfolk and bid his wife good-by. He took the boat to Baltimore and from there he went to Washington and called upon his relative Senator Cameron, who, after hearing his story, took him at once to President Lincoln. The facts of the case were fully stated. Lincoln pondered a few minutes. Then he said, " I don't know what to do with General Butler. He gives me more trouble than any general in the army; and yet should I deprive him of command, I should have the State of Massachusetts and the whole of New England down upon me." These were his precise words as told me by Butts himself. He wrote an order for the lawyer to return to his home and practice, in Norfolk, and remain as long as he desired, " without molestation."
Butler scowled and winced when Butts returned, and, with a smile of satisfaction, showed him the order. But the lawyer never tried to resuscitate any rights conferred by the Constitution, or by the Magna Charta, while Butler was in command of the department.
CHAPTER XXV.
Suspecting a Rebel Guide—His Challenge—His Death—Veteran Re-enlistments—Corporal Lucky's Luck— In Kautz's Division—Movements around Richmond—Capture of Fort Harrison—In-specting a Rebel Battery—A Target for Point-blank Shells.
THE rebel deserter, Wilson, continued as my guide at Williamsburg, but I rarely accepted his services, and never on my foot-scouting excursions. My men detested and mistrusted him even more than I did, and I disliked to be dependent for success upon a traitor whose motives for deserting were so questionable.
Hearing that rebel cavalry had appeared at New Kent Court-house, about eighteen miles away, I took two companies of cavalry and made a reconnoissance, taking Wilson with me. When within a mile or so of the Court-house he informed me that he knew of a by-road through the woods which led to a height overlooking the place, and I directed him to lead the way to it. We passed to the left, penetrating the forest for some distance and came to a narrow opening in a lonely spot where he advised me to halt my command and follow him. We rode a short distance forward until we were out of sight of the men, and noticing him draw his revolver, I also drew mine. We had just reached a point where we could look down upon the roads spreading away from the Court-house and could plainly see the Confederate cavalry pickets, when " Bang" went a gun in the direction of the command, and instantly I leveled my cocked pistol at the head of the guide, and he saw it as he turned startled and dismayed. For a moment I so held it, expecting to hear other shots and intending to shoot the traitor dead if he had brought me into an ambuscade. A sergeant rode forward to say that the shot was fired by one
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of the men, accidentally, and had done no damage. When I lowered my revolver, the guide restored his to the holster, and turned upon me with a look of burning indignation for having mistrusted him. He inquired, " Do you intend to charge those men ?" pointing to the pickets below. " Yes !" I replied. " Well," he continued, " allow me to charge by your side, and I challenge you to go any farther than I shall go. If you are wounded or captured, you will be treated as a prisoner of war. If I am captured I shall be hanged like a dog." I could not resist such an appeal to my sense of justice and told him to come along. We charged with the command through the place, Wilson and I in advance, driving the rebels back about a mile on their reserve which likewise fled after exchanging a few shots. The scout was as good as his word—never leaving my side. On my way back I acknowledged that I had wrongly judged him, but asserted that all the circumstances warranted my suspicion. Ever after that he was particular to show his zeal in my presence and I paid him much more kindly attention, frequently cautioning him to beware of the vengeance of his late companions in arms. But such advice did not seem to impress him. He was foolhardy enough to remain in Williamsburg after the close of the war, and one day, without warning, he was shot dead in the street.
Most of the men of our regiment re-enlisted under the inducements of bounty offered to veterans, or those who had served three years, and they were allowed thirty days' furlough. I was recalled to the head-quarters of the regiment at Bermuda Hundred with what remained of my company. My successor, as provost-marshal, had scarcely entered upon his new duties when his lines were attacked by a superior cavalry force, at night, and several of his men were killed or wounded. A corporal, named Lucky, and a private comprised the outpost on the Richmond road. The enemy charged upon them, killing the private and wounding the corporal's horse, which fell, he falling beneath, stunned and unable to extricate himself. When the rebels passed him returning, he simulated death. One of the party
MEMOIRS OF SETH =AND.	235
dismounted and bending over him swore he could " hear the Yankee breathe," and placing his revolver close to Lucky's body fired two shots and then rode away with the rest. Through a singular instance of fortune the two shots struck the brass plate on Lucky's saber-belt doing him no serious injury, but giving him a severe stomach- ache.
Late in September (1864) our fragment of a regiment, most of the men being still on furlough, was attached to Kautz's cavalry division and with Butler's army crossed the pontoons to the north side of the James and took part in all the exciting and eventful movements of that campaign around Richmond, resulting in the capture of Fort Harrison and the line of earthworks supporting it. On the flank of our army from an elevated stand-point I witnessed the grand engagement of the contesting lines and saw the magnificent charge of our infantry over the parapets of the fort.
In that charge, a colonel of my acquaintance won his stars as a brigadier. He had never been in action before -with his men, having been absent on sick leave for many months at his home in Brooklyn, and he was never in action with them again, resuming his home regimen as an invalid, after the battle, and continuing it and retaining his rank to the close of the war. Yet he fairly earned his honors that day by dauntless assaults at the head of his regiment.
Captain Oberteuffer of the Mounted Rifles, the only gray-haired officer in our regiment, was likewise afflicted with illness during his period of service, and was absent on leave most of the time. He finally rejoined his company while still suffering and enfeebled, just in time to lead it on a scouting expedition on the north side of the York River. He rode a superb white horse of powerful build that had become restive from long inaction, and his company being in the advance when the enemy's outposts were encountered, charged them, he gallantly leading his men. The enemy retired down the road to the edge of a distant wood and our bugles sounded a halt. But the poor old captain, unable to control his spirited horse, kept on alone. He was seen to
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struggle desperately to check the wild speed of his runaway animal; his hat blew off and his gray hair streamed in the wind. As he approached the edge of the wood, a rebel officer rode out, seized the bridle of his horse and shot the captain dead. He fell at the side of the road. The rebel officer mounted the white steed and began curveting across the road in plain view, swinging his hat in defiance. Our men charged, drove the enemy away, and recovered the captain's body.
Another of our captains had a runaway adventure with his horse, a recently captured Southern thoroughbred, but it scandalously ran away from the rebels instead of toward them; and the captain, though actually in nowise to blame, was so mortified that he resigned. He entered another regiment where he distinguished himself by his intrepidity, was wounded severely, and rose to higher rank.
In Kautz's famous raid around Richmond his troopers penetrated nearer to the city than any point reached before by Union forces. We plainly saw the spires of the rebel capital and heard the bells ring the alarm. But for a blunder in executing the plan of a night attack, after reaching the inner line of intrenchments, we should probably have entered the streets and liberated hundreds of Union prisoners: the place was only feebly defended by local reserves, and like the attempt of Wistar, a dash inside and quick retreat was all that was intended.
In the morning, when we first moved in sight of the city, our men were elated with the certain prospect of its capture, and what was then considered by many as a natural consequence, the end of the war. A few regiments were ahead of ours as we approached the defenses, and the enemy opened an artillery fire at long range, the shells scarcely reaching our troopers over the heads of the others, and falling in the space in our front. A halt was made in a piece of woods and in order to find out what was going on in front, the colonel handed me his field-glass and ordered me to go through the woods until I found a clearing on our left where I could gain a view of the country toward Rich-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	237
mond, and to return and report. As I mounted and started to go, the adjutant received permission to accompany me. We reached a cleared, elevated field after going about half a mile. We climbed trees and took observations. We were probably away half an hour, and upon returning to the halting place in the woods all our troops had disappeared. Not doubting, for a moment, that they had pushed ahead up the road and were entering Richmond, while we were losing all the glory of entering with them, away we galloped out of the woods into the open country ; before us were the steeples of the Confederate capital and along the road signs of the fight with the advance—a few dead horses and a broken-down caisson. The artillery was booming away to the right. Stretches of the road were dry and dusty, while here and there was a deep pool of mud. We had ridden about a mile up the road when the adjutant, a short distance ahead, suddenly raised his right hand and began checking his horse. This being the cavalry signal to halt, and not seeing ahead of him on account of the dust, I presumed we had come upon the rear of our regiment and also lessened my speed, when, to my surprise, he passed me going back and shouting: " Come back ! Come away !" Be-for I could turn my horse, however, I had passed through the cloud of dust and was facing a battery of the enemy's guns placed on the right and left of the highway, and so near that I could distinctly see the artillerymen's faces. As I wheeled about they opened fire. My horse trembled and cowered almost to his knees as the shot shrieked over us. Back we went, shells following thick and fast, some so close that I felt on my face the concussion of the air. They flew by and exploded away beyond us. The road had many depressions and we took a long breath as we glided over them and stooped low in the saddle when rising an ascent. One shell struck some rails in the fence along the road and sent the splinters whizzing about our ears—a huge stick barely grazing my head. Another exploded in a mud puddle and covered us with mud, filling my eyes, so that for a moment I could not see. When we re-entered the woods,
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the shelter they afforded us, although shells were crashing through the tree-tops, produced such a feeling of safety that, as we checked our horses, our nerves found relief in peals of laughter. We had not proceeded far when we came to a side-road filled with the prints of cavalry, that we had overlooked in our ride to the front, showing the route the column had taken. At this moment, a surgeon, searching for his regiment, rode up excitedly and inquired the way. He wore a green sash over his shoulder and the adjutant had, over his, a green silk cord attached to a handsome little silver-mounted canteen, a highly prized present recently received from New York. A jocular remark about these indications of rank suggested hospitality, and the adjutant, taking off the dainty canteen, handed it to our companion. As he raised it to his lips a shell exploded within a few yards of us. My horse spun around and plunged into the woods. I never saw the surgeon afterward and the adjutant never recovered his canteen. Neither did I meet the adjutant until half an hour later when I overtook the regiment far to the right of Richmond.
In moving from the spot where we had left him, the colonel had posted a bugler to remain behind and notify us of the route the column had taken, but the bugler, a cross-eyed little German boy who should never have been accepted into the service, abandoned his post; and though the penalty for such an offense is death, the colonel, after listening to his half-intelligible and comical account of the reasons which induced him to disobey orders (the principal one being the fear lest his new bugle might get smashed by a shell, and there being no witnesses the chief bugler would not believe him but would deduct the price of it from his pay), let him off with some lighter punishment.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A Night Attempt to enter Richmond—Curious Causes of Failure—Visiting the Enemy's Advance—Butler's Grave Mistake—A Reconnoissance in Force—A Close Shot.
IN moving to the right, around Richmond, our column marching slowly, was under the fire of rebel batteries the whole afternoon and we lost many men and horses. But after my adventure of the morning, I had become unconsciously a fatalist, and as shells struck arotaid us and among us, I had the feeling that some of the rest might be hit, but that I should not be.
At night-fall, we halted after passing the Seven Pines, made historical by the battle of that name in the campaign of 1862. Leaving a portion of the command to hold the horses, a column of dismounted men was formed under command of Colonel Spear and attempted to cross the inner line of earth works and effect an entrance to the city. In order to move with more precision in the darkness, the men were formed in two columns marching by the flank. Upon reaching a point within a certain distance of the works, the heads of the columns, close together, halted; and instead of making the movement of " right and left front into line" which might have separated the men, the order was given to right and left face, forming two parallel lines with backs to each other; and then wheeling right and left, the men keeping together by the touch of the arm, and coming into a line facing the earthworks. Unfortunately, in the darkness the wheeling was continued after the men were in a straight line and the extremities of the two wings were soon facing each other, and each mistaking the other for the enemy, commenced firing. The home guards behind the intrenchments were immediately aroused and
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shots from their direction first taught our men their mistake. But it was now too late to repair the error—the movement could only succeed as a surprise, and the soldiers were too inextricably entangled to promptly re-form. The attack therefore was abandoned and the troopers returned to their horses—and thus another failure was added to the many attempts to explore the streets of the rebel stronghold.
In returning from this raid I had command of the rearguard. On my arrival at the main Richmond road, at a point where it is intersected by the Darbytown road, I found the division halted in an open field on what was known as " Johnson's Farm," and not far from the large white dwelling house of the owner which was afterward occupied for months as General Kautz's head-quarters. Above us, toward Richmond, was a high wooded ridge at right angles with the main road and extending for miles. As I was preparing to dismount my company, the colonel called me and directed me to take a platoon and go up the Richmond road until I found the enemy's advance and then to retire, if I could, without any firing. In compliance with the order, I went up the main road beyond the ridge, on the summit of which was a large brick house on the left of the road, marking the extremest point reached by pickets in McClellan's campaign, and about four miles from Richmond. About a quarter of a mile beyond this house, I came suddenly upon the enemy's cavalry pickets dismounted at an angle in the road. We were within two hundred yards of them. They quickly mounted and for a few minutes we coolly surveyed each other. As I wheeled and retired slowly they followed at a walk, keeping about the same distance, neither side firing. When I passed over the brow of the ridge they halted at the top, and that point in the line the enemy fortified and held until the fall of Richmond. General Butler was severely blamed by General Grant for not having occupied this elevation which he could have done without contest, and thus have secured a formidable position for subsequent operations. Even a subordinate could
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	241
see the advantages of such a choice over the low ground of the Darbytown road, which we picketed all winter, commanded by the works on the ridge.
A few weeks afterward the Army of the James made an attempt to recover these heights by what was termed " a reconnoissance in force," and sacrificed the lives of a large number of men in the attempt. During this reconnoissance I was on picket duty with my company on the Darbytown road, my reserve being stationed at a small deserted farmhouse known as the " Zell House," and General N. M. Curtis was in command of that portion of the line, which had head-quarters at the same house. I acted as one of his aides during the battle and was sent to various parts of the field under a heavy fire. Once, he and I rode together across the Richmond road which was covered by the range of rebel batteries and the manner in which the shells tore down upon us was never surpassed in my experience. The general was six feet seven inches tall—a perfect giant—and as the projectiles boomed over us, I felt safe whenever I looked up and saw his head still on his shoulders !
One of the narrowest escapes I ever had was on this day. The general commanded the thinnest part of the line and the severest fighting was on the extreme right. He was anxious lest the rebels should mass in the woods in his front and break through; so he ordered me to take a few men, reconnoiter and ascertain whether their pickets beyond the Darbytown road had been withdrawn or advanced. He particularly cautioned me not to bring on any firing as it might be misunderstood by the commander on our right. I was familiar with every point on this road and knew of one place, in a thick pine grove, where the enemy's pickets were invariably stationed, and at night they were within speaking distance of our lines. I accordingly selected a dozen men and riding over to the road dismounted them (my orderly and myself remaining mounted), and we deployed among the trees expecting to go some distance. I was abruptly halted by a rebel infantryman who stuck his head out from behind a tree not ten paces in front of me. Before
16
242	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE :
he could level his piece, I brought my revolver to bear upon him and quietly ordered him to surrender and come to me. He put the butt of his piece to the ground and then, remembering the caution about firing, I quickly turned about to my men and waved them back. As I turned again toward my prisoner, he was resting his rifle against the tree, the muzzle pointing directly at me. I almost fancied that I could look down the dark barrel and see the bullet. I struck the spurs in my horse which jumped just as he fired. The ball passed me, grazing the leg of my orderly, behind me, sufficiently close to bring blood, and entering the side of his horse. Immediately, a number of the enemy sprang up in the woods and began firing. My orderly's horse fell and died as we regained the road. Doubtless had not the picket rested his gun to shoot a moving object, he would have been more successful. The firing soon ceased and I returned to the general who kept me flying around the field so constantly during the day, and all of us were so incessantly exposed to target practice, that I did not think again of the dark muzzle of that rifle until I was falling asleep, at night, when it loomed up in my fancy like a fifteen-inch Columbiad.
Other reconnoissances followed and our army was kept alert and active. The cavalry in the Army of the James did not, of course, take part in so much heavy fighting as the infantry, but we had an advantage over them in observing general movements and understanding our part in them. Our regiment was exceptionally lucky in not being decimated in general engagements, our losses being chiefly in light skirmishes and on outpost duty.
In the midst of the campaign around Richmond our camp was repeatedly enlivened by the thunders of shotted salutes along the whole line, announcing Sheridan's glorious victories in the Shenandoah Valley. That general had discovered new uses for cavalrymen and was developing their entire efficiency, mounted and dismounted.
The principal engagement in which I took part was the " Battle of the Darbytown Road," fought by the Army of
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	243
the James, about the same time as that of " Poplar Spring Church" was fought by the Army of the Potomac, and diminished in newspaper importance by the last-named event. Yet, it was the result of a carefully planned and determined attempt of General Lee to force the Army of the James back to and across the river, relieving Richmond from the immediate and threatening presence of so large a force.
It is a great mistake to suppose that even the closest newspaper reader at the North received full or correct accounts of all the important events at the front. Usually only the crudest outlines were possible. The newspaper reporters were not numerous: they could not be ubiquitous nor always well informed. Besides, the publication of many interesting items were, for obvious reasons, prohibited. For example, Wistar's almost successful surprise of Richmond was not known in the North during the war: neither was Kautz's night attempt, just related: and the swift and complicated movements and sanguinary incidents of the continuous battle which began at Dinwiddie and ended at Appomattox, still await proportion and blending at the hands of a faithful historian. There was scarcely more than a sentence or two concerning important features of that campaign in the newspaper reports of the day, for the grand culminating events which so quickly followed, absorbed the public mind—already weary of horrible details and anxious only for results.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Battle of the Darbytown Road—Plan of the Field—The Attack at Dawn—Viewing General Lee and Staff—The Cavalry Stampede—In the Rifle Pits—Charge of the Texas Brigade—General Hawley's Sixteen-Shooters—After the Battle—Dead on his Knees.
As I have never seen bub a brief newspaper report of the Battle of the Darbytown Road, and as it was my fortune, a
	
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MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	245
what the varied movements meant, in a military sense, I shall attempt to convey a clear impression of a general engagement from the point of view of a participant.
The figure of a square—the base line representing the right infantry flank of our army thrown back: the left line indicating the Darbytown road which was picketed by our cavalry facing to the left, toward Richmond, as far as the upper left angle of the square : the top line marking the main Richmond road and the right line the Charles City road, at the edge of woods—will serve to give a fair idea of the field of battle, which covered a space nearly a mile square. In other words, the Darbytown road, the Richmond road, and the Charles City road, are marked by three sides of the square. Half way up the Darbytown road which skirted a forest, was the Zell house. Near the upper right angle, on an elevation was General Kautz's head-quarters, in Johnson's farm-house, overlooking the central space of the square which was a cleared, undulating farm. Near the lower right angle was the Mounted Rifle camp. The Charles City road was narrow and almost impassable in some places where it crossed a swamp. Kautz whom we all regarded as a most skillful general, anticipated an attack, but not so soon, nor in such force. The day before the battle he had directed a staff officer (Lieutenant Ryan, of our regiment) to detail a sufficient number of men to put the Charles City road in condition for the free passage of men and artillery, in case of retreat, but the order was given too late.
I was in command of the picket line on the Darbytown road on the morning of the 7th of October. About dawn I returned to my reserve at the Zell house after a quiet ride of inspection along my line which extended to the Richmond road where it joined the pickets of the Third New York Cavalry. I had just lain down on a rough lounge in the deserted house, when I heard through an open window a far-off rattling sound hardly distinguishable. I arose, went to the door and listened. It was the noise of distant musketry in the direction of the Richmond
246	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE ;
road. I awakened the reserves and ordered them to mount. I heard the clatter of hoofs down the Darbytown road and soon the patrol appeared at full speed, announcing that the enemy were coming through the woods away to our right and driving back our pickets. I started with the reserves up the road in the direction of the firing. As I neared the Richmond road a number of men of the Third New York, in charge of a lieutenant, came galloping down toward us, followed by shots. He had been cut off from his regiment and said that rebel infantry in large force were crossing the road above. I directed his men to fall in with mine and we deployed as skirmishers to the right and left of the road and returned the fire that came from the woods in our front, which had now become a roaring rebel den. Meantime it was broad daylight. I sent a couple of messengers back to camp to notify our colonel. In a short time the rebel infantry appeared in the road coming toward us and firing behind the shelter of trees. We retired slowly, gathering in the pickets along the road. About half way to the Zell house there was a rise of ground and an opening, giving us a complete view of the fields of Johnson's farm. Here I halted and surveyed the noisy struggle in the open space. The rebels were advancing with shrill cheers. Kautz's cavalry having dismounted and sent their horses to the rear, now occupied rifle pits on the high ground sloping away from the farm-house. The enemy fired very rapidly, the smoke drifting away to the woods, and soon the dull roar of musketry came nearer and increased to a lively, sharp fusilade. I saw the dismounted cavalrymen rise from their pits and ascend the slope at a walk. Scores of them fell in a few minutes. Some turned and fired a few times and then dropped, but the majority were out of ammunition. Not one of them ran. I saw the rebels pouring over the breastworks with loud yells and taking many prisoners. Just then a shower of bullets fell in our midst from an invisible source causing us to resume our retiring march. Occasionally, we caught sight of a rebel infantryman
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	247
advancing through the woods, firing. We returned the fire. My men were armed with breech-loading carbines and I had to continually caution them not to fire so fast and exhaust their cartridges.
As I left the woods at the Zell house, the reserve of our regiment, under Colonel Sumner, about three hundred men, came galloping up and I was ordered to join it with my company. The battle around the farm-house was then over, and Kautz's division killed, captured or in retreat with a loss of eight pieces cf artillery. The general himself had barely escaped. The neglected Charles City road was choked up with fugitives and it was here that the artillery was captured. The colonel and I sat on our horses on a slight eminence overlooking the whole open field. It was a clear, calm, beautiful October morning. We saw the rebel lines of infantry forming before the farm-house, facing toward us. A group of mounted men came down the Richmond road and as they neared the rebel lines they were received with prolonged cheers. The colonel looked at them through his field-glass and then handed it to me. I could distinctly see the faces of this group and the details of their uniforms. One of them, as we learned afterward, was General Lee himself, in the midst of his staff. The rebels formed in three lines, Fields' and Hoke's divisions, as I knew later, with battle flags floating in the center. Unlike most armies, there was no .pervading tint of uniform along the lines. The poor fellows looked dingy and mottled enough. More than a thousand of those I saw there standing in the ranks were killed or wounded on that day. They began their march toward us. At that moment confused yelling and shrieking was heard in the direction of the right rear, not far from our camp, and looking about we were startled to behold hundreds of the rebel cavalry emerging from the woods on the Charles City road, in hot pursuit of the mounted remnant of Kautz's division. It was the first time I had ever seen our cavalry running away from the rebels: it had always been the other way, and I was humiliated. But we had no time to
248	EVOLUTION OF A LIFE:
indulge sensitive feelings, for it now came our turn to run: the Confederates were between us and our camp and others closely advancing in our front. In military phrase we were outflanked. We started across the fields toward our infantry, then quickly forming in line at right angles to their former front to meet the formidable attack upon their flank. The fields were full of stumps, and there were many abandoned rifle-pits dug and used by the enemy on our first advance into this territory. As we neared our lines the enemy's infantry and artillery opened fire upon us. Two infantrymen of a Connecticut regiment were shot dead a few paces in front of me. We halted and dismounted under a heavy fire and sending our horses to the woods behind our infantry, we took a position in front of all, occupying deserted rifle-pits on the crest of a slight hill. Major Hamilton occupied the same pit with me. Our chief duty was to prevent our men from exhausting their ammunition, the temptation of continually firing an easy breech-loading rifle being almost irresistible. The enemy's divisions had massed in the woods at the edge of the Charles City road and were firing diagonally across the field upon our position; while our infantry, the Tenth Army Corps under General Birney, were busy throwing up intrenchments. It was difficult to prevail upon our men to fire more deliberately, but this incessant firing deceived the enemy as to our numbers, and our fragment of a regiment, alone, kept the whole front of the rebel army at bay, as the New York Herald correspondent averred, until our infantry had time to intrench. The bullets came like s warms of bees above our heads. The enemy fired in regular discharges and noting the pauses between their firing, the major and I would spring up and shout to the men not to fire so fast, and the instant we saw the white puffs of smoke at the edge of the woods, we dropped in our pit and the hissing storm of lead would burst over us, chipping the earth from the top and sides of our shallow shelter and spinning away with a hum. Once in dodging down quickly, the major, who was very tall, rolled his full
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	249
length down the slope, and we broke out laughing—it was such a relief to have something happen to divert us. Two or three of our men cried out as they were hit : Sergeant Freedenburgh, a promising youth who had been selected for a lieutenancy was fatally wounded. We were almost out of ammunition and Sergeant Armstrong of Troop B faced almost certain death in going to procure a supply. It was an anxious puzzle to guess how we could ever rise and leave the rifle-pits without being annihilated at the moment of exposure. But, for a miracle, when the order came to retire there was an instant's lull in firing, and it was but an instant's stride to get below the brow of the hill; and only three or four men were hurt—one of them, whose term of service expired that very day, was shot through the hand, necessitating amputation. I now fully comprehended the force of the old saying : " It takes a ton of lead to kill a man." We retired behind the infantry and regained our horses. I remained at the edge of the wood and saw the enemy's artillery reach the yard in front of the Zell house, where I had so lately stood, unlimber and open fire. Our batteries close to my left responded. Soon there were screaming and crashing projectiles in the branches of the tall trees around us, and a shell exploded among a number of our artillery horses, slaying some and wounding others which ran wildly about creating much confusion.
A brigade of Connecticut infantry, commanded by Colonel Hawley (afterward general and United States Senator), and which had recently been armed with magazine rifles, shooting sixteen times without reloading, was on our right, in General Terry's division. A brigade of rebel infantry—it was the famous Texas brigade, led by General Gregg, charged furiously half way across the field from the Charles City road and the magazine rifles opened upon them. The noise was like appalling peals of thunder. The Texans swayed to the earth like cut grain. Their brave general fell with them. A few hundred, scattered about, remained standing: there was a sudden lull as they threw up their caps and handkerchiefs, as if offering to surrender.
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But some of them fired into our ranks after this—there was another roar, and they disappeared. The firing now was incessant and the battle became general. In the midst of the uproar and confusion, we were ordered to retire farther back. A sutler's wagon with a runaway horse came dashing into our ranks, tossing the contents in all directions as it struck a stump. Our men laughed and cheered and dismounting picked up bottles of pickles, cans of sardines, and rolls of biscuit. We made another halt and stood to horse, waiting : for as cavalry we were, for the present, useless. Soon the wounded, many scores of them, began to be carried by us, some of them terribly disfigured and covered with blood, and most of them silent after the first shock. I ordered my men back farther in the woods where they could not see these depressing sights. The artillery and musketry still roared in our front. Colonel Spear and a number of other cavalry officers joined us. Spear was on his third horse, two having been killed under him and he was covered with mud and blood. He said, grimly, that his motto in this war was, " Blood, mud and iron." I asked our surgeon who had just arrived, if it were twelve o'clock yet. He looked at me in astonishment and took out his watch: it was past three o'clock in the afternoon. I had not eaten nor drank anything since the night before. The rebels charged upon our lines repeatedly, but were each time repulsed. The musketry discharges were terrific. I heard General Terry, whose division was the one most hotly engaged, afterward say that the roar from the Connecticut brigade surpassed anything he heard at Gettysburg. At night-fall the firing dwindled away. The enemy retired.
The next morning I went over the battle-field and reoccupied the Zell house. The ground in front of our lines was strewn with rebel dead. In going through a grove of young pines, many of which had been actually cut down with bullets, I was startled by coming upon a Confederate soldier in a stooping position, on his knees, resting both hands on his musket which lay on the ground. I dismounted and touched him and he rolled over: his hat fell off and
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	251
exposed a ragged bullet-hole in his skull. He was struck rigid while leaping over a swampy rivulet, and the yielding soil had kept him in position. In front of Johnson's farmhouse were numbers of Union dead stripped of their clothing, except their blue pantaloons, and laid out by the enemy, in rows. Parties of our men were engaged all day in searching the woods, succoring the wounded and burying the dead.
In going over the field it was remarkable to note the many evidences of the enemy's careful economy of life—in preventing the exposure of men in the skirmish line. All the way along the Darbytown road were found shallow rifle-pits, often composed of only a few rails with a little heap of dirt thrown around them, barely sufficient to protect men lying down. After advancing for some distance the rebels would halt and lie down behind such shelter, no matter how slight. Near the Zell house, where-their artillery was posted, I saw holes dug deep enough to protect the gunners during intervals of firing. In our army it was quite otherwise: reckless or indifferent exposure was the rule.
General Grant's estimate of the enemy's loss in this battle, given in a dispatch to Secretary Stanton, was twelve hundred, and our own four hundred; and yet the Confederates claimed a victory.
The report in the New York Herald of October 10th, gave our regiment especial credit in these words: " A single regiment of mounted men, Colonel Sumner's New York Mounted Rifles, remained upon the field. These displayed their valor and the efficiency of that particular arm of the service by maneuvering before the enemy long enough for General Birney to form his corps and get ready to meet the rebels. For this isolated display of real courage and skill in maneuvering troops, too much credit cannot be given to the commander of the regiment, Colonel E. V. Sumner, son of the late Major-General Sumner. When Birney advised him of his readiness to receive the attack, and not until then, Sumner withdrew his command."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Leave of Absence—Capturing a Woman on Picket—Judge Advocate of Kautz's Division—Saving a Soldier designated to be Shot—The Case of a Maryland Lieutenant—Appealing to Web-ster's Dictionary—Gerehart's Adventure—The Final Grand Movement—The Last Charge—Placing Pickets around Rich-mond—Assassination of Lincoln—Visiting Rebel Relatives.
SHORTLY after this battle, I accepted a veteran leave of absence of thirty days and visited New York, returning for the last time to my old home in Washington county and casting my electoral vote for President Lincoln and a vigorous prosecution of the war. The political issue was felt to be a most serious and momentous one, and the campaign was conducted very unlike other campaigns in our history. There was less visible popular excitement and more restrained discussion of political topics: and yet, when it was considered that armies were fiercely arrayed against each other in the field and daily engaged in deadly conflict—the toleration accorded, in the North, to expressions of hostility to the cause of the Union, seemed most remarkably in-dulgent—especially to one in uniform.
The city of New York presented scenes of civic life hitherto unknown in this country. Instead of the gloom and anxiety which one would expect to see pervading all classes, there was a spirit of good humor abroad and lively carnivalism that was obtrusive and infectious. Every one seemed gay and prosperous: inspiriting popular songs resounded through the streets. Artemas Ward was delivering his quaint lectures to crowds of laughing people—theaters displayed light comedies and roaring farces: places of amusement of all kinds abounded. Poor people appeared to be very scarce: tramps, as such, were un-
MEMOIRS OF SETH =AND.	253
known. The new greenback money was passed freely about in twenties, fifties, and hundreds, as if people did not realize that the crisp, handsome notes with elaborate engravings were cash, but rather playthings for parade and flourish, and oftentimes a note of large denomination purchased so little that the illusion was encouraged.
I grew tired of my leave in fifteen days and returned to the front. Owing to the scarcity of officers, I was placed on picket the evening of my arrival. Fields' Confederate division came down on a reconnoisance the next day and occupied Johnson's farm, our pickets retiring. Major Terwilliger and Sergeant Walton in coming out to our lines, accidentally passed our pickets and were challenged by a Confederate infantry soldier on post in an orchard under an apple tree. They compelled him to throw away his gun and surrender, and placing him between their horses they ran him into our lines. The prisoner was sent to Kautz's headquarters. Here, to the surprise of all, the rebel claimed exemption from the laws of war on account of being a woman. A surgeon's examination confirmed the claim. She explained her disguise by saying that she loved her husband so well that she had followed him into the service, but was disappointed in not being enrolled in the same company with him, and was evidently not sorry to be captured. She was mildly held as a prisoner of war, at least for a time, being sent to Fortress Monroe. She was the second woman, in Confederate uniform, I saw during the war.
The rebels occupied the farm during the day and withdrew after dark, our pickets then advancing. A slight snow mingled with rain had fallen: the weather was extremely raw and cold and from the nature of the ground we were compelled to advance dismounted. This being my second night of continuous duty, I was suffering from want of sleep, cold, dampness, and fatigue. All this physical wretchedness is recalled, when I think of the reception that awaited me upon my return to the reserve from following the retiring enemy up the Richmond road. I found a
254	EVOLUTION OP A LIFE
group of our officers around a cheerful fire in the woods brewing a bowl of whiskey punch. It dispensed a deliciously aromatic odor, and I was immediately invited to help myself. It seemed to me, if there was any decoction in the world that would " touch the right spot" and relieve my discomfort and exhaustion, it would be a cup of this fragrant elixir. My jolly companions were surprised into semi-convulsions of gravity, when I quietly but firmly declined to partake. It was a crucial test of my will, but I withstood it. The truth was, that during my leave, having come again in contact with civil life, I had a period of serious reflection. It may be said that every one drank spirits, in the army, and our own officers were never found in the rear in anything. It was astonishing what prodigious quantities of " commissary" some of us young fellows could consume without showing it in our actions, for drunkenness on duty was almost an unheard-of offense among us, and would not have been tolerated in any one. I had, however, silently concluded that I had enjoyed my share of delightful but dangerous frivolity and fun, and my repulse of this temptation under such soul-trying circumstances was a triumph of my will which had permanent effects. From that moment until the close of the war, and for years after, I was a total abstainer. Subsequently, under great stress of mental labor, I experimented with stimulants again, but with no wholesome results, and finally entirely abandoned their use as unsuited, even in moderation, to my temperament, and chiefly for physiological reasons, out of regard to the delicate tissues of body and brain.
In December, I was appointed judge advocate of Kautz's division and discharged the duties of that office until the final grand movement of the army in March.
Among many cases brought before our court, I recollect that of a young soldier charged with sleeping on his post in front of the enemy. His case appeared so clear and flagrant, that the adjutant-general hinted that it was a good one to make an example of, and that an immediate execution was needed in order to prevent repetitions of the
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offense in regiments then newly recruited. This young man belonged to such a regiment; the proof against him was overwhelming: he had been found asleep by the officer of the day and his carbine snatched away from him. Apparently there was no defense. Through a legal fiction the judge advocate is supposed to both prosecute and defend the prisoner with equal zeal. After the testimony for the prosecution had been submitted, I took him aside to learn if he had no excuse to interpose, but he was sullen as well as stupid, and after repeatedly asking him to try and think of something that might palliate his offense, and getting nothing but mumbled replies, I asked him if he knew how serious his situation was. " Yes," he answered in an indifferent way, " I suppose you are going to shoot me; ain't you?" I replied gravely that it was very possible, and that he ought to prepare himself for the worst. As I turned away, I heard him muttering something to himself, and turning quickly around I asked him what he had said. " Well," said he, " you've no right to keep a feller on picket three nights running." I inquired if that was his case, " Yes ! and I can prove it by my captain," was his response. I inquired the captain's name, sent for him and called him for the defense. He testified that owing to an improper detail by the colonel of his regiment, the prisoner had been on duty three consecutive days and nights: that hearing of his arrest, and not knowing the cause, he visited him the morning after, in the guard-house, where he found him asleep. He tried in vain to awaken him by shaking, by throwing water upon him and in various other ways. The prisoner slept through that day and the following night without awaking. He was acquitted: an investigation was made by General Butler and the colonel of the regiment was allowed to resign.
Another case of interest to our court, was that of a lieutenant of a Maryland regiment accused of drunkenness on duty, the specification, in substance, being, that while at dress parade, the colonel noticed some irregularity in his deportment and ordered him to retire to his quarters,
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under arrest. It was admitted in evidence that he promptly obeyed the order and walked away without staggering or remark. His general record as a soldier was excellent. His mother and sister, who occupied a high social position in Baltimore, visited camp and interceded for him, and I determined to try and save him from dismissal. In his defense, I introduced an unabridged Webster's dictionary and sought to make it clear to the court that there existed a wide distinction between drunkenness and intoxication, taking the ground that the lieutenant was not drunk but only slightly intoxicated; and was therefore guiltless of the technical charge. The distinction was rather fine-spun but the president of the court was with me and we saved the officer from dismissal, finding him guilty of a minor specification and punishing him with the loss of a month's pay.
Sometimes, even in the heat of action, the highest qualities are shown in self - restraint, rather than in yielding to the impulses of furious passion, and there was an illustration of this once in the conduct of a sergeant in my company—Sergeant Gerehart. Two corporals of the company named Brothers and Nation, fine young fellows, while riding with the advance guard in a raid north of Richmond, were mortally wounded by a bushwacker who fired into them from a place of concealment in the woods, using a double-barreled shot - gun. Sergeant Gerehart sprang from his horse and pursued the fleeing bushwacker who gave him a long chase, darting into paths with which he was familiar and dodging among the trees. Suddenly, as Gerehart stumbled over a log, the rebel turned, and, with cocked revolver at the sergeant's breast, having him completely at his mercy, he exclaimed : " If you will promise to hold me as a prisoner of war and save my life from the other fellows who are coming, I will surrender. Otherwise I shall put a ball through your heart." The sergeant promised: the man threw down his weapon and delivered himself a prisoner. But now came the severest test of the sergeant's courage and strength of will. When the other pursuers came up furious over the outrageous
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killing of the corporals and determined to take summary vengeance on the bushwacker, the sergeant, who felt precisely as vindictive as the others did, stood manfully by his promise, covering the rebel with his body, at the risk of his own life which was seriously imperiled. He exerted all his powers of command and his prisoner was spared.
In the final movements of our army around Richmond and Petersburg, resulting in the surrender of Lee, our regiment, acting singly, played an important part, as will be seen by reference to Grant's general report of these operations. We were sent to destroy Lee's railway communications with the South, toward Weldon, and thus interrupt his direct line of retreat. We went to Portsmouth, crossed the Chowan River near Winton, and proceeded to Jackson, N. C. We destroyed several miles of railway track beyond that place, and nearly captured a train of soldiers with whom we had a severe skirmish before their retreat.
On our way returning, our company had the advance, and just before reaching Murfreesboro on the Chowan, we encountered a squad of rebel cavalry and charged them, capturing two and driving the rest before us. As we entered the outskirts of the town, where there was a settlement of Quakers, people in the houses along the road were waving sheets and table-cloths from the windows, a demonstration I did not understand, supposing it to be the Quaker fashion of showing their pacific and neutral attitude. As we charged through the streets, enveloped in clouds of dust, still in pursuit of the enemy, there was heard the boom of a distant piece of artillery and a moment later a shell came screaming over our heads: another and another followed. My first thought was that we were being led into an ambuscade, or what in the early part of the war was called a " masked battery." Suddenly, from the side of the road, a dismounted party of men jumped up and discharged their pistols at us and ran. We chased them to the river, where, to our surprise, we came in sight of our gunboats and discovered we were fighting our own men-
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for the rebels had passed ahead and disappeared. The naval officer in charge of the stampeding marines, was just relating how many rebels he had hit, when we waved our guidons, were recognized as friends and the heavy guns were silenced. We reached the wharf and learned that news had been received, through rebel sources, of the fall of Richmond and Petersburg. The Quakers had tried to signal the news to us. There was great rejoicing, and also much laughter, on our side, at the mistake of the marines, for we had suffered no injury. This was on the 7th of April 1865, and our cavalry charge to Murfreesboro was one of the last, if not the last, of the war. On our way to Suffolk, a few days later, we heard of Lee's surrender at Appomattox.
The honor conferred upon our regiment in sending us upon what was regarded as an exceedingly dangerous expedition, was another instance of our exceptional luck; for, bad we remained with McKenzie, who succeeded Kautz, and taken part in the bloody engagements of the cavalry division from Five Forks to Appomattox, our command would doubtless have suffered as greatly as the other regiments whose losses were so fearful.
From Suffolk we hastened to Petersburg. In nearing that city one beautiful morning, at a point where we commanded a wide view of the country, we came upon many hundreds of paroled rebel soldiers returning to their homes. Most of them avoided our column, emerging from the woods and spreading over the fields in all directions, battle-worn veterans in dingy gray and butternut, silent and cast down. Our men respected their feelings as they passed on in scattered groups, and were as silent as they. It was one of the most touching and memorable sights I witnessed during the war.
We began now to comprehend that the great struggle was over. We entered Richmond on the 12th and I placed the first Union picket line about the city; chiefly to guard the magazines, and receive and direct the vast current of incoming Confederates, in quest of rations, and of the provost-marshal who administered the oath of allegiance.
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Late in the night of the 15th, I was awakened by one of the sergeants of my company who had been visiting a comrade in the telegraph office at City Point, and who informed me that while attending Ford's Theater, the night before, President Lincoln had been assassinated. The news had been given him by a telegraph operator with injunctions of secrecy, as all operators had been cautioned not to divulge it, lest the troops in Richmond should hear of it and impulsively organize an outbreak against the city. After questioning the sergeant at some length, I was convinced that the report was true. I awoke several of our officers and repeated what the sergeant had said. For the second time in my army experience, the first was after the reception of the news of the battle of Bull Run, I saw men, even unemotional Americans, shed tears over a public misfortune. I could scarcely sleep that night. Fuller reports came the next day, but it was several days before all the details were received.
I obtained leave of absence for five days and went on a visit to my eldest sister, whom I had not seen in nine years. She resided near Wilson's Station, and accompanied by an orderly, I followed the path over which Lee's army had retreated and which was freshly strewn with fragments of that last forlorn movement. My rebel relatives received me as cordially as they could be expected to in such a hated uniform—the children finding it especially difficult to reconcile themselves to the idea of having an uncle who was a " Yankee." But these feelings wore away in a few hours, in discussing the great and happy changes that would follow the termination of the war.
My youngest sister's husband, a Northern man, had been forced into the Confederate ranks toward the close of the struggle, and had deserted to our side at the first opportunity. She, with another lady, managed to procure passes through the rebel lines and crossing the Potomac in a small boat, in December, when the river was filled with ice, they and their party narrowly escaped being fired into by our gunboats. They landed in Maryland and made their way to New York, where my sister joined her husband.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Administering the Oath—The Battle-field of Spottsylvania—An Era of Good Feeling—The Blacks—Madison's Influence on Jefferson —Stonewall Jackson's Chaplain—Incidents of the Battles of Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg—On a Military Commission —Beverly Johnston's Reminiscences—A Process for bleaching Ivory—A General's Terrible Disgrace—Mustered out—The Last Glimpse of Alice.
ON my return to Richmond, learning that our regiment had been ordered to Fredericksburg, I followed it, passing by Garrett's farm where a few days before Wilkes Booth had been discovered and shot. My journey was enlivened much of the way by the companionship of rebel officers returning to their homes, who rejoiced 'with me that the war was over, and that Grant had removed so many prejudices by his liberal terms of surrender.
Our regiment was broken up in detachments and scattered over the State, the captains acting as Provost-Marshals, maintaining order and administering the oath.
I was stationed near Spottsylvania Court - House and visited the battle-field of that name on the 12th of May, just one year after the engagement, and before the field had been in any wise disturbed by the government burial-parties, who came a few days later. It was a field impossible to describe adequately, having been precipitately abandoned, by both combatants, after Lee's desperate but vain attempt to prevent the extension of Grant's left. It presented an awful picture of the magnitude and ferocity of the war. In some places the remains of the dead of both armies lay in mingled heaps, partly covered with mounds of brushwood, placed there by a few citizens remaining in the neighborhood after the battle, to prevent
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the ravages of wild hogs. In many other places the rain had washed bare the shallow burial - trenches, disclosing hundreds of uniformed skeletons; but many bodies lay unsheltered, just as they had fallen. In one huge trench, extending nearly an eighth of a mile, and filled with bodies five and six deep, as I was told by one of the citizens who helped bury them, the upper tier was exposed, and skulls, skeletons, arms and legs were visible for hundreds of yards, or as far as a view could be obtained—to a distant wood. This tomb was dug between the intrenched lines of the armies and partly in front of the works where General Edward Johnson's division was captured by Hancock's corps, after some of the closest and most desperate fighting of the war. Just beyond it were the trunks and fallen stems of trees that had been literally cut down with Union bullets at the line where they appeared just above the enemy's earthworks. Two of such tree-trunks—one a red oak, twenty inches in diameter, and the other a white oak, eighteen inches in diameter—had been removed to a neighboring house, where I inspected them. They were subsequently stored in the War Department at Washington. The terrible carnage in the charge of Hancock's corps was indicated by the unnumbered bodies of the dead that remained where they fell. Some had been shot as they raised their heads above our slight intrenchments; others as they mounted them ; many bodies lay between the lines which at one end were not twenty yards apart, and still others had lived to reach the enemy's parapet and fell over into his lines. It did not seem possible that at such short range, and in the face of such an opposing force, any human being could exist, upright, for a moment, and yet, as I have said, there were several skeletons in blue in the very spot where had stood the enemy's embattled ranks, showing that men had swiftly traversed twenty yards of ground under the most concentrated and destructive discharges of musketry. In one place in the woods, I came upon a group of Union sol-diers—five bodies that had been partially burned by the firing of the underbrush--perhaps while they were wounded
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and still living, as was more than once the case in engagements during the war. Upon these bodies some of the charred flesh remained.
But what was most significant of the awful character of the struggle was the scattered debris in the open spaces. Here, it seemed as if there had been a mighty whirlwind, gathering and distributing in the wildest disorder all the equipments of a soldier—pieces of cloth of uniforms, caps in profusion, muskets and bayonets shattered and twisted, bayonet-sheaths, haversacks, rusty canteens, glittering belt - plates and buttons. It was the countless number of these relics that told of the havoc and anarchy of the battle.
No enlightened man could dwell upon such a scene without deploring again and again, the backwardness of a civilization which renders possible the agony and horror of such a combat, even if it be a consoling and inspiring sentiment, in view of what the great rebellion indirectly accomplished, to feel that the forms once in blue on this battle-field, although animated by no more sincere purpose than those in gray, died in the cause of Universal Progress.
People poured into my quarters at Spottsylvania from all parts of my district to take the oath of allegiance, and I have often thought of their unreserved and candid manner in doing so. They felt that they had submitted the questions which had tested the strength of the Union to the highest tribunal, and that their cause had been fully tried and absolutely decided. They were also greatly impressed with the leniency and liberality of our government. A hundred mules had been sent to me, to distribute among the farmers, and they were surprised and rather abashed by such generosity. It has always seemed to me a grave mistake, on the part of our government, that it did not take advantage of this happy and auspicious period to permanently reconcile the people of the South. It was a narrow and mischievous course, as events have proved, to exchange the wise policy of fraternity for the ugly and vindictive treatment championed in Congress by Sumner,
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	263
Stevens, and others. The infliction of bayonet rule and carpet-bag government produced greater animosity and disloyalty among the Southern people than the first results of the war itself. Probably, had not the more magnanimous and juster policy been so dogmatically urged by an indiscreet and unpopular President, it would have prevailed.
The citizens fully appreciated my desire to meet them half way, and to treat them as liberally as my orders permitted; and at the close of my service here I was surprised with an unusual compliment from this prostrated and distressed people, in receiving a duly attested copy of resolutions adopted at a public meeting held in Spottsylvania Court-House, indorsing my course as Provost-Marshal of the district. It is one of my precious mementos of the Rebellion.
Afterward, I was stationed in the same capacity in Culpeper, Gordonsville and Wytheville, and had many opportunities to observe the disposition of the white people and the dawning conceptions of liberty betrayed by the blacks. In dealing with the latter, I was often required to act as a magistrate, and performed the ceremony of marriage for several couples, at their request. In one instance I was called upon to decree a divorce in a case where two negroes claimed the same woman as wife; and in rendering a decision, I was guided, not so much by the common law, as by her choice in the matter. She was at first inclined to compromise, and let the question remain in dispute, but this was not satisfactory, and she finally chose as her lawful husband the. lighter-colored of the two. In traveling through the South, recently, I have been more than surprised at the vast progress made by the colored people from their simple and degraded condition at the close of the war.
At Charlotteville, the former home of Jefferson, I became acquainted with an elderly gentleman—Dr. Turner, who proved to be the eldest brother of a former fellow-student of mine at Dusseldorf. The Doctor was in the first
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class graduated at the University of Virginia, and he gave me many personal reminiscences of its founder. He regarded Madison as, in some respects, the intellectual superior of Jefferson, and as the latter's monitor in important affairs of State. Madison resided not far away at Orange C. H., and the intimacy of the two was shown in the frequent visits of Jefferson to Madison whose modesty and love of retirement impaired his direct influence upon men; though the Doctor claimed to see touches of his revision in many of the State-papers of Jefferson; and he considered Madison's views, anonymously expressed in the Federalist as the greatest impersonal force exerted in framing the Constitution of our government.
At Wytheville, I was assigned with Captain Leydon and Lieutenant Bailey to a district comprising three counties in one of the most picturesque portions of the State. Here I frequently met and conversed with Rev. Mr. Lacy, the pastor of the Presbyterian church there, and the chaplain of Stonewall Jackson's corps during the war. He related several anecdotes of that intrepid chieftain, showing his ready genius in the art of war. Of these I remember two.
In the midst of the battle of Chancellorsville, late in the afternoon of the first day's engagement, when, as Lacy said, the Union forces were being driven back at the rate of three miles an hour, Jackson called a Colonel of a Virginia regiment to his side and directed him to go with his regiment as fast as he could, to the left, until he reached United States Ford. There he would find outposts of the enemy, who had just crossed the river, and as it would be dark when he arrived, he was to immediately deploy and attack them, concealing the weakness of his force and making all the noise possible. The Colonel informed the General of the small number of men left in his regiment, and Jackson, snapping his fingers impatiently, said. " Never mind. I will send some one else." The Colonel was at a loss to understand the object of the movement until nearly a year afterward, when, a prisoner of war, he conversed with a Union officer who commanded the advance across the Ford that
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evening, and who told him that his command had been attacked, as it was landing, by the left wing of Jackson's army. Consequently the corps to which he belonged was kept on the opposite side of the river, and did not cross in time to participate in the decisive action of the next day—and so, possibly by this simple maneuver, Chancellorsville was lost to the Union forces. Jackson had conveyed the impression that his line was several miles longer than it actually was. The Union corps mentioned was probably that of Reynolds', which was held in reserve, though General Doubleday, the historian of the battle, does not mention the attack at the Ford.
Lacy further said, that he was present at a council of war called by General Lee the night after the disaster to Burnside at Fredericksburg, at which were present all the principal Confederate Generals. The question submitted was as to the advisability of a continuation of the attack upon Burnside's retiring army. Jackson alone was in favor of immediate pursuit. Lee mentioned the exhausted condition of his troops, and quoted historical instances showing the general failure of night-attacks and their disapproval by many of the great masters in the art of war, principally from the liability, in the darkness, of the attacking party confounding its own men with those of the enemy. To these objections Jackson replied that his corps was not too exhausted to fight, and that if he were permitted to advance, he would strip his men to the waist, so that if they failed to distinguish each other by the sight, they could do so by the touch, and that he would capture the whole of Burnside's army or drive it into the Rappahannock. But his novel proposition was overruled and the battle ceased. Mr. Lacy afterward related this incident to General Merritt of the Union army who declared that if the attack had been made, our army . was in no condition to repulse it—the pontoons were crowded all night—and there were no adequate facilities for safe retreat.
I was called to Lynchburg by an order appointing me a member of a military commission ordered to try civilians
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charged with homicide and other serious infractions of the law. I found my old friend of the Darbytown road, the giant General N. M. Curtis, in command of the Department. His lofty head had indeed come into range with shells since I last saw him: he had lost an eye by a piece of one at the capture of Fort Fisher where he gallantly led his men in an overwhelming charge under a galling fire. He was one of the most prominent actors in that battle. He was not only a man of heroic mold but of heroic performance also, and had made reputation enough to have supplied a score of general officers more conspicuous than he, since the war, because less reserved in pushing their claims to recognition. Eighteen years after the battle of Fort Fisher, in some exciting political complication, his name came to the surface again and the newspapers blundered, in extenso, in seeking to describe his record, making persistent mistakes even in the spelling of his name—another " ancient instance" bearing upon the evanescent color of bay and laurel.
The young and manly-looking President of our Commission, General B—, had risen from the ranks of a Pennsylvania regiment by sheer force of soldierly qualities, and of course, the presentment of opportunities for their display; and he had been wounded about as many times as any man then in the service.
In two of the murder-cases before us, the prisoners were defended by Beverly Johnston, a brother of General Joseph E. Johnston, and by J. W. Johnston his nephew, afterward U. S. Senator. I made the pleasant and lasting acquaintance of these gentlemen, who were of the highest type of the Virginian, partly through sketches of faces made during the trial, including Beverly's own pleasing but strongly marked features. He made a point of these sketches, in summing up in favor of one of the murderers, who, by the way, had a most villainous countenance, by appealing to me, as an " expert in physiognomy," to dwell upon the child-like candor and innocence expressed in the contour of the prisoner's face. Judicial decorum was nearly upset by this adroit
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appeal, but we managed to find the prisoner guilty, although only in a secondary degree.
Beverly was an old bachelor and a very entertaining companion, with a hobby for chess. As we stopped at the same hotel, we engaged in many a game, having also for an adversary, Dr. T. an ex-Confederate quartermaster, then on parole, awaiting his trial before our Commission on the charge of appropriating to his own use certain ingots of gold, amounting in value to several thousand dollars, formerly the property of the Confederacy, and which he had received as quartermaster and disbursing agent. He claimed title to the property on the ground that the Confederate government was indebted to him for pay, allowances and disbursements. At his trial, the shining ingots were produced in court, and I well remember that General B-seemed to take a rather childish pleasure in toying with and handling them. The trial was a test of lawful title, rather than a criminal prosecution, and upon surrendering the property to Major Alberger, our Post Quartermaster, the defendant was acquitted.
Besides being a man of travel and culture, the Doctor was an expert chemist, and the trial was the more memorable to him as he made a chemical discovery during its progress that laid the foundation of his fortunes. Among the members of our Commission was an officer whose father was an extensive manufacturer of pianos in Connecticut, and of him the Doctor learned of the protracted process of bleaching ivory for piano-keys, by exposing it on sheds for years to the action of the elements: in the mean time, losing the use of the capital invested in it. The Doctor immediately began experimenthig, with a view of discovering a quicker process, and succeeded in chemically whitening the ivory in a few days. After his acquittal he went North, sold his secret for a large sum and established himself in a prosperous business.
Beverly Johnston's recollections of John Randolph of Roanoke, of Clay, Calhoun, General Scott and other distinguished men of his times were of exceeding interest. He
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satisfied a curiosity, rather psychological than merely inquisitive, by declaring that from what he himself heard from the lips of the surgeon who conducted the post-mortem examination of Randolph, the peculiar mental traits and strange, though often brilliant, eccentricities of the Sage of Roanoke were fairly attributable to constitutional defects.
Johnston's acquaintance with General Scott who was, like himself, a redoubtable chess-player, covered many seasons at the White Sulphur Springs, and though he frequently vanquished Scott at his favorite game, he invariably forfeited the old warrior's favor whenever he did so. The General could not brook defeat, and would abandon the board for the rest of the day, walk about in a moody, imperious manner and fail to recognize his conqueror for a day or two, when he would come affably around again for another contest.
Beverly was present, with several others, in his brother Joseph's quarters in Washington, in 1861, shortly before the latter's resignation from the post of Quartermaster-General of the United States army. The conversation turned upon the probabilities of a war and plans of campaign. General Johnston, with map in hand, pointing out localities, predicted that in the event of war there would be an invasion of Virginia by an army from Washington moving toward Richmond, and by another co-operating army moving from the upper Shenandoah, probably from Harper's Ferry : that the best point of defense that could be chosen by the Southern forces, owing to the topographical features of the country and the junction of railroads, would be at, or near, Manassas: while, at the same time, an opposing column should be sent up the Shenandoah Valley. In the event of an engagement at Manassas, if the Southern column operating in the valley could be swiftly withdrawn to re-enforce, at the right moment, the army engaged at Manassas, the Southern forces would be victorious. To those unfamiliar with the science of war, such a prediction would seem almost inspired; yet, I am persuaded, that it was a purely
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logical prediction from premises very probable to such a student of strategic science as General Johnston.
General Johnston's opinion of McClellan, expressed to a group of officers in the field in front of Washington, who were discussing the news of McClellan's appointment as commander-in-chief of the Union Army, was, in the light of after-events, equally sagacious and prophetic. He said he did not regard the appointment as a formidable one: McClellan's intrinsic character was that of an engineer, and there had been no instance in history, except perhaps in the exploits of Charles XII., of an engineer officer exhibiting the qualities of a great general in the field. McClellan, he said, would move slowly, intrench, and rely more upon fortifications than upon strategy, dash or energetic fighting.
Beverly Johnston was the only civilian at the council of war held the night of the battle of Manassas or Bull Run, at which were present Jefferson Davis, General Johnston, General Beauregard and others ; and he repeated to me the opinions expressed at this historical gathering about which there has been so much dispute. He averred that Davis fully coincided with the views openly expressed by General Johnston, who considered an immediate aggressive movement and the capture of Washington impracticable. It will be remembered that out of subsequent misrepresentations of what was said at this council of war, grew the perpetual bitterness between Davis and Johnston, which consigned the latter to a secondary command during most of the war.
Later, I was introduced to the General by his brother, who was his equal in intellectual force and insight, and in these qualities both were surpassingly eminent. About the same time I was introduced to Colonel Mosby, the guerrilla chief, whom I thought quite insignificant in appearance, with no air of a military man. I also met and enjoyed a pleasant chat with Major Robinson whose command we had captured at Charles City C. H. while he was absent on his wedding-tour.
After the dissolution of the military commission at Lynchburg, an event occurred which made a painful page
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in the annals of our service, and which I recall only to serve as an extraordinary illustration of the not uncommon, but almost inexplicable, union of the highest qualities of heroism with the basest of criminal tendencies.
General B— the President of our Commission, so distinguished, brave and prepossessing, secretly approached Quartermaster Alberger and proposed to him a plan to rob the government safe, secure the gold ingots surrendered by Dr. T., and divide them. The quartermaster, amazed at such a proposition from a superior officer whom he held in high esteem, requested time to consider it; and the same night quietly slipped away to Washington and laid the matter before the Secretary of War. He was instructed to return and appear to co-operate with the General until his criminal intent was made manifest beyond a doubt, and he was informed that two detectives would follow him. On his return to Lynchburg, the General renewed his advances, and it was agreed that the Quartermaster should loan him the key to the safe, in order that he might make a duplicate of it to leave in the lock. The detectives, meanwhile, had secreted themselves in the room adjoining the one containing the safe, and by means of peep-holes bored through the partition, commanded a view of the interior. One afternoon, the General entered the room, unlocked the safe, placed the gold in his overcoat pockets, and relocked the safe, leaving the key behind, as agreed upon with the Quartermaster, so that the latter, as he pretended, should not be suspected. As he passed out of the room he was confronted by the detective officers, the gold was taken from his pockets, he was handcuffed, taken to Washington and placed in the old Capitol prison. He was never tried—the President simply dismissed him from the service. He died a few years afterward, a social outcast in New York.
A communistic philosopher might lucidly explain this strangely composite character of hero and robber, by declaring that such a combination merely exemplifies the universal human instinct, deeply removed from consciousness by the artificial training imposed by the laws of
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society, that all property was originally acquired or retained by force or cunning, and that there is no abstract rightful personal possession of it. But it will be some time yet before society will receive such an explanation, except as a jest.
The charming climate of Virginia is particularly delicious during the autumn months, in the region watered by the Roanoke and sheltered by spurs of the Blue Ridge. The neighborhood of Wytheville and Abington, where companies of our regiment were stationed, abounds with grand and charming phases of nature—very enticing subjects for the pencil. Our regiment was ordered home for muster-out in November 1865, and being the senior officer present, I was temporarily in command on the return route from Wytheville to Lynchburg, through a country whose natural features are not surpassed anywhere in pictorial suggestiveness. I selected camps in the most picturesque spots I could find, where I had leisure to make sketches, to be used later in compositions of landscape.
At Lynchburg, we delivered our surplus property to the post Quartermaster. I found I had " gained " several horses and transferred them, taking the Quartermaster's receipt. Such horses are gained by capture, originally, and through neglect, or want of opportunity, not properly turned in and redrawn, and are therefore not borne upon the quarterly report. Years after, I was required to account for these horses according to routine: that is, to make statements and affidavits showing why they were not borne upon the report. A fellow-Captain avoided this annoying system of red tape, by taking his surplus horses to a convenient Virginia. town and opening a livery stable. It was just at the period when many people from the North were visiting the Virginia battle-fields and horses and carriages were in active demand. The Captain's enterprise throve, he became a man of means, embarked in other schemes and died rich.
We reached New York at a period so late in the history of the great volunteer army, that people were tired, beyond the point of enthusiasm, with formally receiving returning
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regiments, and no public reception was accorded us. This was a heavy disappointment to soldiers who, for years, had looked forward to their return home as one of the glorious events of their lives—the applause and gratitude of the people were to be their highest rewards: and this thought had helped to inspirit many a youth amid the hardships of the march and bivouac and the loneliness of duty on outpost. Ours was one of the last of the New York regiments mustered out. We received our honorable discharges at Albany, just before Christmas, and some of our Captains, including myself, received the Brevet Commission of Major. Though such commissions were not regarded, generally, as of much account then, they were nevertheless considered as tokens of merit—something more than an honorable discharge, especially by Captains in our regiment, whose chances of promotion had been thwarted by a perpetual quarrel among our field-officers, resulting in the appointment of a colonel from outside the command ; thus preventing the stepping up in rank which would have followed the usual rule in such cases. I had served as a Captain nearly three years, and had seen my juniors in other regiments reach the rank of Colonel and of Brigadier-General. But I never sought promotion, as many did, by securing outside influence: I was contented with my rank, preferring it to a much higher one in an infantry command. Moreover, beyond the gratification of a merely personal ambition, I had little other motive for coveting advancement : I had as yet no home ; no one, particularly, would be gratified by my return with the star of a Brigadier. I felt, however, amply repaid for my service by the training and experience acquired : and as a citizen I was adequately rewarded by the glorious triumph of the Union.
I was particularly beset with the feeling of isolation upon receiving my final discharge. The holidays were approaching, but there was no hearthstone for me. The few surviving members of our family were widely scattered ; a dear younger brother was practicing law away on the Pacific coast : I had long been absent from association with early
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friends, and those I had made in the army were dispersing to their homes in all parts of the country. I felt that, in more than one sense, I was beginning life anew.
In this mood, early one evening, I looked into the city directory to see in what part of the city Alice lived, having a certain lingering curiosity to see the outside of the home provided for her since her marriage. I had heard, authentically, that she had made a wise selection and was perfectly happy. I found that the street was but a few blocks away, and keeping the number of the house in mind, I strolled in that direction. It was early twilight : lamps were just lighting. I entered the street and closely observing and anticipating the numbers as I walked, I was soon before the windows of her dwelling. The shades were up: the rooms level with the street illumined. I saw a lady stooping over a cradle. She arose, coming to the window, as if she had forgotten to draw the shades, and as she reached up to pull the cord, she looked down, our eyes met, and Alice and I recognized each other. The curtain went down and we never saw each other afterward.
I have experienced many curious coincidences in life, but none that touched me deeper than this one, though Alioe has long been a shadowy dream and no longer exists. 18
CHAPTER XXX.
A Victim of Andersonville—Returning to Civil Life—On a New York Newspaper—Resuming and abandoning Art—Admission to the Bar—The Development-theory—Wimleigh's Meteorite—The Murder of Helen Jewett—Army of the Potomac Re-union —Colonel Queux's Divorce-experiences—" An Old Offender" —Anecdotes of Lincoln—Removal to Parlorville—Journalism.
THREE other artists, whom I knew, entered the service shortly after I did, but were far less fortunate. John S. Jameson, a pupil of Church's, an artist of great promise—a talented musician as well—tall, delicately formed, with regular, winning features and endearing disposition, died in the prison pen at Andersonville. He had been my intimate and dear friend, and I have sometimes thought that it was my last visit with him, in bright uniform, glowing with military enthusiasm, at the period of my first appointment to a Lieutenancy, that in some degree influenced his enlistment. But no, I am sure he was actuated more by love of country, than by personal glory, for he was high-minded and modest, as much so as any youth I ever knew—a true artist—a noble heart. There was no purer sacrifice ever offered on the altar of Humanity.
Gay of Albany, also gifted and rapidly winning recognition as a landscape-painter, joined a regiment of Berdan Sharpshooters and left a leg on the field of battle.
My loved fellow-student in Diisseldorf—Charles Shoemaker of Georgetown, D. C., (who is elseWhere mentioned as " Flake,") returned to this country in time to take part in the great struggle, and entering the Engineer Corps contracted illness in camp, from which he died. He rests under a beautifully shaded mound in Oakhill Cemetery—
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the bright promise of his youth turned into a drift of earth.
The question so many soldiers were compelled to answer, at the close of the civil war, was now before me. What should I do for a living; what should I do for a civil career? Waiving all consideration of entering the regular army, as a Lieutenant, for army life, in times of peace, offered no promising future to my ambition, and not having recovered from my despair of art, I sought new fields of achievement.
I accepted a situation as editor of a daily evening paper in the city of New York, being attracted to it by its advocacy of the rights of workingmen and of various social reforms. I presently discovered however, that its publisher was not sincere enough to be consistent in developing these features, but they were paraded merely to serve narrow personal ends, and as such were not profitable. I proposed to him the plan of making it a family and literary journal of high tone; in character, somewhat resembling that of the suspended Evening Mirror of Morris and Willis, and for such a journal there was an inviting field, one that has since been prosperously filled. But his ideas of journalism were those suited to the management of a job-printing office, and I would not waste effort without aspiring to large circulation and corresponding influence. I withdrew, and again turned to art.
I received orders for a number of paintings illustrating incidents in army life: among them one from our first Colonel (General Dodge) and another from General Wistar who gave me as a subject: " The Capture of Charles City Court-House." Concluding I might execute these pictures in the country, surrounded by beautiful scenery, as well as I could in the city, I removed to a town in the interior of the State, which I shall call Parlorville, where there resided a friend of my early youth. I passed a delightful period of nearly a year in this pleasant place, thoroughly absorbed in my work, and building up hopes again of a prosperous career as an artist. I completed my orders to
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the satisfaction of my patrons, who were by no means exacting.
Among the pictures painted, besides the one for General Wistar, were " The Outer Picket," " The Contraband's Story" and "Cavalry Halt in the Roanoke Valley."
I recall the titles of some of the pictures produced at this period, not on account of any importance they possessed, but because of the large expenditure of time and effort devoted to each. I know now that they were attenuated in their treatment by vague experimentalism. I was still floundering in the mists created by over-indulgence, from my youth upward, in the vast library of literature relating to Art—its " theoretical principles," its " aesthetic demands," its "mystical intuitions" and other moonshiny shibboleths.
My maturest theory of the practice of art—my advice to young artists, is:
Create something beautiful; something that will give pleasure; without regarding methods or formulas—your own method will develop in you—only, not forgetting that Truth — not literal, realistic, sordid truth, but beautiful truth is an essential element of the highest art—which is: art that gives the highest pleasure.
No object or incident that would fail to arrest the attention of a cultivated eye if beheld in nature, is worthy of your pencil. Indifferent subjects are often chosen under the pretense of simplicity. Such simplicity is the merest affectation and it has covered the walls of galleries with masterpieces of nothing.
Avoid the influence of the snarling hypercriticism and envious scoffing so prevalent among certain brethren of the brush in speaking of their superiors, whether Raphael, Michael Angelo or Michael Angelo Titmarsh. Remember how very rare are the highest powers of expression; learn to appreciate secondary qualities and venerate sincere effort—if nothing else.
Touch the literature of art very sparingly—leave that to amateurs, dilettanti and critics. Study nature and the
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works of the great masters, but above all, act—draw, paint or model industriously. Let labored theories belabor themselves. Show what you can do with a cultivated brain and executive fingers; something, anything objective, is better than discursive twaddle about theoretic art.
In this country, and generally speaking, only the works of artists of popular reputation are in sufficient demand to secure purchasers without special solicitation. The class of rich people whose early disadvantages precluded them from acquiring any knowledge of art, is very numerous, and such people buy pictures on the same plan that they would purchase novelties in hardware or furniture. Therefore, to avoid becoming a starving victim of rapacious picture-dealers, a struggling young artist should be a good salesman. This I never was, and when I returned to New York in January 1867 and encountered the same old obstacles to success as an artist, I reflected that I was still young enough to take a new start in life and I vowed to forever abandon a profession that had invariably brought me poverty and heart-aches. Accordingly, I threw down the palette and picked up the Code. I applied myself so closely and persistently to the study of law, that I passed my examination in the autumn of this year and was admitted to practice.
While pursuing my legal studies, I had found recreation in perusing works on scientific subjects. I was particularly impressed with a series of articles in the Westminster Review, relating to sociology, which I afterward knew were from the pen of Herbert Spencer. I had a friend, a young lawyer, who shared my taste for this kind of literature and who was equally impressed with the importance of the discovery, or rather the demonstration, that Progress is a universal law, as all-pervading as the law of gravitation. In the words of Haeckel, we soon began to " comprehend in its full significance the fundamental idea of the concordant development of the world from natural causes." We eagerly sought for the works of Huxley, Spencer and Darwin. Together we went, one afternoon, to a prominent
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publishing house in Broadway and inquired for Darwin's " Origin of Species." We felt greatly rebuked when the clerk replied " We don't sell infidel books." This was in the year A.D. 1867. Nevertheless, we succeeded in finding a copy, and taking it to our room, prepared to devour it. At first, we stumbled over unfamiliar technical terms, but we soon sufficiently mastered these to intensely enjoy its perusal, and after ward the reading of other books relating to the theory of the law of evolution.
The Development-theory satisfied and quieted the mental restlessness from which I had suffered since I first exercised freedom of thought, while a student in Germany, eight years before, when I formed a resolution to discard the subtleties of metaphysics and to follow Common-sense Truth, no matter where it might lead me, and not to be a baby and cry if it led me where I did not want to go. I have never lost this mental rest since, nor my bias, then first developed, for the pure delights of science. There were comparatively few among our acquaintances then of our way of thinking, nor, compared with the number of civilized people on the globe, are there many adherents of the evolutionary theory now, though the leaven is still working; but there has been an immeasurable growth, in the mean time, toward the acceptance of exact scientific knowledge—the direct result of the publication of the investigations of Darwin and his co-workers.
These studies did not lead myself, nor my friend, to assume any over-wise or flippant attitude toward religion or churches; neither did they destroy our belief in the existence of a Great Creator of the Universe. Atheists I have heard of, but though my acquaintances among liberal thinkers have been numerous, I have never known one who professed himself an atheist, and I have concluded that it is a mere epithet which Theology hurls at Science. If these studies left us somewhere in the class now called Agnostics, we were of the kind who believe " that there may be things not only in the heavens and earth but beyond the intelligible universe which are not dreamt of in our philosophy."
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About this time, I formed the acquaintance of the Messrs. Wimleigh, two genial, elderly gentlemen, and brothers, with whom I passed many pleasant evenings, entertained with their relation of varied experience and with their independent philosophy. The younger was quite scholarly and of a metaphysical turn of mind, a graduate from the theological school of Calvin, which he had, however, only partly abandoned, being still befogged in the "reconciliation-period " between theology and science. Talking of religious belief, he said that he should have been an optimist, had it not been for his finding one day, on an Illinois prairie, a meteorite, which he showed me—a beautiful, nearly round mass of crystallized metal, weighing four or five pounds. I could not, at first, comprehend how this wanderer from space had so materially affected his views, but his explanation was quite simple. He said that meteorites differed in the calamities they might inflict upon the human race from all other threatening forces of nature. The lightning-rod could avert the thunder-stroke, and earthquakes might be evaded by removing from regions where they occur : besides there was evidently a law of periodicity, governing their occurrence which would yet be discovered, and then their happening might be predicted far enough ahead to enable people to escape their dangers; but meteorites could neither be predicted nor evaded, and he could not reconcile their existence with the existence in Nature of an all pervading spirit of Beneficence. And yet he knew of no authentic instance of death or injury resulting from the fall of a meteorite. Indeed, he admitted that they had done less harm than Massachusetts rum.
A gentle, modest soul, his deep sincerity often made the younger Wimleigh appear dogmatic. He said that his test of a man's common-sense was to ask him if he presumed that any of the other planets or worlds were inhabited by intelligent beings. If the man doubted, or hesitated, replying he " didn't know," " couldn't tell," or " didn't care," that was enough—he was not above the average of civilized men!
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This reminds me of the effect produced upon my mind years before, in viewing the planet Saturn through a large field-telescope. It brought to my vivid realization the fact that the little specks of light in the dark sky are great worlds moving silently through space; and I thought if the earth had been placed in closer proximity to some of these great globes, so that all Earth's people could comprehend that there are other worlds than ours, how different would have been the structure of human theologies. It is not a merely fanciful inference to assume that on planets like Mars or the asteroids or globes outside of our solar system, where the inhabitants may distinctly perceive, without telescopic aid, convincing suggestions of other habitable worlds —theologies have a very different basis from those conceived and elaborated on our planet.
The elder Wimleigh's stories of adventure in the Southwest, were told in a graphic idiom peculiar to himself. He had been a Texas ranger and fought Indians with Ben McCulloch, and his narrow personal escapes were many, not only from Indians, but from white outlaws and desperadoes. He was the first white settler in a principal Texas town, and was identified with the growth and prosperity of the place until the outbreak of the Rebellion, when he was compelled to leave on account of his Union sentiments, thereby losing a fortune. On reaching his former home in Connecticut early in 1861, he was so enraged at the apathy of the Northern people, after witnessing the active preparations for war in the South, that he gave free expression to his feelings, and was mobbed for what were termed his "rebel sentiments." So he came to New York. His descriptions of Texas were so enticing that they prepared me, afterward, to favorably consider a proposition to cast my fortunes in that State.
He related to me some incidents in the career of Richard P. Robinson, the supposed murderer of Helen Jewett in New York. Wimleigh had known Robinson as an elder schoolmate in a little Connecticut village. Later, they were clerks in different stores on the same street and retained a
MSMOIRS OF SETH ETLAND.	281
passing acquaintance. Wimleigh was in New York at the time of Helen Jewett's murder, and he described the intense popular excitement that prevailed during Robinson's trial. It will be remembered that the evidence of his guilt was overwhelming, and conclusive to most minds, and yet the jury acquitted him. It was said that his uncle, who had stood manfully by him during his trial, when it was over, accompanied him across the ferry to Hoboken, and there, presenting him with a generous sum of money, bade him good-by with the admonition never to show his face in New York again.
It was many years after this, that Wimleigh, at a hotel dining-table in Nacogdoches, Texas, was introduced to Colonel Parmelee, clerk of the District Court in that place. He was immediately struck with the Colonel's familiar appearance, but could think of no solution of this impression. He had some slight conversation with him and went away, thinking over and over again where he had seen the man before. It was not until weeks afterward, when he had about dismissed the subject from his mind, that suddenly it was all clear to him—the Colonel was Richard Parmelee, Robinson. He was identified afterward by others, and his former trial for murder was used against him after he was renominated for District Clerk. Strange to relate he met this attack by sending to New York and procuring a number of pamphlets containing the report of his trial, and he caused them to be freely circulated throughout the district. He was re-elected.
I remember deploring to the Wimleighs the time I had lost in studying Art abroad. The elder inquired if I had not enjoyed myself. " Yes," I replied, " it was the happiest period of my whole life." " Then," said he, " you are not wise in regretting it : happiness is the substantial thing in this life and not what you accomplish." This to me was a new view of life and sometimes afforded me consolation.
I formed a partnership with a young lawyer the spring following my admission and entered upon a tolerably lucrative practice. At times I seriously felt the want of
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previous business experience. Studio-life is obviously a poor preparation for a practical business career. Our clientage, especially among the Germans, was comparatively large, and my early training in a law-office came to my assistance, but I often felt that even a few months' experience in my youth in a country store, learning how to bargain and sell and calculating prices and profits, would have been of immense advantage to me.
During these few years of prosperity I led a very active life, professionally and socially. As may be inferred from what I have related of my life, I had, up to this period, associated but little with the other sex. I knew very little indeed of society women. They were all divinities to me : and I have never entirely recovered from a perhaps undue veneration for women—lofty or lowly, queens or peasants: even yet, they seem to me almost the superior sex. I was past thirty before I even began to comprehend woman. I say "began to comprehend" advisedly, for is it not written: " The first man knew her not perfectly, neither did the last man find her out"? Men have their illusions about women, and women theirs about men, and these are the illusions which, doubtless, more than all other, render the world most happy. Thank fortune I have succeeded in retaining most of these illusions. I married, the second year of my law-practice—free from doleful retrospections, and so I married happily.
No lawyer could practice in New York, at that period, without coming in contact with the influences exerted in the Courts by the Tweed political Ring. The corruption of some of the judges was evident enough, but popular opinion cast a certain odium upon all. It paid lawyers to take part in politics and clients, in important cases, were apt to select counsel from among those regarded as having affiliations with Tammany Hall. Favoritism in the Courts was so open and pronounced that great indignation and resentment were aroused among the more reputable members of the Bar. The result was an agitation in the newspapers in favor of co-operation and a protective Bar Association. I
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earnestly partook in this agitation and invited a number of the younger members of the bar to a meeting which was held in a large vacant room adjoining our office in Broadway. It was the first formal meeting to organize a Bar Association and was noticed in a brief paragraph in the New York Times. There were present F. H. Man, E. W. Cogges-hall, Carlisle Norwood, Jr., Thomas B. Odell, N. Gano Dunn, Charles E. Smith, Edward Hartnagle, Roger A. Lyon, and several others, whose names I have forgotten. I presented a Constitution and By-Laws. Mr. Man was elected chairman and a committee was appointed to report upon a plan of permanent organization of which I was a member. Our committee learned from ex-Judge Nicoll that he, with James T. Brady and others, were considering the subject of calling a meeting of the older members of the Bar to organize a similar association, and he advised us to suspend our action for a short time, and assured us that we should be included among the original members of the proposed society. This advice was followed, and all of our party who chose, were admitted, upon its organization, to the New York Bar Association which now numbers about 800 members. As I was then away from the city, I could not avail myself of the privilege.
As I advanced in knowledge of the business world, it appeared to me that one of the Wimleighs had fairly, though oddly, classified men, from a business standpoint, into three groups, which he denominated respectively : " The Coaxers, The Forcers, and The Lucky Ones." The last named include those who inherit wealth, or find it, as in the case of miners, or those who win it by lottery or chance. " The Coaxers" comprise those who obtain money by craft or cunning, or by tickling people's vanity, passions, whims or prejudices. Merchants and traders in luxuries, artists, actors, preachers, and most all the professions he included in this group, except lawyers, who, as agents, with money-lenders, producers of the necessaries of life and robbers, belong to the group of " Forcers," or those
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who directly, or indirectly, make the transfer of property compulsory.
I could not readily adapt myself, even as an agent, to the class of " Forcers." To do so, would have required a different training: so the general practice of my new profession was never a pleasurable pursuit. Moreover, I could not reconcile many of the precepts of law with evolutionary science or common-sense.. The very fact that decisions are based upon precedents going back to ages of semi-barbarism makes jurisprudence the least progressive of the sciences.
Some of the remarks of Chief-Justice Coleridge at his recent public receptions in this country, show, however, that even Law has been touched by the new theories of the origin of civilization. It was a great admission for him to make that there are volumes of legal cases which have been quoted as precedents for centuries, that could have done no harm had they all been decided the other way. He might have gone farther and said that, excepting theological writings, the greatest mass of ingenious reasoning from false premises which exists in the world, is found in the reports of decisions in law-cases. Pufendorf, and the most eminent writers upon elementary law, proceed upon the hypothesis that the savage man was once civilized, and that the civilized man was never savage—the very contrary of what recent modern science has triumphantly established. It is not singular, therefore, that starting out with erroneous premises as to the history of persons and property, the Common Law abounds with instances of juridical sophistry and arbitrary dicta bordering upon the grotesque; such as establishing the title to ownership of a wreck by evidence that a rat reached land alive; the infliction of heavy fine and imprisonment upon jurymen who touched the least morsel of food before they were discharged; and the creation of a distinction so wide between lifting a latch for felonious purposes before dark, and after, that the punishment awarded, varied from a few years' imprisonment for the former offense to a life-sentence for the latter. It may be noted also that the Common Law, which
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was conceived and administered, essentially, in the interests of lords and masters, ever held the rights of property paramount to the rights of persons, and that within the present century starving human beings, even women, have been hanged in England for appropriating property of the value of a few shillings. It seems to me there is a good opportunity for some liberally endowed law-student, who should take notes for the purpose from the very beginning of his explorations in legal lore, to write a valuable treatise on evolution as applied to legal precedents.
As to the practice of law, I discovered that when an attorney was pointed out as possessing " a legal mind," it did not mean a ready and just perception of abstract right and wrong, but merely the quick command of artifices in argument. In short, I learned that there was much truth in the saying, attributed to Aaron Burr, that " Law is whatever is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained."
In the course of my practice, I had one case curiously illustrating the devious complications of our marriage-laws. I had casually known in the army a certain Major Queux, who, like hundreds of others, had been brevetted a lieutenant-colonel, in accordance with Secretary Stanton's plan of liberally scattering titles to prevent the possible formation of an exclusive class of military aristocrats. A few years ago the Colonel exiled himself to a foreign land, where it is hoped, " divorces are easily obtained without publicity," and his identity will never be discovered by anything mentioned in these pages.
While still in the service, Queux had obtained a decree of divorce from his wife. The proceedings in the case attracted the attention of the public press which bestowed rather unkindly criticisms upon the motives and conduct of the plaintiff in the suit ; but he was of a nature little affected by such criticisms. A few years after the war, he bestowed his affections upon a handsome widow of considerable means, who afterward openly avowed that she was influenced in accepting his attentions by an ambition to acquire the title of Mrs. Colonel Queux. The marriage
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did not prove a happy one, though the Colonel was good-natured and prudent to a fault. I was quite unaware of his domestic infelicity, however, until his appearance in my office one Monday morning in a state of utter distraction. He pranced about the room, raving incoherently, calling my attention to a small object that he held aloft in his hand and which I discovered to be a piece of a straw hat which, he alleged, his wife had torn to pieces the day before. It appeared to be her immemorial custom on Sunday mornings to rise before her lord, remove his clothes and herself from his sleeping apartment, lock the door and confine him a close prisoner all day; while she, with her fine horse and elegant carriage, her own private property, enjoyed pleasant drives with her little daughter by her first husband, in the picturesque by-ways of a fashionable suburban resort. Occasionally, if the Colonel proved noisy or intractable under this treatment, she would sit on the piazza of the hotel where they boarded and calmly pick his straw hat to pieces, the prisoner helplessly looking on from the window of his cell. Once, she graciously permitted him to accompany her on one of her afternoon drives, and when they had left the hotel a few miles behind them, she halted and directed him to descend and fix one of the straps of the bridle. As he approached the horse's head, she applied her long whip vigorously, quite indifferent as to whether it struck the horse or the Colonel, and she flew by, leaving him standing in the road to walk back at his leisure, while she returned by a circuitous route. The Colonel alleged that be had repeatedly offered to pay his spouse twenty dollars a week if she would forever abandon him; but the only response to this offer was: "I wouldn't touch your dirty twenty dollars," followed by the lisping repetition of the child: " Mamma wouldn't touch your dirty twenty dollars."
After I had listened to the colonel's recital of all his domestic woes, he concluded by informing me that he had come to me for legal advice, and with a check for a large amount, if I could devise some means for his escape from
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such intolerable and crushing misery. After a few questions I frankly told him there was no ground for obtaining an absolute divorce, and the attempt to secure a limited one would be costly and uncertain: but as he seemed determined to leave her, at once, without formality, I advised him to fortify himself against a probable suit for abandonment by securing lodging in a cheap but respectable boarding-house in the city, and then notify her of his change of residence, at the same time sending her sufficient means to remove with her effects from the fashionable hotel. As she had repeatedly declared her determination never to live in a cheap boarding-house, it was not likely that she would follow him and he would thus shield himself from prosecution for abandonment. He seemed highly elated with this advice, thanked me and departed. A couple of weeks passed by and he re-entered my office in much the same plight as before, vowing he would never live with " that woman" another hour. Upon inquiry, I learned that he had carried out my instructions, so far as staying away and giving notice of a change of residence; with the result that Madame la Colonel appeared at his place of business the next day, armed with a horsewhip and compelled an unconditional surrender in the face of his astonished clerks. It was a surrender, although he called it merely a temporary compromise. They had " made it all up" and there was a truce which lasted for nearly two weeks, when the old hostilities were renewed and he again resolved to retreat, provided I could only find him a legal knot-hole however narrow, to crawl through. He sought to stimulate my zeal and invention by renewed offers of munificent fees. I again questioned him, and learned the important fact that his wife had stated that she had obtained a divorce from her first husband in the city of New York. There was a bare chance of discovering some irregularity, or legal defect, in the proceedings which might annul her marriage with the colonel: and bidding him to be patient and hopeful and call the next day, I went to explore the records of the city courts. After a thorough examination, I could
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not discover the title of any cause containing her former name, and so I reported to my client, when he called, still in a condition bordering upon frenzy. After we had concluded that there had been deception, at least as to the place where her divorce had been secured, I obtained from him the name of a lawyer in a distant city who was related to her first husband. To this lawyer I wrote asking particulars of the divorce. He replied by inquiring what had become of the little daughter and for what purpose I wanted the information. If these questions were satisfactorily answered he promised to give the particulars requested. I wrote, answering his questions frankly. He rejoined by giving me the information that her first husband had obtained a divorce from her in a Western State, giving the name of the State and the county where the decree was filed. The question then arose whether her marriage with the colonel was not invalid, and to determine this it was necessary to send for a certified copy of the decree and to carefully look up the law. But I told him the prospects were encouraging and he went away rejoicing, promising to call the next day. He did not come, however, nor did I see him for several weeks afterward. Then he appeared in the same old demoralized condition, demanding to know whether he was a free man or not. He explained his absence by saying that Madame la Colonel, who was in the habit of inspecting his pockets before he was up in the morning, had found the lawyer's letter, which I had loaned him at his special solicitation, and upon reading it she had uttered a wild shriek and fallen to the floor. She continued in a half faint until he agreed to a treaty of peace, she promising that everything would be right in the future, if he would not pursue the divorce matter any further. She had lived faithfully up to the provisions of the treaty for several weeks, and had then violently broken the compact in her most annoying manner. He was now fully and finally resolved, he said, to part from her forever. As I had been busy in other matters, I had not yet precisely determined the legality of
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her second marriage, but as he was extremely anxious, I promised to devote the entire day to his case, and to call and inform him of the result the next day. I ascertained, beyond a question, that her second marriage was invalid, according to the laws of our State, and that the colonel was a free man. I called as per appointment at his place of business and informed him with considerable formality, that he was free: that his marriage was void. To my surprise, he scarcely seemed interested in the announcement, merely remarking in a hesitating, shambling sort of way that it made no difference now: that her lawyer had been to see him and they had "made it all up" and he reckoned they would "now get along all right." I withdrew with a determination to have nothing further to do with his affairs.
It was not long after this interview, that I saw a newspaper report of a recent decision of Judge Barnard, an obiter dictum, to the effect that an unmarried man who calls a woman his wife, and treats and recognizes her as such, becomes her lawful husband. I cut this report out and filed it away. Several months elapsed. The colonel, as I expected, called again. This time, however, he was quite meek and subdued, nor was my reception of him calculated to encourage any self-complacency. He falteringly informed me, that no matter what the consequences might be, he had concluded, once for all, to repudiate Mrs. Queux and remain henceforth and forever apart from her. He bad merely called to re-assure himself that he was legally entitled to his freedom. In reply, I produced Judge Bar-nard's opinion and after reading it, told him there was no doubt in my mind that he was free on the day when I notified him, formally, of the invalidity of his marriage; but it bad since occurred to me that, as he had undoubtedly informed his wife of my opinion as to the illegality of the marriage, and as she was shrewd and active and had employed sharp counsel, she had doubtless secured the removal of the disability against re-marrying, a feat not difficult in the State where the decree was obtained; and,
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as he had continually recognized and treated the lady as his wife, he had probably brought himself within the construction of the law as expounded by Judge Barnard. I concluded by saying, that, as it was impossible for me to say whether he was married or not, hnd as I should charge a heavy retainer before going any farther in the case, his best course was to see the lady's lawyer, make it all up again and try to be happy. He left in great haste, and years afterward I heard that they bad made it all up and were happy on a plantation on one of the West India islands.
Our magisterial system, which permits so many injustices in the administration of the law, affords many illustrations of the law's comparative indifference to personal rights where property is not involved. So soon, however, as property rights are touched, we behold how careful, precise and hair-splitting are the appliances of legal machinery, how nicely adjusted and tremulous are the gilded scales of justice.
One of our clients held a contract with the city to furnish supplies to the institutions on Blackwell's Island, and his business there brought him in contact with officials and afforded inner glimpses of prison life. In this way, he learned of an instance of magisterial injustice which so deeply touched him that he related it to me.
It was the case of an English girl—an immigrant—who came alone to this country, expecting to meet her brother on her arrival at Castle Garden. Through some mischance, he failed to meet her, and a Greenwich street hotel runner induced her to go to a hotel and wait until her brother, who resided in the interior of the State, could be notified of her whereabouts. The same night she was robbed of everything she possessed and turned out in the street in her night-dress. A policeman promptly arrested her and led her to the station-house. The next morning, she was brought up with a number of other prisoners, accused of disorderly conduct, before Justice Dowling, who had been so frequently flattered in the newspapers for his wonderful
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faculty of remembering faces, that he appeared to think himself infallible. When her turn came, he merely glanced at her and waved her off with the remark : " Another old offender ! Six months." The d . zed and frightened girl, without any attention being paid to her tearful pleadings, was passed out to the prison van and carried to the penitentiary on Blackwell's Island. Here, when she was assembled with the other female prisoners, something in her modest demeanor immediately attracted the attention of the matron in charge, who happened to have had many years' experience in the treatment of criminals. The matron watched her narrowly for several weeks, and one day, questioned her as to her history. The girl's story was so simple and straightforward that the woman could not doubt its literal truth. The matron's husband was a sub-official of the prison, and she repeated to him what the girl had told her, urging him to make some effort for her release. But he, at first, merely scolded his wife for showing altogether too much interest in the prisoners; she, however, returned to the subject incessantly, and gave him no peace until he wrote to Commissioner of Charities Owen Brennan a letter in which the unhappy girl's statements were circumstantially detailed, adding the name and address of her brother. The kind-hearted commissioner personally investigated the case and found her statements true; the tardy brother appeared on the scene, and the poor immigrant, perfectly innocent of any crime, was released—after suffering more than two months' degrading imprisonment.
The Society of the Army of the Potomac was organized in Steinway Hall in the summer of 1869, and I joined it, meeting, in a social way, many of the most famous generals of the war, including Sheridan, Meade, McClellan, Burnside, Hancock, Franklin, and a few naval officers, among whom was Admiral Farragut. The meeting in the morning was presided over by General McClellan, and his excessive amiability was conspicuous in his vain efforts to maintain order. He would " beg the gentlemen to come to order,"
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" to be quiet" and so forth. Still there was great confusion and extremely little attention paid to the polite chairman's wishes. In the afternoon General Burnside was called to the chair. His bluffness and decision, not however lacking in courtesy, compelled immediate order. His first remark was that he had requested a body of police to remain in the corridor and to expel the first man who interrupted the proceedings. After this announcement there was regularity and decorum. A grand banquet in the evening at Delmonico's, followed the completion of the organization.
About this time, I became acquainted with an old and intimate friend of President Lincoln, Mr. W. W. Danen-hower, who was Third Auditor of the Treasury during his administration, and the father of Lieutenant Danenhower since famous as an Arctic explorer. Mr. D. was formerly a practicing lawyer in Springfield, Ill., a near neighbor of Lincoln and his intimate friend. He was the first to announce to " Old Abe," as he affectionately called him, the serious probability of his receiving the Presidential nomination. A short time before the meeting of the National Convention, Danenhower, who was a member of the Illinois State Republican Committee, went on a trip East with other members of the committee with a view to harmonize the claims of Seward and Cameron the most prominent candidates for the nomination. The committee, after visiting these gentlemen and discussing the situation, arrived at the conclusion that party harmony would best be promoted by the selection of a candidate from the West, and they determined to concentrate their efforts upon securing the nomination of Lincoln. On the evening of his return home from this trip, Danenhower called at Lincoln's law office and found him sitting alone, tipped back in his chair, his hands clasped behind the back of his head and his long legs stretched across the corner of a table. He greeted Danenhower in his usual off-hand manner and inquired as to the outlook in the East. D. related in full the details of his visit, and finally announced that it. being impossible to reconcile the Greeley, Weed and Came,
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ron factions, the committee had decided that a Western man must be selected, and after full consultation they had unanimously decided upon the man. Lincoln naturally inquired who he was. Danenhower responded, " His name is Abraham Lincoln of Illinois." Lincoln's look of surprise was genuine. Then he laughed, a deep inward ripple, and dropping his hands and removing his legs from the table stood erect and paced the room. " Why, Danenhower, this shows how political parties are degenerating; you and I can remember when we thought no one was fit for the Presidency but ' Young Harry of the West' [Henry Clay], and now you seem to be seriously considering me for that position. It's absurd." But his friend half convinced him of his eligibility before his departure, and soon after it was made clear to him.
Mr. Danenhower showed me a communication from Lincoln which hung in a little frame in his room—one of the most unique and characteristic notes ever written. It is dated March 4th 1861, the day of the writer's first inauguration as President. Danenhower had called at the White House on that day, but through some inadvertence was not admitted. The President heard of his call a few hours later and hastily penned this familiar note, in substance, begging his friend not to think he was putting on airs because he was in the White House, and telling him to call again and he would see that he was admitted. The noble and sensitive nature of Lincoln could not overlook this slight to an old friend, even on such a day of vast mental strain, amid the momentous labors upon which he had just entered.
My partner's health failing, he removed to a distant Western State, and learning that there was an alluring field for a lawyer in Parlor ville, where I had passed such an agreeable summer, and influenced by other considerations, now half-forgotten, but doubtless more persuasive than the picturesque attractions of the place, I took up my residence there. This was the turning-point and mistake of my life.
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While waiting for clients, I converted my consultation room into a studio, and occupied several months in finishing the largest and most ambitious picture I ever painted. It was a country court scene, containing fifty-seven figures, many studied directly from life. I called it " The Stupid Witness," and in remembrance of early assistance, presented it to an elder brother.
I had scarcely entered upon a promising law practice, when the political campaign of 1872 began. A weekly paper called the Times had been started in the place the year before, but having espoused the unpopular side in local politics, it had recently changed hands and was without an editor.
With no intention of leaving my profession, I accepted an invitation to edit the paper during the campaign, with the expectation of retiring when it was over with a prestige that would aid my success at the bar. I soon found that I could not divide my energies, and that the paper absorbed them all.
CHAPTER MT.
A Socialistic Discourse—" The Equal Distribution of Wealth"—Comments of the Press—Letters from Reformers—Features of the Times—" Serving the King"—" Down among the Dead"—Estab-lishing a Morning Newspaper—Anecdotes of General Grant—Rev. Dr. Lilliput—Illustrating Books—Professor in a Military School—Arrest of Mrs. Surratt.
SHORTLY before undertaking the conduct of this journal, I had completed an essay entitled " The Equal Distribution of Wealth," and delivered it before a small gathering of intelligent ladies and gentlemen who had recently organized a literary and scientific society under the name of " The Polytechnic Association."
Whatever there was of preparation for the composition of this essay covered all the years of reading, observation, reflection and discussion that followed the period, elsewhere mentioned, of my first acquaintance with the work of Pu-fendorf " On the Law of Nature and Nations," which first directed my thoughts toward the study of abstract rights and principles ; and in composing this address all my efforts were concentrated upon presenting my views in a manner so condensed, yet coherent, as to be adapted to popular reading. To thus treat topics of such momentous interest, admitting of so much argument, amplification and modest concession, was no easy task.
After my introduction to German literature, my reading of philosophical works took a wide range ; and I began to suspect, as I grew mature, that the sources through which I had derived my early impressions of the Great French Revolution had imposed upon me erroneous views of that portentous epoch; and perceiving symptoms of the still Greater Revolution that is coming, I sought direct acquaint-
EVOLUTION OP A LIP E
ance with the works of those who, like Mirabeau, Rousseau and Voltaire, prepared the way for mighty reforms. In addition, I made special study of Fourier and Malthus and o. those English writers who, like Adam Smith, Bentham and John Stuart Mill, vainly attempted to treat Political Economy as a science, before the recognition of the law of evolution; just as Sir Charles Lyell, according to his own confession, had abortively tried to construct a rational system of Geology before his acceptance of the same universal law.
I began, in July, 1872, the printing of my discourse in pamphlet form, intending to gratuitously distribute a hundred thousand copies. I chiefly aimed to be a propagandist of the new, scientific views of the universe, which taught that it was developed, and not specially created—apprehending some of the practical and wholesome effects upon social progress of the dissemination of such an important truth.
Although I received no pecuniary compensation for my services on the journal, I was soon drawn into its business management through having advanced means for its maintenance, and my interests became identified with its success. I plainly perceived, after the first small edition of my pamphlet had been scattered, that the existence of the journal, which depended wholly upon local support, would be seriously imperiled should any copies of the pamphlet be distributed in conservative, orthodox Parlorville. I therefore deferred its further publication, and was particularly careful in guarding against its local circulation.
Even the few thousand copies of " The Equal Distribution of Wealth" that were circulated abroad, created sufficient hubbub to enable me to judge somewhat of its effects. Widely diverse opinions were expressed. In the New York World there was a fair review penned by David Croly, scholar, scientist and philosopher. Several favorable comments appeared in The Index—Abbott's fearless experiment, and in other liberal journals, the large number of which, especially in the Western States, surprised me. Gerrit Smith wrote me approving words. Dr. La Roy Sunder-
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land, the veteran free-soiler and scientific investigator, wrote me an enthusiastic indorsement, saying that " the pamphlet ought to be multiplied by the million." Edward and Marie Howland, who had won recognition by their deep and sincere treatment of social topics in periodical literature, gave me kind words of encouragement, as did also many representatives of workingmen's societies. But the number of letters received from all parts of the Union, and from all sorts of enthusiasts, not to say " cranks," was quite bewildering. The discourse was republished in England and copies sent me. It stirred up nests of reformers and socialistic communities whose existence I had never dreamed of ; and. I received some very curious propositions and suggestions, showing how this crooked world might be made straight.
On the other hand, the assaults upon me and the pamphlet were fierce, prolonged and startlingly bitter. The New York Daily Witness began a two-column editorial condenm-ing me and my discourse with, " The Adversary is abroad and his name is," etc. In other journals, abuse, in which occurred such words as " communist," " iconoclast," "incendiary" and other enlivening epithets, was abundant. Sneering fury and intolerance characterized most of the criticisms of ultra orthodox journals. The views expressed in the pamphlet concerning the marriage relation provoked by far the most ill-temper. None of my enraged critics seemed to comprehend that I was predicting from scientific data, and not, in any proper sense, advocating. Many who upheld my views of compulsory education and prison reform were tauntingly irreconcilable in their remarks about equal distribution and civil marriage.
It should be recalled that my pamphlet was published before Henry George, with his plan for the " Nationalization of Land," Mrs. Besant, with her views regarding " The Law of Population," Charles Bradlaugh, Joseph Arch, John Swinton and others, who have done so much to break down the barriers of popular prejudice and enlighten the masses, became so prominent and powerful. None of these earnest
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reformers, however, have, in my humble opinion, faced the logical and inevitable results of the present tendencies of social progress.
I am now well assured that such pamphlets will not set the world on fire: for the very simple reason that the " average civilized man" will not read them. Yet the future alone can decide the truth or fallacy of my views: I am satisfied to indulge the fancy that many years hence I may, possibly, be accredited with having been one of the earliest who publicly tried to induce from evolutionary laws a scientific basis for prophecy.
In editing the Times, I clearly saw that if I purposed publishing the paper (it had become my own), as a business venture, I should have to withhold many of my unwelcome views from its staid and methodical patrons; still, I advanced all I thought they could possibly bear.
Parlorville was a very neat and pretty town, eligibly and beautifully situated, containing a population of fourteen or fifteen thousand. It possessed most of the peculiarities of a town midway between a village and a city. The Parlorville of to-day is quite different in its social aspects and business development from the Parlorville that I first knew; for although the place then contained inhabitants of high average intelligence, there was little public spirit and much narrow sectarianism, mingled with oppressive business conservatism. It cherished many of the traits and traditions transplanted from old New England towns where, formerly, the parson exercised authority similar to that of a parish priest in Belgium and Rhineland. Some of its leading citizens were usurers and Pharisees; which would seem to imply that to some extent self-righteousness and avarice characteristically prevailed. But this would sound ill-natured, and the fact that Parlorville welcomed and generously sustained a newspaper dedicated to such advanced views as were held by the Times sufficiently shows that a majority of its citizens were tolerant and progressive, and ready for a change of thought in new directions. The journal aroused a public spirit, until then dormant, and it is admitted than
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it accomplished much toward promoting the material advancement of the place while essaying to exert a liberalizing influence upon the community at large.
The Times did not, however, win support and popularity without a fight: there was fierce opposition from older journals and a newspaper war ensued, scarcely paralleled for persistent personal malignity—even in the miry history of country journalism. My first sensation, while incurring this sort of publicity, was like being immersed in muddy water. But I mustered all my forces of combativeness, perceiving that I must fight, or take a back seat in the estimation of my audience; and I endeavored to make the contest interesting by the use of light verbal projectiles pointed with humor, irony and satire. This campaign of personalities, which was rudely forced upon me from the outset of my editorial career, lasted more than a year, before I overcame the prejudice against a new-corner and an innovator, and won an enduring peace. There was scarcely anything of a disparaging nature which was not repeatedly said of me during this contest, and I, born with such a strong love of approbation, so often mistaken for self-esteem, and once so sensitive to criticism, became so indifferent to reckless slander, that if the press of the world had opened upon me in one grand diapason of displeasure, it would not have made me wince. After all, " There is nothing lighter than mere praise," and milk-and-water people receive most of it.
The scheme and scope of the Times were unlike those of any country journal I had ever seen. The amount of what is called original reading matter was very large, out of all proportion to that usually presented. The aim was to secure local maintenance and financial solidity by providing abundance of interesting local news; at the same time to attract attention and secure circulation abroad, by vigorous editorial treatment of topics of universal interest; and it was especially dedicated to compulsory education, reform in the civil service and in the treatment of criminals, temperance and woman suffrage. It also battled in the interests of labor reform, steadily urging the organization of indus-
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try. In advocating Temperance, it took the rather unusual ground that so long as grain and grapes ripen intoxicants will be used by mankind, and their use abused by the weakly disciplined and self-indulgent; and that universal educa-tion—education in its true sense—is the surest safeguard against intemperance, that giant curse and obstruction to all organic social reform.
It was my hope, whenever the outside circulation would warrant such a change, to pay less attention to the local field and establish a national circulation and reputation : a plan not altogether visionary, for it had already been accomplished by more than one well conducted remote inland j ournal. The Times had a few features entirely novel. It presented each week a political cartoon drawn and engraved on wood by the editor. Some of these were so popular that they were stereotyped and reproduced in Western journals.
Another feature was a weekly column of news items, of which I have never noticed any imitation, entitled, " The Past, Present and Future " and bearing at its head this sentence from De Tocqueville : " It is not necessary that God himself should speak in order to disclose to us the unquestionable signs of his will. We can discern them in the habitual course of nature and in the invariable tendency of events." The object of this column was to demonstrate by a record of current events the universal processes of evolution: and it contained an account of contemporaneous inventions and discoveries in science, reports of the repeal of obstructive laws and the enactment of those indicating progress and the march of co-operation: notes showing the aspiring struggles of labor and the monopolizing tendencies of capital; items marking advances toward greater intercommunication between nations, and the spread of political, religious, social and individual liberty—everywhere on the earth. All these paragraphs were gathered fresh from the newspapers of each week. In my opinion it is only a question of a brief time when the law of evolution will be so well understood, that a similar
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feature will occupy space in every leading journal and be looked upon as predicting the future of society as accurately as the reports of the signal bureau indicate the probabilities of the weather.
The journal, during the brief period the experiment of securing outside circulation was tried, attracted much attention far beyond the place of its publication. I received congratulatory letters from earnest reformers in many parts of the country and leading articles were extensively copied. I recollect that Mrs. Lucretia Mott was an unsolicited subscriber for several copies; that Mrs. Victoria Woodhull wrote to ask leave to publish her views upon marriage, which I felt compelled to refuse; that Victor Drury representing the International Workingmen's Association contributed valuable articles on the labor question, as did also Edward and Marie Howland, and J. A. Bierne of Philadelphia.
There seemed an opening era of reform then, which many suppose has suffered reaction. This appears so at least to those " who want to put r before evolution and make the world spin." But the spirit of reform is more actively wide-spread than ever, though less exciting perhaps, from its lack of novel features. Compulsory education, prison and temperance reform have been given practical shape in many States, and woman suffrage in two Territories : while the force of the principle of co-operation has extended into the formation of autocratic monopolies. These can only be overcome by larger co-operation among the people, and so the principle of combination and concerted action is continually disseminating.
But some of the promises of the present time demand a vigorous and sincere agitator, like the late Wendell Phillips : and, rather than an " Apostle of Sweetness and Light," there is needed an " Apostle of Thought and Action," like Mazzini.
I recollect paying my respects, one evening, to Miss Susan B. Anthony, the celebrated advocate of " Woman's Rights" while she was visiting friends in Parlorville, and
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was much impressed with her earnestness, as well as with her utter indifference to the ridicule so profusely bestowed upon women of her convictions. I was curious to know if her views had been strengthened by a knowledge of the Law of Development. She had no familiarity with such a law, in its materialistic sense, and begging to be excused a few minutes, I went out and returned with a copy of Lubbock's " Origin of Civilization" which I presented to her, saying that Professor Hard of Cornell University, had told me that he considered it a text-book of all sciences relating to human development. She was much pleased and promised to fortify her position with the arguments derived from it.
I took a deep and active interest in the political campaign of 1872, advocating the Republican side with pen, graver and in public speeches. The value of my services was so cordially recognized by leading partisans, that, had I sought political preferment, which I never did, it would not have been withheld; but my unrelenting opposition to the local political ring of the same party, soon destroyed any remembrance of my tilts and tourneys in behalf of the measures and principles of the national organization. I was too intractable to serve merely partisan interests, and my paper was an element of confusion to personal dictatorship, to rings, slates and programmes. Whatever I appeared to lose in personal advancement by this course, the journal really gained in influence and power and in material value. Indeed, it is almost impossible for an editor who performs his duty honestly and independently, to obtain decided personal popularity. That is one of the pleasures he must forego when he assumes to be a tribune of the people, just as a priest, when he assumes orders, must renounce some of the privileges of the world. An editor is like the boy monitor in a school, only popular with those whose antics he pretends not to see.
I did not, however, find it immediately practicable to carry out my first purposes. I saw an opportunity, in a town which six railway trains left every morning, for the
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distribution of a daily morning journal; and accordingly, in December, 1872, I issued the first number of the Daily Times, wearing at its front the motto, condensed from Parson Brownlow's Whig: "Independent but not neutral."
Shortly after the first issue I secured telegraphic facilities for the transmission of press dispatches, and the journal entered upon a career of remarkable popularity and prosperity, reaching a circuit of about sixty miles around the city, and attaining a daily circulation of more than three thousand, very large for that rather thinly populated portion of country. The features of the weekly were carried as far as practicable into the daily issue.
I edited and published, as a serial, the curious old narrative of the Tory Colonel, described in the preface to this volume. If I remember rightly, the story was crowded out toward the last by changes requiring larger space for local and political news, and I think I was obliged to leave the hero as a trooper under Tarleton, somewhere in South Carolina, charging a squad of Marion's Men. I often regretted that the exigencies of country journalism compelled an abbreviation of the interesting old colonel's career : but at that time, in Parlorville, serving subscribers with the latest reports of a political meeting, or of a fight along the canal, was more important than " Serving the King." As I have related, the colonel's recollections first inspired the thought of some day writing my own. But, as I look back now, what comparatively little experience I then had of the actual struggle in the great sea of profit and loss. I had not yet entered the vortex of the fierce whirl of capitalistic forces: nor engaged in the clashing combat over the control of complex financial interests: nor closely observed the contest to outwit, outmaneuver and force to a transfer traders in securities that do not always represent industrial wealth. I would scarcely have believed, then, the comprehensiveness and literal truth of the assertion—that the most acutely criminal of all robbers do not live in penitentiaries, but in splendidly adorned palaces.
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Another series of articles, worthy of more extended circulation, were written by a local physician and entitled: " Down Among the Dead." The author had served as a police surgeon in New York; he was an expert microscopist, and had given much attention to the subject of intramural burial as affecting the health of cities. He had made many experiments corroborating his theories, which were opposed to such sepulture.
I recall an incident of one of his explorations in an old New York burial vault. Among the remains in a decayed coffin, which had been in the vault for more than half a century, he found a curious-looking hard substance which he carried away, after noting the name and date on the coffin plate. He submitted this substance to microscopic tests, and discovered the remains of a linen patch and the living germs of cancer. Upon reference to the book of interments he found that the man had died of cancer of the face.
Besides these serials was another, a novel, the scene of which was laid in Germany. It was entitled " High Art " and written by the editor. I intended to republish it in book form, but other projects prevented this, until its freshness was lost and my ambition, in regard to such matters, was entirely deflected.
At this period, I made the acquaintance of General John C. Robinson who lost a leg in the battle of Spottsylvania, and I noted one of his reminiscences of his old friend and comrade General Grant. They were lieutenants in the regular army during the war with Mexico and each was acting quartermaster of a regiment. Robinson said if any one had told him at that time that he would not make as great a general as " Sam" Grant, as he was called, he shouldn't have relished it. In 1856 during what was known as the " Mormon War" Robinson, then a captain, was on recruiting service in St. Louis with quarters at the Planters' Hotel. He was surprised one day by a call from ex-Captain Grant. They had not met before in years and they enjoyed a pleasant visit together, recalling incidents
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of old days in Mexico. Grant, he remembered, was dressed very plainly and Robinson especially remarked the seedy appearance of an old pair of lisle-thread gloves that he wore, showing evidently that Grant had " spruced up" for the call. The ex-captain did not, however, disguise the depressed condition of his finances, and said that he found it very difficult to make both ends meet, adding that he had actually brought fire-wood to St. Louis to sell, unloading it himself in the streets. The chief object of his visit was to consult Robinson in regard to the prospects of his regaining a position in the regular army. Robinson frankly told him that the prospects were not at all favorable, as he believed there would be no actual war with the Mormons, calling for an increased army organization; that the military excitement was merely momentary, and that there were already in the service more officers than were required, in proportion to the number of enlisted men. Robinson, in respect of other matters, said much to encourage his old comrade, but Grant took his leave in a despondent frame of mind. Several years later, when Grant, as Lieutenant-General, first visited the Army of the Potomac in the field along the Rappahannock, he sent for Major-General Robinson, who happened to be on duty at the front as grand officer of the day. Upon reporting at head-quarters, the lieutenant-general received him formally, told him that he was about going to Fortress Monroe with the President and Secretaries of State and War to meet the rebel commissioners, and that he would like Robinson to accompany him, adding that he had ordered him to be relieved for that purpose. They went to Washington together, Grant maintaining toward him a rather dignified reserve. In the cars on the way to Baltimore to take the Fortress Monroe boat, Robinson and Grant occupied the same seat. Grant all at once relaxed his dignity and smilingly said: "Robinson, do you remember my calling upon you at the Planters' Hotel in St. Louis I" " Yes, very well indeed," was the reply. " Well, old fellow," said the general-in-chief, pointing to the three stars on his own shoul-
20
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der and the two on Robinson's, " who, then, would ever have believed this ?"
An illustration of the purely practical nature of Grant's mind, and its freedom from all cobwebby illusions as to the Presidential office, was given in his answer to General Robinson when he called upon him in Washington, after the rebellion, and found him at work in the war office, acting as Secretary of War. Robinson remarked: " General, I see they are talking of making you President." " Yes," was the answer, "but do you think I would be so foolish as to give up my position as general for life for an office only worth $25,000 a year, and only for four years ? I cannot afford to take it."
The Rev. Dr. Lilliput made his advent in Parlorville about the time of the appearance of the morning paper, and he aroused the community with a series of sermons in which American institutions were compared with those he had investigated during a recent tour in Europe, to the disadvantage of the former. He had been president of a college and was reputed to possess vast learning and high culture: but his reflections upon American character and political methods were too exaggerated to meet with a reception becoming to his dignified and oracular style of utterance and calm self-assertion.
I reviewed his sermons at some length, advancing opinions quite opposed to his. To criticise a divine who was regarded with almost idolatrous veneration by many pious people in that locality, was something new in Parlorville, and the novelty immediately increased the circulation of the Times. I published his replies to my strictures, which were courteous, if severe, and thereafter there was considerable controversy, and a quiet sort of hostility, between the reverend gentleman and myself : he privately deploring my tendencies toward " Huxleyism, Darwinism and infidelity," and my dangerous influence upon the community. The truth was, I never opposed religion or religions influences in any manner; on the contrary, the utterances of the local pulpit were never given so much publicity
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before, and I paid such particular attention to reports of religious meetings of all denominations, that all the other pastors in town were my stanch friends. In advocating liberal views, I ever made a distinction between the moral precepts of Christianity and metaphysical theology, the latter, to my notion, being like an island of weed and sponge growing around the pure coral of the Sermon on the Mount. Christianity, as taught by Christ, and not its theology, as taught by priests, is to me the most beautiful, symmetrical and exalting of all distinctive religions. But I adopt, as if they were my own, these words of Kepler, the cosmogonist: "Now, as touching the authority of the Fathers. Sacred was Lactantius who denied the earth's rotundity ; sacred was Augustine who admitted the earth to be round, but denied the antipodes; sacred is the liturgy of our moderns, who admit the smallness of the earth, but deny its motion. But to me more sacred than all these things is—Truth."
The Times soared in circulation and prospered, despite all opposition. Its " phenomenal success" was noted by the leading journals of the State.
I received a visit from Edward Howland, already mentioned as a contributor on industrial questions. He was a graduate of Harvard, a bibliophile, somewhat of a doctrinaire, a student of Spinoza, Kant, Leibnitz and Comte; in short, a ripe scholar, and a specialist in the very field Dr. Lilliput assumed to own. It was he who wrote a reply in my paper to an abstruse article in the same from the pen of the autocratic parson, exposing the latter's pretentious scholarship, arousing his wrath anew, provoking responses from me and creating a hubbub in the religious circles of Parlorville which was never quieted while I or the Rev. Dr. Lilliput remained there. His hostility culminated in his convoking a clique of his parishioners who professed to look upon my editorial influence as socialistic and dangerous; and they subscribed twenty-five thousand dollars, which he formally offered me, in writing, for the property and good-will of the Times. The terms of payment, which
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provided for installments, did not suit me: my powers of application had not yet diminished, and there was a spirit of persecuting arrogance and bigotry in the overtures which my pride utterly resented. Accordingly, the offer of the wounded prelate, for he was more of a priest than a minister, was positively declined. A year later when the period of exhaustion came, and I was obliged to part with my offspring, I so contrived that it should not be adopted by either him or his clique; though, perhaps, had I sought an exquisite revenge, my best plan would have been to make them a present of it and enjoy their certain discomfiture in its management.
I recollect here what the proprietor of a local evening contemporary said in reply to my query, why he had never occupied so advantageous a field, as Parlorville, by converting his evening into a morning paper. He replied that he had once tried it, and ran his journal one week as a morning paper—and he stopped it because his " feet ached so," not having had a chance to take off his boots but once, during that week.
Only those who have had a similar experience can form a true conception of the overwhelming labor involved in editing and publishing a seven column, four page morning paper; especially during the first periods of its existence, and particularly a country journal whose income is too limited to admit of the employment of a force large enough to administer all its departments. I believe there is scarcely any other kind of labor in which a human being can engage, at all comparable, in stress of mind, with that of being at the head of such a journal: to read and edit, or write, every sentence that goes into it, and detect what should be kept out; to re-read, for correction, every proof; to select and prepare telegraphic matter; to compose thoughtful editorials suggested by the general news of the day; to throw off easy paragraphs, and have a care lest some unfortunate personal allusion should creep into the local columns and disaffect a whole fold of subscribers; to quickly concentrate the mind, one moment, in noting the
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	309
outbreak of a revolution in Spain, and the next, in penning a fierce attack upon a neglected plank sidewalk in the Fifth ward; to overlook the composing and press rooms, and above all ; to carefully note the flight of time and systematize and direct all the labor of subordinates, so that at a given hour and minute the papers shall be ready for delivery upon the first morning train.
All this labor is performed at night, by gas or lamplight; and it is not merely for one night, nor one week, but for months and years. No sooner is one day's issue folded and sent away, than the mind must begin to weave the outlines of another issue. There is no pause except when sound asleep, and refreshing sleep, in daylight hours, and particularly in the warm season, is difficult to obtain. But in my case, this by no means describes all the labor. I had undertaken the publication of the paper on the assumption that it would be easy to secure the services of an experienced business manager. In this, after various experiments and making most liberal offers, I failed. Consequently the financial management also devolved upon me, and some hours out of the twenty-four had to be devoted to the publishing department.
Thanks to my army training, my general physical constitution seemed invincible to all hardships and showed no signs of weakening. Not so, however, with the brain. The distracting, yet absorbing, nature of my duties continued for nearly three years, without rest or recreation, produced alarming symptoms, though this circumstance was not confided to any one. But I resolved that my journal, the child of my creation, should live, even at the cost of my life. I had read of Balzac's reliance upon black coffee in accomplishing his prodigious labors: and in order to keep wakeful and induce sustained and uniform powers of concentration, I resorted for a time to the strongest decoctions of this powerful anti-narcotic, and to almost all other kinds of stimulants; none of them, however, so lastingly injurious to me as the excessive use of coffee, which produced insomnia and engorgement of the blood vessels of the brain, from which I
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suffered for years afterward. The decline of mental virility and force of application was accelerated. Nothing but rest could restore the energies of an overwrought nervous system. I prepared for my inevitable retirement by training young men as assistants to succeed me, and some of the young men then, and formerly, on the Times, displayed, in later years, on metropolitan and other newspapers, conspicuous talent for journalism : namely, F. W. Halsey, Pitt Tucker, F. G. Mather, M. B. Odgen, F. A. Mantz and S. F. Donnelly.
At last, perceiving that the paper would survive, although its existence never had been, and never would be, of pecuniary advantage to me, I announced my retirement without premonition ; to the regret, and even provocation, of my nearest friends—who misunderstood the situation. I felt that I had got through wasting my best energies in a little corner of the world, and I abandoned the enterprise to any one who chose to purchase it. It was hastily appropriated, consolidated with another, and is still the only morning journal published in Parlorville.
At all events, in the firm establishment of the enterprise under such opposing circumstances, I felt entitled to indulge in a little pride of achievement, even if there mingled with it the greater humiliation of knowing that my life work had been gathered under a bushel, never more to be recognized of men. Had I won any credit for lofty schemes of philanthropy and reform? for the purest intentions and the highest aspirations? Scarcely any : I was better remembered for attacking local abuses, or criticising individuals who corrupted the public spirit, or obstructed the growth of enterprise. Did I obtain any meritorious recognition for such services? Not at all. My motives were aspersed as personal or sordid. Those I had lauded into popularity, thanklessly considered their position due to
* I am deeply pained while revising this chapter to learn that S. F. Donnelly a true man, with fine abilities and noble purposes, was accidentally killed at a fire, in New York, while engaged in the faithful discharge of his duties as a reporter of The Sun.
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	311
their own merits, while those whom I had justly criticised, very naturally, regarded me as malevolent and unregenerate.
My mistake was, that I had not become a citizen of the place in the spirit of one contented to stay. I was always looking forward to removal to a larger or more congenial field. In truth, I held little community of sentiment with very many of its inhabitants. A. social non-conformist, though not precisely an aggressive one, a cosmopolite, with some of the notions of Bohemia, is out of place in such an environment. Nevertheless, I tried to follow the true system of journalism, in laboring in the city's behalf, extolling its importance and predicting its great growth; and never permitting anything to appear in my columns derogatory to its urban attractions or the general character of its people. The paper gave an impulse to just local pride and pardonable self-appreciation that continues unto this day.
The frail and crumbling files of his newspaper usually form the only compensation and memorial of the faithful editor's public service; nor can he expect that in this busy world, any one will ever explore their frayed and musty leaves to note whether he penned thoughts worthy of repetition or preservation. A journalist, it has been said, must be satisfied with the daily triumphs of his career, and be content to sink into oblivion when the types which embody his last article are distributed: though he may console himself with the reflection that he has sown good seed, and that " to live in thoughts that move mankind is not to die."
Some of the peculiar views expressed in my pamphlet: my inclination toward the Religion of Humanity: the abandonment of my journal and the mental prostration which followed and which was misunderstood and unsympa-thized with : all these causes, produced personal estrangements which, until I became resigned to them, embittered many hours of my after life.
I was now fast acquiring the title of " Jack of all Trades." I was accused, and with some show of reason, of lacking singleness of purpose and want of persistence,
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and yet I felt that to such charges I had a just defense. I had renounced Art, because I was too proud to live a life of penury and miserable patronage: the Army, because, in peace times, it offered no career to my ambition: the Law, because, at heart, I despised not only its methods, but its precepts, which were originally framed in the interests of the rich and powerful, and only gradually and grudgingly and partially accommodated to the status of individual right: and lastly, I had been crushed and ground in the mill of morning journalism, and temporarily incapacitated, if not permanently disabled, for thinking while half the world slept.
After several months' rest in New York, I resumed occupation as a writer for journals and magazines, at one time editing an evening paper in a suburban village, until its consolidation with an older journal, different in politics; and I remained some months in Washington, viewing many interesting phases of the social and political world, and gaining some insight into the astonishing administration of what is termed " the freest government on the earth," without, however, losing faith in man's improvable capacity for self-government.
At this aimless and unhappy period of my life, when the question was constantly recurring, "Is Life Worth Living?" I often wandered into the museum of the Smithsonian Institution and studied there the relics of prehistoric Man —the evidences of his tremendous struggle for existence; the dull stone hatchets with which he laboriously separated the fibers of tough trees, the flint arrowheads with which he craftily brought down his prey, and the obsidian knives which he used in preparing his food. I inspected the reduced models in fac-simile of his dwellings in the sheltered crevices of high rocks, where, by day, he could watch the approach of deadly foes, and, at night, find security from savage beasts ; and I concluded, if Life was worth living under such conditions of dreary labor and terrifying perils, how much more it ought to be prized by the modern man. Unfortunately, the vast strides of improvement in the im-
MEMOIRS OF' SETH EYT,AND.	313
plements of civilization must be supplemented by larger progress in other directions, before the life of the average modern man shall be made enviable. Even the ruder man enjoyed some advantages denied to him. The manufacture of stone hatchets and arrowheads was not patented and monopolized by corporations; the trees were free to any one to cut down and use, and there was no property in the wild food of the forest. The destruction of individual or corporate property rights, and the substitution of community rights in everything yielded from common Mother Earth, may eventually render life indeed worth living.
I again settled in New York and sought mental solace in the practice of Art—placid, beautiful, first loved and still beloved Art. This time I devoted my pencil to the illustration of books. I furnished a large number of designs in watercolor and pen and ink for inlaying in extended editions of Izaak Walton's Complete Angler, Dickens' Stories, Pepys' Diary, Knickerbocker's New York and other works. Those for Izaak Walton were the most elaborate, and if it were of any consequence, I should rather be judged by them than by any other art-work I have ever done. I know of no other book, more soothing to a troubled mind, than Wal-ton's Complete Angler. It carries one remotely away from restless ambitions, turmoiling anxieties, and the fret of worldly reverses, to shady banks and blooming meadows, purling brooks and quiet pools.
In the Spring of 1880 my pen-and-ink " Character Sketches from Dickens" were admitted in the annual exhibition of the National Academy of Design: and this in my despairing state of mind was a grateful little triumph.
For still further repose and change of scene, with a view to more complete restoration of health, I accepted a pleasant position, for one term, in a military school at Riverdale, as a professor of drawing and painting and of the German language. Shortly before becoming a professor, I met, one evening, in New York, at the house of a mutual friend, Colonel Dick Morgan, who, during the war, was on special duty at the War Department under Secretary
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Stanton, and I heard him relate the manner in which he accomplished the arrest of Mrs. Surratt and of Payne, who were both hanged for complicity in the assassination of President Lincoln.
He received the order for the lady's arrest from Stanton himself, with instructions to convey her to the old Capitol Prison. Waiting until after dark, he drove to her residence in a close carriage accompanied by three soldiers, and these, when he alighted, were placed on guard, within call, but out of sight. He rang the bell of the house but it was some time before there was any response. Finally, the door was opened by a young lady and he immediately stepped within the unlighted hall and asked for Mrs. Surratt. The young lady replied that her mother was ill and could not be seen. He told her that his orders were imperative and requested her to go and tell her mother that he came from the War Department; that he had a carriage in waiting and that she must accompany him; hinting, in the most delicate way he could, that perhaps she would not be detained long and would receive the politest treatment. The young lady was indisposed to go. Then he asked for a match to light the gas in the hall. She declared there were no matches in the house. He closed the door, passed her and entered the pir-lor, feeling his way in the dark for the mantel shelf. The first thing he touched upon it was a match-safe, containing matches. He lit the gas in the parlor and in the hall. He repeated his request to see her mother, using such arguments as the disagreeable duty might justify, and the young lady went up stairs. She was gone a long time and while impatiently waiting, the door bell rang. After first turning down the gas in the hall, he went to the door and opened it, and there stood a young man with a spade in his hand, who inquired for Mrs. Surratt. The colonel told him to come in and be entered, placing his spade in the corner of the hall. Morgan closed the door, turned on the light and then asked the stranger what his business was with Mrs. Surratt, at the same time closely studying his appearance. The young man replied that he had worked for her
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	815
about the garden, and called to know if she had anything for him to do. The colonel wanted to know where he came from and the answer was that he had been working on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. He did not look much like a laborer, the colonel thought, and he began to frown and resent the colonel's intent gaze and tone of authority. He stepped back and reached out his hand toward the spade. In an instant, the colonel noticed that the hand was white and delicate, and not the hand of a laboring man, and before the young man could move a step nearer the spade, Morgan, who was a man of po Nrerful strength and alertness, sprang upon him and clasped his wrists together in a pair of handcuffs. The man made no outcry and Morgan, opening the door, whistled for the guard, to whom he transferred his prisoner with directions to take him to the old Capitol Prison.
Shortly after Mrs. Surratt came down stairs, into the parlor, with her daughter. She was dressed to accompany him, but quietly requested a few minutes' delay, and going to a distant corner of the room, kneeled down beside a sofa in prayer. She seemed to have a presentiment that she should never enter the house again, and when she arose, kissed her daughter good-by without appearing to notice her weeping assurances that she would soon return. On her way to the prison she appeared perfectly composed, and resigned to whatever might come.
The prisoner arrested in the hall, proved to be Payne, the man who had rushed into Secretary Seward's residence with drawn dagger nearly killing his son Frederick, dangerously stabbing the Secretary of State as he lay ill in bed, and escaping from the house before he could be intercepted.
During the trial of the conspirators, Payne vented his spite toward Colonel Morgan, in the court-room, by slyly chewing up wads of paper and snapping them at him, with a look of vicious hatred.
CHAPTER XXXII
A Period of Introspection—The Sense of Ownership—Direction of Efforts changed—A Railway Project in Texas—Arrival in the Lone Star State—Gathering Facts—Tarantulas and Centipedes—Why Texans shoot—Trying Experiences—A Would-be Assassin shot—The Judge and Colonel Fisk.
AT Riverdale, I indulged in periods of introspection, and began to perceive that in a worldly, business sense my career had been absurd.
With my strong bodily frame and a lifetime of vigorous health, and with an adaptability to various pursuits, I never, in times of comparative prosperity, had any fear of poverty. Wherefore, I was constantly incurring risks as to the future which sometimes proved most disastrous. In my more youthful days, enthusiasm carried me through many a stress of adversity, and in maturer years I was borne up amid privations by a hopeful philosophy. I could not comprehend the horror with which so many people shrink from poverty; especially those who have never suffered extremity. In the course of my life, while I have enjoyed at times conditions of profuse abundance, I believe I have endured almost every buffet, humiliation and pang which poverty inflicts, and which Shakespeare with sympathetic pain, so masterfully describes. But the " proud man's contumely" never made me feel the least inferior to the well-to-do or rich; although I have ever recognized and revered intellectual presence and superiority. In these periods of introspection at the Military Academy, while reading Spencer's "Data of Ethics," then just published, I wondered if there were not individuals in whom " altruism" is so largely developed that it obliterates the sense of pleasure in ownership, and if my power to enjoy possession
MEMOIRS OP SETH EYLAND	317
of property had not been greatly impaired through concen trating thought for so long a period, as editor, upon affairs entirely foreign to myself, and indulging in too general and universal sympathy for the needs and woes of mankind. I reflected that I owned almost nothing; real acquisitiveness I had rarely or never exercised.
Of course, all this was highly impracticable and absurdly foolish from any stand-point of self-preservation. I began to consider whether it was not time to cultivate the sense of ownership, and I clearly saw that, if I would accomplish anything even of impersonal value in life, the possession of means was of the first importance. These, and similar reflections, led me to form a resolution to devote all my efforts in future to the accumulation of wealth—the fulfillment of the rest of my desires would follow. I began to feel the growth of slowly returning vigor; the generation of stalwart endeavor; and the impulse to become a muscular pioneer and wrestle with the material universe. I was beginning to regard with something like scorn the paltry employment of pen and pencil, and the pastime of "poring over miserable books." The direction of my ambition was permanently changed. I was going to seek wealth.
In this spirit, and so coincident with my feelings as to give me a tingle of superstition, I casually encountered, after leaving Riverdale, an old acquaintance in Broadway —a railway contractor—who directly accosted me with a proposition to aid him in negotiating a Texas railway scheme and go with him to that State. He accompanied me to my room and laid the particulars of the enterprise before me. I assisted him in securing parties favorable to the project and the result was that a few weeks later, I was on my way toward the Gulf of Mexico, in company with him and a civil engineer, arriving in Denison in August, 1880.
We journeyed over the northern portion of Texas in open vehicles, enjoying extensive views of the country, charming to the agriculturalist and not unattractive to
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the tourist. It was part of my duty to observe the general features of the State, study its climate, resources and statistics, and prepare a prospectus of the merits of the enterprise. I found my previous experience, as a journalist, a valuable preparation for this work.
In traveling in Texas, we found that our equipments were not complete without a title. Every gentleman wears one. A stranger who comes into the State unfurnished is immediately presented with one. Our contractor was dubbed " Colonel," our engineer " Doctor," and I, the attorney, " Judge." It is uncomfortable at first to be called by a title to which one has no sort of right, but disclaimers make no difference and are in bad taste ; the designation becomes fixed. In public and private these titles remained with us and we soon began to use them naturally in addressing each other. " Colonel" is the favorite distinction and is given to the leadipg men in every community, though sometimes if a citizen be unusually wealthy and important he may be called " General." These titles are often queerly inappropriate, but are sometimes useful in giving individuality to a man—in hinting at his position in the world.
I journeyed to the capital of the State and procured a charter for a railway company—the termini of the proposed road being a point in Northern Texas and Sabine Pass on the Gulf of Mexico. Afterward, I accompanied our party to the shores of the Gulf, where we explored the beautiful harbor of Sabine Pass and enjoyed all the splendors of a Southern clime; beholding, for the first time, semi-tropical landscapes, and seeing the fig, orange, banana and alligator growing to perfection. We returned to V—, a town on the line of the proposed railway in Northeastern Texas, of about 3000 inhabitants, and there we established a general office. I was made attorney, secretary and treasurer of the new corporation.
A scheme of emigration was projected in connection with our railway, and it was necessary for me to learn the truth concerning the reports which deterred immigrants
MEMOIRS OF SETH RYLAND.	319
from seeking homes in the State, especially the reports relating to venomous insects and reptiles and the too free use of the revolver.
In my investigations of the tarantula and centipede, which were pretty thorough, I could find little or nothing to justify the exaggerated and broadcast reports of their imperilment of human life. The same may be said of serpents. Of course there are some instances of death resulting from the venom of these creatures, but judging from the answers of old residents to my innumerable questions, death from such a cause is extremely rare. The fact is, that both the centipede and tarantula are timorous insects and avoid the precincts of civilization ; while poisonous serpents do not appear to be so numerous as in some other States. I could learn of but one death from the poison of a centipede, and that was of a child who had stepped on one, where the proper antidotes were not at hand. Several fatal results from the bite of the tarantula were related to me, but in all cases the bite was given in " self-defence," the usual Texas way, as when " approached in a threatening attitude," frightened, or trodden upon. These huge spiders, so horrible in their appearance, especially during the summer months, when their tawny fur is the thickest, inhabit the undisturbed prairie, dwelling during the winter months in holes bored about a foot deep in sandy soil. Our engineer and I, one December day, during the prevalence of a cool " Norther," disturbed some of these holes with a spade and captured several of the furry inmates in a half-torpid condition, securing them in large envelopes. We released one, dropping him upon the mouth of a red-ant hill. The ants were also torpid with cold, and it was several minutes before they became aware of the tarantula's presence. Then there was a visible commotion and they began to pour forth from the mouth of their nest in great swarms, attacking the hideous monster with the utmost fury. He sprang into activity and sought to escape, but we drove him back again with sticks. In a very few minutes he was surrounded with thousands of ants, many of which strung themselves
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along his legs and tentacles, holding him fast in spite of his struggles. He fought desperately to free himself, tumbling wildly about and ejecting a greenish thick fluid from his poison glands, but this did not appear to affect the activity of the ants though many were covered with it. The battle lasted more than half an hour when the tarantula rolled over, completely crippled. The ants followed up their victory and dispatched him.
The centipede is more timid than the tarantula and it is one of the most shudderingly ugly of the insect creation. Though it is called the centipede, I never found one with more than forty legs and these, which are hollow, hold the poison, which escapes through points as fine as needles. We placed a large one alive in a bottle of alcohol. It immediately brought its legs together as if trying to grasp something and ejected its poison in such large quantities that it clouded the liquor a dull blue and it was transferred into nearly pure alcohol three times before its poison was exhausted and it could be clearly seen. It was over twenty minutes in dying. It holds so tenaciously to life, that after one is cut in two, the pieces will continue to crawl about for several minutes. I felt no remorse in vivisecting one of these monsters in the interests of science, though I failed to find out what they are manufactured for: that is one of the pessimistic secrets of Nature's laboratory.
And yet, it seems to me, these creatures have as good a right to live as some of the human monsters that afflict society, like two,* for example, I saw in Texas, who, it was notoriously known, had each killed more than twenty men, sometimes in a spirit of mere deviltry. The fact is, when we compare the traits of centipedes and tarantulas with some of those possessed by Man we are compelled to be modest: for there is abundant record to prove that every cruelty and crime which the most fiendish imagination could conceive has been perpetrated by Man. The tiger is
* Ben Thompson and King Fisher, who were afterward killed in an affray with citizens in a theater at San Antonio.
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not so ferocious, the rattlesnake so revengeful, nor the jackal so depraved. We should, indeed, despair of the Coming Man were it not that our species has produced, though only at long intervals, men capable of designing a cathedral like that at Cologne : of painting pictures or carving statues like those in the Vatican or Louvre ; of writing dramas like those of Shakespeare or Goethe, or essays like those of Bacon or Macaulay, or poems such as Byron, Schiller or Burns wrote: and not forgetting the scientists, inventors and philosophers. But the catalogue, however extended, is very brief compared with the multitudinous numbers who have lived sordidly and died ; though happily it is lengthy enough to inspire respect and hope for our race.
The frequency of the crime of homicide in Texas, or rather the settling of private disputes by deadly weapons was formerly a serious deterrent of immigration, and I studied this subject with the greatest care, having, most unexpectedly, some trying personal experiences to aid me in forming conclusions.
The bright side of life in Texas is as enduring as its rich soil and captivating climate, and the dark side is transitory —a partial eclipse of law and order which all newly settled regions are liable to suffer. But it is an anomalous condition of social forces in an enlightened State like Texas, where morality and piety prevail to an unusual degree, that so often tolerates and sometimes sanctions an individual's exercise of the functions of judge and executioner. Crime of a petty sort is uncommon in this State; far less frequent than in the older States: but the one crime of assassination, whose motive is deadly prejudice or personal enmity, and not plunder, is yet rife in some parts of the State though there are signs that it is now rapidly diminishing, and chiefly through the influence of a public-spirited press. Singularly enough, there is no State whose laws are more stringent in respect of personal rights than those of Texas. Dueling is punished by the loss of citizenship and other penalties while the carrying of concealed weapons is
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strictly prohibited. Texas is so large a State that what would be true of some portions would be very unjust to other parts, and while disorder might prevail in frontier counties, the older settled regions would be as quiet as any section of New England. The first months of my residence there were spent in a rather newly settled district, and I should have received very erroneous impressions of the State at large had I not afterward resided where life is held as sacred as any where in the Union, and where society is equally refined.
A readiness to take offense and a quick use of weapons are characteristic of frontier regions. One chief reason why juries there fail to convict in cases of shooting, is their knowledge of this very readiness. A man who kills another known to be " quick on the trigger" is often excused on the plea of self-defense : for when blood is up it is the one who "gets the drop," as it is termed, that is the best man: and in a community where none are exempt from having what are called "feuds with neighbors," juries, out of a fellow feeling, acquit the man who does not wait for another to "get the drop." A quarrel once begun there is a " feud," and when there is a fatal result this word "feud," or "an old feud," is sometimes enough to slur over any pretense of a judicial inquiry.
Dr. Calder of Philadelphia, the manager of the Wichita Railway Company, had been recently waylaid in the streets of a Texas town by three citizens with whom he had a " feud " and shot down by one of the three. The reported manner of killing him illustrates the almost invariable practice on the frontier in such cases. The construction of the law concerning the proof of deliberation in the crime of murder is very strict. If a man challenge another to step aside, or go out in the street to settle a matter, and they go and one is killed, the other would be apprehended for murder, because deliberation would be shown. To make out a case of justifiable homicide it is necessary that a man should swear, that at the moment of firing the shot, he believed his life was in danger, and it is customary to have a
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faithful friend as a corroborating witness to testify to some act of the victim that justified such a belief. In the Dr. Calder affair (which was condemned by all the respectable citizens of the place and the suspected parties rigorously prosecuted) it was said that there were two such witnesses. The general and usual plan, therefore, in cases of deliberate assassination, is for the murderer and one friend, two are preferred, to station themselves in a secluded spot where the victim must come directly toward them. He is suddenly aroused by some angry epithet, and looking up sees a revolver pointing toward him: almost involuntarily, he reaches for his own weapon, perhaps draws it, before he is shot. The assassin then goes at once to a magistrate and delivers himself up. The witness swears that the victim came toward his enemy "in a threatening attitude" and this testimony, with the murderer's sworn statement that he "considered his life in danger at the instant of firing," almost invariably secures immediate acquittal—sometimes under nominal bail. Should the victim not be armed at the time, instances are not unknown where a weapon has been placed beside the dead body.
It must not be presumed, however, that killing is wanton, outside of the criminal class, though Texas, as is well known, was partly settled by outlaws and fugitives from justice in other States. But they have been driven out of the interior by advancing civilization, though they may hover about the frontiers. In fact, a law-abiding citizen is as safe in Texas generally as in the large cities at the North.
During the year and a half that I remained in Texas, the course of my life, though somewhat monotonous, was generally very pleasant, and I received both personally and as a railway official, great kindness and courtesy. There was, however, one incident in my career there, closely bearing upon the subject: " Why Texans Shoot."
On the return of our party from the Gulf coast to V--, we secured spacious offices and apartments in the second floor of a new brick building owned by a Captain Z., who
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kept a store on the floor below. The upper rooms were reached by front and rear outside stairways. The owner, a rather morose, quiet old bachelor, had apartments directly opposite mine on the same floor, a narrow hall dividing us. I noticed from the first, that he was inclined to be moodily courteous toward us, with an evident effort that was certainly not due to any liking for " Yankees," for he had been a Confederate soldier and a prisoner of war in Northern prisons, where, he sometimes complained, he had been badly treated. Once he boasted incidentally, of having shot a soldier who tried to desert while on guard with him, and he evidently wished to impress us as a man of nerve. He was an occasional visitor to our rooms, but I knew, instinctively, that he did not precisely like me, perhaps because he learned that I had been a " Federal " officer, while our old engineer, because of his frequent boast that he had " stood up for the South during the war and had been called a Copperhead for it," stood well in the Captain's favor. Still my relations with him were always formally pleasant, as well as with the numerous other citizens who called in our office to while away time with us, smoking, and chatting about the prospects of the projected railway. Most of these citizens expected that the road would vastly increase the value of their property in the place, and some of them were looking forward to the disbursement of large sums of money by our engineering and construction corps. Among the latter was Captain Z., and his sedulous cultivation of intimacy with our engineer—the " Doctor" as he was called—had, as I knew later, a business motive.
During the winter we received a visit from a party of Northern gentlemen, the supposed agents of large capitalists who were to undertake the construction of the road, and we entered into a satisfactory agreement, I insisting that our engineer, whom we had made a director, should have an equal interest with me. As my sole companion for much of the time for several months, I naturally became attached to him ; I remembered that we were strangers in a strange land and there should be a community of inter-
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est. The capital stock of the company was increased to $8,000,000, and my interest as a "promoter" was fixed, on paper, at $290,000. My companion's interest was assessed at the same sum.
Before the return North of this party of negotiators they left a small sum for engineering expenses, promising to send a larger additional sum in the course of fourteen days. After their departure, upon discussing the situation with the Doctor, it was decided that it would be wise to wait until we heard further from this party, before beginning any large expenditure, I, especially, having misgivings as to the responsibility and good faith of our visitors, misgivings that were amply justified by subsequent occurrences. The fourteen days expired without hearing from the North and the Doctor grew impatient for action. Finally, without my knowledge, (I was in charge of the whole enterprise,) the engineer expended over half the sum entrusted to him, in purchasing mules and supplies from Captain Z. When, one evening, I accidentally learned of this transaction, I was provoked at the secrecy of his action and apprehensive of the consequences. Calling him into my room I questioned him about it. To my surprise he put on a defiant air and evinced decided opposition to his former views. There was an angry scene, and I predicted, what actually came true, that he would yet be compelled to sell the mules he had purchased to obtain means to return North. He left my room in a rage, declaring he would be his own " boss." I turned to my desk and began writing a letter. A few minutes later Captain Z. entered, without ceremony, stalked across the room and sat down on my trunk. He immediately began taking the Doctor's side of the controversy with great warmth, and I quickly understood that he had overheard the whole conversation from his own room, and that he considered that I was standing in the way of his chances of making a large sum of money. I was obliged, at last, to remind him that the affair was no concern of his, and that he did not understand it; and that he should mind his own business. I had
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no sooner said this than he jumped to his feet, his tall figure seeming to dilate with rage, and with an oath in which the word " Yankee" was prominent, he exclaimed ; " You have got to die, your time has come, I shall kill you." I instantly drew open one of the drawers of my desk and placed my hand in it. It was a flash of instinct, for there was no weapon there, as he supposed. " Not now," he said, "not now," and he swiftly glided from the room. Then I went to my trunk and armed myself. I waited awhile, and then finished my letter, but saw no more of the Captain that evening. The next morning when I reflected upon his strange excitement and threat — it all seemed absurd, and I could not believe there was anything deadly even in such a hot interchange of views. Very foolishly I returned my revolver, which I felt ashamed to carry, to the trunk, and went out, as usual, to breakfast at a hotel. In leaving the hotel, I met Major K., a business partner of Captain Z., who often sat about my office, lounging and chatting in a friendly way. He greeted me with a pleasant " good-morning" and asked me if I were going around to the office, and I replied in the affirmative saying that I was going first to the post-office. There I obtained a couple of letters and held one in my hand reading it as I walked up the street, when my colored servant quickly passed me, whispering " Look out ! look out !" I looked up. I was on a corner, just about crossing the street to the stairway which led up to the office. At the foot of it stood Captain Z. and Major K., the Captain with an overcoat on, a thing out of season with the weather. His hands were in its side pockets. The habits of quick observation acquired in my old scouting days, had not forsaken me : I comprehended the situation at a glance. I stood at the corner apparently interested in my letter. They expected me to " approach in a threatening attitude," and then they would offer the usual plea after the shooting. I learned later, to a certainty, that my glance was not mistaken. I turned about and walked back to the post-office and sat down. In a few minutes Major K. came in, and after standing around
MEMOIRS OP SETH EYLAND.	327
a short time, again asked if I were going to my office. I looked at him sharply and sternly inquired: " Do you wish to see me on any business?" " Oh ! no 1" he murmured and went out. In my lifetime, I never felt so great a hatred toward a human being as I did then toward this man, whom I had always treated courteously, who had no excuse for seeking my injury, and yet who was trying to lure me on to death. I remained seated and reading awhile, and then noting the coast was clear went to my room and again armed myself. I now clearly saw that some shooting must take place, but I remembered that I had not come to Texas to shoot anybody, but for purely business purposes, and I determined to be wary and act strictly in self-defense. There was no one to whom I could confide a word about the "feud." I occupied the day in collecting the papers belonging to the corporation, which included everything that was valuable to our project, and in arranging my private papers, putting all in compact shape. I had concluded to go to D-- the following morning and deposit them in the safe of an acquaintance there, and then return to V--, and have the quarrel out. A way freight train left for D-- early the next morning and I decided to go on that train. I arose about three o'clock in the morning and without lighting a lamp, dressed myself, except my shoes, and prepared to leave the building. In feeling about in the dark on my desk for matches, I touched a lamp chimney and it fell to the floor with a crash. Immediately I heard footsteps below in Captain Z.'s store. I stepped to a back window and looking down in the yard, saw in the clear starlight the Captain's white horse saddled and bridled, tied to the well-curb. I took a position in the shadow of a corner where I could command a view out of the window. Presently the Captain appeared in his shirt-sleeves and ascended the back stairs, as slyly as a cat, eagerly looking into the windows of my room. He stood still, his right hand hanging over the railing. As he changed his position I saw it held a revolver. There was now no doubt about his murderous in-
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tention. I could easily have shot him where he stood. My hand involuntarily seized my revolver and drew it. I cocked it—Suddenly, I recollected my situation. It was the most trying moment of my life. I decided upon delay. Evidently he had guessed my intention of going away and had been on watch. I knew afterward that his horse was in readiness to take him to F--, four miles away, where, after the assassination, he intended to go and deliver himself up to a friendly magistrate. At length he ascended the stairs, stopped at my door, obviously to listen, and learn if I were still stirring; and then I heard him go to his room, but I did not hear his door close as it usually did with a snap, and was satisfied he had left it ajar to watch mine.
I did not see how a conflict could be avoided. It was death to one or the other—a duel in the dark. If I fell the papers in my possession would never reach my friends. This thought gave me more concern than all else. Strategy might avail me; bloodshed was not only abhorrent, but likely to prove finally useless—no matter what the first result might be. All at once, the far-off whistle of a coming train, which I knew to be a through freight train, illumined my dark anxiety with a bright thought. The coming train would make a great noise as it passed by—the track being but a few yards away from the building. I should step into the hall without being heard and descend the stairway as it was passing. It was still two or three miles away. I waited motionless. It seemed an age in coming, but at last it came thundering along, fairly shaking the building. I quietly opened the door, stepped in my stocking feet through the hall, descended the stairs, put on my shoes, and was soon at the hotel opposite the railway station. The way freight train arrived about daylight and I went to D—. The train was a very slow one and a passenger train which followed it, reached the city about fifteen minutes afterward. I went to the hotel, took breakfast and in coming out of the dining-room met Major K. " Hello 1" he exclaimed in apparent surprise, " you here 1"
.31E1110I1?S OP SETH MAYA	329
" When did you arrive ?" I told him. "When are you going back?" I replied: "This afternoon on the four-o'clock train." " Ah !" said he, " perhaps I may meet you." His mission, which was to ascertain if I intended to return, was accomplished.
I had but few acquaintances in the city. One of these was a prominent merchant, the other an ex-Union officer who had served in the army of the James and who had resided in Texas for several years. After confiding my papers to the merchant's safe-keeping, I related to these two gentlemen the details of my affair with Captain Z. The merchant at once advised me not to return to V—, under any circumstances, but I told him I was bound to return, no matter what the consequences might be. The other heartily approved my resolution, saying that he had lived longer in Texas than either of us and that " a man must take his chances and never back down, if he would have peace there, or success." I returned to V—, on the afternoon train with the same half-pleasurable excitement I had before felt in going into battle. I had two six-shooters and I believed that I could handle them quick enough to vindicate my right to live in the United States, even in that part where the laws afforded no adequate protection. I intended to make a demonstration that would make me respected in such a community—if I survived.
On my arrival at the hotel in V—, I openly stated, before several citizens, that Captain Z. and Major K. had
plotted to assassinate me; that I had returned to V	,
prepared to defend myself and was fully aware of their purposes. I knew that it would not take long, in such a community, for this report to fly over the town. I waited about an hour and then walked directly to Captain Z.'s room and knocked at his door. He was not at home. I then went to Major K.'s residence. The servant informed me that he was not in. I then retired to my own quarters.
I learned afterward that prominent citizens had interfered to prevent a continuation of the " feud," arguing,
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that if I were seriously molested the building of the railroad might be delayed or abandoned, and instancing the evil effect produced at the North by the killing of Dr. Calder. Though I did not know it then, my position was made more perilous through the circulation of the false and wicked report, by our engineer, that I hated him because he stood up for the South during the war.
I was visited the next morning by a friend of the Captain's, who declared the latter had no unfriendly feelings toward me and would deliver up his revolver to him, if I would do the same, and shake hands. As I had two, I consented. The Captain came to my room, hands were shaken and thereafter though I continued to meet him for months, I was not seriously menaced in Texas.
My would-be assassin never knew that I had so closely observed his hostile movements. Two years afterward, he met the fate with which he had threatened me. I had been some time at the North, and had half forgotten the disagreeable incident, when I saw the particulars of his death in a newspaper. He was shot and killed while attending a social evening party in V-.
While pursuing my enterprises in Northern Texas, I heard a story related of a certain railway official, whom I shall call " Judge" M., a story, that I have reason to believe is true and it is richly suggestive of the intrigues hidden behind the scenes of important railway combinations. This official was endowed with decided natural shrewdness and remarkable versatility. He had ranged from Maine to Texas in various positions: he had been the Captain of a Mississippi steamboat in the palmy days before the war, and later, a political wire-puller and lobbyist. Once in his career, destiny had carried him to the Capital of a Western State during a session of the Legislature. Something in the provisions of a bill, just introduced, relating to railways, carried conviction to his mind that there were persons in the East, all unconscious of the disastrous effects likely to be produced by the passage of the bill, who ought to be at once informed of it. He there-
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	331
fore telegraphed to Colonel Fisk, one of the managing directors of the Erie Railway in New York, that a bill had been introduced of so much importance to the western connections of the Erie that he ventured to telegraph the full text of the proposed law. A reply came, requesting him to come immediately to: New York, and he promptly complied. Arriving there, he called at the Colonel's sumptuous official quarters at the Grand Opera House and was granted an interview without delay. After the interchange of a few words, the Colonel desired to know, directly, if his visitor possessed sufficient influence among the members of the Legislature to prevent the passage of the bill, and how much money it would cost to kill it. The Judge was entirely non-committal, simply remarking that he was willing to do the best he could. Finally, the Colonel asked him if he would undertake to suppress the bill for $5000. The Judge offered to try and see what he could do with that small amount. The Colonel began to draw a check, but the other interrupted him by saying that he never took checks. The railway magnate smiled, sent out and procured the sum in cash. This was accepted and pocketed, and then the importance of the Judge's speedy return to Legislative halls being understood by both gentlemen, they shook hands, and as the Judge turned toward the door, the Colonel seemed suddenly struck with an idea. " By the way," said he " who is the author of this bill?" The Judge replied without hesitation: "I am !" " Ah !" said Fisk, with a beaming look of admiration at the man smart enough to outwit even him, "I thought so; Good-day."
CHAPTER XYKTII.
Expanding Skies—Curious Climatic Influences—" The Coming Billionaire"—Features of Railway Enterprises— The Soldier and the Speculator—President of a Railway Company—Studying Wall Street—Conclusion.
IN traveling over the treeless portions of Texas, I was greatly impressed with the melancholy stillness and vastness of the prairie and the magnitude of the sky. The extended horizon particularly attracted my attention the first evening of my arrival in the State. The sky seemed considerably larger than ours, at the North, and when I inquired of my companions if they had received a similar impression, they were highly amused with the absurdity of the idea. I vaguely attributed the expansion to being farther South, and the " Colonel " facetiously felt in his pocket to learn whether the same mysterious expansion had affected his pocket-book. I began to think the impression was an optical illusion and said no more about it, although I was a long time trying to account for it. I noticed that the sun set in a remote corner of the horizon : that thunder-storms often came up and passed over, leaving immense spaces of serene sky on either side and rarely filling the whole heavens as at the North. Eventually I ventured to speak of my impression to a professor of mathematics in a State college, and felt greatly relieved when he told me that my impression was not an illusion, and reminded me that I was ten degrees south of New York : the convexity of the earth, within the range of vision, diminished toward the equator, and consequently my view of the horizon was much more extended than when at home. Another professor disputed the correctness of this explanation.
The same professor called my attention to a peculiarity
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	333
relating to climatic influences, which I had not seen mentioned in any work on Texas. This is the tendency, in vegetable and animal growth, toward fiber—bones in animals, spines in plants. A stranger to the climate will soon notice the rapid growth of his finger-nails; the poppy and dandelion have spiny leaves; the spiny cactus and thorny mesquite are the most abundant species of vegetation, and Texas cattle are remarkable for the great length of their horns.
Notwithstanding some of the drawbacks to serene living in the unsettled regions of Texas, I believe the State at large offers greater inducements to thrifty and law-abiding immigrants than any land on the globe and it is destined to soon take chief rank among the States of the Union, not only for the superabundant yield of its soil, but also for those home attractions and community interests which are so dear to liberty and order loving Americans.
In projecting railways, I began to study the system and methods that had developed some of our chief millionaires —Vanderbilt, Gould and Huntington, and I was thoroughly satisfied, before I completed my investigations, that in such methods there is more lying, cheating, cutting, dodging, stealing and deceiving than the victims—the people—have yet comprehended. I believe that it is almost impossible for men who make themselves millionaires to be honest, or even of honest intent, and I am convinced that there is more truth, than at first appears, in the declaration that " Property is Robbery."
Gould and Huntington had succeeded Tom Scott in Texas and were operating railway enterprises on a scale grander than was ever before attempted under individual domination: and it appeared to me, knowing their gigantic opportunities, that the " coming billionaire" would be developed in the lumber, ranche and railway regions of vast and virgin Texas.
In my speculative ventures in Railways, I learned, among other things, that it is necessary to build them first on paper—that in fact talk builds them—convincing talk.
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As I have stated, my interest in the construction company of the railroad was estimated at more than a quarter of a million. No doubt, had the affairs of the company been properly handled in New York, that my interest might have eventually realized that sum, for the State land grant was enormously valuable, and the enterprise had attracted the investments of some of the wealthiest men in this country. But the New York managers, in the prospect of such large profits, quarreled among themselves, like the castaways who found the lump of ambergris, as to the manner of division. I distrusted their methods of negotiation, so far as I could learn of them in distant Texas, and I concluded to retire. As they were anxious to purchase my interest, I sold it for several thousand dollars, the largest sum, in cash, I had ever possessed, at one time, in my life. With part of this sum, I obtained the charter of a new company, for the building of another railway that I had projected, and of which I was made the President and Treasurer ; and I removed to the Southern part of the State, remaining there a year, with anticipations, almost realized, of large wealth.
The shots of the assassin Guiteau, affecting all financial operations, retarded the development of my second railway enterprise, and it was more than a year after my return to New York, and after many severe trials and disappointments, before the project secured a substantial footing. During this period, I was studying the features of business in Wall Street and had many experiences in a new field.
I perceived that there is not so much difference between the qualities exercised by a soldier in the field and by a man of business in a speculative career. Good generalship is as essential in the one as in the other; and social scientists have pointed out how the boldness and dash of the warrior find expression in the feats of the modern stock operator. The one possesses a character similar to the other, concentrated in a different direction, and he carries an ornamented memorandum-book instead of a basket-hilted sword. But the recent failure of our greatest general,
MEMOIRS OF SETH EYLAND.	335
in Wall Street, would seem to considerably modify this theory.
In the intervals of waiting and watching the fluctuations of the financial market, I have written out these recollections. And now, the period of action having again arrived, I go, once more, to the Great South-west, with the hope of enlarging and realizing speculative interests in railways, lumber and lands, and should success await me, I shall devote a portion of my fortune to the advancement of a few whose comfort and happiness are dear to me, and the rest I shall bequeath to the cause of Art and Humanity.
I am well aware that my life has not been successful in any usual sense, nor in accomplishing its first great aims. The reasons why it has not been, may be discovered somewhere in these pages, though perhaps not always accurately ; and the recognition of the real causes of failure may lead to some difference of opinion; yet all the moral there is in this book, of possible benefit to a youth, lies in their just perception.
So-called Success and Distinction ! How covetously I courted them in my youth and prime—ardently seeking " the bubble reputation," and aspiring to dizzy heights. I have had a fair share of publicity in my day and know its sweet and bitter taste; and now, I so much dislike the thought of even the little notoriety that may follow the giving of this narrative to the printer, that I assume a name translatable only by personal acquaintances who may correctly judge as to the truth of what I have written.
Repenting the many errors of my life, and forgetting its sorrows—for they are common to all men, I look back and see a composite, yet beautiful landscape. In the immediate foreground are tall magnolias and gracefully drooping banana leaves shading the dwarf-palm of the Mexican Gulf ; beyond, are rolling prairies with plantations of snowy cotton and golden corn, skirting a broad, winding river in whose clear waters are reflected the familiar church spires, roofs and facades of a beautiful little city in which was once centered all the ambition of my heart and souls in the mid-
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dle distance cloud shadows fall upon a region diversified with pine forests, broken ridges and expansive fields over which are moving vast bodies of armed men, with gleaming bugles and flying banners—cavalry, infantry and artillery; farther away still, are masses of purple haze hovering over the dim outlines of great cities with cathedral domes, statued towers and the marble arcades of palaces ; and yet more remote, are the massive battlements of the old Art Academy and the crooked steeple of St. Lambertus on the Rhine; behind are the dreamy features of the distant Drachenfels and in the far-away mist rises the denuded peak of Mount Anthony. The foreground gently descends along a path strewn with lotus, forget-me-nots and half-withered blossoms of the fleur-de-lis: perhaps the path winds into a lovely and reposeful valley, everlastingly removed from the haunts of busy life, where, in shades forever peaceful and profound, one may draw the floral " drapery of his couch about him and lie down to pleasant dreams."
THE END.
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