Project Gutenberg's Ocean to Ocean on Horseback, by Willard Glazier
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Title: Ocean to Ocean on Horseback
Being the Story of a Tour in the Saddle from the Atlantic
to the Pacific; with Especial Reference to the Early History
and Devel
Author: Willard Glazier
Release Date: October 4, 2011 [EBook #37615]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OCEAN TO OCEAN ON HORSEBACK ***
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Transcriber's Note: Passages in italics are indicated by
_underscores_. Small caps have been replaced by ALL CAPS.
POPULAR WORKS
OF
Captain Willard Glazier,
THE SOLDIER AUTHOR.
* * * * *
I. Three years in the Federal Cavalry.
II. Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape.
III. Battles for the Union.
IV. Heroes of Three Wars.
V. Peculiarities of American Cities.
VI. Down the Great River.
VII. Headwaters of the Mississippi.
VIII. Ocean to Ocean on Horseback.
* * * * *
Captain Glazier's works are growing more and more popular every day.
Their delineations of _social_, military _and frontier_ life, constantly
varying scenes, and deeply interesting stories, combine to place their
writer in the front rank of American authors.
* * * * *
SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION.
PERSONS DESIRING AGENCIES FOR ANY OF CAPTAIN GLAZIER'S
BOOKS SHOULD ADDRESS
THE PUBLISHERS.
OCEAN TO OCEAN
ON
HORSEBACK;
Being
THE STORY OF A TOUR IN THE SADDLE FROM THE ATLANTIC TO
THE PACIFIC; WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE EARLY
HISTORY AND DEVELOPMENT OF CITIES AND TOWNS
ALONG THE ROUTE; AND REGIONS TRAVERSED
BEYOND THE MISSISSIPPI; TOGETHER
WITH INCIDENTS, ANECDOTES
AND ADVENTURES OF
THE JOURNEY.
BY
CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER.
Author of "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape," "Three Years in the
Federal Cavalry," "Battles for the Union," "Heroes of Three Wars,"
"Peculiarities of American Cities," "Down the Great River,"
"Headwaters of the Mississippi," Etc.
* * * * *
Illustrated.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA:
EDGEWOOD PUBLISHING COMPANY.
1899.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1895, by
WILLARD GLAZIER,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D.C.
TO
THE MEMORY
OF
My Beloved Mother,
TO WHOSE
Precepts and Example
I AM INDEBTED FOR WHATEVER I HAVE BEEN
ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH
IN
The Journey of Life,
THIS VOLUME
THE RECORD OF MY LONGEST AMERICAN JOURNEY
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
It was the intention of the writer to publish a narrative descriptive of
his overland tour from the Atlantic to the Pacific soon after returning
from California in 1876, and his excuse for the delay in publication is
that a variety of circumstances compelled him to postpone for a time the
duty of arranging the contents of his journal until other pressing
matters had been satisfactorily attended to. Again, considerable
unfinished literary work, set aside when he began preparation for
crossing the Continent, had to be resumed, and for these reasons the
story of his journey from "OCEAN TO OCEAN ON HORSEBACK" is only now
ready for the printer. In view of this delay in going to press, the
author will endeavor to show a due regard for the changes time has
wrought along his line of march, and while noting the incidents of his
long ride from day to day, it has been his aim so far as possible to
discuss the regions traversed, the growth of cities and the development
of their industries from the standpoint of the present.
[Illustration: Signature]
Millard Glazier
ALBANY, NEW YORK,
_August 22, 1895_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
Boyhood Longings--Confronted by Obstacles--Trapping Along the
Oswegatchie--Enter Gouverneur Wesleyan Seminary--Appointed
to State Normal College--Straitened Circumstances--Teach School
in Rensselaer County--War of the Rebellion--Enlist in a Cavalry
Regiment--Taken Prisoner--Fourteen Months in Southern
Prisons--Escape from Columbia--Recaptured--Escape from Sylvania,
Georgia--Re-enter the Army--Close of the War--Publish
"Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape" and Other Books--Decide to
Cross the Continent--Preparation for Journey--Ocean to Ocean on
Horseback 25
CHAPTER II.
BOSTON AND ITS ENVIRONS.
Early History and Development--Situation of the Metropolis
of New England--Boston Harbor--The Cradle of Liberty--Old
South Church--Migrations of the Post Office--Patriots of
the Revolution--The Boston Tea Party--Bunker Hill Monument--Visit
of Lafayette--The Public Library--House where Franklin
was Born--The Back Bay--Public Gardens--Streets of Boston--Soldiers'
Monument--The Old Elm--Commonwealth Avenue--State
Capitol--Tremont Temple--Edward Everett--Wendell
Phillips--William Loyd Garrison--Phillips Brooks--Harvard
University--Wellesley College--Holmes, Parkman--Prescott,
Lowell, Longfellow--Boston's Claims to Greatness 32
CHAPTER III.
LECTURE AT TREMONT TEMPLE.
Subject of Lecture--Objects Contemplated--Grand Army of the
Republic--Introduction by Captain Theodore L. Kelly--Reference
to Army and Prison Experiences--Newspaper Comment--Proceeds
of Lecture Given to Posts 7 and 15--Letter to Adjutant-General
of Department 70
CHAPTER IV.
BOSTON TO ALBANY.
_First Day_ of Journey--Start from the Revere House--Escorted to
Brighton by G. A. R. Comrades--Dinner at Cattle Fair Hotel--South
Framingham--_Second Day_--Boston and Albany Turnpike--Riding
in a Rain-storm--Arrival at Worcester--Lecture in Opera
House--Pioneer History--Rapid Growth of Worcester--Lincoln
Park--The Old Common--_Third and Fourth Days_--The Ride to
Springfield--Met by Wife and Daughter--Lecture at Haynes
Opera House--_Fifth Day_--Ride to Russell--The Berkshire Hills--_Sixth
Day_--Journey to Becket--Rainbow Reflections--_Seventh
Day_--Over the Hoosac Mountains--_Eighth Day_--Arrival at
Pittsfield--Among the Lebanon Shakers--_Ninth Day_--Reach
Nassau, New York 81
CHAPTER V.
FOUR DAYS AT ALBANY.
Nassau to Albany--Among Old Friends in Rensselaer County--Thoughts
of Rip Van Winkle--Crossing the Hudson--Albany as
Seen from the River--Schoolday Associations--Early History--Settled
by the Dutch--Henry Hudson--Killian Van Rensselaer--Fort
Orange--Peter Schuyler and Robert Livingstone--Lecture at
Tweddle Hall--Call at the Capitol--Meet Army Comrades. 110
CHAPTER VI.
ALBANY TO SYRACUSE.
_Fourteenth Day_--On the Schenectady Turnpike--Riding between
Showers--Talk with Peter Lansing--Reach Schenectady--Lecture
at Union Hall under G. A. R. Auspices--_Fifteenth and Sixteenth
Days_--Go over to Troy--Lecture at Harmony Hall--Visit Old
Friends--_Seventeenth Day_--Return to Schenectady--_Eighteenth
Day_--In the Mohawk Valley--Halt at Amsterdam--Reach Fonda--
_Nineteenth Day_--Saint Johnsville--_Twentieth Day_--Little
Falls--_Twenty-first Day_--Utica--_Twenty-second Day_--Rome--
_Twenty-third Day_--Chittenango 118
CHAPTER VII.
TWO DAYS AT SYRACUSE.
Walks and Talks with the People--Early History--Lake Onondaga--
Father Le Moyne--Discovery of Salt Springs--Major Danforth--Joshua
Forman--James Geddes--The Erie Canal--Visit of La Fayette--Syracuse
University--Lecture at Shakespeare Hall. 132
CHAPTER VIII.
SYRACUSE TO ROCHESTER.
_Twenty-sixth Day_--Grand Army Friends--General Sniper--Captain
Auer--Stopped by a Thunder-shower--An Unpleasant Predicament--
_Twenty-Seventh Day_--Jordan, New York--Lake Skaneateles--
_Twenty-eighth Day_--Photographed--Entertained at Port
Byron--Montezuma Swamp--_Twenty-ninth Day_--Newark, New
York--Journey Continued Along the New York Central Railway--Another
Adventure with _Paul_--_Thirtieth Day_--Fairport--Riding
in the Cool of the Day 141
CHAPTER IX.
FOUR DAYS AT ROCHESTER.
Rainstorm Anticipated--Friends of the Horse--Seven-Sealed Wonder--
Newspaper Controversy--Lecture at Corinthian Hall--Colonel
J. A. Reynolds--Pioneer History--Colonel Nathaniel Rochester--William
Fitzhugh--Charles Carroll--Rapid Growth of City--Sam
Patch--Genesee Falls--The Erie Canal--Mount Hope--Lake
Ontario--Fruit Nurseries 147
CHAPTER X.
ROCHESTER TO BUFFALO.
_Thirty-fifth Day_--Churchville--Cordiality of the People--Dinner
at Chili--_Thirty-sixth Day_--Bergen Corners--Byron Centre--Rev.
Edwin Allen--_Thirty-seventh Day_--Batavia--Meet a Comrade of
the Harris Light Cavalry--_Thirty-eighth Day_--"Croft's"--More
Trouble with Mosquitoes--Amusing Episode--_Thirty-ninth Day_--
Crittenden--Rural Reminiscences--_Fortieth Day_--Lancaster--Lectured
in Methodist Church--Captain Remington 158
CHAPTER XI.
THREE DAYS AT BUFFALO.
"Queen City" of the Lakes--Arrival at the Tift House--Lecture
at St. James Hall--Major Farquhar--Aboriginal History--The
Eries--Iroquois--"Cats"--La Hontan--Lake Erie--Black Rock--War
of 1812--The Erie Canal--Buffalo River--Grosvenor Library--Historical
Society--Red Jacket--Forest Lawn--Predictions
for the Future 171
CHAPTER XII.
BUFFALO TO CLEVELAND.
_Forty-fourth Day_--On the Shore of Lake Erie--_Forty-fifth Day_--Again
on the Shore of Erie--Bracing Air--Enchanting Scenery--Angola--Big
Sister Creek--_Forty-sixth Day_--Angola to Dunkirk--_Forty-eighth
Day_--Dunkirk to Westfield--Fruit and Vegetable
Farms--Fredonia--_Forty-ninth Day_--Westfield to North East--Cordial
Reception--_Fiftieth Day_--North East to Erie--Oliver
Hazzard Perry--_Fifty-first Day_--Erie to Swanville--_Fifty-second
Day_--Talk with Early Settlers--John Joseph Swan--_Fifty-third
Day_--Swanville to Girard--Greeted by Girard Band--Lecture at
Town Hall--_Fifty-fourth Day_--Girard to Ashtabula--Lecture
Postponed--_Fifty-fifth Day_--Ashtabula to Painesville--The Centennial
Fourth--Halt at Farm House--_Fifty-sixth Day_--Reach
Willoughby--Guest of the Lloyds 183
CHAPTER XIII.
FIVE DAYS AT CLEVELAND.
An Early Start--School Girls--"Do you Like Apples, Mister?"--Mentor--Home
of Garfield--Dismount at Euclid--Rumors of the
Custer Massacre--Reach the "Forest City"--Met by Comrades of
the G. A. R.--Lecture at Garrett Hall--Lake Erie--Cuyahoga
River--Early History--Moses Cleveland--Connecticut Land Company--Job
Stiles--The Ohio Canal--God of Lake Erie--"Ohio
City"--West Side Boat Building--"The Pilot"--Levi Johnson-Visit
of Lorenzo Dow--Monument Square--Commodore Perry--Public
Buildings--Euclid Avenue--"The Flats"--Standard Oil
Company 206
CHAPTER XIV.
CLEVELAND TO TOLEDO.
_Sixty-first Day_--Again in the Saddle--Call on Major Hessler--Donate
Proceeds of Lecture to Soldiers' Monument Fund--Letters
from General James Barnett and Rev. William Earnshaw--Stop
for Night at Black River--_Sixty-second Day_--Mounted at Nine
A.M.--Halted at Vermillion for Dinner--Lake Shore Road--More
Mosquitoes--Reach Huron Late at Night--_Sixty-third Day_--Huron
to Sandusky--Traces of the Red Man--Ottawas and
Wyandots--Johnson's Island--Lecture in Union Hall--Captain
Culver--_Sixty-fourth Day_--Ride to Castalia--A Remarkable Spring--
_Sixty-fifth Day_--Reach Fremont--Home of President Hayes--_Sixty-sixth
Day_--Reach Elmore, Ohio--Comparison of Hotels 221
CHAPTER XV.
FIVE DAYS AT TOLEDO.
Ride from Elmore--Lecture at Lyceum Hall--Forsyth Post, G. A.
R.--Doctor J. T. Woods--Concerning General Custer--Pioneer
History--Battle of Fallen Timbers--Mad Anthony Wayne--
Miami and Wabash Indians--The Toledo War--Unpleasant Complications--
Governor Lucas--Strategy of General Vanfleet--
Milbourn Wagon Works--Visited by a Detroit Friend 231
CHAPTER XVI.
TOLEDO TO DETROIT.
_Seventy-second Day_--Leave Toledo--Change of Route--Ride to Erie,
Michigan--_Paul_ Shows His Mettle--_Seventy-third Day_--Sunday
--Go to Church--Rev. E. P. Willard--Solicitude of Friends--
_Seventy-fourth Day_--Ride to Monroe--Greeted with Music--Hail
Columbia--Star-Spangled Banner--Home of Custer--Meet Custer
Family--Custer Monument Association--Received at City Hall--Great
Enthusiasm--River Rasin--Indian Massacre--General Winchester--
Battle of the Thames--Death of Tecumseh--Monroe
_Monitor_--_Seventy-seventh Day_--Lecture at City Hall--Personal
Recollections of Custer--Incidents of His School Life--_Seventy-eighth
Day_--Leave Monroe--Huron River--Traces of the Mound
Builders--Rockwood--_Seventy-ninth Day_--Along the Detroit
River--Wyandotte--Ecorse--_Eightieth Day_--Letter from Judge
Wing--Indorsement of Custer Monument Association 243
CHAPTER XVII.
FOUR DAYS AT DETROIT.
Leave Ecorse--Met at Fort Wayne--Sad News--Reach Detroit--
Met by General Throop and Others--at Russell House--Lecture at
St. Andrew's Hall--General Trowbridge--Meet Captain Hampton
--Army and Prison Reminiscences--Pioneer History of Detroit--
La Motte Cadillac--Miamies and Pottawattomies--Fort Ponchartrain--
Plot of Pontiac--Major Gladwyn--Fort Shelby--War of
1812--General Brock and Tecumseh Advance on Detroit--Surrender
of General Hull--British Compelled to Evacuate 265
CHAPTER XVIII.
DETROIT TO CHICAGO.
_Eighty-fifth Day_--Leave Detroit Reluctantly--_Paul_ in Good Spirits
--Reach Inkster--_Eighty-sixth Day_--Lowering Clouds--Take
Shelter under Trees and in a Woodshed--Meet War Veterans--
Ypsilanti--_Eighty-seventh Day_--Lecture at Union Hall--Incidents
of the Late War--_Eighty-eighth Day_--An Early Start--Ann Arbor
--Michigan University--Dinner at Dexter--_Eighty-ninth Day_--Dinner
at Grass Lake--Reach Jackson--_Ninetieth Day_--Comment
of Jackson _Citizen_--Coal Fields--Grand River--_Ninety-first
Day_--A Circus in Town--Parma--_Ninety-second
Day_--"Wolverines"--_Ninety-third Day_--Ride to Battle Creek--Lecture
at Stuart's Hall--_Ninety-fourth Day_--Go to Church--Goguac Lake--
_Ninety-fifth Day_--Arrive at Kalamazoo--Sketch of the "Big Village"--
_Ninety-sixth Day_--Return to Albion and Lecture in Opera House--
_Ninety-seventh Day_--Lecture at Wayne Hall, Marshall--_Ninety-eighth
Day_--Calhoun County--_Ninety-ninth Day_--Letter to Custer
Monument Association--_One Hundredth Day_--Colonel Curtenius--_One
Hundred and First Day_--Paw Paw--_One Hundred and
Second Day_--South Bend, Indiana--Hon. Schuyler Colfax--_One
Hundred and Third Day_--Grand Rapids--Speak in Luce's Hall--_One
Hundred and Fourth Day_--Return to Decatur--_One Hundred
and Fifth Day_--Again in Paw Paw--_One Hundred and
Sixth Day_--Lecture at Niles--_One Hundred and Seventh_ Day--Go
to La Porte by Rail--_One Hundred and Eighth Day_--Return
to Michigan City--_One Hundred and Ninth Day_--Go Back to
Decatur, Michigan--_One Hundred and Tenth_ to _One Hundred
and Twenty-second Day_--Dowagiac--Buchanan--Rolling
Prairie 279
CHAPTER XIX.
THREE DAYS AT CHICAGO.
Register at the Grand Pacific Hotel--Lecture at Farwell Hall--Visit
McVicker's Theatre--See John T. Raymond in "Mulberry
Sellers"--The Chicago Exposition--Site of City--Origin of Name
--Father Marquette--First Dwelling--Death of Marquette--Lake
Michigan--Fort Dearborn--First Settlement Destroyed by Indians
--Chicago as a Commercial City--The Great Fire--An Unparalleled
Conflagration--Rises from her Ashes--Financial Reorganization--Greater
than Before--Schools and Colleges--Historical
Society--The Palmer House--Spirit of the People--_One Hundred
and Twenty-sixth Day_--Again at Michigan City--Attend a
Political Meeting--Hon. Daniel W. Voorhees--"Blue Jeans"
Williams--_One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Day_--Leave Michigan
City--Hobart--"Hoosierdum"--_One Hundred and Twenty-ninth
Day_--Weather Much Cooler 333
CHAPTER XX.
CHICAGO TO DAVENPORT.
_One Hundred and Thirtieth Day_--Followed by Prairie Wolves--Reach
Joliet, Illinois--Lecture at Werner Hall--_One Hundred
and Thirty-first Day_--Ride on Tow Path of Michigan Canal--Morris--_One
Hundred and Thirty-second Day_--Corn and Hogs--Arrive
at Ottawa--_One Hundred and Thirty-third Day_--Reach
La Salle--_One Hundred and Thirty-fourth Day_--Colonel Stephens--_One
Hundred and Thirty-fifth Day_--Visit Peru--_One Hundred
and Thirty-sixth Day_--Mistaken for a Highwayman--_One Hundred
and Thirty-seventh Day_--Fine Stock Farms--Wyanet--_One
Hundred and Thirty-eighth Day_--Annawan--Commendatory
Letter--_One Hundred and Thirty-ninth Day_--A Woman Farmer--_One
Hundred and Fortieth Day_--Reach Milan, Illinois 354
CHAPTER XXI.
FOUR DAYS AT DAVENPORT.
Cross the Mississippi--Lecture at Moore's Hall--Colonel Russell--General
Sanders--Early History of the City--Colonel George
Davenport--Antoine Le Claire--Griswold College--Rock Island--Fort
Armstrong--Rock Island Arsenal--General Rodman--Colonel
Flagler--Rock Island City--Sac and Fox Indians--Black
Hawk War--Jefferson Davis--Abraham Lincoln--Defeat of Black
Hawk--Rock River--Indian Legends 372
CHAPTER XXII.
DAVENPORT TO DES MOINES.
_One Hundred and Forty-fifth Day_--Leave Davenport--Stop over
Night at Farm House--_One Hundred and Forty-sixth Day_--Reach
Moscow, Iowa--Rolling Prairies--_One Hundred and Forty-seventh
Day_--Weather Cold and Stormy--Iowa City--_One Hundred and Forty-eighth
Day_--Description of City--_One Hundred and Forty-ninth
Day_--Lectured at Ham's Hall--Hon. G. B. Edmunds--_One
Hundred and Fiftieth Day_--Reach Tiffin--Guests of the Tiffin
House--_One Hundred and Fifty-first Day_--Marengo--_One Hundred
and Fifty-second Day_--Halt for the Night at Brooklyn--_One
Hundred and Fifty-third Day_--Ride to Kellogg--Stop at a School
House--Talk with Boys--_One Hundred and Fifty-fourth Day_--Reach
Colfax--_One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Day_--Arrive at Des
Moines--Capital of Iowa--Description of City--Professor Bowen--Meet
an Army Comrade 386
CHAPTER XXIII.
DES MOINES TO OMAHA.
_One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Day_--Leave Des Moines with Pleasant
Reflections--Reach Adel--Dallas County--Raccoon River--_One
Hundred and Fifty-eighth Day_--Ride through Redfield--Reach
Dale City--Talk Politics with Farmers--_One Hundred and
Fifty-ninth Day_--A Night with Coyotes--Re-enforced by a Friendly
Dog--_One Hundred and Sixtieth Day_--Cold Winds from the
Northwest--All Day on the Prairies--_One Hundred and Sixty-first
Day_--Halt at Avoca--_One Hundred and Sixty-second Day_--Riding
in the Rain--Reach Neola--_One Hundred and Sixty-third
Day_--Roads in Bad Condition--Ride through Council Bluffs--Arrive
at Omaha 401
CHAPTER XXIV.
A HALT AT OMAHA.
The Metropolis of Nebraska--First Impressions--Peculiarity of the
Streets--Hanscom Park--Poor House Farm--Prospect Cemetery--Douglas
County Fair Grounds--Omaha Driving Park--Fort
Omaha--Creighton College--Father Marquette--The Mormons--"Winter
Quarters"--Lone Tree Ferry--Nebraska Ferry Company--Old
State House--First Territorial Legislature--Governor
Cummings--Omaha in the Civil War--Rapid Development of the
"Gate City" 409
CHAPTER XXV.
OMAHA TO CHEYENNE.
Leave _Paul_ in Omaha--Purchase a Mustang--Use Mexican Saddle--Over
the Great Plains--Surface of Nebraska--Extensive Beds of
Peat--Salt Basins--The Platte River--High Winds--Dry Climate--Fertile
Soil--Lincoln--Nebraska City--Fremont--Grand Island--Plum
Creek--McPherson--Sheep Raising--Elk Horn River--In
Wyoming Territory--Reach Cheyenne--Description of Wyoming
"Magic City"--Vigilance Committee--Rocky Mountains--Laramie
Plains--Union Pacific Railroad 420
CHAPTER XXVI.
CAPTURED BY INDIANS.
Leave Cheyenne--Arrange to Journey with Herders--Additional
Notes on Territory--Yellowstone National Park--Sherman--Skull
Rocks--Laramie Plains--Encounter Indians--Friendly
Signals--Surrounded by Arrapahoes--One Indian Killed--Taken
Prisoners--Carried toward Deadwood--Indians Propose to Kill
their Captives--Herder Tortured at the Stake--Move toward
Black Hills--Escape from Guards--Pursued by the Arrapahoes--Take
Refuge in a Gulch--Reach a Cattle Ranch--Secure a
Mustang and Continue Journey 435
CHAPTER XXVII.
AMONG THE MORMONS.
Ride Across Utah--Chief Occupation of the People--Description of
Territory--Great Salt Lake--Mormon Settlements--Brigham
Young--Peculiar Views of the Latter Day Saints--"Celestial
Marriages"--Joseph Smith, the Founder of Mormonism--The Book
of Mormon--City of Ogden--Pioneer History--Peter Skeen Ogden--Weber
and Ogden Rivers--Heber C. Kimball--Echo Canyon--Enterprise
of the Mormons--Rapid Development of the Territory 446
CHAPTER XXVIII.
OVER THE SIERRAS.
The Word Sierra--At Kelton, Utah--Ride to Terrace--Wells,
Nevada--The Sierra Nevada--Lake Tahoe--Silver Mines--The
Comstock Lode--Stock Raising--Camp Halleck--Humboldt River--Mineral
Springs--Reach Palisade--Reese River Mountain--Golconda--Winnemucca--
Lovelocks--Wadsworth--Cross Truckee River--In California 458
CHAPTER XXIX.
ALONG THE SACRAMENTO.
Colfax--Auburn--Summit--Reach Sacramento--California Boundaries--Pacific
Ocean--Coast Range Mountains--The Sacramento Valley--Inhabitants of
California--John A. Sutter--Sutter's Fort--A Saw-mill--James Wilson
Marshall--Discovery of Gold--"Boys, I believe I have found a Gold
Mine"--The Secret Out--First Days of Sacramento--A "City of Tents"--
Capital of California 465
CHAPTER XXX.
SAN FRANCISCO AND END OF JOURNEY.
Metropolis of the Pacific Coast--Largest Gold Fields in the World--The
Jesuits--Captain Sutter--Argonauts of "49"--Great Excitement--Discovery
of Upper California--Sir Francis Drake--John
P. Lease--The Founding of San Francisco--The "Golden Age"--Story
of Kit Carson--The Golden Gate--San Francisco Deserted--The
Cholera Plague--California Admitted to the Union--Crandall's
Stage--Wonderful Development of San Francisco--United
States Mint--Handsome Buildings--Trade with China, Japan,
India and Australia--Go Out to the Cliff House--Ride into the
Pacific--End of Journey 476
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Wayside Notes _Frontispiece_.
Views in Boston 33
Scenes in Boston 39
Boston and Environs 49
Commonwealth Avenue, Boston 57
Leaving the Revere House, Boston 71
Riding Through Cambridge 77
View in Worcester, Mass. 81
A New England Paper Mill 85
Old Toll-Bridge at Springfield 91
A Massachusetts Mill Stream 95
The Springfield Armory 99
A Mill in the Berkshire Hills 103
A Hamlet in Berkshire Hills 107
Suburb of Pittsfield 111
A Scene in the Berkshire Hills 115
State Street and Capitol, Albany, N. Y. 125
River Street, Troy, N. Y. 129
View in Schenectady, N. Y. 133
View in Mohawk Valley 143
A Mill Stream in Mohawk Valley 139
A Flourishing Farm 157
An Old Landmark 161
The Road to Albany 121
View of Rochester 171
The District School-House 177
Rural Scene in Central New York 183
The Road to Buffalo 189
Juvenile Picnic 205
A Cottage on the Hillside 211
Haying in Northern Ohio 221
Just Out of Cleveland 225
On the Shore of Lake Erie 235
Sunday at the Farm 241
A Home in the Woods 245
Country Store and Post Office 255
An Ohio Farm 265
Outskirts of a City 279
A Summer Afternoon 303
The Country Peddler 313
A Mill in the Forest 321
No Rooms To Let 335
Rural Scene in Michigan 341
Spinning Yarns by a Tavern Fire 345
A Hoosier Cabin 355
A Circus in Town 359
A Country Road in Illinois 381
An Illinois Home 385
A Happy Family 395
An Illinois Village 399
The Road to the Church 404
An Iowa Village 419
On the Way to Mill 427
A Night Among the Coyotes 431
High School, Omaha, Neb. 441
Omaha, Neb., in 1876 437
Sport on the Plains 449
Pawnee Indians, Neb. 453
North Platte, Neb. 457
Plum Creek, Neb. 463
Cattle Ranch in Nebraska 467
A Mountain Village 471
Captured by the Indians 477
Deciding the Fate of the Captives 481
Escape from the Arrapahoes 487
An Indian Encampment, Wyoming 495
Sheep Ranch in Wyoming 503
Mining Camp in Nevada 507
A Rocky Mountain River 513
A Lake in the Sierra Nevadas 517
A Cascade by the Roadside 525
View in Woodward's Garden, San Francisco 533
The Pacific Ocean, End of Journey 541
OCEAN TO OCEAN
ON
HORSEBACK.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
From earliest boyhood it had been my earnest desire to see and learn
from personal observation all that was possible of the wonderful land of
my birth. Passing from the schoolroom to the War of the Rebellion and
thence back to the employments of peace, the old longing to make a
series of journeys over the American Continent again took possession of
me and was the controlling incentive of all my ambitions and struggles
for many years.
To see New England--the home of my ancestors; to visit the Middle and
Western States; to look upon the majestic Mississippi; to cross the
Great Plains; to scale the mountains and to look through the Golden Gate
upon the far-off Pacific were among the cherished desires through which
my fancy wandered before leaving the Old Home and village school in
Northern New York.
The want of an education and the want of money were two serious
obstacles which confronted me for a time. Without the former I could not
prosecute my journeys intelligently and for want of the latter I could
not even attempt them.
Aspiring to an academic and collegiate course of study, but being at
that period entirely without means for the accomplishment of my purpose,
I left the district school of my native town and sought to raise the
necessary funds by trapping for mink and other fur-bearing animals along
the Oswegatchie and its tributary streams. This venture proving
successful I entered the academy at Gouverneur in August, 1857, from
which institution I was appointed to the State Normal College at Albany
in the fall of 1859.
I had been in Albany but six weeks when it became apparent that if I
continued at the Normal I would soon be compelled to part with my last
dollar for board and clothing.
The years 1859-60 were spent alternately at Albany as student and in the
village schools of Rensselaer County as teacher--the latter course being
resorted to whenever money was needed with which to meet current
expenses at the Normal School.
Then came our great Civil Conflict overriding every other consideration.
Books were thrown aside and the pursuits of the student and teacher
supplanted by the sterner and more arduous duties of the soldier.
During my three years of camping and campaigning with the cavalry of the
Army of the Potomac I was enabled to gratify to some extent my desire
for travel and to see much of interest as the shifting scenes of war led
Bayard, Stoneman, Pleasonton, Gregg, Custer, Davies and Kilpatrick and
their followers over the hills and through the valleys of Virginia,
Maryland and Pennsylvania.
Being captured in a cavalry battle between Kilpatrick and Stuart in
October, 1863, I was imprisoned successively at Richmond, Danville,
Macon, Savannah, Charleston and Columbia, from which last prison I
escaped in November, 1864; was recaptured and escaped a second and third
time, traversing the States of South Carolina and Georgia in my long
tramp from Columbia to Savannah.
The marches, raids, battles, captures and escapes of those days seem to
have increased rather than diminished my ardor for travel and adventure
and hence it is possibly not strange that on leaving the army I still
looked forward to more extended journeys in the East and exploratory
tours beyond the Mississippi.
With the close of the war and mustering out of service came new duties
and responsibilities which I had hardly contemplated during my school
days. The question of ways and means again confronted me. I desired
first to continue the course of study which had been interrupted by my
enlistment, and secondly to carry out my cherished plans for
exploration. Having a journal kept during my incarceration in and
escapes from Southern prisons, I was advised and decided to amplify and
publish it if possible with a view to promoting these projects.
Going to New York, I at once sought the leading publishers. My
manuscript was submitted to the Harpers, Appletons, Scribners, and some
others, but as I was entirely unknown, few cared to undertake the
publication and none seemed disposed to allow a royalty which to me at
least seemed consistent with the time and labor expended in preparation.
I had now spent my last dollar in the Metropolis in pursuit of a
publisher, and in this dilemma it was thought best to return to Albany,
where I had friends and perhaps some credit, and endeavor to bring out
the book by subscription. This course would compel me to assume the cost
of production, but if successful would prove much more lucrative than if
issued in the usual way through the trade.
Fully resolved upon retracing my steps to Albany, I was most fortunate
in meeting an old comrade and friend to whom I frankly stated my plans
and circumstances. He immediately loaned me twenty dollars with which to
continue my search for a publisher and to meet in the meantime necessary
current expenses.
On reaching Albany an attic room and meals were secured for a trifling
sum, arrangements made with a publisher, and the work of getting out the
book begun. While the printer was engaged in composing, stereotyping,
printing and binding the work, I employed my spare time in a
door-to-door canvass of the city for subscriptions, promising to deliver
on the orders as soon as the books came from the press. In this way the
start was made and before the close of the year hundreds of agencies
were established throughout the country.
The venture proved successful beyond my most sanguine expectations, and
where I had expected to dispose of two or three editions and to realize
a few hundred dollars from the sale of "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape,"
the book had a sale of over 400,000 copies and netted me $75,000, This
remarkable success, rivalling in its financial results even "Uncle
Tom's Cabin," which had just had a run of 300,000 copies, was most
gratifying and led to the publication, at intervals, of "Three Years in
the Federal Cavalry," "Battles for the Union," and "Heroes of Three
Wars."
The temptation to make the most of my literary ventures lured me on from
year to year until 1875, when I laid down the pen and began preparation
for my long contemplated and oft deferred journey across the Continent.
Being now possessed of ample means, I proposed to ride at leisure on a
tour of observation from OCEAN TO OCEAN ON HORSEBACK.
My preference for an equestrian journey was in a great measure due to
early associations with the horse, in jaunts along country highways and
over the hills after the cows, as well as numerous boyhood adventures in
which this noblest of animals frequently played a conspicuous part.
Then, too, my experience in the cavalry largely influenced me to adopt
the saddle as the best suited to my purpose.
Reflecting further upon the various modes of travel, I was led to
conclude as the result of much experience that he who looks at the
country from the windows of a railway car, can at best have only an
imperfect idea of the many objects of interest which are constantly
brought to his notice. Again, a journey in the saddle, wherein the rider
mounts and dismounts at will as he jogs along over the highway, chatting
with an occasional farmer, talking with the people in town and gazing
upon rural scenes at his pleasure, presents many attractive features to
the student and tourist who wishes to view the landscape, to commune
with nature, to see men and note the products of their toil and to
learn something of their manners and customs.
Having therefore decided to make my journey in the saddle, I at once set
about to secure such a horse as was likely to meet the requirements of
my undertaking. As soon as my purpose was known, horses of every grade,
weight and shade were thrust upon my attention and after some three
weeks spent in advertising, talks with horse fanciers and in the livery
and sale stables of Boston, my choice fell upon a Kentucky Black Hawk,
one of the finest animals I had ever seen and, as was subsequently
established, just the horse I wanted for my long ride from sea to sea.
His color was coal black, with a white star in the forehead and four
white feet; long mane and tail; height fifteen hands; weight between ten
and eleven hundred pounds, with an easy and graceful movement under the
saddle; his make-up was all that could be desired for the objects I had
in view. The price asked for this beautiful animal was promptly paid,
and it was generally conceded that I had shown excellent judgment in the
selection of my equine companion.
A few days after my purchase I learned that my four-legged friend had
been but a short time before the property of an ex-governor of
Massachusetts and that the reason he had but recently found his way into
a livery stable on Portland street, was that he had acquired the very
bad habit of running away whenever he saw a railway train or anything
else, in short, that tended to disturb his naturally excitable nature.
This information led to no regrets, however, nor did it even lessen my
regard for the noble animal which was destined soon to be my sole
companion in many a lonely ride and adventure.
The unsavory reputation he had made, and possibly of which he was very
proud, of running away upon the slightest provocation, smashing up
vehicles and scattering their occupants to the four winds, was
considered by his new master a virtue rather than a fault, so long as he
ran in the direction of San Francisco, and did not precipitate him from
his position in the saddle.
As soon as I was in possession of my horse the question of a suitable
name arose and it was agreed after some discussion among friends that he
should be christened _Paul Revere_, after that stirring patriot of the
Revolution who won undying fame by his ride from Boston and appeals to
the yeomanry the night before the Battle of Lexington.
CHAPTER II.
BOSTON AND ITS ENVIRONS.
The month of April, 1876, found myself and horse fully equipped and
ready to leave Boston, but I will not ride away from the metropolis of
New England without some reference to its early history and remarkable
development, nor without telling the reader of my lecture at Tremont
Temple and other contemplated lectures in the leading cities and towns
along my route.
Boston, standing on her three hills with the torch of learning in her
hand for the illumination of North, South, East and West, is not one of
your ordinary every-day cities, to be approached without due
introduction. Like some ancient dame of historic lineage, her truest
hospitality and friendliest face are for those who know her story and
properly appreciate her greatness, past and present. Before visiting
her, therefore, I recalled to memory those facts which touch us no more
nearly than a dream on the pages of written history, but when studied
from the living models and relics gain much life, color and
verisimilitude.
Boston Harbor, with its waters lying in azure placidity over the buried
boxes of tea which the hasty hands of the angered patriots hurled to a
watery grave; Boston Common, whose turf grows velvet-green over ground
once blackened by the fires of the grim colonial days of witch-burning,
and again trampled down by innumerable soldierly feet in Revolutionary
times; the Old State House, from whose east window the governor's
haughty command, "Disperse, ye rebels!" sounded on the occasion of the
"Boston Massacre," the first shedding of American blood by the British
military; and the monument of Bunker Hill--these, with a thousand and
one other reminders of the city's brilliant historical record, compose
the Old Boston which I was prepared to see. The first vision, however,
of that many-sided city was almost bewilderingly different from the
mental picture. Where was the quaint Puritan town of the colonial
romances? Where were its crooked, winding streets, its plain
uncompromising meeting-houses, darkened with time, its curious gabled
houses, stooping with age? Around me everything was shining with
newness--the smooth wide streets, beautifully paved, the splendid
examples of _fin de siècle_ architecture in churches, public buildings,
school houses and dwellings.
Afterwards I realized that there was a New Boston, risen Phoenix-like
from the ashes of its many conflagrations, and an Old Boston, whose
"outward and visible signs" are best studied in that picturesque, shabby
stronghold of ancient story, now rapidly degenerating into a "slum"
district--the North End.
Boston, viewed without regard to its history, is indeed "Hamlet
presented without the part of Hamlet." It would be interesting to
conjecture what the city's present place and condition might be, had
Governor Winthrop's and Deputy-Governor Dudley's plan of making
"New-towne"--the Cambridge of to-day--the Bay Colony's principal
settlement, been executed. Instead, and fortunately, Governor Winthrop
became convinced of the superiority of Boston as an embryo "county
seat." "Trimountain," as it was first called, was bought in 1630 from
Rev. William Blackstone, who dwelt somewhere between the Charles River
and what is now Louisburg Square, and held the proprietary right of the
entire Boston Peninsula--a sort of American Selkirk, "monarch of all he
surveyed, and whose right there was none to dispute." He was "bought
off," however, for the modest sum of _£_30, and retired to what was then
the wilderness, on the banks of the Blackstone River--named after
him--and left "Trimountain" to the settlers. Then Boston began to grow,
almost with the quickness of Jack's fabled beanstalk. Always one of the
most important of colonial towns, it conducted itself in sturdy Puritan
style, fearing God, honoring the King--with reservations--burning
witches and Quakers, waxing prosperous on codfish, and placing education
above every earthly thing in value, until the exciting events of the
Revolution, which has left behind it relics which make Boston a
veritable "old curiosity shop" for the antiquarian, or indeed the
ordinary loyal American, who can spend a happy day, or week, or month,
prowling around the picturesque narrow streets, crooked as the
proverbial ram's horn, of Old Boston.
He will perhaps turn first, as I did, to the "cradle of
Liberty"--Faneuil Hall. A slight shock will await him, possibly, in the
discovery that under the ancient structure, round which hover so many
imperishable memories of America's early struggles for freedom, is a
market-house, where thrifty housewives and still more thrifty farmers
chaffer, chat and drive bargains the year round, and which brings into
the city a comfortable annual income of $20,000. But the presence of the
money-changers in the temple of Freedom does not disturb the "solid men
of Boston," who are practical as well as public-spirited. The market
itself is as old as the hall, which was erected by the city in 1762, to
take the place of the old market-house, which Peter Faneuil had built at
his own expense and presented to the city in 1742, and which was burned
down in 1761.
The building is an unpretending but substantial structure, plainly
showing its age both in the exterior and the interior. Its
size--seventy-four feet long by seventy-five feet wide--is apparently
increased by the lack of seats on the main floor and even in the
gallery, where only a few of these indispensable adjuncts to the comfort
of a later luxurious generation are provided. The hall is granted rent
free for such public or political meetings as the city authorities may
approve, and probably is only used for gatherings where, as in the old
days, the participants bring with them such an excess of effervescent
enthusiasm as would make them unwilling to keep their seats if they had
any. The walls are embellished by portraits of Hancock, Washington,
Adams, Everett, Lincoln, and other great personages, and by Healy's
immense painting--sixteen by thirty feet--of "Webster Replying to
Hayne."
For a short time Faneuil Hall was occupied by the Boston Post Office,
while that institution, whose early days were somewhat restless ones,
was seeking a more permanent home. For thirty years after the
Revolution, it was moved about from pillar to post, occupying at one
time a building on the site of Boston's first meeting-house, and at
another the Merchants' Exchange Building, whence it was driven by the
great fire of 1872. Faneuil Hall was next selected as the temporary
headquarters, next the Old South Church, after which the Post Office--a
veritable Wandering Jew among Boston public institutions--was finally
and suitably housed under its own roof-tree, the present fine building
on Post Office Square.
[Illustration: VIEWS IN BOSTON.]
To the Old South Church itself, the sightseer next turns, if still bent
on historical pilgrimages. This venerable building of unadorned brick,
whose name figures so prominently in Revolutionary annals, stands at the
corner of Washington and Milk streets. Rows of business structures, some
of them new and clean as a whistle and almost impertinently eloquent of
the importance of this world and its goods, cluster around the old
church and hem it in, but are unable to jostle it out of the quiet
dignity with which it holds its place, its heavenward-pointing spire
preaching the sermons against worldliness which are no longer heard
within its ancient walls. To every window the fanciful mind can summon a
ghost--that of Benjamin Franklin, who was baptized and attended service
here; Whitfield, who here delivered some of the soul-searching,
soul-reaching sermons, which swept America like a Pentecostal flame;
Warren, who here uttered his famous words on the anniversary of the
Boston Massacre; of the patriot-orators of the Revolution and the
organizers of the Boston Tea-Party, which first took place as a definite
scheme within these walls. Here and there a red-coated figure would be
faintly outlined--one of the lawless troop of British soldiers who in
1775 desecrated the church by using it as a riding-school.
At present the church is used as a museum, where antique curiosities and
historical relics are on exhibition to the public, and the Old South
Preservation Committee is making strenuous efforts to save the building
from the iconoclastic hand of Progress, which has dealt blows in so many
directions in Boston, destroying a large number of interesting
landmarks. Its congregation left it long ago, in obedience to that
inexorable law of change and removal, which leaves so many old churches
stranded amid the business sections of so many of our prominent cities,
and settled in the "New Old South Church" at Dartmouth and Boylston
streets.
It is curious and in its way disappointing to us visitors from other
cities to see what "a clean sweep" the broom of improvement has been
permitted in a city so intensely and justly proud of its historical
associations as Boston. Year by year the old landmarks disappear and
fine new buildings rise in their places and Boston is apparently
satisfied that all is for the best. The historic Beacon, for which
Beacon Hill was named and which was erected in 1634 to give alarm to the
country round about in case of invasion, is not only gone, but the very
mound where it stood has been levelled, this step having been taken in
1811. The Beacon had disappeared ten years before and a shaft sixty
feet high, dedicated to the fallen heroes of Bunker Hill, had been
erected on the spot and of course removed when the mound was levelled.
The site of Washington's old lodgings at Court and Hanover street--a
fine colonial mansion, later occupied by Daniel Webster and by Harrison
Gray Otis, the celebrated lawyer--is now taken up by an immense
wholesale and retail grocery store; the splendid Hancock mansion, where
the Revolutionary patriot entertained Lafayette, D'Estaing, and many
other notabilities of the day, was torn down in 1863, despite the
protests of antiquarian enthusiasts. The double house, in one part of
which Lafayette lived in 1825, is still standing; the other half of it
was occupied during his lifetime by a distinguished member of that
unsurpassed group of _literati_ who helped win for Boston so much of her
intellectual pre-eminence--George Ticknor, the Spanish historian, the
friend of Holmes, Lowell, Whittier and Longfellow, from whom the latter
is supposed to have drawn his portrait of the "Historian" in his "Tales
of a Wayside Inn." The Boston Public Library, that magnificent
institution, which has done so much to spread "sweetness and light," to
use Matthew Arnolds' celebrated definition of culture, among the people
of the "Hub," counts Mr. Ticknor among the most generous of its
benefactors.
One interesting spot for the historical pilgrim is the oldest inn in
Boston, the "Hancock House," near Faneuil Hall, which sheltered
Talleyrand and Louis Philippe during the French reign of terror.
In addition to the fever for improvement, Boston owes the loss of many
of her time-hallowed buildings to a more disastrous agency--that of the
conflagrations which have visited her with strange frequency. A fire in
1811, which swept away the little house on Milk street where Franklin
was born--and which is now occupied by the Boston _Post_--another in
1874, in which more than one hundred buildings were destroyed; and the
"Great Boston Fire" of 1872, followed by conflagrations in 1873, 1874,
1877 and 1878, seemed to indicate that the fire fiend had selected
Boston as his especial prey. To the terrible fire of 1872 many precious
lives, property valued at eighty millions of dollars, and the entire
section of the city enclosed by Summer, Washington, Milk and Broad
streets were sacrificed. The scene was one a witness never could forget.
Mingled with the alarum of the fire-bells and the screams and shouts of
a fear-stricken people came the sound of terrific explosions, those of
the buildings which were blown up in the hope of thus "starving out" the
fire by making gaps which it could not overstep, and to still further
complete the desolation, the gas was shut off, leaving the city in a
horror of darkness; but the flames swept on like a pursuing Fury,
wrapping the doomed city still closer in her embrace of death, and who
was not satisfied until she had left the business centre of Boston a
charred and blackened ruin.
This same district is to-day, however, the most prosperous and
architecturally prepossessing of the business sections of the city,
practically illustrating another phase of that same spirit of
improvement and civic pride which has overturned so many ancient idols
and to-day threatens others. Indeed, it would be a churlish disposition
which would lament the disappearance of the old edifices, the
straightening of the thoroughfares, the alterations without number which
have taken place, and which have resulted in the Boston of to-day, one
of the most beautiful, prosperous and public-spirited cities in the
world. The intelligence and local loyalty, for which her citizens are
renowned, have been set to work to attain one object--the modest goal of
perfection. Obstacles which some cities might have contentedly accepted
as unavoidable have been swept away; advantages with which other cities
might have been satisfied have been still further extended and improved.
The 783 acres originally purchased by the settlers of Boston from
William Blaxton for £30 has been increased over thirty times, until the
city limits comprise 23,661 acres; this not by magic as it would seem,
but by annexation of adjoining boroughs--Roxbury, Dorchester,
Charlestown, and others--and by reclamation of the seemingly hopeless
marshy land to the north and south of the city. The "Back-Bay" district,
the very centre of Boston's wealth, fashion and refinement, the
handsomest residence quarter in America, is built upon this "made land,"
which it cost the city about $1,750,000 to fill in and otherwise render
solid.
[Illustration: SCENES IN BOSTON.]
All good Bostonians, like the rest of their countrymen, may wish to go
to Paris when they die--that point cannot be settled; but it is certain
that they all wish to go to the Back-Bay while they live. And who can
wonder? To drive at night down Commonwealth avenue, the most
aristocratic street in this aristocratic quarter, is to view a scene
from fairyland. "The Avenue" itself is 250 feet wide from house to
house and 175 feet wide from curb to curb, and in the centre a
picturesque strip of parkland, adorned with statues and bordered with
ornamental trees and shrubs, follows its entire length. On either side
of the street stand palatial hotels and magnificent private residences,
from whose innumerable windows twinkle innumerable lights, which,
mingling with the quadruple row of gas-lamps which look like a winding
ribbon of light, make the vista perfectly dazzling in its beauty. By
day, when the Back Bay Park, the Public Garden, the fine bridge over the
park water-way extension and the handsome surrounding and intersecting
streets can be seen, the view is even more attractive.
In the newer parts of Boston the reproach of crooked streets, which has
given her sister cities opportunity for so much good-natured "chaff," is
removed, and the thoroughfares are laid out with such precision that
"the wayfaring man, though a fool," can hardly "err therein." In the
business district much money has been spent on the straightening
process, a fact whose knowledge prompts the bewildered stranger to
exclaim, "Were they ever worse than this?" Stories aimed at this little
peculiarity of the "Hub" are innumerable, the visitor being told with
perfect gravity that if he follows a street in a straight line he will
find himself at his original starting-point--a statement the writer's
experience can pretty nearly verify. The best, if not the most credible,
of these tales relates how a puzzled pedestrian, becoming "mixed up in
his tracks," endeavored to overtake a man who was walking ahead of him,
and inquire his way. The faster he walked, however, the faster the other
man walked, until it became a regular chase, and the now thoroughly
confused stranger had but one idea--to catch his fellow-pedestrian by
the coat-tails, if need be, and demand to be set on his homeward way.
Finally, by making a frantic forward lurch, he succeeded--and discovered
that the coat-tails he was grasping were his own!
The true Bostonian is secretly rather proud, however, of this
distinguished trait of his beloved city, and is willing to go "all
around Robin Hood's barn" to get to his destination.
But the thing of which the Bostonian is proudest of all is his famous
Common, whose green turf and noble shade-trees have formed a stage and
background for so many of the most exciting scenes of Colonial and
Revolutionary history. Among the troops which have been mustered and
drilled upon it were a portion of the forces which captured Quebec and
Louisburg; and the rehearsals for the grim drama of war, which later was
partly performed on the same ground by red-coat and continental, took
place here. It was at the Common's foot that the hated "lobster-backs"
assembled before embarking for Lexington; on the Common that they
marshalled their forces for the conflict at Bunker Hill. It has been
covered with white tents during the British occupation of Boston; dotted
with earthworks behind which the enemy crouched, expecting an attack by
Washington upon their stronghold. It was on Boston Common that the
school-boys constructed their snowmen, whose destruction by the insolent
red-coats sent an indignant deputation of young Bostonians to complain
to General Gage, who, stunned by what the young Bostonian of to-day
would designate as "the cheek of the thing," promised them redress, and
exclaimed, "These boys seem to take in the love of liberty with the very
air they breathe."
There are other interesting historical incidents, recorded in connection
with the Common, but space forbids their narration. I would rather
describe it as it first appeared to me, a beautiful surprise, a gracious
spot of greenness and of silvery waters and splendid shade-trees, in the
heart of the busy brick-bound city. Here the children play and coast, as
they did in the days of General Gage; here the lovers walk, on the five
beautiful broad pathways, the Tremont street, Park street, Beacon
street, Charles street and Boylston street malls. Here the invalids and
old folks rest on the numerous benches; here the people congregate on
summer evenings to enjoy the free open-air concerts, which are given
from the band-stand. "Frog Pond," a pretty lakelet, near Flagstaff Hill,
and a fine deer-park in the vicinity of the Boylston street mall, are
great attractions. The Common covers forty-eight acres, with 1000
stately old shade-trees, and the iron fence by which it is inclosed
measures 5932 feet.
In addition to its natural beauties, the Common has two fine pieces of
statuary, the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument on Flagstaff Hill, and the
Brener Fountain. The former was erected in 1871 at a cost of $75,000. It
is a majestic granite shaft in the Roman-Doric style, seventy feet high,
surmounted by a bronze figure of the Genius of America, eleven feet in
height. At the base of the shaft are grouped alto-relievo figures
representing the North, the South, the East, and the West. Four other
bronze figures, representing Peace, History, the Army and the Navy,
stand on projecting pedestals around the foundation. The monument, which
was executed by Martin Milmore, was Boston's tribute to her fallen
heroes of the Civil War. The Brener Fountain is a beautiful bronze
casting designed by Lienard, of Paris, with bronze figures representing
Neptune, Amphitrite, Acis, and Galatea grouped round the base. The late
Gardner Brener presented it to the city in 1868.
To forget the Old Elm in describing the Common, would be rank disrespect
to that hoary "oldest inhabitant," albeit nothing remains of it now but
its memory. An iron fence surrounds the spot where once it stood, and a
vigorous young sapling has providentially sprung up in its place, as a
successor. The Old Elm was ancient in 1630, when the town was settled,
and was one of its most interesting landmarks up to 1876, when it was
blown down.
The Public Garden, from which the beautiful Commonwealth avenue begins,
the Back-Bay Park, which cost a million of dollars, and the Arnold
Arboretum, where Harvard University has planted and maintained a fine
horticultural collection for the pleasure of the public, are lovely
spots on whose beauty the mind would fain linger, but whose descriptions
must be omitted, for all Boston's splendid public buildings wait in
stately array their share of attention. Nowhere has the skilled
artist-architect been so freely permitted to carry out his designs
unhampered by stupidity and stinginess as in Boston, and the result has
been a collection of public buildings unsurpassed by those of any modern
city. The Boston State House comes first, of course--did not the
"Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" term it, with loving exaggeration, the
"Hub of the Solar System?" From Beacon Hill, the most prominent coign
of vantage which could be selected for it, its gilded dome rises
majestically against the blue sky and imperiously beckons the visitor to
come and pay his respects to this most venerated of Boston institutions.
The State House stands, at a height of 110 feet, at the junction of
Beacon and Mt. Vernon streets and Hancock avenue, on a lot which
Governor Hancock once used for pasturing his cows, and was erected in
1795, beginning its existence in a blaze of glory, with the corner-stone
laid by Paul Revere, then Grand Master of the Masons, and an oration by
Samuel Adams. The building contains Doric Hall, which is approached by a
fine series of stone terraces from Beacon street; Hall of
Representatives, the Senate Chamber, the Government Room, and the State
Library.
It abounds in relics, among which are the tattered shreds of flags
brought back by Massachusetts soldiers from Southern battle-fields--a
sight which must stir every loyal heart, to whatsoever State it owes
allegiance; the guns carried by the Concord minute-men in the
Revolutionary conflict; and duplicates of the gift to the State by
Charles Sumner, of the memorial tablets of the Washington family in
England. Doric Hall contains busts of Sumner, Adams, Lincoln, and other
great men, and several fine statues--one of Washington, by Chantrey, and
one by Thomas Ball; a speaking likeness in marble of John A. Andrew, the
indomitable old War Governor of Massachusetts.
On the handsome terraces in front of the building stand two superb
bronzes, one is the Horace Mann statue, by Emma Stebbins, which was
erected in 1865, and paid for by contributions from teachers and school
children all over Massachusetts; the other Hiram Powers' statue of
Daniel Webster, which cost $10,000. It was erected in 1859, and was the
second statue of Webster which the famous sculptor wrought, the first,
the product of so much toil and pains and the embodiment of so much
genius, having been lost at sea.
Last, but very far from least in importance, may be mentioned the
historic codfish, which hangs from the ceiling of Assembly Hall,
dangling before the eyes of the legislators in perpetual reminder of the
source of Massachusetts' present greatness, for the codfish might by a
stretch of Hibernian rhetoric be described as the patron saint of the
Bay State.
I must confess to having been one of the 50,000 curious ones who, it is
computed, annually ascend into the gilded cupola and "view the landscape
o'er." The spectacle unrolled panorama-like before the sight is indeed a
feast to the eyes.
The Old State House of 1748, built on the site of Boston's earliest town
hall, is now used as a historical museum under the auspices of the
Bostonian Society. Careful restoration has perpetuated many of the old
associations which hallow the ancient fane, sacred to loyalty and to
liberty. The old council-chambers have been given much of their original
appearance, and the great carving of the Lion and the Unicorn, which
savored of offence to patriotic nostrils and so was taken down from its
gables in Revolutionary times, has been replaced. To visit this building
is a liberal education in local history.
The Boston Post Office, of whose migrations I have spoken earlier, is
now settled for good and all in a magnificent structure of Cape Ann
granite, built in Renaissance style, whose corner-stone was laid in
1871 and which was just ready for the addition of the roof when the
Great Fire of 1872 descended upon it and beat upon it so fiercely that
even to-day the traces of the intense heat are visible on parts of the
edifice. Damage to the amount of $175,000 was done. The Sub-Treasury,
the United States courts, the pension and internal revenue offices are
domiciled here, and it is considered the handsomest public building in
all New England, having cost $6,000,000. The interior furnishings are
sumptuous in the extreme, the doors and windows in the Sub-Treasury
apartments being of solid mahogany, beautifully polished. The "marble
cash-room" is a splendid hall, decorated in Greek style, with
wall-slabbing of dark and light shades of Sienna marble and graceful
pilasters of Sicilian marble.
The City Hall, on School street, is the seat of the municipal
housekeeping. Here the departments of streets, water, lighting, police,
and public printing have their offices, and Common Council sits in
august assemblage. It is a commanding structure of granite, fireproof,
and in the Renaissance style. Its cost was $500,000. Two fine bronze
statues, one by Greenough, of Franklin, one by Ball, of Josiah Quincy,
ornament the grassy square in front of the building.
No picture of Boston would be complete without that old landmark,
Tremont Temple. It occupies the former site of the Tremont Theatre and
contains one of the largest halls in the city. The building itself,
however, sinks into insignificance before the crowd of associations that
stir the blood at its very name. For years it has been the rallying
point of Boston's most notable gatherings--political, intellectual, and
religious. If, instead of colorless words, we could photograph upon
this page the pictures those old walls have looked upon, we might revel
in a gallery of famous portraits such as the world has rarely seen.
Edward Everett, Wendell Phillips, William Lloyd Garrison, Joseph Cook,
Phillips Brooks, and other master-spirits of the age, would be there.
And there, too, would be a sprinkling of that other sex, no longer
handicapped by the epithet "gentler."
But, could we press the phonograph as well as the camera into our
service, and hear again the thunders of stormy oratory, the clash of
political warfare, and the pleading tenderness of religious eloquence
that has often resounded under that old roof, then indeed we might well
forget the world of to-day in the fascination of this drama of the past.
Architecturally, Boston combines in the happiest way all that is
beautiful and dignified in the classic models and all that is fresh and
original in modern canons of building. A magnificent group of buildings,
in the vicinity of Boylston and Huntingdon streets and Copley Square,
fairly takes the breath away with its beauty. Trinity Church and the
Museum of Fine Arts, the "New Old South Church" and the new Boston
Public Library, form such a quartet of splendid edifices as even the
travelled eye seldom sees. The Public Library is an embodied
Triumph--the symbol of that great heritage of culture which the city
pours out on her denizens as lavishly and as freely as water, and which,
like "the gentle dew from heaven, blesseth him that gives and him that
takes," returning to enrich the community with its diffused presence,
like the showers which return to the bosom of the river, the moisture
the sun only borrowed for a space. Bostonians have always been proud of
their Public Library, from its foundation in 1852. By 1885, the Boylston
street building, with accommodations for 250,000 volumes, was too
contracted a space to hold the largest public library in the world, and
with characteristic promptness the city rose to the occasion and embodied
its thought that "nothing can be too good for the people" in the beautiful
new library in Copley Square, which cost the royal sum of $2,600,000.
[Illustration: BOSTON AND ENVIRONS.]
The long chapter of description which this splendid enterprise merits
must be reluctantly crowded into a few lines. Nothing, however, save
personal observation, can give an adequate perception of its outward
loveliness; its exterior of soft cream-gray granite, with a succession
of noble arched windows ranged along its fine façades; its arches,
pillars and floorings of rare marbles, and its mosaics, panels and
carvings. The grand staircase of splendid Sienna marble, opposite the
main entrance, is one of the finest in the world; and scholar or
philosopher could ask no more attractive spot for thoughtful promenade
than the beautiful open court, with its marble basin and MacMonnies
fountain in the centre, the soft green of its surrounding turf affording
grateful rest to book-wearied eyes, and the pensive beauty of the
cloister-like colonnade forming an ideal retreat.
The foremost artists of the world are represented in the interior
decoration. The famous St. Gaudens seal, designed by Kenyon Cox and
executed by Augustus St. Gaudens, ornaments the central arch of the main
vestibule; the bronze doors are by Daniel G. French; the splendid marble
lions in the staircase hall--erected as memorials to their martyred
comrades by two regiments of Massachusetts volunteers--are by Louis St.
Gaudens; and Puvis de Chavannes, James McNeil Whistler, Edwin A. Abbey
and John S. Sargent are among the celebrated artists who have
contributed to the mural decorations, friezes and ceiling frescoes.
Six hundred and fifty thousand volumes at present constitute the stock
of the library--a vast treasure-house of information, instruction and
pleasure to which any citizen of Boston can have access by simply
registering his name, and which among other valuable special collections
includes the Brown musical library of 12,000 volumes and rare autograph
manuscripts; the Barton Shaksperian library, one of the finest
collections of Shakesperiana extant, valued at $250,000; the Bowditch
mathematical library and the splendid Chamberlain collection of
autographs, which is worth $60,000 and represents a lifetime of work on
the part of the donor. The wonderful pneumatic and electric system of
tubes and railways which connects the delivery and stackrooms and keeps
this vast collection of books, pamphlets and magazines in circulation,
smacks almost of the conjurer's craft. Whatever else must be crowded out
of a visit to Boston, the Public Library assuredly should not be passed
by.
Trinity Church stands within hailing distance of the Public Library, on
Boylston and Clarendon streets--an imposing and beautiful edifice of
granite and freestone, built in French Romanesque style, with a tower
211 feet high. Far outside of Boston has the fame of Trinity Church
penetrated, owing not to the fact that it is one of the most splendid,
costly and fashionable churches in the country, but to its ever-revered
and ever-mourned rector, the late Phillips Brooks, Bishop of
Massachusetts, whose massive figure will stand out against the horizon
for many a year as the most striking speaker and deeply spiritual
thinker America has ever known.
From Copley Square, not far from Trinity, rise the spires of the "New
Old South" Church, a superb structure in North Italian Gothic style,
rich in beautiful stone-work, carvings and stained glass. It was erected
at a cost of over half a million of dollars to take the place of the
disused "Old South" on Washington street. Another prominent church is
the First Church, at Marlborough and Berkeley streets, the lineal
descendant of the humble little mud-walled meeting-house which was the
first consecrated roof under which the good folk of Boston gathered for
divine worship. The congregation of that day could scarce believe their
sober Puritan eyes could they behold the $325,000 church which was built
in 1868 to continue the succession which had begun with the little mud
meeting-house of 1632.
King's Chapel, with its ancient burying-ground, is one of the most
famous churches in Boston, having been the chapel of the royal governor,
officers of the army and navy, and other official representatives of the
"principalities and powers" of the mother country. Massive, almost
sombre, in its exterior, and quaint and picturesque within, the old
church stands, with few changes, as erected in 1749, with its
old-fashioned pulpit and sounding-board, prim, straight pillars, and
antique high-backed pews which recall the remark of the little girl,
that when she went to church she "went into a cupboard and climbed up on
the shelf." Its burying-ground is believed to be the oldest in the city.
Christ Church, built in 1723, is the oldest church edifice in the city.
Its age-mellowed chime of bells was the first ever brought into this
country, and the first American Sunday-school was established there in
1816. To-day its tall steeple, which on the eve of Lexington's conflict
bore the signal lanterns of Paul Revere, is the most conspicuous object
in the North End, where the old-time aristocrats who worshipped in
Christ Church have given place to a poverty-stricken foreign population
to whom the church is little and its traditions less. Churches which
well deserve more extended mention, could space permit, are the
beautiful Gothic Cathedral of the Holy Cross, with its fine organ and
splendid high-altar of onyx and marble; Tremont Temple, whose hall is
the largest in Boston; and the South Congregational Church, presided
over by Rev. Edward Everett Hale, author of "The Man without a Country"
and other world-famous literary productions, and originator of the
equally famous "Ten Times One" clubs.
Boston's religious history is most interesting, although almost
kaleidoscopic in its changes. From being the stronghold of Puritan
orthodoxy it has become the headquarters of liberal Unitarianism. King's
Chapel is a curious instance; originally an Episcopal church and
congregation, it became Unitarian in 1787, retaining the Episcopal
liturgy with necessary changes, and now doctrines are preached over the
tombs of the dead dignitaries interred beneath the church floor,
diametrically opposed to those in which they lived, died and were
buried. Though all denominations of course flourish within her walls,
Boston is still strongly Congregational in her leanings.
From the churches to the schools is a natural transition. The founders
of Boston's greatness placed the two influences side by side in
importance, and their wisdom in doing so has had its justification. The
current "poking of fun" at the "Boston school-ma'am," her glasses, her
learning and her devotion to Browning; and the Boston infant, who
converses in polysyllables almost from his birth, has its foundation in
the fact, everywhere admitted, that nowhere are intelligence and culture
so widely diffused in all ranks of life as in Boston. The free-school
system, an experiment which she was the first American city to
inaugurate, is considered by educators to lead the world. The city's
annual expenditures for her public schools, of which there are over 500,
amount to about $2,000,000, and from the kindergarten to the High
School, where the pupils can be prepared for college, the youth of the
city are carefully watched, trained, instructed, and all that is best in
them drawn out. Even in summer, "vacation schools" are held, where the
children who would otherwise be running wild in the streets can learn
sewing, box-making, cooking and other useful branches.
The English High and Latin School is the largest free public school
building in the world, being 423 feet long by 220 feet wide. It is a
fine structure in Renaissance style, with every advantage and
improvement looking to health and convenience that even the progressive
Boston mind could think of. It would be a sluggish soul indeed that
would not be thrilled by the sight of the entire school-battalion going
through its exercises in the immense drill-room, and realize the hopeful
future for this vast army of coming citizens, who are thus early and
thus admirably taught the priceless lesson of discipline.
The Boston Normal School, the Girls' High School and the Public Latin
School for girls, fully cover the demand for the higher education of
women. The latter institution is the fruit of the efforts of the Society
for the University Education of Women, and its graduates enter the
female colleges with ease. Wellesley, the "College Beautiful," as its
students have fondly christened it, is situated close to Boston in the
beautiful village of Wellesley, where feminine education is conducted
almost on ideal lines. No woman's college in the world has so many
students, or so beautiful a home in which to shelter the fair heads,
inwardly crammed and running over with knowledge, and outwardly adorned,
either in fact or in prospective, with the scholastic cap of learning.
Since its opening in 1875, Wellesley has almost created a new era in
woman's education, and its curriculum is the same as those of the most
advanced male colleges. The College Aid Society, which at an annual cost
of from $6000 to $7000 helps ambitious girlhood, for whom straitened
means would otherwise render a university education impossible, is an
interesting feature of the college.
[Illustration: COMMONWEALTH AVENUE, BOSTON.]
What Wellesley has for twenty years been to American girlhood, Harvard
University has for 150 years been to American young manhood, and though
its chief departments are located at Cambridge, it may still be fairly
ranked with Bostonian institutions. The tie which connects the Cambridge
University and the capital of Massachusetts is closer than that existing
between mere neighbors--it is a veritable bond of kinship. It might
be said that from the opening of the University in 1638, Boston made
Harvard and Harvard Boston. Its illustrious founder, John Harvard, was a
resident of Charlestown, now a part of Boston--and his monument, erected
by subscriptions of Harvard graduates, is one of the principal "sights"
of that district, where it stands near the Old State Prison. To its
classic groves Boston has sent, and from them received again, the
noblest of her sons; and three of her departments, the Bussey
Institution of Agriculture, the Medical School and the Dental School,
are situated within the limits of Boston proper. Harvard University at
present owns property valued at $6,000,000, and accommodates nearly 2000
pupils. In addition to the departments already mentioned and which are
located in Boston, the principal sections are Harvard College, the
Jefferson Laboratory, the Lawrence Scientific School, the new Law
School, the Divinity School, the Harvard Library, Botanical Gardens,
Observatory, Museum of Comparative Zoölogy, Peabody Museum of Archæology
and Ethnology, Agassiz Museum, Hemenway Gymnasium and Memorial Hall. To
wander through its ancient halls, the oldest of which dates back to
1720, and which have been used by Congress, is to visit the cradle of
university education in America.
Boston University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, one of the
best scientific colleges on the continent, Tufts College and the
celebrated Chauncy Hall School, are among the finest of Boston's many
admirable educational institutions.
Mention has been made of the Harvard Monument, but not of the others
among the scores of fine examples of the sculptor's art which are
scattered throughout the city in generous profusion for the delight and
the education of the public eye. The famous Bunker Hill Monument was
naturally one of the first objects sought out by the writer on the
occasion of his first visit to Boston. This splendid shaft of granite
was dedicated to the fallen patriots of Bunker Hill in 1841, the
corner-stone having been laid in 1825 by General Lafayette--Daniel
Webster delivering the orations on both occasions. Its site, on Monument
Square, Breed's Hill, is the spot where the Americans threw up the
redoubt on the night before the memorable battle, and a tablet at its
foot marks the place where the illustrious Warren fell.
The monument is 221-1/6 feet high--a fact fully realized only by
climbing the 259 steps of the spiral staircase of stone in the interior
of the shaft which leads to a small chamber near the apex, from which
four windows look out upon the surrounding country--a superb vista. The
cost of this monument was $150,000.
In the Public Gardens, in the Back Bay district, across from
Commonwealth avenue, may be seen one of the largest pieces of statuary
in America, and, according to some connoisseurs, the handsomest in
Boston. This is Ball's huge statue of Washington, which measures
twenty-two feet in height. The statue was unveiled in 1869, and it is
said that not a stroke of work was laid upon it by any hand of artisan
or artist outside of Massachusetts. The Beacon street side of the Public
Gardens contains another famous statue--that of Edward Everett, by W. W.
Story. Other great citizens whose memory has been perpetuated in
life-like marble are Samuel Adams, William Lloyd Garrison and Colonel
William Prescott. The Emancipation Group is a duplicate of the
"Freedman's Memorial" statue in Washington. The soldiers' monuments in
Dorchester, Charlestown, Roxbury, West Roxbury and Brighton commemorate
the unnamed, uncounted, but not unhonored dead who laid down their lives
on the battlefields of the Civil War.
"The bravely dumb who did their deed,
And scorned to blot it with a name;
Men of the plain, heroic breed,
Who loved Heaven's silence more than fame."
An interesting object is the Ether Monument on the Arlington street side
of the Public Gardens erected in recognition of the fact that it was in
the Massachusetts General Hospital--in the face of terrible opposition
and coldness and discouragement, as history tells us, though the marble
does not--that Dr. Sims first gave the world his wonderful discovery of
the power of ether to cause insensibility to pain.
That there should be so many of these fine pieces in Boston's parks and
public places is matter for congratulation but scarcely for surprise. As
a patron of music, literature, art and all the external graces of
civilization she has so long and so easily held her supremacy that one
is half inclined to believe that at least a delegation of the Muses, if
not the whole sisterhood, had exchanged the lonely and unappreciated
grandeur of Parnassus for a seat on one of Boston's three hills. The
Handel and Haydn Society, the oldest musical society in the United
States; the Harvard Musical Association; the famous Boston Symphony
Orchestra and the Orpheus Club, speak--and right musically--of Boston's
love for the art of which Cecilia was patron saint. Music Hall, an
immense edifice near Tremont street, is the home of music in Boston.
Here the symphony concerts are held weekly, and here all the musical
"stars" whose orbit includes Boston make their first appearance before a
critical "Hub" audience. Its great organ, with over 5,000 pipes, is one
of the largest ever made.
The idea of a national university of music--sneered at and scouted when
a few enthusiasts first talked and dreamed of it--took shape in 1867 in
the now famous New England Conservatory of Music, founded by Eben
Tourjée. It is a magnificent school in a magnificent home--the old St.
James' Hotel on Franklin Square--with a hundred teachers from the very
foremost rank of their profession. The conservatory has possibly done
more for New England culture than any other influence save Harvard
University.
The literary life of Boston needs neither chronicler nor comment. Such
men as Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Francis Parkman,
Prescott, the historian, Longfellow, Lowell and countless others who,
living, have made the city their home, or, dead, sleep in its chambers
of Peace, have cast a glamour of books and bookmen and book-life around
her until her title of "The Athens of America" has passed from jest to
earnest. The earliest newspaper in America was the Boston _News Letter_;
and to-day its many newspapers maintain the highest standard of
"up-to-date" journalism in the dignified, not the degrading sense of the
word. Boston is indeed a "bookworm's paradise," with its splendid free
lending library and low-priced book-stores, making access to the best
authors possible to the poorest. The _Atlantic Monthly_, which for so
many years has occupied a place unique and unapproachable among American
magazines, is published here.
Art is represented by the magnificent Museum of Fine Arts, with its
beautiful exterior and interior decorations and fine collection of
antiques and art objects; the Art Club, the Sketch and the Paint and
Clay clubs, as well as by the innumerable paintings and statues
appearing in public places; by the Athenæum, the American Academy of
Arts and Sciences, the Boston Society of Natural History, the Warren
Museum and the Lowell Institute free lectures.
To draw this brief study of Boston to a close without mentioning her
countless charities would be a grave omission, since these form so large
a part of the city's life and activities. As is always the case in great
towns, two hands are ever outstretched--that of Lazarus, pleading,
demanding, and that of Dives--more unselfish now than in the days of the
parable--giving again and yet again. Boston's philanthropists flatter
themselves that _there_ the giving is rather more judicious, as well as
generous, than is frequently the case; and that "the pauperizing of the
poor," that consummation devoutly to be avoided, is a minimized danger.
The "Central Charity Bureau" and the "Associated Charities" systematize
the work of relief, prevent imposture and duplication of charity, and do
an invaluable service to the different organizations. Private
subscriptions of citizens maintain the work, which is carried on in
three fine buildings of brick and stone on Chardon street, one of which
is used as a temporary home for destitute women and children. The
Massachusetts General Hospital--which, save for the Pennsylvania
Hospital, is the oldest in the country--the Boston City Hospital, the
New England Hospital for Women and Children, and a number of other
finely-organized institutions care efficiently for the city's sick and
suffering. Orphan asylums, reform schools, missions of various sorts,
and retreats for the aged and indigent, are numerous.
One of the most unique and interesting among these charities is "The
Children's Mission to the Children of the Destitute," which aims to
bring the little ones of these two sadly separated classes, the poor and
the well-to-do, in contact for their mutual benefit. By its agency the
forlorn little waifs of the streets are provided with home and friends,
religious and secular instruction, and employment whenever necessary or
advisable. Still more unique is the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanics'
Association, whose vast building and hall on Huntingdon avenue occupies
an area of over 110,000 square feet. As early as 1795 this association
was founded to extend a helping hand to mechanics in difficulties, to
establish libraries and classes for apprentices, offer premiums for
inventions and improvements in trades, and give every encouragement to
the tradesman. The building is a beautiful as well as a vast structure,
and eight thousand people can be seated in the grand hall. The
mechanics' festivals, fairs, and exhibitions of industry are held here
from time to time, when there is much awarding of medals, prizes and
honors.
On Boston's commercial greatness there is no space to touch. Nor is it
needed. Could her schools, her churches, her charities, her
institutions, public and private, which have here been outlined,
flourish without the backbone of Puritan thrift and the framework of
prosperity which have made her one of the wealthiest of cities? The
solid business foundation is apparent to all who visit her teeming marts
and exchanges. But the "power behind the throne" is kept with rare
judgment in the background; and when the visitor comes to kiss the hand
of the "Queen of the Commonwealth" he sees only her chosen
handmaids--Ambition, Culture, Philanthropy, Religion. On these, finally,
she rests her claims to greatness.
CHAPTER III.
LECTURE AT TREMONT TEMPLE.
Lecturing in the towns I purposed visiting was an after consideration of
secondary importance--a sort of adjunct to the journey and the objects I
had in view. It was thought that it might afford some facilities for
meeting large numbers of people face to face in the different sections
of the country through which I designed to pass, and thus enable me the
better to learn something of their social customs, industries and
general progress in the arts of civilization.
The subject decided upon for the lecture was "Echoes from the
Revolution," and was intended to be in keeping with the spirit of the
Centennial year. The fact that I had been a cavalryman during the War of
the Rebellion and the novelty of an equestrian journey of such magnitude
would, I estimated, very naturally awaken considerable interest and a
desire on the part of many to hear what I had to say of the heroes of
"76."
My lecture was a retrospective view of the leading incidents of the
Revolution, with especial reference to some of the sturdy heroes and
stirring scenes of that most eventful period in American History.
Briefly referring to the causes which led up to the war, I started with
the Ride of Paul Revere from Boston the night before the Battle of
Lexington, and closed with the Surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown.
It was not my wish or intention to derive any pecuniary benefit from my
lectures; but being a member of the Grand Army of the Republic, and
thoroughly in sympathy with the aims and benevolent projects of my
soldier friends, it was proposed to donate the proceeds to the Relief
Fund of that patriotic organization.
Fully equipped, the weather favorable and roads in good condition, I was
anxious to begin my journey early in May. It was therefore arranged, as
previously suggested, that I should lecture at Tremont Temple on the
evening of May eighth under the auspices and for the benefit of the G.
A. R. Relief Fund.
The subjoined fraternal and highly complimentary letter of introduction
from Captain Frank M. Clark of New York was received by the committee of
arrangements soon after my arrival in Boston.
4 IRVING PLACE,
_New York, April 20, 1876_.
TO COMRADES OF THE G. A. R.:
I have been intimately acquainted with Captain Willard Glazier, a
comrade in good standing of Post No. 29, Department of New York,
Grand Army of the Republic, for the past eight years, and know him
to be worthy the confidence of every loyal man. He is an intelligent
and courteous gentleman, an author of good repute, a soldier whose
record is without a stain, and a true comrade of the "Grand Army." I
bespeak for him the earnest and cordial support of all comrades of
the Order.
Yours very truly in F., C. and L.,
FRANK M. CLARK,
Late A. A. G. Department of New York, G. A. R.
I may add that, as this was the first occasion of any importance on
which I had been expected to appear before a public assemblage, I was
strongly recommended to deliver my initial lecture before a smaller and
less critical audience than I was likely to confront in Boston, and thus
prepare myself for a later appearance in the literary capital; but I
reasoned from the standpoint of a soldier that, as lecturing was a new
experience to me, my military training dictated that if I could carry
the strongest position in the line I need have but little, if any,
concern for the weaker ones, and hence resolved to deliver my first
lecture at Tremont Temple. I was introduced by Captain Theodore L.
Kelly, commander of Post 15, Department of Massachusetts, G. A. R., and
was honored by the presence on the platform of representatives from
nearly all of the Posts of Boston and adjacent cities. In presenting me
to my audience Captain Kelly spoke in the following terms:
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: It gives me pleasure to have the honor of
introducing to you one who, by his services in the field and by the
works of his pen, is entitled to your consideration, and the
confidence of all comrades of the 'Grand Army of the Republic.' I
desire to say that he comes well accredited, furnished with the
proper vouchers and documents, and highly endorsed and recommended
by the officers of the Department of the State of New York. Though
young in years, his life has been one of varied and exciting
experience. Born in the wilds of St. Lawrence County, New York, his
education was drawn from the great book of Nature; and from his
surroundings he early imbibed a love of liberty. His early
associations naturally invested him with a fondness for adventure
and excitement and when the call of war was heard he at once
responded, and enlisted in the Harris Light Cavalry, with which
corps he passed through many exciting scenes of march and fray. His
experience amid the various vicissitudes of the war, in camp and
field and prison, have been vividly portrayed by his pen in his
various publications. Still inspired by this love of adventure, he
proposes to undertake the novelty of a journey across the Continent
in the saddle. His objects are manifold. While visiting scenes and
becoming more familiar with his own country, he will collect facts
and information for a new book, and at his various stopping-places
he will lecture under the auspices and for the benefit of the 'Grand
Army of the Republic,' to whose fraternal regard he is most warmly
commended. Allow me then, ladies and gentlemen, without further
ceremony, to present to you the Soldier-Author, and our comrade,
Willard Glazier."
I was much gratified on the morning of the ninth to find commendatory
reference to my lecture in the leading journals of Boston, for I will
frankly admit that I had had some misgivings as to the verdict of the
critics, and rather expected to be "handled without gloves" in some of
the first cities on the programme. Of the dailies which came to my
notice the _Globe_ said:--
"A very fair audience considering the unfair condition of the
elements, was gathered in Tremont Temple last night to hear Captain
Willard Glazier's lecture upon 'Echoes from the Revolution.' The
frequent applause of the audience evinced not only a sympathy with
the subject, but an evident liking of the manner in which it was
delivered. The lecture itself was a retrospective view of the
leading incidents of the Revolution. It would have been unfair to
expect to hear anything very new upon a subject with which the
veriest school-boy is familiar; but Captain Glazier wove the events
together in a manner which freed the lecture from that most
unpardonable of all faults, which can be committed upon the
platform--dulness. He passed over, in his consideration of the
Revolution, the old scenes up to the time when Cornwallis
surrendered up his sword and command to George Washington. 'The year
1876,' said Captain Glazier, 're-echoes the scenes and events of a
hundred years ago. In imagination we make a pilgrimage back to the
Revolution. We visit the fields whereon our ancestors fought for
liberty and a republic. We follow patriots from Lexington to
Yorktown. I see them pushing their way through the ice of the
Delaware--I see them at Saratoga, at Bennington, at Princeton, and
at Monmouth. I follow Marion and his daring troopers through the
swamps of Georgia and the Carolinas;' and in following them up, the
lecturer interspersed his exciting narrative with sundry droll
episodes. Treating of the battles of Trenton and Princeton, he
expatiated upon the devoted heroism of John Stark, and briefly
traced his career until, at Bennington, Burgoyne's victor announced
to his comrades, 'We must conquer to-day, my boys, or to-night Molly
Stark's a widow.' One battle after another was handled by the
lecturer in a pleasing manner, showing that he was thoroughly
familiar with the subject he had chosen for his theme. After
speaking in a most zealous manner of the troops on land, Captain
Glazier remarked: 'Our victories on the ocean during the war of the
Revolution were not less decisive and glorious than those achieved
on land. John Paul Jones and the gallant tars who, under his
leadership, braved the dangers of the deep, and wrested from proud
Britain, once queen of the sea, that illustrious motto which may be
seen high on our banner beside the stars and stripes.'
"Captain Glazier made special mention of the naval engagement
between the Bon Homme Richard and the British man-of-war Serapis,
which took place in September, 1789. He described in glowing words
the fierce nature of that memorable contest, until the captain of
the Serapis, with his own hand, struck the flag of England to the
free Stars and Stripes of young America. Captain Glazier has
elements in him which, carefully matured and nurtured, will make him
successful on the platform, as he has already proved himself in the
field of literature. He has a strong and melodious voice, a
gentlemanly address, and unassuming confidence. He was presented to
the audience by Commandant Kelly, of Post 15, Grand Army of the
Republic, in a brief but eloquent speech. Captain Glazier will start
on his long ride to San Francisco, from the Revere House, this
morning, at 9.30, and will be accompanied to Bunker Hill and thence
to Brighton, by several distinguished members of the 'Grand Army,'
and other gentlemen, who wish the Captain success on his long
journey from Ocean to Ocean."
[Illustration: LEAVING THE REVERE HOUSE, BOSTON.]
The lecture proved a success financially, and in fulfilment of my
purpose I donated the entire proceeds to the Relief Fund of Posts 7 and
15, as I was largely indebted to the comrades of these organizations for
the hearty co-operation which insured a full house at Tremont Temple.
The letter below was addressed to the Assistant Adjutant-General of the
Department.
REVERE HOUSE,
_Boston, Massachusetts,
May 9, 1876._
CAPTAIN CHARLES W. THOMPSON,
A. A. G. DEPARTMENT OF MASS., G. A. R.
COMRADE: I find pleasure in handing you the net proceeds of my
lecture, delivered at Tremont Temple last night, which I desire to
be divided equally between Posts 7 and 15, G. A. R., of Boston, for
the benefit of our disabled comrades, and the needy and destitute
wards of the "Grand Army," Gratefully acknowledging many favors and
courtesies, extended to me in your patriotic city,
I am yours in F., C. and L.,
WILLARD GLAZIER.
My letter to Captain Thompson elicited responses from the Posts to which
donations were made, and the following from the Adjutant of John A.
Andrew, Post 15, is introduced to show their appreciation of my efforts
in behalf of their Relief Fund.
POST 15, DEPARTMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS, G. A. R.,
_Boston, May 12, 1876_.
CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER:
COMRADE: In obedience to a vote of this Post, I am pleased to
transmit to you a vote of thanks for the money generously donated by
you, through our Commander, as our quota of the proceeds of your
lecture in this city; and also the best wishes of the comrades of
this Post for you personally, and for the success of your lecture
tour from sea to sea.
Yours in F., C. and L.,
EDWARD F. ROLLINS,
Adjutant of Post.
It is only justice to the comrades of Posts 7 and 15 to say that on my
arrival in Boston they were most cordial in their reception, most
zealous in their co-operation with my advance agents and most solicitous
for the success of my journey and its objects. In short they were true
comrades in the best sense of the term, and my delightful sojourn in
their generous and patriotic city was largely due to their numerous
courtesies.
CHAPTER IV.
BOSTON TO ALBANY.
First Day.
_South Framingham House_,
SOUTH FRAMINGHAM, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May 9, 1876_.
The initial step in my journey from Ocean to Ocean was taken at ten
o'clock on the morning of the above date when I mounted my horse in
front of the Revere House, Boston, and started for Worcester, where it
had been announced I would lecture on the following evening. The Revere
House was fixed upon by comrades of the G. A. R. as a rendezvous before
starting. Here I found a large gathering of the Order. A rain storm
setting in as I put my foot into the stirrup, hasty adieus were said to
the Boys in Blue and others as I was about riding away from the
"Revere."
I was escorted to Bunker Hill and thence to Brighton by many comrades
and friends, among them Colonels John F. Finley and E. A. Williston, who
were mounted; and Captain Charles W. Thompson, adjutant-general
Department of Massachusetts; Captain Theodore L. Kelly, commander of
Post 15; Grafton Fenno, adjutant, Post 7, G. A. R., and many others in
carriages.
Our route from Boston was by way of Charlestown and Cambridge to
Brighton. A short halt was made at Bunker Hill. After a hurried look at
the Monument we rode around it and then headed for Brighton. The rain
was now falling in torrents and quickening our pace we passed rapidly
through Cambridge, glancing hastily at the University Buildings as we
galloped down the main thoroughfare of the city.
Brighton was reached between twelve and one o'clock. Owing to the storm
our short journey to this place was anything but agreeable and when we
dismounted at the Cattle Fair Hotel all who were not in covered
conveyances were drenched to the skin. Here the entire party had dinner,
after which I took leave of my friendly escort, who one and all took me
by the hand and wished me Godspeed.
Pushing on through Newton and some smaller towns and villages I pulled
up in front of the South Framingham House a few minutes after five
o'clock in the evening. My clothing was thoroughly soaked and my cavalry
boots filled to overflowing. Having secured accommodations for the
night, _Paul_ was fed and groomed; clothing and equipments hung up to
dry and the first day of my long ride from sea to sea was off the
calendar.
[Illustration: RIDING THROUGH CAMBRIDGE.]
Second Day.
_Bay State House_,
WORCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May Tenth_.
I slept soundly at the South Framingham House and was up and out to the
hotel stable at an early hour in the morning. I found _Paul Revere_, my
equine companion, in good spirits and fancied that the significant look
he gave me was an assurance that he would be ready for the road when
called for.
After a hearty breakfast and a few questions concerning the beautiful
little city in which I had spent the first night of my journey, I
mounted _Paul_ and rode out towards the Boston and Albany Turnpike.
Being impressed with the appearance and enterprise of the place, while
passing through some of its streets especial inquiry was made concerning
its population, schools and industries. I learned that South Framingham
is twenty-one miles from Boston, at the junction of the Boston and
Albany and Old Colony Railways. Its population at that time was about
10,000. Its graded schools are among the first in the State. It supports
several banks and newspapers and is engaged in the manufacture of
woollens, rubber goods, boots and shoes, harness and machinery.
The ride from South Framingham to Worcester was uneventful if I except
the pelting rain which from drizzle to down-pour followed me from start
to finish. Indeed, it really seemed as though the first days of my
journey were to be baptismal days and I regret exceedingly that these
early stages of the trip were not more propitious; for, had the weather
been less disagreeable, I should have seen Eastern Massachusetts under
much more favorable circumstances.
The city limits of Worcester were reached at four o'clock in the
afternoon and a half hour later I was registered at the Bay State House.
Many relatives called upon me here, most of whom were residents of the
city and vicinity. Lectured at the Opera House in the evening, being
introduced to my audience by Colonel Finley of Charlestown, to whom
previous reference has been made, and with whom I had arranged to
accompany me as far as Syracuse, New York, and further if my advance
agents should think it advisable for him to do so.
The fact that both my father and mother were natives of Worcester County
and that most of our ancestors for several generations had been
residents of Worcester and vicinity made that city of unusual interest
to me, and I trust the reader will be indulgent if I allot too much
space or seem too partial in my description of this early landmark in my
journey.
Worcester, nestling among the hills along the Blackstone River, the
second city in Massachusetts, the heart of the Commonwealth, has a
population of about 85,000.
Shut in by its wall of hills, it seemed, as I first came into it,
something like a little miniature world in itself. It possesses some
share of all the good we know. Nature, that "comely mother," has laid
her caressing hand upon it. Art has made many a beautiful structure to
adorn its streets. Commerce smiles upon it. While its wonderful
manufactures seem to form a great living, throbbing heart for the
city.
[Illustration: VIEW IN WORCESTER MASSACHUSETTS.]
Sauntering up from the depot, through Front street, five minutes' walk
brought me to the Old Common. There I found, what one so frequently
finds in Massachusetts towns and cities--namely, a War Monument.
Apparently that mighty five years' struggle, that brilliant victory,
bringing freedom to two million fellow-creatures, bringing power,
union, glory to the nation, has burned itself into the very heart of the
Old Bay State; and lest posterity might forget the lessons she learned
from 1861 to 1865, everywhere she has planted her war monuments, to
remind her children that
"Simple duty has no place for fear."
In the shade of Worcester Common is another object of interest. A little
plot of ground, wherein stands a grand old tomb. It is the resting-place
of Timothy Bigelow, the early patriot of Worcester. Here in the sunshine
and the twilight, in the bloom of summer, and under the soft falling
snows of winter, he perpetually manifests to the world
"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest."
A sturdy old New Englander was Colonel Bigelow. "When the news of the
destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor reached him, he was at work in
his blacksmith shop, near the spot now called Lincoln Square. He
immediately laid aside his tools, proceeded directly to his house,
opened the closet, and took from it a canister of tea, went to the
fire-place, and poured the contents into the flames. As if feeling that
everything which had come in contact with British legislative tyranny
should be purified by fire, the canister followed the tea; and then he
covered both with coals.
"Before noon on the nineteenth of April, 1775, an express came to town,
shouting, as he passed through the street at full speed, 'To arms! to
arms!--the war's begun.' His white horse, bloody with spurring, and
dripping with sweat, fell exhausted by the church. Another was instantly
procured, and the tidings went on. The bell rang out the alarm, cannon
were fired, and messengers were sent to every part of the town to
collect the soldiery. As the news spread, the implements of husbandry
were thrown by in the field; and the citizens left their homes, with no
longer delay than to seize their arms. In a short time, the 'minute-men'
were paraded on the green, under Captain Timothy Bigelow. After fervent
prayer by Rev. Mr. Maccarty, they took up their line of march to the
scene of conflict." Such was Bigelow's zeal and ardor in the great cause
of the times, that he appeared on the following morning, at the head of
his "minute-men," in the square at Watertown, having marched them there,
a distance of over thirty miles, during that one short night.
On the nineteenth of April, 1861, the Bigelow Monument was dedicated. At
the very hour of the consecration exercises, the Massachusetts Sixth
Regiment was engaged in its memorable struggle and triumphant passage
through the blockaded streets of Baltimore at the beginning of the Civil
War.
[Illustration: A NEW ENGLAND PAPER MILL.]
Along the west side of the Old Common runs Main street, just out of
which, in Pearl street, is the Post Office. I have seen a curious
computation with regard to that Post Office development, which aptly
illustrates the rapid growth of Worcester. The number of letters sent
out in 1809 was about 4,400. The number of letters taken out fifty years
later was 523,808. Main street reaches Lincoln Square, where stand the
two court houses. The old one has been removed a few feet, and
refitted. In it the criminal courts are held; there too are the offices
of the court of probate and insolvency.
The New Court House was built in 1845 of Quincy granite, at a cost of
about one hundred thousand dollars. In it the civil terms of the courts
are held, with numerous ante-rooms for the jurors and for consultation.
The lower floor is occupied by the office of the register of deeds, and
by the clerk's and treasurer's offices.
Close neighbor to the court houses is the building containing the rooms
of the American Antiquarian Society, one of the leading learned bodies
of our country. It was founded in 1812. It possesses a very valuable
library, especially rich on subjects of local interest to Americans. The
newspapers filed here include over four thousand volumes, beginning with
the Boston _News Letter_ of 1804, and closing with the great journals of
to-day. This same society also possesses a very interesting collection
of pre-historic American relics.
In Lincoln Square stands the old Salisbury mansion, an interesting
specimen of a colonial house, which has been standing a century or so,
since the time when those substantial buildings, with their wide halls,
high ceilings, and strong walls, were built on honor. There it has stood
in its dignity, more flimsy, more showy architecture springing up around
it, until now the _fin de siècle_ eye discovers that nothing is more to
be desired than one of these same sturdy old colonial houses.
Main street contains many churches. On it is the large, ugly-looking,
but justly celebrated, Clark University, which is devoted to scientific
research, with its wonderfully equipped chemical laboratory.
Any one who wants a bird's-eye view of Worcester and its environments,
can easily have it by strolling out Highland street to Newton Hill. It
is only about a mile from Lincoln Park, but it is six hundred and
seventy feet above the sea level, and from it "the whole world, and the
glory thereof," seems spread out at one's feet.
On Salisbury street, one mile from the square, stands the house in which
George Bancroft, the historian, dear to American hearts, was born.
A mile and a half from the square, on Salisbury Pond, are located the
famous Wire Works of Washburn and Moen.
There are many buildings to interest the visitor in Worcester. The State
Lunatic Asylum, with its one thousand patients; the free Public Library
on Elm street, containing eighty thousand volumes; the High School on
Walnut street; the Museum of the National Historical Society, on Foster
street; All Saint's Church; the Polytechnic Institute; the College of
the Holy Cross, six hundred and ninety feet above the sea, and many
another place of interest, calling on the passers-by to look, and learn
of the world's advancement.
Standing on one of the heights overlooking the little river, the
surrounding hills, the busy city, throbbing with its many manufactories,
it seemed to me I had before my eyes an object lesson of the wonderful
resources, the vim, the power of making "all things work together for
good," which I take to be the vital characteristic of American manhood.
I remembered reading that in 1767 a committee was appointed to decide
whether it would be wise to attempt to locate a village on the present
site of Worcester.
They reported that the place was one day's journey from Boston, and one
day's journey from Springfield, that the place was well watered by
streams and brooks, and that in eight miles square there was enough
meadow to warrant the settling of sixty families, adding these words:
"We recommend that a prudent and able committee be appointed to lay it
out, and that due care be taken by said committee that a good minister
of God's Word be placed there, as soon as may be, that such people as be
there planted may not live like lambs in a large place."
That was only a little more than a century ago. As I stood overlooking
it all, "thickly dotted with the homes of the husbandmen, and the
villages of the manufacturer, traversed by canal and railway, and
supporting a dense population," proving so strong a contrast between the
past generation's humble anticipations, and our overflowing prosperity,
I asked myself what those old Puritans would have thought of our
railroads, our electric cars, our modern machines, our telephones; and I
said, with a spirit of self-gratulation,
"We are living, we are dwelling,
In a grand and awful time;
In an age on ages telling,
To be living is sublime."
There is little doubt that future generations will look back upon this
age as the brightest in the world's history.
Third and Fourth Days.
_Bates House_,
SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May Eleventh_.
Lowering clouds and a slight fall of rain again confronted me as I
mounted _Paul_ at seven o'clock on the morning of the Third Day in front
of the Bay State House, Worcester, and rode out to the Boston and Albany
Turnpike. The prospect of meeting my wife and daughter, whom I had not
seen for several months, and the lecture appointment for Springfield
made this one of the memorable days of my journey for speed and
endurance. Fifty-four miles were whirled off in eight hours and the fact
established that _Paul_ could be relied upon to do all that was required
of him.
I had hardly dismounted in front of the Bates House when Mrs. Glazier
and Alice came running from the hotel to greet me. They had been
visiting in Hartford and had come up to Springfield early in the
morning, reaching the city several hours before my arrival. This visit
with my family at Springfield was one of the pleasant episodes of my
journey and long to be remembered in connection with my ride across the
Bay State.
My lecture was delivered at the Haynes Opera House, whither I was
escorted by comrades of the G. A. R. The introduction was by Captain
Smith, Commander of the Springfield Post, who spoke pleasantly of my
army and prison experiences and of the objects of my lecture tour.
[Illustration: OLD TOLL BRIDGE, SPRINGFIELD.]
Hastening back to the Bates House after the lecture, the remainder of
the evening was spent with my wife and daughter and a few friends who
had called for a social talk and to tell me something of the early
history of Springfield and vicinity.
As the lecture appointment for Pittsfield was set for the fifteenth I
readily discovered by a simple calculation that I could easily spend
another day with Hattie and Alice and still reach Pittsfield early in
the afternoon of the fifteenth. The leisure thus found was devoted to
strolls in and around Springfield and a careful study of the city and
its environs.
When King Charles the First had dissolved his third parliament, thus
putting his head on the bleeding heart of puritanism, there lived in
Springfield, England, a warden of the established church. "He was
thirty-nine years of age, of gentle birth, acute, restive, and
singularly self-assertive. He had seen some of the stoutest men of the
realm break into tears when the King had cut off free speech in the
Commons; he had seen ritualism, like an iron collar, clasped upon the
neck of the church, while a young jewelled courtier, the Duke of
Buckingham, dangled the reputation of sober England at his waistcoat. A
colonial enterprise, pushed by some Lincolnshire gentlemen, had been
noised abroad, and the warden joined his fortunes with them, and thus
became one of the original incorporators mentioned in the Royal Charter
of the Massachusetts Bay Company in America. This was William Pinchon."
After reaching this country he became treasurer of the colony, and a
member of the general court. He formed plans for a coast trade, and for
a trade with the Indians.
Such was the man of mark, who in 1636, with a colony of friends, made a
settlement on the fertile meadows of the Indian Agawam. The spot was
obtained by a deed signed by thirteen Indians, and Pinchon, in loving
remembrance of his old English home, christened the new settlement
Springfield. From the little we can glean of them, the ancient
inhabitants of the village must have been a grim old race.
Hugh Parsons, and Mary, his wife, were tried for witchcraft.
Goodwife Hunter was gagged and made to stand in the stocks for "Sundry
exhorbitance of ye toung."
Men were fined for not attending town meeting and voting.
In August, 1734, the Rev. Robert Breck was called to the church in
Springfield.
Shortly before that he had used the following words in one of his
sermons: "What will become of the heathen who never heard of the gospel,
I do not pretend to say, but I cannot but indulge a hope that God, in
his boundless benevolence, will find out a way whereby those heathen who
act up to the light they have may be saved."
The news of this alarming hope came to Springfield, and a few other
so-called unorthodox utterances were attributed to him. "In the minds of
the River Gods heterodoxy was his crime. For this the Rev. gentleman was
not only tried by a council of the church, but a sheriff and his posse
appeared and arrested Mr. Breck in his Majesty's name, and the prisoner
was taken first to the town-house, and afterward to New London for
trial."
[Illustration: A MASSACHUSETTS MILL STREAM.]
The early Springfield settlers had few of the articles which we
consider the commonest comforts of life.
Hon. John Worthington, "One of the Gods of the Connecticut Valley,"
owned the first umbrella in Springfield. He never profaned the article
by carrying it in the rain, but used it as a sun-shade only.
In 1753 there was but one clock in Springfield. It was considered a
great curiosity, and people used to stop to hear it strike.
As early as about 1774 that wonderful innovation, a cooking-stove, made
its appearance in Springfield. The stove was made in Philadelphia, and
weighed eight or nine hundred pounds.
It was 1810 when David Ames brought the first piano into the little
settlement.
We are furnished with a description of Springfield in 1789 by the
journal of the Great Washington. Under the date of October twenty-first
he wrote, "There is a great equality in the people of this State. Few or
no opulent men, and no poor. Great similitude in their buildings, the
general fashion of which is a chimney--always of brick or stone--and a
door in the middle, with a staircase fronting the latter, and running up
by the side of the former; two flush stories, with a very good show of
sash and glass windows; the size generally from thirty to fifty feet in
length, and from twenty to thirty in width, exclusive of a back shed,
which seems to be added as the family increases."
Much later in our national history, Springfield became one of the most
important stations of the "Underground Railroad."
In a back room on Main street can still be seen a fire-place, preserved
as a memento of stirring days, when many a negro was pushed up through
it, to be secreted in the great chimney above.
Springfield has had many noted citizens. The historian Bancroft lived
there at one time; so did John Brown, of Harper's Ferry fame.
George Ashman, a brilliant member of the local bar, was made chairman of
the famous Chicago convention of 1860 which nominated Abraham Lincoln
for President. Mr. Ashman also had the honor to convey the formal notice
of the nomination to Lincoln in Springfield, Illinois.
Dr. J. G. Holland lived in Springfield, where all of his prose works
first made their appearance, in the columns of the _Springfield
Republican_.
No spot in Springfield is more interesting to those fortunate enough to
see it than the United States Arsenal.
Springfield Armory was established by act of Congress, April, 1794, its
site having been accepted by Washington in 1789. The plant consists
of the Armory and Arsenal on the hill, and the water shops, distant
about two miles, on Mill River. Main Arsenal is on a bluff overlooking
the city, and is one hundred and sixty feet above the river. It is a
partial copy of East India House in London. From its tower there is a
wonderful view of the surrounding country, and one which was greatly
admired by Charles Dickens during his visit to America.
The Main Arsenal is two hundred feet by seventy, and is three stories
high, each floor having storage capacity for one hundred thousand stand
of arms.
[Illustration: THE SPRINGFIELD ARMORY.]
Longfellow's lines have made this a classic spot:
"This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But from the silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
"Oh! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal miserere
Will mingle with those awful symphonies!
"Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies;
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise."
Beside the Main Arsenal, two other buildings are used for the storage of
arms.
In 1795 Uncle Sam made his first musket. That year forty or fifty men
were employed, and 245 muskets were made. Between that and the present
time over 2,000,000 weapons have been turned out. During that time
$32,500,000 have been expended. When Sumter was fired on about 1,000
weapons per month were being made. Three months later, 3,000 were made
each month. In 1864, 1,000 muskets were completed each day, and 3,400
men were employed, with pay roll sometimes amounting to $200,000 per
month. At present only 400 men are employed.
From Springfield stock have come eight college presidents, namely of
Yale, Harvard, Columbia, Amherst, Princeton, Trinity, Beloit, and
Dickinson.
Springfield of to-day is a thriving city of about 50,000, and is the
county seat of Hampden County. Some one, I think, has called it the
"city of homes." Its streets are broad, and well shaded by elms and
maples; many of its residences are detached, and as a whole it bears the
stamp of taste and refinement.
Springfield is within easy reach of many points of interest. It is
ninety-eight miles from Boston, one hundred and twenty miles from New
York, and twenty-six miles from Hartford.
The growth of the Springfield Street Railroad Company has been
phenomenal. In 1869 this company started out with only $50,000 capital
stock. Its length was only about two miles. It had only four cars and
twenty-five horses. Three years ago horses were displaced by
electricity. Now, in the busy season, the daily mileage of transit on
the thirty-five miles of track is equal to the distance from Springfield
to San Francisco and half-way back. During the fiscal year closing
October first, 1892, 7,500,000 fares were taken.
The stores of Springfield are remarkably large and tasteful. Haynes &
Company have the largest clothing house in Massachusetts, out of Boston.
In 1875 Meakins & Packard started in business with only one boy to help
them. Now their building is one hundred feet square, and seven stories
high, while they now have over one hundred employees.
[Illustration: A MILL IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.]
Springfield has three great manufactories, Smith & Wesson Pistol Works;
R. F. Hawkins Iron Works; and the Wesson Car Manufactory. Smith & Wesson
employ about 500 men, with an annual output of 80,000 weapons. They ship
goods to Russia and other countries. The Wesson Car Company in 1860 sent
$300,000 worth of goods to the Egyptian government. They have also done
considerable work for South America. They have done $150,000 worth for
the New Jersey Central Railroad, and $1,700,000 worth for the Central
Pacific Railroad.
The City Library was built at a cost of $100,000, and contains 80,000
books. Adjoining the library is the beautiful new art building,
containing a rare and costly collection of curiosities.
The City Hall is a building in the Romanesque style. It contains a
public hall with a seating capacity of 2,700.
The Court House is an imposing structure, is built of granite, and cost
$200,000.
The city has many a lovely spot in which to recreate. Imagine four
hundred acres, woodland alternating with highly cultivated lawns, and
stretches of blooming plants. Imagine in the midst of this a deep
ravine, with a brawling little brook through it. Imagine five lakelets
covered by Egyptian lotus, and the different varieties of water-lilies.
Through all this loveliness, think of seven miles of charming drives,
winding in and out like a ribbon, and you have in your mind a picture of
Springfield's enchanting Forest Park.
Fifth Day.
_Russell House_,
RUSSELL, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May Thirteenth_.
My wife and daughter were not easily reconciled to my leavetaking of
Springfield, but yielding to the inevitable, adieus were quickly said,
_Paul_ was mounted and I rode slowly away from the Bates House, turning
occasionally in the saddle until entirely out of sight of my loved ones,
then putting spurs to my horse galloped out to the turnpike and headed
for Russell, the evening objective.
Considerable rain fell during the day and the roads at this time through
Western Massachusetts were in a wretched condition. With clothing
thoroughly soaked and mud anywhere from ankle to knee deep, the trip
from Springfield to Russell was anything but what I had pictured when
planning my overland tour in the saddle. Some consolation was found,
however, in recalling similar experiences in the army and I resolved to
allow nothing to depress or turn me from my original purpose. A halt was
made for dinner during this day's ride, at a country inn or tavern ten
miles west of Springfield.
Notwithstanding the fact that I did not leave Springfield until nearly
ten o'clock in the morning, and that I was out of the saddle over an
hour on account of dinner, and compelled to face a pelting storm
throughout the day, I did well to advance eighteen miles by four
o'clock, the time of dismounting at the Russell House.
Russell is one of the most beautiful of the numerous villages of Hampden
County, and is picturesquely situated among the Berkshire Hills in the
western part of the State. It stands on the banks of the Westfield
River, upon which it relies for water-power in the manufacture of paper,
its only industry. It has direct communication with Eastern and Western
Massachusetts through the Boston and Albany Railway, and while it is not
likely that it will ever come to anything pretentious, it will always
be, in appearance at least, a rugged and romantic-looking little
village.
[Illustration: A HAMLET IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.]
Sixth Day.
_Becket House_,
BECKET, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May Fourteenth_.
Mounted _Paul_ in front of the hotel at Russell at nine o'clock in the
morning to ride towards Chester, along the bank of the Westfield River.
This swift branch of the Connecticut runs along between its green banks
fertilizing the meadows and turning the factory wheels that here and
there dip down into its busy current. The Indian name "Agawam," by which
it is known nearer its mouth, seems more appropriate for the wild little
stream, and often, while I was following its course, I thought of the
banished Red Men who had given it this musical name and who had once
built their wigwams along its shores.
On this morning the air was fresh and the view pleasing under the
magical influence of spring, and both were none the less enjoyed by the
assurance that dinner could be had at our next stopping-place. Upon
dismounting, I found that the ride could not have been as agreeable to
_Paul_ as to his master, for his back was in a very sore condition.
Everything was done for his comfort; cold water and castile soap being
applied to relieve the injured parts, and the cumbersome saddle-cloth
which had been doing duty since we left Boston was discarded for a
simple blanket such as I had used while in the cavalry service. This was
a change for the better and was made at the right time, for, as I
afterwards had some difficulty in keeping the direct road, the equipment
of my horse relieved what might have proved a fatiguing day's ride. As
it was, the novelty of being lost, which was my experience on this
occasion, had its advantages, for a wanderer in the Berkshire Hills
finds much to suit the fancy and to please the eye. At six o'clock,
notwithstanding the delay, we came into Becket, where Edwin Lee, the
proprietor of the hotel of the place, told me I was the only guest.
Becket is an enterprising little village, thirty-seven miles northwest
of Springfield, having a graded school and several manufactories. The
scenery throughout the region is rugged and attractive, a charming
characteristic of the Bay State.
Seventh Day.
_Berkshire House_,
PITTSFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May Fifteenth_.
Rode away from Becket at eight o'clock in the morning, and on the way
found it necessary to favor _Paul_ in this day's ride; so I dismounted
and walked several miles. This was not a disagreeable task, for my
journey lay over the picturesque Hoosac Mountains whose wooded sides and
fertile valleys were almost a fairyland of loveliness at this season.
Owing to this delay, Pittsfield was not reached until one o'clock. Here
I delivered my fourth lecture at the Academy of Music, Captain Brewster,
commander of the Pittsfield Post, G. A. R., introducing me.
[Illustration: SUBURB OF PITTSFIELD.]
Eighth Day
_Berkshire House_,
PITTSFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS,
_May Sixteenth_.
Spent the morning at the "Berkshire," posting my journal and attending
to private and business correspondence. The afternoon was passed in a
stroll through the town, where I saw much that was of interest and
gathered some information concerning its early history, progress and
present condition.
Of the fourteen counties of Massachusetts, the most strongly marked and
highly favored is Berkshire, with its four cardinal boundaries, formed
by four different states. To one who sees, for the first time, the
luxuriance of its vegetation, the beauty of its forest-covered hills,
the broad shady avenues of its villages, with their palatial homes, it
seems as if Nature and wealth had combined to make this spot a veritable
"Garden of the Gods."
In the exact centre of all this loveliness, more than 1,000 feet above
the level of the sea, lies the little city of Pittsfield, containing
about 16,000 inhabitants. Its principal streets form a cross, North,
South, East, and West streets meeting at an elliptical grove of stately
elms forming a small park. Here in old days stood one central tree, its
height one hundred and twenty-eight feet, its bare shaft ninety feet,
with many a memory of the French and Indian wars attached to it. In
1841, it was struck by lightning. In 1861 it was cut down, even stern
men weeping at its fall. It was replaced by a fountain, whose stream may
be raised to the height of the old tree. This park also holds a huge
shaft of granite, upon which stands the bronze figure of a soldier, flag
in hand. On the granite are cut the words, "For the dead a tribute, for
the living a memory, for posterity an emblem of devotion to their
country's flag." To the west of the park is Pittsfield's large
brownstone Post Office, it being the first building on North street, a
small business thoroughfare, whose stores, with their dainty wares and
tasteful fabrics, would do credit to many a large city.
On the south of the park stands the Athenæum, a building of rough stone,
erected at the cost of $100,000 as a "tribute to art, science, and
literature," and presented to his fellow-townspeople by Thomas Allen. It
contains a large free library, an art gallery, and a very entertaining
museum of curiosities. Next door to the Athenæum is the large white
Court House, said to have cost $400,000. Across from the Court House, in
a little corner of the park, is a tiny music house, gay with colored
electric lights, where open air evening concerts are given all through
the summer.
On the north of the park stand two of the handsomest of Pittsfield's
eleven churches.
[Illustration: A SCENE IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.]
The city's manufactories are large and thrifty, but they, and the
operatives who manipulate them, are tucked away in a corner, so to
speak, where they may not offend the eyes of the opulent inhabitants.
Only in the riotous jostle of Saturday night in the store is one brought
face to face with the fact that beauty, leisure and wealth do not hold a
monopoly of the sweet Berkshire air. For everything appears so lovely.
The streets are very wide, great stately avenues, where beautiful strips
of the finest lawn border each edge of the sidewalk. Society is the
choicest, for the summer residences of New York's four hundred
intermingle with the magnificent old mansions owned by the staunchest of
Massachusetts' old blue-blooded sons and daughters. Cropping out through
the elegance of this little city are some queer old Yankee traits.
Lawlessness there is none. No policemen guard the park, with its ideal
lawns, but a polite notice informs passers-by that this being no
thoroughfare, trespassing will not be tolerated, and there is none. When
the concerts are in full blast, people gather in the walks and drives
only. Whole rows of little street Arabs may be seen on these occasions,
drawn up with their little bare toes touching the very edge of the
precious grass. The open music house is always left full of chairs,
which no one steals, nay, which no one uses. The entrance to the Court
House is filled with blooming plants. No child, no dog even, is ill-bred
enough to break one.
But the peculiarities of the people, the beauty of the dwellings, the
magnificence of the equipages, the tide of fashionable life which pours
in, summer and fall, _all_, ALL is forgotten as, from some point of
vantage, the spectator takes in the beauty surrounding him. "On the west
sweep the Taconics, in that majestic curve, whose grace travelers,
familiar with the mountain scenery of both hemispheres, pronounce
unequaled. On the east the Hoosacs stretch their unbroken battlements,
with white villages at their feet, and, if the sunlight favors, paths of
mingled lawn and wood, enticing to their summits; while from the south,
'Greylock, cloud-girdled on his purple throne' looks grandly across the
valley to the giant heights, keeping watch and ward over the pass where
the mountains throw wide their everlasting gates, to let the winding
Housatonic flow peacefully toward the sea."
Thus, in taking leave of Massachusetts, I looked back to the
starting-point, and thought with pleasure of the many beautiful links in
the chain connecting Boston with Pittsfield, none more beautiful than
the last.
Ninth Day.
_Nassau House_,
NASSAU, NEW YORK,
_May Seventeenth_.
Ordered my horse at ten in the morning, and before riding on stopped at
the office of the _Berkshire Eagle_ to talk a few minutes with the
editor. The route from Pittsfield lay over the Boston and Albany
Turnpike, one of the villages on the way being West Lebanon. Here we had
dinner. While quietly pursuing my journey afterwards, in crossing the
Pittsfield Mountain, I overtook Egbert Jolls, a farmer, with whom I had
a long and interesting conversation. He amused me with stories of the
Lebanon Shakers, among whom he had lived many years, and whose peculiar
belief and customs have always set them widely apart from other sects.
Perhaps the most singular point in their doctrine is that God is dual,
combining in the One Person the eternal Father and Mother of all
generated nature. They believe that the revelation of God is
progressive, and in its last aspect the manifestation was God revealed
in the character of Mother, as an evidence of Divine affection. Ann Lee,
the daughter of a Manchester blacksmith, is the founder of the sect, and
considered from her holy life to be the human representation of this
Divine duality. This is a strange belief, and one that is not generally
known, but its adherents have among other good traits one which commends
them to the respect of those who know anything of them, and that is
their sober and industrious habits.
Soon after crossing the State line between Massachusetts and New York,
we passed the home of Governor Samuel J. Tilden. Two years before, this
popular Democrat was elected governor, by a plurality of 50,000 votes
above his fellow-candidate, John A. Dix. He won popular attention by his
strong opposition to certain political abuses; notably the Tweed Charter
of 1870; and by incessant activity he was, in 1876, beginning to reap
the laurels of a career which began while he was a student at Yale.
CHAPTER V.
FOUR DAYS AT ALBANY.
Started from Nassau at eleven o'clock, still following the Boston and
Albany Turnpike, and soon reached the Old Barringer Homestead. It was
with this family that I spent my first night in Rensselaer County
sixteen years before, when a lad of seventeen, I was looking for a
school commissioner and a school to teach. Brockway's was another
well-known landmark which I could not pass without stopping, for it was
here that I boarded the first week after opening my school at Schodack
Centre in the autumn of 1859. At the school, too, I dismounted, and
found that the teacher was one of my old scholars. The Lewis family, at
the hotel just beyond, were waiting my approach with wide-open door; for
Oscar Lewis had gone to Albany and had said before he left: "Keep a
sharp lookout for Captain Glazier, as he will surely pass this way." It
was very pleasant to be met so cordially, although the sight of
well-known faces and landmarks brought back the past and made me feel
like another Rip Van Winkle.
[Illustration: THE ROAD TO ALBANY.]
In crossing the river between Greenbush and Albany, _Paul_ seemed
disinclined to stay on board, so the bars had to be put up and every
precaution taken. It may have been that the shades of the ferrymen who
had run the little craft for the last two hundred years came back to vex
us. Perhaps the particular ghost of Hendrick Albertsen, who, two hundred
and eight years ago bargained with Killian Van Rensselaer for the
privilege of running his boat; but whatever the cause of the disturbance
we reached _terra firma_ without accident, and were soon in the familiar
streets of the old Dutch town; the day's journey agreeably ended with
our trip across the Hudson by the oldest ferry in the United States.
From the river the view of Albany is picturesque in the extreme, where
the eye catches the first glimpse of the city, rising from the water's
edge, and surmounted then by its brown-domed Capitol. It was a sight
that had always had a singular charm for me, for many of the pleasantest
hours of my early life were spent here, where my sisters and I were
educated. Here I left school to enlist at the opening of the Civil War,
and here I published my first book, "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape."
But even if the city had no claim other than its own peculiar
attractiveness it would hold an enviable place among its sister cities.
The irregularity of its older streets, the tone of its architecture, the
lack of the usual push and bustle of an American town, give it an
old-world air that makes it interesting. There is a Common in the centre
of the city, shaded by old elms, and around this stand the public
buildings--the State Hall for state offices and the City Hall for city
offices--both of marble and fronting on the Common. The Albany Academy,
where Joseph Henry, one of its professors from 1826 to 1832, first
demonstrated his theory of the magnetic telegraph. A few squares west of
the Common was the stretch of green that has since been set apart for a
public park, where the good people of Albany may find an agreeable
change of scene and an hour's pleasant recreation.
[Illustration: STATE STREET AND CAPITOL, ALBANY, NEW YORK.]
The New Capitol, on the site of the Old Capitol, is a magnificent
edifice in the renaissance style, built of New England granite, at a
cost to the State of many millions. On passing quaint bits of
architecture or the suggestive aspect of some out-of-the way corner, one
turns naturally to the days of wigs and kneebreeches, before the capital
of the Empire State was thought of, and when the forests of fair
Columbia were overrun by the bronzed warriors who still held undisputed
sway. It was back in these days that Henry Hudson, sent from Holland by
the Dutch East India Company, in sailing up the "Grande" River in search
of a passage to India and China, found that he could not send his ship
beyond the point where the city of Hudson now stands. This was
discouraging, but sure that the desired passage was found, he and a few
of his men pushed farther on in a small craft, landing, it is believed,
on the present site of Albany. Later, Hudson and his men returned,
assured that the noble river could not take them where they had hoped it
might. After them came Dutch traders, led by an enterprising Hollander
who had been with Hudson on his first voyage, and who saw a promising
field in the red man's country. They established a trading-post where
the "Half Moon" had been moored before, and from here carried on their
barter with the Indians, exchanging attractive trifles for furs. Other
traders followed these, and then came the colonists; a brave little
band full of hope and eager to try their fortune in the New World. Their
leader was none other than Killian Van Rensselaer, the wealthy pearl
merchant of Amsterdam, and one of the directors of the West India
Company, who had received a grant from the Prince of Orange for a large
tract of land about the Upper Hudson, including the present site of
Albany. Here he established his "patroonship," guarding the affairs of
the colony, and providing his tenants with comfortable houses and ample
barns. And more than this, their spiritual welfare was promoted through
the services of the Reverend Doctor Joanes Megapolensis. From his
personal accounts we read that the good Dominie found his life among the
'wilden' as full of peril and unceasing labor as that of his flock; for
he undertook not only the guidance of his own people, but the
enlightenment and conversion of the Indians. To this end he threw
himself into the task of mastering their language with true missionary
zeal; a task which in those days meant not only difficulty but danger.
Under the shelter of the handsome churches that grace the streets of the
Albany of to-day, we see a striking contrast in the primitive house
where this pioneer clergyman preached; and from the security of
long-established peace, we look back upon those sturdy people of
Rensselaerwyck who sowed and reaped and went to church under the
protection of the Patroon's guns.
But there came a day when English ships sailed up to the harbor at
Manhatoes, and demanded the surrender of the Dutch colonies in the name
of the Duke of York and Albany. The terrified people at sight of the
guns refused to withstand an attack, and the English quietly came into
possession. Van Rensselaer sent down his papers, and Fort Orange
surrendered on the twenty-fourth of September, 1664, soon after
receiving its new name in honor of the Duke's second title. Twenty-two
years later, Albany had the satisfaction of sending two of her
representatives, Peter Schuyler and Robert Livingston, to New York to
claim her charter as a city; which, upon their return, was received,
according to the old chronicler, "with all ye joy and acclamation
imaginable."
Through the strength of their new dignity and influence we can trace the
spirit of independence which was beginning to rise in opposition to the
unjust English rule; and it was here in 1754 that the first General
Congress was held to discuss arrangements for the national defence, when
Franklin and his compatriots "signed the first plan for American Union
and proclaimed to the colonies that they were one people, fit to govern
and able to protect themselves." Later, when the storm of the Revolution
broke, this place, where the first threatenings were heard, was the most
impoverished by the contest and the most persevering in the fight; but
she came out triumphant, with a record well meriting the honors received
in 1797, when she was made the capital of the Empire State. After peace
was again established and the routine of business taken up, Albany
became the centre of the entire trade of Western New York.
[Illustration: RIVER STREET, TROY, NEW YORK.]
Fulton's steamboats began to run between Albany and New York as early as
1809, and this commercial activity and contact with the world gave an
impulse to the city which has made itself felt all along the Hudson.
Since then it has grown rapidly, and has in its steady advancement an
influential future to which its citizens may look forward with
pardonable pride.
My arrival in Albany and lecture at Tweddle Hall on the evening of the
eighteenth were to me among the notable events of my journey. Colonel J.
M. Finley, who accompanied me from Boston, a veteran of the late war and
manager of my lecture course from Boston to Buffalo, introduced me.
Called at the Capitol on the nineteenth to see the adjutant-general in
relation to my lecturing in the interest of the fund for the erection of
a Soldiers' Home which at that time interested persons had proposed to
build at Bath, New York. I was presented to General Townsend by Colonel
Taylor, assistant adjutant-general, whom I had known for several years.
Found that General Townsend was not, as I had been informed, the
treasurer of the fund. Colonel Taylor then went with me up Washington
avenue in search of Captain John Palmer, Past Department Commander, G.
A. R., whom I was advised to consult on the subject.
These matters attended to, I went in pursuit of Captain William Blasie
and Lieutenant Arthur Richardson--acquaintances of many years and both
of whom had been the companions of my captivity in Southern prisons
during the War of the Rebellion.
My stay in Albany was prolonged by preparation for lectures at Troy and
Schenectady, and by needed information concerning the early history and
development of the former city. The second Sunday of my journey found me
here and I went in the morning to the Presbyterian Church at the corner
of Hudson and Philip streets.
[Illustration: VIEW IN SCHENECTADY, NEW YORK.]
CHAPTER VI.
ALBANY TO SYRACUSE.
Fourteenth Day.
_Given's Hotel_,
SCHENECTADY, NEW YORK,
_May 22, 1876_.
Left Albany at eleven o'clock. My journey to this city led me over the
Schenectady Turnpike. Was compelled to ride between showers all day as a
rainstorm had set in just as I was leaving Albany. Stopped for dinner at
Peter Lansing's, whose farm is about midway between the two cities. This
genial gentleman of old Knickerbocker stock greatly amused me with his
blunt manner and dry jokes. I was sorry to leave the shelter of his
hospitable roof, especially as the weather was exceedingly disagreeable,
but my engagement to lecture in Schenectady obliged me to go on. I found
it necessary to ride the last three miles at a gallop in order to avoid
an approaching shower. Reached my hotel at four o'clock in the
afternoon, and lectured in the evening at Union Hall under the auspices
of Post 14, G. A. R. Several representatives of the city press were with
me on the platform, and among them was Colonel S. G. Hamlin, a
fellow-prisoner in "Libby" during the war, and now editor of the
_Union_. In the morning Colonel Finley went over to Troy to assist Mr.
Farrington, my advance agent, in arranging for my lecture in that city.
Fifteenth and Sixteenth Days.
_91 Centre Street_,
SCHENECTADY, NEW YORK,
_May Twenty-third--Twenty-fourth_.
Accepting an invitation to spend a day or two with friends, I went to 91
Centre street after my lecture. While here I was occupied chiefly in
posting my journal and in attending to business and private
correspondence. A telegram from Colonel Finley told me that he had fixed
upon the next evening for my lecture at Harmony Hall, Troy. Acting upon
this plan I went over to Troy the following afternoon by way of Albany.
Called on Captain Palmer in the latter city, and handed him the proceeds
of my lecture at Schenectady, which he at once transmitted to the fund
in aid of the Soldiers' Home. While in Troy I met R. H. Ferguson, Hon.
Martin I. Townsend, the McCoys and many other friends and acquaintances
of Auld Lang Syne. I may add that this was the only instance in my
journey thus far in which I had deviated from a direct line of march.
Seventeenth Day.
_91 Centre Street_,
SCHENECTADY, NEW YORK,
_May Twenty-fifth_.
Returned to Schenectady by way of Albany after my lecture at Troy. Was
very busy at this time in organizing for my lecture campaign between
Schenectady and Buffalo. There was rather a surprising announcement in
the afternoon's _Union_ to the effect that I had left for Little Falls.
I did not learn from what source Comrade Hamlin of that paper received
his information. Colonel Finley went on to Utica, where he was joined by
Mr. Farrington.
During my stay here I became interested in the place and found that
Schenectady was as rich in legends and story as her neighbors. She
counts her birthday among the historic dates of America, having begun
her career in 1620, when the Mohawks were still holding their councils
of war and spreading the terror of their name. Here in their very haunts
a band of courageous Dutchmen established a trading-post and began the
work of civilization. This brave colony did not find life as peaceful as
the innocent aspect of Nature would suggest, however, for in the winter
of 1690 the French and Indians began their terrible work, burning the
houses and massacreing the inhabitants. It was only through a baptism of
blood that the small trading-post developed into a city. Now it was one
of the most flourishing and important towns in the valley; and the
transformation was so complete that it is almost impossible to realize
that this was the scene of so many struggles. The Schenectady of to-day
is a busy manufacturing town, with a prosperous farming district about
it, whose cornfields and orchards attest the richness of the soil. It is
the seat of Union College, a well-known institution of rich endowments
and possessing a handsome library of 15,000 volumes. The college was
founded in 1795 by a union of several religious sects. Its buildings
are plain and substantial, their stuccoed walls suggestive of the good
solid work that is accomplished within them from year to year.
Eighteenth Day.
_Union Hotel_,
FONDA, NEW YORK,
_May Twenty-sixth_.
Moved from Schenectady at eight o'clock in the morning. Found the
weather delightful and the scenery charming. On either side were the
meadows dotted with spring flowers and fertilized by the river, whose
shore line of willows and elms was bright with new green. If I were to
except the Berkshire Hills, I saw nothing in Massachusetts to surpass,
or even equal, the Valley of the Mohawk. It surprised me that poet and
novelist had apparently found so little here for legendary romance.
Had dinner at Amsterdam, sixteen miles from Schenectady, and while
halted here had _Paul_ shod for the first time since leaving Boston.
Resumed my journey at four o'clock and reached Fonda two hours later.
Made twenty-six miles during the day and was now 243 miles from the
"Hub." Through the courtesy of Mr. Fisher, my landlord at this place, I
was given a verbal sketch of Fonda which made a pleasant addition to my
own small store of information. There were no striking characteristics
here to attract the traveller's eye and history had not chronicled its
modest advancement, but for those who enjoy the sight of peace and
prosperity, Fonda has a charm of its own. Around it on all sides the
grain fields were under excellent cultivation, with here and there a
well-stocked farm, suggesting an agricultural and dairying centre. I
found a good night's rest here, envied the people their peaceful
existence, and rode away with a sense of complete refreshment.
Nineteenth Day.
_Briggs House_,
SAINT JOHNSVILLE, NEW YORK,
_May Twenty-seventh_.
Called for _Paul_ at eight o'clock, and after halting a moment at the
office of the _Mohawk Valley Democrat_, crossed the river to
Fultonville, which is connected with Fonda by a substantial iron bridge.
Passing through this town, an enterprising one for its size, I continued
my journey along the south bank of the Mohawk until I reached
Canajoharie, where I stopped at the Eldridge House for dinner.
[Illustration: A MILL STREAM IN THE MOHAWK VALLEY.]
Here I met another Socrates who had a "favorite prescription" for
healing the sore on _Paul's_ back. Spent an hour very pleasantly in the
office of the _Mohawk Valley Register_ at Fort Plain, where I learned
that Charles W. Elliott of this paper is a son of George W. Elliott,
author of "Bonnie Eloise." For many years this song was a great
favorite, not only along the Mohawk, but all over the country, and is
certainly one of the sweetest ballads of America. There is a swing to
the rhythm and charm in the lines which keeps it in memory, and in
riding along through the scenes it describes, my thoughts go back to the
old days in Rensselaer County, where as a boy I first heard the
words.
"O sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides,
On its clear winding way to the sea;
And dearer than all storied streams on earth besides,
Is this bright rolling river to me.
But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these,
Who charms when others all fail,
Is blue-eyed, bonnie, bonnie Eloise,
The belle of the Mohawk vale.
"O sweet are the scenes of my boyhood's sunny years
That bespangle the gay valley o'er;
And dear are the friends, seen through memory's fond tears,
That have lived in the blest days of yore.
But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc.
"O sweet are the moments when dreaming I roam
Through my loved haunts now mossy and gray;
And dearer than all is my childhood's hallowed home
That is crumbling now slowly away.
But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc."
Reached this place at seven o'clock in the evening and will go on to
Little Falls after dinner to-morrow. In the morning I had an opportunity
to look about me and admire the unusually fine scenery whose romantic
aspect was heightened by a rugged tip of the Adirondacks which runs down
into the valley at that point. At the foot of the mountain lies the
brisk little town of Saint Johnsville, whose manufacturing interests
have given it a reputation for miles around.
Twentieth Day.
_Girvan House,_
LITTLE FALLS, NEW YORK,
_May Twenty-eighth._
Rode to this place from Saint Johnsville after five o'clock in the
afternoon, taking the north bank of the river. The effect of the scene
in front of me as I traced my way along the valley was most striking.
Nearer the town my eye caught the picturesque masses of rock lifting
their rugged sides to a height of five hundred feet, the swift waters of
the Mohawk rushing along between them. The homes perched all along on
the steep hills suggested Swiss scenes and Alpine journeys, but the busy
hum and characteristic American push soon dissipated these fancies. The
rapid fall of the river here is of great benefit to the manufacturers
who are making good use of their excellent water-power in the paper and
woollen mills.
Soon after my arrival, several citizens came into the hotel to learn the
particulars of my journey, but before I had time to register, Postmaster
Stafford made himself known and introduced me to several of his friends
and acquaintances, among them General Curtis and Major Lintner. A
laughable story was related which afforded considerable amusement soon
after I rode into town. It seems that a credulous old lady from the
country had been led to believe that a cavalryman would ride through the
place that night on the horse which General Washington rode during the
Revolution. A story suggested, no doubt, by the subject of my lecture.
She had come in to sell her firkin of butter and had waited until long
after dark for the rider and his ancient steed, while the objects of her
misguided interest were resting in Saint Johnsville unconscious of the
disappointment they were causing.
Let us hope that she never discovered her mistake, for the old are often
sensitive on such points. It is better at times to suffer keen
disappointment than to find we have been too credulous.
[Illustration: VIEW IN THE MOHAWK VALLEY.]
Twenty-first Day.
_12 Cornelia Street_,
UTICA, NEW YORK,
_May Twenty-ninth_.
After considerable trouble in finding a saddle blanket for _Paul_, to
take the place of the saddle cloth used until we reached Little Falls, I
started from that romantic town at nine o'clock, halting at Ilion for
dinner. This village, well known through the firm of the Remingtons, is
on the south bank of the Mohawk, twelve miles from Utica. From here the
famous Remington machines and rifles are sent all over the world.
Farrington met me two miles east of Utica and escorted me back to the
city, conducting Colonel Finley and myself to rooms which had been
engaged for us through the hospitality of J. C. Bates.
Left my pleasant quarters here to make a few observations about town,
and found much to arrest my attention. A century ago Utica was known as
"Old Fort Schuyler" from a small stockade of that name, built on the
site in 1750. As the country grew more peaceful, and the life of the
future city began, the name was changed. A gradual slope of the land
from the river gave from the more elevated parts some very fine views;
and the public parks with their shade trees and gay flowers made a rich
adornment to a naturally attractive city. The great Erie Canal passes
through the centre of the city and is joined by the Chenango Canal at
this point. Among the landmarks are the homes of Roscoe Conkling and
Horatio Seymour.
Twenty-second Day.
_Stanwix Hall_,
ROME, NEW YORK,
_May Thirtieth_.
Was compelled to remain in Utica until four o'clock in the afternoon in
order to have my saddle padded. This brief delay, while favoring my
equine friend, was in some particulars also favorable to his rider, as
it afforded me an excellent opportunity to gather information I desired
concerning the growth of this enterprising town.
Rode up to Rome on the south bank of the Mohawk. Soon after my arrival
at the Stanwix I met a large number of Grand Army comrades. Room "14"
had been engaged and made a rendezvous, and here until a late hour the
experiences of the late war were told over again and our battles
re-fought. This gathering of comrades to celebrate Memorial Day was
marked by deep and enthusiastic feeling; and, although my day's journey
had somewhat fatigued me, I felt this was no time to show a lack of
spirit; so I cheerfully yielded to the old maxim, "When in Rome do as
the Romans do." Through the courtesy of Captain Joseph Porter, then
Commander of Skillen Post 47, I was introduced to Hon. H. J. Coggeshall,
of Waterville, Colonel G. A. Cantine, Hon. W. F. Bliss, Mr. Taylor,
editor of the _Sentinel_, and many others.
Rome lies on a level stretch of land at the head of the valley, whence I
could see its spires as I approached. On its site once stood old Fort
Stanwix, of Revolutionary fame, which cost the British £660,000
sterling. It was built as a defence against the French in Canada, and
was the first settlement before the French War. From that time until the
close of the Revolution it was an important frontier post. Rome is the
centre of a large dairying interest, the cheese factory system having
originated here.
Twenty-third Day.
_Chittenango House_,
CHITTENANGO, NEW YORK,
_May Thirty-first_.
Had a late breakfast at the Stanwix and, after a stroll through the
streets of Rome, called for my horse at ten o'clock, and bidding adieu
to Grand Army comrades who had assembled to see me start from their
city, mounted and rode out of town. The journey, as usual, since leaving
Albany, lay along the New York Central. The roads were dry and
favorable, the weather settled, and the scenery through this section of
the Empire State such as to make my journey most enjoyable. Chittenango
was not reached until ten o'clock, as the distance from Rome made this
one of the longest rides noted in a single day. The twinkling lights of
the village looked very pleasant as I neared my destination, marking
here and there the homes of its hundreds of inhabitants. I found upon
inquiry at the Chittenango House that I was the only guest, which
augured well for a good night's sleep.
CHAPTER VII.
TWO DAYS AT SYRACUSE.
Had an early breakfast at Chittenango and calling for _Paul_ at eight
o'clock mounted and rode forward, with the city of Syracuse as my
evening destination. Nothing of especial interest occurred to vary the
day's journey. Syracuse was reached at four o'clock in the afternoon,
and the remainder of the day was spent in walks and drives through the
city which I had visited several times in former years, and of whose
history I had a fair knowledge. Long before the white man came, a band
of Iroquois had built their wigwams in the low basin, almost entirely
surrounded by hills, that lies to the south of Lake Onondaga, and from
here followed the pursuits of war and peace. We first hear of this
Indian village in 1653 through the Jesuit missionary, Father Le Moyne,
who had come to establish good feeling between the Iroquois and other
Indian tribes; and we see strange evidences of a counteracting influence
made probably by his own countrymen in the discovery of European weapons
and ammunition, that were distributed among the red men about the same
time. For more than a hundred years after this, the present site of
Syracuse, then an unpromising stretch of swamps, was the home of the
wolf and bear. Over its dreary waste the cry of the wild cat, the
warning of the rattlesnake and the hooting of the owl lent their sounds
to the weird chorus of Nature, and it was here that the wily Indian came
to seek his game. It was through Father Le Moyne, too, that we hear of
the great Salt Springs, which he visited at the southern end of the lake
in company with some Huron and Onondaga chiefs. The Indians, unable to
comprehend the strange effect of salt and clear water bubbling from the
same fountain, had a superstition that the springs were possessed by an
evil spirit and were afraid to drink from them; but when the white man
began to share their old haunts, we hear of the bewitched water being
fearlessly used, and the evil spirit converted into a propitious one. It
was Major Asa Danforth and his companion, Colonel Comfort Tyler, who
began early in the present century the enterprise which has since proved
such a splendid success. These two pioneers started out afoot for the
springs with no other implements than an axe, chain and kettle, which
seem primitive enough to us who know of the means that are now employed
in the making of this great staple. Arrived at the springs, two young
trees were cut, a stout branch placed in their crochets and on this the
kettle was hung. When the work was finished, the men hid their
implements in the bushes for safety, shouldered their rich possession
and started home over the ground that in a few years was to be the scene
of such striking and sudden changes.
Joshua Forman was the first man who saw a promising field in the
unhealthy land south of Lake Onondaga, and it was he who first thought
of a plan for its improvement.
With characteristic persistency he carried out his ideas, and with the
co-operation of James Geddes, a surveyor and fellow-townsman, did more
to convince men of the practicability of laying a canal route through
central New York than any other man. At that time the advocate of such
an undertaking was considered mad. Even the President shared the public
view of the matter, and when the zealous member from Onondaga laid the
plans before this incredulous gentleman, Jefferson remarked: "It is a
splendid project, and may be executed a century hence." It must have
been a satisfaction to Judge Forman to see this inland water-course
completed a few years later, and to realize the success of the great
enterprise.
When the breaking up of the unhealthy soil caused so much sickness and
so many deaths during the building of the canal at Syracuse--then
"Corinth"--this thoughtful benefactor began to devise a way for
improving the ground, which resulted in the passage of a bill, a year
later, for lowering the lake by means of drains. This stopped the
injurious overflow that occurred during the spring months and eventually
put an end to the "Corduroy" and "gridiron" roads by which the "dreary
waste of swamp" had been hitherto approached.
It seems strange enough now, to one riding through the beautiful and
regular streets of the present city, to realize that only a few years
ago its pioneers either followed these rough routes, or went around by
the hills to avoid them.
In April, 1820, Syracuse had grown sufficiently to merit the
distinction of a Post Office, and with this new acquisition a discussion
arose about its name. It had been called successively "Webster's
Landing," "South Salina," "Bogardus Corners," "Cossit's Corners" and
"Milan;" but, as there was another "Milan" in the State, its last title
had to be abandoned. For awhile it was known as "Corinth," but finally
by an odd coincidence it was named by its first Postmaster, John
Wilkinson, after the old Sicilian capital, to which it was supposed to
bear a slight resemblance. Mr. Wilkinson, it is said, in reading a
poetical description of the ancient city, was singularly impressed by
its name, and by the fact that there was a fountain of mythological
origin just beyond its walls, from which sprang clear and salt water.
At a meeting held to decide the matter, he among others eloquently
discussed his choice, and it was unanimously accepted. At this time, the
government official at Syracuse had charge of such vast communications
from "Uncle Sam," that when the Post Office was transferred later to the
office of John Durford, printer, Mr. Wilkinson carried the entire
concern, "mail matter, letter bags and boxes on his shoulders!" Still,
when the Marquis de La Fayette visited Syracuse, five years later, it
had made such rapid advancement that it called forth his warmest
congratulations. On this occasion, truly a great one among the city's
records, her founder and benefactor, Joshua Forman, was chosen to
express the gratitude of her people. It must have been a pleasant moment
for the brave General and a proud one for the Syracusans when, in
response to their hospitality, he returned Mr. Forman's courtesy in the
following words: "The names of Onondaga and Syracuse, in behalf of
whose population you are pleased so kindly to welcome me, recall to my
mind at the same time the wilderness that, since the time I commanded on
the Northern frontier, has been transformed into one of the most
populous and enlightened parts of the United States; and the ancient
Sicilian city, once the seat of republican institutions, much inferior,
however, to those which in American Syracuse are founded upon the plain
investigation, the unalloyed establishment of the rights of men, and
upon the best representative forms of government. No doubt, sir, but
that among the co-operators of the Revolution, the most sanguine of us
could not fully anticipate the rapidity of the improvements which, on a
journey of many thousand miles--the last tour alone from Washington to
this place amounting to five thousand miles--have delighted me; and of
which this part of the country offers a bright example. Be pleased to
accept my personal thanks and in behalf of the people of Onondaga and
Syracuse to receive this tribute of my sincere and respectful
acknowledgments."
Could the Marquis have lived longer, and made his tour hither at this
time, he would scarcely have found words to express his surprise.
Perhaps no city in New York has made such great strides in so few years.
Handsome buildings have sprung up on all sides, each one adding to the
sightliness of the place; and on the surrounding hills wealthy residents
have built their charming homes. The University of Syracuse, a Methodist
institution, built upon one of these hills in 1870, looks down
invitingly upon the knowledge-seekers of the city, and with the State
Armory, that stands in the park near Onondaga Creek, would furnish a
brilliant equipment for some modern Minerva, were she to visit this
interesting namesake of Sicilian Syracuse.
To the stranger looking out for characteristics, the Salt Works are the
most prominent among them. The sheds stretch along like enormous
stock-yards at one end of the city, but looking into them one discovers
great vats and troughs filled with salt in every stage of evaporation.
There are two ways by which the article is manufactured, one by solar
and the other by artificial heat, with thirty or forty companies
employing their chosen method.
Another striking feature is the unusual number of public halls. This is
due to the central location which makes Syracuse a favorite point for
conventions. It was my pleasure to lecture in one of these, "Shakespeare
Hall," on my first evening in the city, where I was introduced by
General Augustus Sniper. After this engagement, I went by rail to
Buffalo, on business connected with my proposed lecture in that city,
and returned the following afternoon. This was very unusual, as it was
contrary to the practice of my journey to avail myself of the railway
under any circumstances. My advance agents having completed preparations
for my lecture at Rochester, I made arrangements to resume my journey on
the following day. My short stay here gave me another opportunity to
look about this interesting town, and to realize its charms at the
prettiest season of the year. Some have believed that its situation,
importance and beauty would win for Syracuse the honor, so long bestowed
upon the good old town on the Hudson, of being the capital of the
Empire State. Whether or not it will ever be known as such, it will
receive the flattering acknowledgment of being one of the loveliest
cities in New York.
CHAPTER VIII.
SYRACUSE TO ROCHESTER.
Twenty-sixth Day.
_Camillus House_,
CAMILLUS, NEW YORK,
_June Third_.
Mounted in front of the Vanderbilt House, Syracuse, at four o'clock in
the afternoon. A large number of friends and acquaintances had assembled
to see me off, among them many G. A. R. comrades, including General
Sniper and Captain Auer; the latter a companion in Libby Prison during
the late war. Thomas Babcock, who had been acting as an assistant to my
advance agents, accompanied me as far as Geddes, and arranged to
co-operate with my brother and Mr. Farrington in preparation for my
lecture. In passing through this little suburb of Geddes, whose name by
the way, keeps in memory one of the prominent men of Onondaga County, my
attention was drawn to a fine building standing on a hill, overlooking
Syracuse. I learned that it was the New York Asylum for Imbeciles and
that the site, a magnificent sweep of upland, measuring fifty-five
acres, was donated by the city. I was stopped just west of here by a
thunder shower and took refuge under a tree. _Paul_ and I had waited for
storms to pass over before, and made excellent rainy-day friends. We
rather enjoyed resting under some shelter until the dust was well laid
and the air freshened. On our arrival at Camillus, myself and horse were
literally covered with mud, the result of _Paul's_ fright on the
approach of a train at a point where it was impossible to leave the
turnpike. We were trotting along quietly and had just turned a bend in
the road when the quick ear of the horse caught the distant rumbling of
wheels. In an instant he was on the alert, and when the swift express
came round the curve, made a sudden spring to the right, leaped a
rail-fence, and landed in a bog where the mud was two or three feet
deep. I managed to keep the saddle, but could not avoid the mire in
which we had haplessly fallen.
Twenty-seventh Day.
_Jordan House_,
JORDAN, NEW YORK,
_June Fourth_.
By an hour's close application to my bespattered garments, after
reaching the Camillus House, I found that I was ready to "turn in" for
the night. Started forward in the morning, the ride on this perfect June
day proving false the old saying that "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
This village was reached about noon and I was quite prepared for the
generous meal which was placed before me.
[Illustration: A FLOURISHING FARM.]
When the gnawings of hunger had been appeased I gave myself up to the
agreeable quiet of Sunday afternoon.
There was ample encouragement for such a course in this cosy little
retreat at the head of Lake Skaneateles, for there was not a sound from
store or mill while the people were taking their Sabbath rest.
This brief halt in the march forward was very agreeable, for it gave me
an opportunity to try my own powers of locomotion, so little used since
leaving Boston. It was a real luxury to stroll about the quiet lanes,
and scan the outlying fields from the standpoint of a modest pedestrian.
In the course of my rambles I came across some photographers from Auburn
who had been taking views of the scenery about here. Some of their
pictures were excellent.
Twenty-eighth Day.
_Montezuma Hotel_,
MONTEZUMA, NEW YORK,
_June Fifth_.
The Auburn photographers whom I saw yesterday met me as I was riding out
of Jordan, and proposed photographing myself and _Paul_. Some time was
passed and several ruses resorted to in attempting to quiet the restless
animal, but he skilfully avoided the camera.
At last some men who happened to be near offered their assistance, and
attempted to attract the attention of the horse from a distance, by
jumping up and down in a neighboring field. _Paul_ threw his head
forward, quietly and curiously watching their manoeuvers. He was
evidently amused, but there was no spirit to the picture. Unfortunately
the "spirited" part of the scene was out of range.
This delay for vanity's sake prevented us from getting farther than
Weedsport by noon, where a brief halt was made for dinner. I was met
here by W. H. Ransom and the proprietor of the Howard House of Port
Byron, who came over to Weedsport and escorted me to their village,
where I had tea and was very courteously entertained for a few hours. On
leaving Port Byron, these gentlemen rode forward with me towards
Montezuma Swamp, which lies between the two towns. Here we parted
company, there being no reason why they should "run the gauntlet" with
me. I had heard wonderful tales of the dreaded monsters of this swamp,
who were reputed to be the very worst mosquitoes on record, not
excepting their famous kinsmen of the Hackensack Flats, New Jersey.
Unable to bear patiently the torture of my assailants who were swarming
around me by thousands, I put spurs to _Paul_, and went through at a
gallop; but notwithstanding this attempt to put the enemy to rout,
superior numbers gave them the advantage and their victim came out
covered with scars.
When Montezuma was reached we were glad to rest, for our late adventure
had quite exhausted both horse and rider.
[Illustration: AN OLD LANDMARK.]
Twenty-ninth Day.
_Newark House_,
NEWARK, NEW YORK,
_June Sixth_.
The journey along the line of the New York Central from Montezuma to
Newark, was an exciting one to me and _Paul_. I had long since learned
that whenever the route brought us in close proximity with the railroad,
the quiet pursuit of our way was often varied by exciting moments, owing
to _Paul's_ suspicion of the "iron horse." The climax of these escapades
was reached this morning, when _Paul_, becoming frightened by an
approaching train repeated the experience of three days ago by plunging
into a slough, about two miles from Newark, and completely covering
himself and rider with mud. When I had recovered sufficiently to realize
the situation, my thoughts were not as amiable, I fear, as those of
Bunyan's good Christian, tried in like manner. The "slough of despond"
was so very literal in this case.
I had made every effort to control the excited animal, but found the
attempt useless; and I verily believe if he were between the infernal
regions and a coming train, he would choose the former at a bound. It
was rather trying to appear before people of the town in such a
lamentable condition, to say nothing of the discomforts arising from
damp clothing; but there was no alternative, so I followed my course;
the unfortunate victim of circumstances.
Thirtieth Day.
_Fairport House_,
FAIRPORT, NEW YORK,
_June Seventh_.
Resumed march at eight o'clock in the morning, but the weather was so
oppressively warm and sultry, that I was obliged to wait over from noon
until six o'clock. Riding in the cool of the day was much more
agreeable, yet, notwithstanding the physical comfort, I must confess
that the lonely and unknown road gave rather a gloomy forecast to my
thoughts. Beside this, I found some difficulty in obtaining necessary
directions, and lost the chief charm of the journey--a view of the
beautiful country through which I was passing.
It had not been my intention to do any travelling after sundown unless
the heat made it absolutely necessary, but in this instance I felt
justified in changing the original plan. Moving along through the
unfamiliar scenes, I missed the pleasant coloring of woods and fields
under the broad light of day, the noisy hum the sunshine calls forth,
and the sound of the birds, always the sweetest music to me. Instead of
these there was the mystical silence of night, broken only by the
clatter of _Paul's_ hoofs over the dusty road. Four hours' steady travel
brought us in sight of the straggling lights of the little post-village
of Fairport, where we stopped for the night. Found several Rochester
papers awaiting me here, which contained pleasant reference to my
proposed lecture at Corinthian Hall.
CHAPTER IX.
FOUR DAYS AT ROCHESTER.
Anticipating rain during the forenoon and fearing that my journey might
be interrupted in consequence, I started at an early hour on the morning
of June eighth from Fairport, and riding at a brisk pace came into
Rochester at eleven o'clock.
Just before reaching the city, a halt was made at a little hamlet, two
or three miles out, for the purpose of treating _Paul's_ back.
Heretofore the necessity of meeting my lecture appointments along the
route had given me no opportunity to attend to the painful bruise,
although I had been studying the various modes of treatment recommended
by veterinary surgeons from the time I left Boston until now. The
peculiar nature of my journey gave me an excellent opportunity to follow
this especial course, and I felt confident of my ability to do all that
was possible for my faithful horse, yet at every stopping-place some
kindly disposed admirer of the horse had some favorite prescription
which he had found a never-failing cure for the particular affliction
that daily confronted me. The enterprising little hamlet in question
had its famed savant, who thought it would be highly imprudent of me to
proceed farther without his advice--and a bottle of his "Seven-Sealed
Wonder."
Anxious to make Rochester at the earliest moment possible, I had no time
to discuss the merits of this great elixir, so, noting the price on the
face of the bottle, I handed this modest disciple of Æsculapius the
amount due, although he generously protested, and congratulating myself
upon being the most highly favored traveller between Boston and San
Francisco, rode away.
On a hill just beyond the village and well out of sight, I came upon an
old barn standing to the left of the road, on whose front I noticed a
huge door with a knothole in the centre. Now was my opportunity for
unsealing the "Wonder." In an instant I brought _Paul_ to a standstill
and rising in the saddle, tried my luck. The "Wonder" fell short of the
mark, but it met a resistance from the old door which effectually tested
its powers, and in my humble opinion placed the good doctor high up in
his profession. This momentary diversion over, I again resumed the
march, vowing that this would be my last experiment with "sealed
wonders" and that hereafter I would confine my treatment to battling
_Paul's_ back with warm water and castile soap, whose virtue I had
learned in the cavalry service during the war.
Found that the Rochester papers had been discussing my military record
before my arrival, and that the _Express_ and _Sunday Morning Times_ had
upheld my cause against the _Union_, which had ventured some falsehoods
on the ground that my "youthful appearance" belied my experience as a
soldier. With this pleasant criticism came another greeting from the
city press. It had been announced that I would probably arrive at the
Osburn House at four in the afternoon, hence it was not strange that my
sudden appearance at an earlier hour caused some surprise and led to the
impression that I had come forward by rail, and that my horseback
journey was possibly not an entirely genuine affair. I may add that it
had not occurred to me that my trip across country was of sufficient
importance to warrant any criticism upon my methods so long as I met my
lecture appointments promptly. The sharp comment had no more serious
result than that of increasing the lecture receipts in the cities which
followed.
My tenth lecture was delivered in Corinthian Hall, at the usual hour in
the evening, the introduction being made by Colonel J. A. Reynolds.
Next day, June ninth, gave me an opportunity to look up the familiar
places and to note the changes that had occurred since my last visit to
the city. The cleanliness and beauty of the streets, now in their summer
glory of tree and flower, made such a tour of inspection anything but
unpleasant.
East avenue, where the "flour and coal kings" are at home, is an
attractive place in which to see individual taste carried out in
architecture and horticulture. Down town, where the "kings" are at work,
there is a brisk activity which pervades everything, like an unending
accompaniment to the Falls, whose sounds always mingle with those of the
busy life around them. Perhaps it was this continual encouragement from
the river, offered to her early pioneers, that has given Rochester such
a notable career and made her the metropolis of the Genesee Valley: for
with that first mill-wheel set into the stream by old "Indian Allen,"
the faithful waters have kept up a continual flow of good fortune.
Her characteristic enterprise, milling, begun by this same Allen, has
been an unfailing source of wealth; the golden grain with almost magic
transformation filling the coffers of her merchants and giving her the
security that a healthy financial condition brings. Besides this, she
owes much to that liberal-minded gentleman, Colonel Nathaniel Rochester,
who came with his family from Maryland when the settlement was in its
infancy, and made his home in "the pleasant valley." It is amusing to
fancy the unique procession, headed by the Colonel and his sons on
horseback, that started out towards "the wild west" in the summer of
1802. There were carriages for the ladies and servants, and wagons for
provisions and household goods, stretched out in formidable array: for
railroads were out of the question then.
We hear that the travellers met with cordial hospitality at the villages
and towns along their route, and that their arrival created quite a
sensation. In fact it was an historical event. Two friends of the
Rochesters, William Fitzhugh and Charles Carroll, cast in their fortunes
with them, and in 1802 bought together the three hundred acres at the
Upper Falls, which were laid out for a settlement ten years later. In
those times the prestige of a name went far towards establishing a
reputation, and the one chosen by the people of the settlement was
afterward proudly placed upon the municipal banner. Soon after the
advent of Colonel Rochester and his friends, the scheme for making a
water communication between the Lakes and the Sea began to be eagerly
discussed, and there were not a few energetic representatives from
"Rochesterville" who lent their efforts towards the carrying out of the
plan. When the canal was completed there was the wildest enthusiasm in
Rochester, which would perhaps have a greater benefit than any other
place along the route: for with her big grain and coal interests, her
future prosperity seemed assured.
The natural course of events followed. Improvement and embellishment
began on all sides. New buildings and enterprises started up on solid
foundations, and provision was made for those who might "drop out of the
ranks," in the selection of beautiful Mount Hope, one of the loveliest
cemeteries in point of natural charm in this country. It lies on a
wooded slope between the lake and the city, and its pathways, shadowed
by the great trees from the "forest primeval," are the playgrounds for
the wild little creatures who make their homes there unmolested.
Back again into the town where the sound of the Falls is heard, and one
thinks of the odd touch a simple character has added to the traditions
of the place, and whose name, to a stranger, is so often associated with
that of Rochester. This quaint figure is none other than "Sam Patch, the
jumper," who met his fate by leaping into the Genesee at the "Falls,"
and who left as a legacy the warning maxim, "Be careful, or, like Sam
Patch, you may jump once too often." History has chronicled Sam's last
speech, delivered from the platform, just before his fatal leap; which,
as a sample of rustic oratory, is amusing.
He said: "Napoleon was a great man and a great general. He conquered
armies, and he conquered nations, but _he couldn't jump the Genesee
Falls_. Wellington was a great man and a great soldier. He conquered
armies, and he conquered nations, and he conquered Napoleon, but _he
couldn't jump the Genesee Falls_. That was left for _me_ to do, and I
can do it, and will."
Rochester, the capital of Monroe County, New York, was first settled in
1810, and incorporated as a city in 1834. It is situated on both sides
of the Genesee River, seven miles from Lake Ontario, two hundred and
fifty miles from Albany and sixty-nine from Buffalo by railway. An
aqueduct of stone carries the Erie Canal across the river, the cost of
which amounted to over half a million dollars. The city is well laid out
with wide and handsome streets, lined with shade trees.
[Illustration: VIEW OF ROCHESTER.]
Within the city limits the Genesee undergoes a sudden descent of two
hundred and sixty-eight feet, falling in three separate cataracts within
a distance of two miles. The roar of these falls is heard continually
all over the city, but no one is inconvenienced by it in the slightest
degree. The cataracts are believed to have formed, at one time, a single
fall, but the different degrees of hardness of the rocks have caused an
unequal retrograde movement of the falls, until they have assumed their
present position. At the Upper Falls, the river is precipitated
perpendicularly ninety-six feet. It then flows between nearly
perpendicular walls of rock, for about a mile and a quarter to the
Middle Falls, where it has another descent of twenty-five feet. One
hundred rods below, at the Lower Falls, it again descends eighty-four
feet, which brings the stream to the level of Lake Ontario, into which
it enters.
The immense water-power thus afforded in the centre of one of the finest
wheat-growing regions in the world, with the facilities of
transportation afforded by the Erie Canal, Lake Ontario, and the several
railways, have given a vast impulse to the prosperity of Rochester and
it has, in consequence, become one of the most important manufacturing
cities in the East. At the period of my visit, there were eighteen flour
mills in operation, grinding annually 2,500,000 bushels of wheat. The
manufacturing interests are immense--ready-made clothing being the most
extensive, and boots and shoes ranking next. Other leading manufactures
are those of iron bridges, India-rubber goods, carriages, furniture,
optical instruments, steam engines, glassware and agricultural
machinery. Of flourishing industries may be mentioned breweries, tobacco
factories, blast furnaces and fruit canning.
The largest nurseries in America are found here. Thousands of acres
within a short distance of the city are devoted to the cultivation of
fruit trees, and millions of these trees are annually shipped to other
States and foreign countries. Over $2,000,000 is the annual product of
these prolific nurseries.
The city is fast becoming a great distributing centre for coal, which is
conveyed in vessels to all points on the Great Lakes. Rochester, being
the business centre of the fertile Genesee Valley, shows a steady growth
in business and wealth. It has a magnificent system of water-works,
constructed at a cost of $3,250,000, the water being supplied from two
sources--one from the river, which is used for extinguishing fires and
running light machinery; the other from Hemlock Lake, twenty-nine miles
from the centre of the city, and four hundred feet above it. This water
is sent through sixty miles of mains, the pressure being such as to
throw from the hydrants a stream one hundred and thirty feet
perpendicularly. No city is more perfectly protected from fire.
At the corner of Main and State streets are the Powers' Buildings, a
peculiar block of stores, built of stone, glass and iron, seven stories
high. In the upper halls is a fine collection of paintings. A tower
surmounts the building, from which a fine view of the city and its
surroundings is obtained. "The Arcade" is roofed with glass and numerous
fine stores line its sides. Opposite stands the County Court House, a
handsome building of gray limestone, with a tower one hundred and
seventy-five feet high. The handsomest building in the city is, I think,
the Rochester Savings Bank, corner of Main and Fitzhugh streets. The
First Baptist, the First Presbyterian and the Catholic Cathedral of St.
Patrick are the finest church edifices.
There are twelve spacious parks here, and four elegant bridges cross the
Genesee. The Rochester University, founded by the Baptist denomination
in 1850, is located on a tract of twelve acres, a little to the east of
the city. It has a valuable library and mineralogical cabinet. The State
Reform School or Western House of Refuge for vicious boys is an imposing
edifice, containing usually about four hundred inmates. Mount Hope, the
site of the cemetery--before referred to--is a beautiful eminence
overlooking the city.
At the time of my visit, Rochester supported thirty-four newspapers and
periodicals, of which six were dailies. The population was about 90,000.
It seems that Fortune has favored the "Flour City," or at least that
wise heads and generous hearts have planned for her greatest good. It is
proper to look back into the beginnings for the keynote to success in
our American towns, and in this case, we doubtless find it in the
unselfish forethought of the first men added to its wonderful natural
resources.
A simple little incident, told of Colonel Rochester, illustrates the
principle, whose benefit others are reaping. He was working in his
garden one day, setting out fruit trees, when a neighbor came along and
stopped to chat. The Colonel said: "I do not know that I shall eat any
fruit from the trees I am planting, but as I eat from trees somebody
planted for me, I must set out trees for those who will come after me."
It was this provision for those who were to "come after" that has done
much towards making Rochester what she is to-day.
CHAPTER X.
ROCHESTER TO BUFFALO.
[Illustration: THE DISTRICT SCHOOL HOUSE.]
Thirty-fifth Day.
_Sprague House_,
CHURCHVILLE, NEW YORK,
_June 12, 1876_.
I found as I mounted _Paul_ at nine o'clock in front of the Osburn House
that on this twelfth of June, 1876, my day's ride would be a trying one
on account of the heat, but it was impossible to change the weather and
impracticable to change my plans, so I accepted the inevitable. As usual
through Central New York a number of Grand Army friends and others had
assembled to see me off, and to wish me a safe journey to the "Golden
Gate." This cordiality, shown me all along the route, took away the
sense of strangeness natural to one travelling through comparatively
unfamiliar places, and gave me an idea of the hospitality of our
American people. The pleasant good-byes over, _Paul_ and I started away
in the direction of Chili, which we reached about noon. Here I had
dinner and passed the remainder of the day, resorting again to the
evening hours for resuming my journey; and I may add that in this
instance I found "something in a name," for Chili was an admirable place
to keep cool in.
At six o'clock I started on towards Churchville, coming in sight of its
church spires a little after sunset, and lessening the distance to San
Francisco by some fifteen miles.
Notwithstanding the stop over at Chili, I was glad when we came to the
end of my journey, and must confess that as I rode into the village the
sight of the Sprague House gratified me more than the view of the
picturesque town as I saw it outlined against the evening sky.
Thirty-sixth Day.
_Byron Centre Hotel_,
BYRON CENTRE, NEW YORK,
_June Thirteenth_.
Soon after breakfast in Churchville, I threw myself into the saddle and
started for Bergen Corners, reaching it by eleven o'clock. This distance
of two miles was covered very leisurely, for there was no pressing
engagement to fill, and I could "gang my own gait." When there was
anything to attract the eye--a sightly field of grain, or change of
scene, I usually stopped to notice it and add one more impression to the
panorama which my overland journey continually spread before me. At the
"Corners" I spent a few hours quietly, if I except the slight
interruptions of the landlord of the Hooper House and his family. These
interruptions for curiosity's sake were easily pardoned by me, for
anything a little humorous and characteristic is always acceptable to
one bent on seeing life in all its phases; and besides, the softening
influence of home-made bread and other country luxuries, which were
furnished me here, tended to make me look charitably upon everything.
In the afternoon I left for Byron Centre, reaching it at six o'clock and
making eleven miles for the day. While at supper there, the guests of
the Byron Centre House were greatly amused by two itinerant
photographers who, after their day's work was done, made a practice of
entertaining the public with fife and drum. Through this cunning
advertising scheme it was my good fortune to see one of the most
interesting crowds that rustic America could bring together. These
enterprising "artist musicians" seemed to possess the magic powers of
Orpheus, for the villagers attracted by their strains came flocking from
every direction and unconsciously made up a group which would have been
irresistible to a painter, and which was certainly interesting to the
ordinary observer. The sight was an entirely novel one to me, for
although I am a New Yorker, and have seen roving concerns of almost
every description, this particular species had never come to my notice.
Through the courtesy of Charles Leonard, the proprietor of the hotel
here, I was introduced to several Byron Centre gentlemen, among them
Rev. Edwin Allen, who called just before my departure. Mr. Allen was
most cordial, and gave me a very clever idea of the place, and the
country adjacent.
Throughout my journey I was often placed under obligations of this sort.
They added to my pleasure and increased my facilities for becoming
acquainted with the people and the country.
Thirty-seventh Day.
_St. James Hotel_,
BATAVIA, NEW YORK,
_June Fourteenth_.
A delightful shower of the previous evening cooled the air, and made my
journey to Batavia exceedingly pleasant. During the day I passed some of
the finest clover and wheat fields that I had seen since leaving
Rochester. The rain may have brightened their color and made them look
their best, but regardless of this, it is evident that the soil through
this section of New York is under a very high state of cultivation, and
signs of thrift are noticeable on every hand. I found, as is generally
the case upon approaching a town, the farms more tastefully laid out,
with their wide stretches of wheat, and their pretty conventional
"kitchen gardens."
After these outskirting homes I came upon the more dignified buildings
of Batavia proper, where push and enterprise have made some striking
advances. It is quite a business town, having its share of
manufactories, banks and newspapers, and, with its population of
something over four thousand, possessing the benefits of a larger place.
It is thirty-two miles west of Rochester and thirty-seven east of
Buffalo. The State Institute for the Blind is situated here.
In the evening I lectured at Ellicott Hall, and was introduced by lawyer
L. L. Crosby, a comrade of the Grand Army, who, during the late war, was
an officer in the Fifth Michigan Cavalry. Among those who called upon
me at the St. James before the lecture was Samuel A. Lester, a
fellow-soldier of the Harris Light Cavalry, with whom I talked over many
of our experiences in Company "E" of the "Old Regiment." Nothing has
been so gratifying to me in the course of my journey, changes of scene,
or new faces, as these meetings with old comrades, and the talks of camp
and field. Separating at the close of the war, when the trying
experiences we had equally shared had drawn us strangely together, it
was natural that a glimpse of those we had known under such
circumstances should be a delight after so many years. It gave a
different phase to my journey, too, and made it not only a series of new
and pleasant changes, but an extended visit which might delight any
traveller.
[Illustration: RURAL SCENE IN CENTRAL NEW YORK.]
Thirty-eighth Day.
_Crossroads_,
NEAR CROFT'S STATION, NEW YORK,
_June Fifteenth_.
I did not find it convenient to leave Batavia until eight o'clock in the
evening, but as most of the six miles between the two places lay through
a swampy region, I had a running fight with the mosquitoes, which
encouraged me to make good time, so that I reached "Croft's" in an hour.
On my arrival I found Babcock awaiting me with accommodation provided at
a quiet little retreat situated at the Crossroads, which was hotel,
grocery and farm-house in one. This odd grocery-tavern is about half a
mile from the station; just far enough away to have peculiarities of its
own. While its proprietor was throwing down hay for _Paul_ from his
barn loft, he in some way lost his footing and fell through, but no
serious damage was done.
This little incident simply added an extra attraction to the "horse that
was going to California." In the course of the morning I went to the
hotel sitting-room to make some observations and to post my journal.
While quietly occupied in this way I noticed the arrival of several of
the men and boys of the place, who came in, seated themselves on the
wooden benches that were placed around the sides of the room, and began
unceremoniously to "look me over." Phoebe, the proprietor's daughter,
and the ruling spirit at the "Corners," a bright little maid, who filled
the offices of cook, waitress, chambermaid and clerk, assumed one of her
various roles and was standing behind the counter. Soon, one of her
rustic knights sauntered up to her, pipe in mouth, and called out,
"Pheeb, gimme a match!" Whereupon, her father, who was standing on one
side of the room, country fashion, with 'trousers over his boot-tops,
and in his shirt sleeves, stepped forward and said with admirable
dignity, "Phebe, sir!" adding, as the nonplused offender made some
bashful apology, "You's brought up well nuff, Jack, but you've forgot
some on't."
This was an unexpected turn of affairs which I scarcely expected to
witness at "Croft's," but it at least gave evidence of a certain sense
of refinement which we Americans would hardly be credited with outside
our cultivated circles. It afforded, too, food for reflection upon that
assumption of equality which in this country so often tends to
familiarity. We are prone to forget that "familiarity breeds contempt."
Thirty-ninth Day.
_Crittenden House_,
CRITTENDEN, NEW YORK,
_June Sixteenth_.
Started from "Croft's" at ten o'clock, stopping at the little post
village of Corfu for dinner, where I was introduced to several people
who had come together to greet me upon my arrival. Among them were Dr.
Fuller, Dr. John McPherson and S. E. Dutton. Dinner over, I rested until
five o'clock, resuming my journey at that hour and reaching Crittenden
at six. As I rode up to the hotel at this place I found that a number of
villagers had gathered to give me welcome, and to learn something of my
journey and its objects. I talked to them for some time and then
followed a strong inclination to walk into the country. There were no
unusual attractions about this little village of a hundred souls
excepting the cordiality of its people and the natural attraction that
there always is about a small community in the midst of thriving acres.
To one who has been "a country boy" himself, these things never lose
their charm, and he will give them the preference, I think, to the
finest sights in town.
They recall a certain old home somewhere, long since abandoned for the
charms of Vanity Fair, or a quaint little "school house" where he first
began to think about the great world beyond. They form, too, the
resting-places in the ascent of the hill of life, from the
vantage-ground of which we may review our progress since those early
days.
Fortieth Day.
_American House_,
LANCASTER, NEW YORK,
_June Seventeenth and Eighteenth_.
My ride from Crittenden to this place, a distance of ten miles, was made
in easy time owing to the oppressively warm weather; for my only aim was
to reach my destination in season to meet my lecture appointment. Found
the farmers along the route still working out their taxes on the public
roads, which were greatly in need of attention. Speaking to them as I
passed along I found that they looked rather curiously at the strange
horse and rider, doubtless wondering whence we came and whither we were
bound.
Addressed my Lancastrian audience in the Methodist Episcopal Church in
the evening, Captain G. S. Remington introducing.
Early in the morning I had found, upon going to the stable, that _Paul_
was badly cut, and there was much speculation as to how and by whom the
injury was done; but it was generally conjectured that he had had a
battle with a horse belonging to the landlord, during the night. This
horse, which was a large and powerful stallion, had recently been shod,
so that in the matter of equipment he had a decided advantage over
"_Paul Revere_," who was possibly not averse to celebrating the
anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill.
The day following my arrival at Lancaster being Sunday, Captain
Remington called for me in the morning, and I accompanied him to the
Presbyterian Church.
As we passed along on our way to church, I had a good opportunity to see
this little town on Cayuga Creek, and the added advantage of a personal
account of the place from one of its residents. Like all towns adjacent
to a large city, Lancaster has a certain air of independence, and
unmistakable signs of contact with greater forces; and besides its
pretty homes, some of them the out-of-town retreats of Buffalo business
men, it has its share of industrial enterprises.
Altogether, it is a pretty little neighbor of which any city might be
proud, and which in its peace-loving way is very sensible in standing
off at a distance from its busier sister. A few minutes by rail can take
its thousand and a half inhabitants "to town," where they find the best
that the great stores provide; and a ride of a few minutes more brings
them out of the noise to their own quiet haven.
It is hard to realize a more delightful and thoroughly restful existence
than that found in suburban villages, where the influences of active
forces are felt, but where they cannot disturb the even tranquillity.
They seem to illustrate the "golden mean" which Horace recommends, and I
find that it is always pleasant to reach such places and hard to leave
them.
[Illustration: THE ROAD TO BUFFALO.]
CHAPTER XI.
THREE DAYS AT BUFFALO.
An hour's ride from Lancaster, on the morning of the nineteenth, brought
to view the motley array of chimneys and towers that overtop the "Queen
City of the Lakes." While making my way towards them, and receiving
first impressions, my attention was attracted by a brigade drill on the
parade ground, which I halted to witness. This was the first instance
during my journey in which I had encountered any considerable body of
military men, with the exception of the Grand Army procession at Utica,
on Memorial Day. The marching and manoeuvres evinced close attention to
tactics and excellent discipline, and the equipment of officers and men
reflected much credit upon the Empire State, which has every reason to
be proud of these her citizen-soldiers.
Drill over, I rode on into Buffalo, and, soon after registering at the
Tift House, had the pleasure of meeting Major John M. Farquhar, who
introduced me to my audience at St. James Hall in the evening.
Major Farquhar is a comrade, prominent in G. A. R. circles, and was then
commander of the leading post of the city. From him I learned something
of the changes which had taken place since my last visit here, and which
I was desirous to see as much of as circumstances would allow. Buffalo
has a peculiarly rich history, and, like the old towns of the Mohawk
Valley, the romantic view which Indian life and love have given.
Near here the arrogant Eries held their councils, and deliberated upon
the downfall of their powerful neighbors of the Five Nations; who, in
turn, ruined and almost exterminated them. The chronicles tell us that
the Iroquois, coming by invitation to engage in friendly contest on the
hunting-ground of the Eries, soon discovered the real intent of the wily
"Cats," who were jealous of the renown of their red brothers. Failing in
the games they had themselves proposed, and blind with rage, they saw
their tolerant guests depart with the trophies of victory. No sooner
were they out of sight than a council of war was held, and a decision to
conquer them agreed upon. The war bonnets were donned, the dog
sacrificed, and every preparation made for a raid into the enemy's
country; but a Seneca woman who had been taken prisoner by the Eries
some years before, apprised the great chiefs of her nation of the
intended attack.
In this way the Eries were in turn surprised and defeated in their last
game with their rivals. Only a few of their warriors were left to bear
the hateful news to the women and old men who were waiting in the
wigwams: and these with their allies, terribly punished as they had been
in the encounter, were driven by their infuriated enemies beyond the
Mississippi. The Senecas, who proudly called themselves the western
gate-keepers of the "Long House," made a settlement near Buffalo, to
which they gave the musical name of Te-you-seo-wa, the place of
basswood, having found there huts covered with basswood bark, the
remnants of some lately abandoned village. This settlement was not as
near the lake-front as the city now is, but was cautiously laid out
farther back from shore to prevent surprise. Here the young braves found
a favorite hunting-ground, and were wont to conceal themselves near the
salt springs that bubble up from the border of the creek, to await the
buffaloes, which came there in herds. There has been some dispute as to
the naming of the city, and the possibility of the American bison having
frequented this part of the country, but it is generally believed that
herds of these herbivorous animals did graze on Eastern soil, and that
the attacks of carnivorous beasts and the constant warfare waged against
them by the Indians drove them to the Western plains.
Nearly two centuries ago, when the site of the present city was still a
wilderness through whose tangled labyrinths Indian eyes peered out over
the gleaming waters of the lake, La Hontan penetrated these western
wilds, and suggested to his sovereign the building of a fort here, as a
safeguard against the Iroquois.
We see almost instinctively the scenes which he saw as we follow him
through lake and stream--the great falls sparkling beneath an August
sun, their wild surroundings unmarred and untrodden save by moccasined
feet; the rapids and then the river, to whose current, farther up, he
trusted his boat. But it was not until long after this that the sound
of the woodman's axe was heard in the forests at the foot of Lake Erie,
when the pioneer had come to make his home, and to lay the foundation of
a future city.
One after another crude cabins were raised, and in turn were replaced by
more comfortable houses, so that in 1813 the settlement was large enough
to make quite a bonfire for the British and their dusky allies. The
events which took place at Buffalo, connected with this war, were
singularly exciting; and, although there were brave hearts and stout
arms ready to defend their country, we cannot but regret the peculiar
circumstances which led to the general havoc here.
Historians have gleaned such glowing descriptions from those who were
either witnesses or participants in these stirring scenes, that we
cannot fail to be moved by them.
The night surprise, in the woods, near Black Rock, when the American
troops were suddenly greeted by ambushed Britons: the rout which
followed when the terrified horsemen dashed back in retreat through the
ranks of the infantry, demoralizing them in turn, is so vividly drawn
that it has the reality of later times. Afterwards when the alarmed
people heard the cry that the British were coming, and we see them in
confused masses trying to escape with their household goods, we
sympathize with their terror as they saw in the distance the dreaded
Indian jogging towards them with club and hatchet.
It was then that Job Hoysington, who was with one of the retreating
parties, lingered behind his companions, saying that he would have "one
more shot at the Red Skins." He evidently did have the coveted chance,
and so did the enemy, for when the snow melted in the spring the brave
fellow was found with his empty musket at his side, and a bullet through
his brain. The work of vengeance had been completed with the
scalping-knife. At the corner of Main and Niagara streets an old
twelve-pounder stood. As the imposing column of British infantry were
advancing upon the town, a patriotic citizen had the gun mounted and two
shots fired into the ranks. He afterwards met the enemy with a flag of
truce--a handkerchief tied to his cane--and requested a halt.
This was granted, and a parley begun, while the townspeople were
escaping.
The firing of the houses and the plundering of them by the Indians
followed. Buffalo rose, however, from her ashes full of new life and
ambition, and much improved in appearance. Her firesides were again the
scene of happy security, and her women, lately fugitives, fleeing in
terror from fire and sword, were again the social inspirations of a
thriving community. More than this, they were contributing to the
enterprises of the city, for in 1821 between three and four thousand
yards of cloth were woven in the homes of Buffalo!
The Erie Canal being completed in 1822, and commerce beginning in
earnest, no doubt took away from the importance of the spinning-wheel
and loom, for these busy little machines of the past have been stored
away in the garrets long enough to make them well-seasoned relics.
Housewifely attention at this time had to be turned to the management of
larger establishments, for Buffalo had far outgrown her infancy, and
was assuming certain new conceits in architecture, although she has
never equalled the splendor of other large cities in her public
buildings. The new City and County Hall approaches more nearly to the
modern idea, and is very attractive within and without. It is built of
Maine granite in the form of a double Roman cross, and is surmounted by
a lofty tower bearing four symbolic figures. With the increase of canal
and railroad traffic, the building of the immense grain elevators, which
are a striking feature of Buffalo, was commenced.
Their number and size have been increased to such an extent that they
almost make a town in themselves and are capable of accommodating eight
million bushels of grain. The incessant work of storing and transferring
is carried on about these wooden giants day after day, sometimes to the
extent of more than three million bushels, while, at their feet, boats
come and go in the great commercial game of "give and take." There is
every facility for carrying on a trade of this kind, for Buffalo River
is navigable for more than two miles from its mouth, which is protected
by breakwaters which form an excellent harbor, while there is a
water-front on the lake and the Niagara River five miles long. In 1869,
the United States Government began the construction of an outside
harbor, by building a breakwater 4000 feet long fronting the entrance of
the Buffalo River.
Overlooking Buffalo River stand the office buildings whence come the
calculating and controlling influences that keep in "clock work" order
this mart where grain is "received, transferred, stored and forwarded
with greater dispatch than in any other port of the country." Beyond
these, in the heart of the city, are the retail and wholesale stores,
where not only Buffalo finds her wants supplied, but numberless sister
towns; and owing to her close proximity to the great coal region of
Pennsylvania, she has very cheap fuel, which, no doubt, is a convenient
item when a "cold wave" comes across the lake. Her iron works, reputed
to be the largest in the country, add to her general good fortune by
putting within easy access the necessary stoves.
Besides all this material comfort, the climate is extremely healthful,
and the location of the city such as to make clean, wide streets a
possibility.
There are several of these lined with handsome residences, and adorned
with parks, which are wisely thought to be an indispensable luxury.
In the midst of the business hurry there are several quiet corners where
one may quench his thirst for knowledge, and where master-thinkers lend
their potent influence. One of these is the Grosvenor Library, the
munificent gift of one of Buffalo's pioneers. It is admirably arranged
for convenience and comfort, and has a pleasant outlook over a little
park between Washington and Main streets. The Library of the Young Men's
Association, although containing nearly twice as many volumes as the
Grosvenor, is not so largely frequented, but is, nevertheless, a great
resort for readers. There are also a number of smaller libraries, where
eager minds may have their fill of books.
Here and there about the city one finds the familiar evidences of
Christian thought and work in the beautiful tower-capped churches, each
with its own varied attractions. St. Paul's Cathedral--Episcopalian--a
handsome structure of brownstone, ivy-grown and picturesque, from whose
walls in summer comes the sound of birds, lies almost centrally among a
hundred others, and not far away is the Roman Catholic house of worship,
the dignified bit of Gothic architecture which they have named St.
Joseph's.
One of my favorite haunts here is the quiet, carpetless "Historical
Rooms," from whose walls the Indian warriors who helped make Buffalo's
history look down in unchanging stolidity. Not least among these is Red
Jacket, who forms such a striking figure in the city's traditions. An
amusing incident which his picture recalls is that of Lafayette on his
return from his Western tour in 1824. Among the preparations that were
being made for his reception was the guarding, by an especial committee,
of their "aboriginal lion," who was a trifle too fond of his "firewater"
and who was to be the leading orator of the day. When the appointed time
arrived, so the story goes, the sachem was led upon the platform in all
his conscious dignity. A long conversation between him and the great
Frenchman followed, through an interpreter, whom Red Jacket employed
upon formal occasions; in the course of which the Indian complimented
the General upon his youthful appearance. "Time has left you a fresh
countenance, and hair to cover your head," said he, "while as for
me--see!" and he took off the scarf that was wound about his own bald
crown. This provoked a laugh among the spectators who knew that
Lafayette wore a wig. When Red Jacket was made aware of the fact, he
added with ready wit that he too might supply himself with a new head
of hair by the aid of a scalping-knife!
Everything upon the walls and in the cases has been donated by private
individuals, as the society has not yet been able to make valuable
purchases, but there is enough already to make this treasure-house of
the past interesting. Relics from pioneer times figure largely; among
the rest, arrow-heads and tomahawks, pipes and belts of wampum, adding
to the odd collection, and suggesting all manner of horrors to those who
delight in Indian history.
"Forest Lawn," the place which Buffalo has selected for her dead, is a
most lovely spot, the loveliest of its kind between Brooklyn's Greenwood
and Chicago. Everything that art could do in the arrangement of shrub
and flower has been added, and stands as a tribute to those who are
"lying low" and as a witness to the faithful thought of the living. It
is only one of the beautiful tokens of devotion which one sees, from the
simple epitaph in a country graveyard in the East to the solitary
resting-place, high in some tree-top of the West, where our Red Brother
"sleeps his last sleep."
Adjoining the Cemetery are a few acres of woodland that have been set
aside for a kind of park. On warm summer days those seeking rest and
pleasure, come to pay their respects to Dame Nature, who makes herself
very attractive here. But this is only one, and a comparatively small
one, of the various resorts where tired humanity may drop its burden,
and roam at will. So Buffalo has her grave and her gay side, and her
business side, which is neither grave nor gay, making their different
impressions on the traveller's eye, and combining, as a whole, in a
very pleasing effect. She has made and will make some very striking
changes, as all cities of consequence do; but changes worthy of the
"Queen City of the Lakes," who, although she may have to relinquish her
title to some outstripping sister, may always hold her head high with
conscious importance. She is still the third city in the State of New
York in point of population.
CHAPTER XII.
BUFFALO TO CLEVELAND.
Forty-fourth Day.
_North Evans Hotel,_
NORTH EVANS, NEW YORK,
_June 23, 1876._
It had been my intention to leave the "Queen City" on the afternoon of
the twenty-first, but I was delayed by my advance agents, who required
more time to arrange the preliminaries of my lectures between Buffalo
and Cleveland. Babcock went forward to Dunkirk. Farrington to Erie,
while it was decided that my brother should accompany me as far as
Angola. There were other reasons too, for a longer sojourn at Buffalo,
as it was here I met my wife for the last time during my journey, and we
had decided that it would be impracticable to meet again before my
return from San Francisco. While I anticipated a pleasant and
uninterrupted journey, she had some misgivings as to my ride across the
Plains, and tried at the last to dissuade me, but I was sanguine of the
outcome and thoroughly determined to continue, at any odds, a journey so
delightfully begun. At eight o'clock, therefore, on the morning of the
twenty-second, I returned the parting salute of my wife and friends, and
rode away. Turning into North Division street, I went out to Main, down
Main to Ohio, and out Ohio to the Buffalo Road. Soon after passing the
city limits, I saw Lake Erie, and leaving the highway rode down to the
beach and into the water, giving _Paul_ his first drink from the great
inland sea, along whose shores we were to spend several days, and in
which I and my faithful friend would doubtless quench our thirst many
times. After this little diversion I pushed forward for thirteen miles
and a half, which brought us to Lake View. After stopping here a few
moments I rode on to North Evans. In this little village of something
over a hundred inhabitants, my peace was in no wise disturbed and I was
able to pass the day in comparative seclusion, thinking over the three
days at Buffalo and anticipating the journey to Cleveland.
Forty-fifth Day.
_Angola, House_,
ANGOLA, NEW YORK,
_June Twenty-fourth_.
The ride from North Evans to Angola was most delightful, carrying me as
it did, along the shore of Lake Erie, which for the most part was
plainly seen from the turnpike. The exhilarating breeze from over the
water was in pleasing contrast to the intense heat which was felt in
Central New York, and I found my appetite sharpening under its brisk
influence. The eye had a continual feast of lake and field stretching
off on either side, and as I rode along enjoying their diverse
beauties, my only regret was that I had no companion at this time with
whom I might share the pleasure.
To my right lay the shining lake, reflecting every change of cloud and
sky; in front the Shore Road, and to my left as far as the eye could
reach, rich green fields returning the salutation of sunny June. Easy
travelling brought me into Angola in the early morning, as it is only
six miles from North Evans. Here an unfortunate circumstance is
identified with the name of the town, owing to a serious railroad
disaster that occurred some years ago, in which many lives were lost;
but one's attention is easily diverted from such thoughts upon entering
the town. Several manufactories give it a wide-awake tone, and keep a
good share of its five hundred inhabitants busy.
A small stream, known as Big Sister Creek, runs through the place and
thence winds its way to the lake, three-quarters of a mile distant. This
"Big Sister" adds a pretty touch to the matter-of-fact little village,
while its pebbly bed is a charmed spot for young Angolans. Soon after my
arrival here, J. S. Parker, formerly of Northern New York, called to see
me, and I discovered that he knew many of my old acquaintances in St.
Lawrence County. An hour was spent in pleasant conversation with him,
during the course of which boyhood days at Gouverneur and along the
Oswegatchie were discussed. I strolled about town in the afternoon,
looking for "characteristics," and in the evening lectured in the Town
Hall, the introduction being made by Leroy S. Oatman.
[Illustration: A JUVENILE PICNIC.]
Forty-sixth and Forty-seventh Days.
_Eastern Hotel_,
DUNKIRK, NEW YORK,
_June 25 & 26_.
The road between Angola and Dunkirk led me through one of the most
picturesque and productive counties of the State, which at this time
promised well for the haymakers who were busy in their ripened fields.
Hitherto the successive and varied scenes along my route had in turn won
my admiration, from the pleasant ride across Massachusetts and over the
Berkshires to the Mohawk Valley and Western New York, but these grain
fields in their golden harvest-time and the glimpses of the lake which
the tortuous course of the road now and then afforded, were certainly as
lovely as anything I had seen thus far. I had noticed that the haying
season was well advanced when I was passing through Central New York,
but owing to the retarding influence which a large body of water always
exerts over vegetation, it had been delayed here. Fourteen miles through
this pretty section of Erie and Chautauqua counties brought me to
Dunkirk, where I lectured at Columbus Hall in the evening, and was
introduced to my audience by Rev. J. A. Kummer. The following day being
Sunday, I had another opportunity of meeting this gentleman, as he
kindly accompanied me in the morning to the Methodist Church, of which
he was pastor. During the services, in which I found myself very much
interested, there was an opportune moment to study a character which I
found to be a thoroughly original one. Mr. Kummer was very
enthusiastic about the building of a new church which was much needed,
and had been trying to fire his parishioners with the zeal which he
himself felt. On this particular morning he made an appeal for
co-operation and funds, and then asked for a generous offering. The good
people of the congregation had hardly warmed to the subject, and their
response was rather feeble. Another collection was made with somewhat
better results, but still the amount was not raised by half. At last Mr.
Kummer, who no doubt believed that the end justified the means, faced
his people and said playfully, yet with evident determination, "Now I am
going to order the doors bolted, that none may leave the house until
this matter is settled!" In less than ten minutes the two thousand
dollars necessary was obtained by donation or subscription, and the
zealous clergyman looked down upon his people in happy approval. The
scene was the most unusual one of the kind which I had ever witnessed,
and I was tempted to applaud the generalship which won the situation.
Dr. Kummer afterward gave me quite a lively description of his field, in
which he had become much interested.
Lying on rising ground just within a little bay, at whose western
extremity a lighthouse stands, Dunkirk forms a natural port of refuge in
bad weather, and although in comparison with Buffalo its commercial
importance seems rather insignificant, there is quite a brisk trade
carried on by ship and by rail. Three lines centre here, connecting it
with the East and West, and with the coal and oil regions of
Pennsylvania, while the incoming and outgoing vessels are continually
plying back and forth with their valuable cargoes. In fact, as I soon
discovered, my clerical friend was not too severe in demanding a sum for
his new church which the people must have been well able to contribute.
Forty-eighth Day.
_Minton House_,
WESTFIELD, NEW YORK,
_June Twenty-seventh_.
Continued on the Shore Road from Dunkirk, having left that city at ten
o'clock in the morning. While stopping a few minutes for dinner at
Fredonia, a pretty little village three miles from Dunkirk, I saw for
the first time during my journey quite extensive vineyards. The region
is famous besides for its garden seeds, hence the people have their
share of fruit and vegetables. Found the farmers of this entire section
largely engaged in fruit culture, which seems to be a very successful
enterprise. Apples and grapes are sent away to other points, and no
doubt supply in a measure the breweries and distilleries of Dunkirk. In
looking at the handsome vines already borne down by heavy burdens, the
thought occurred to me of the corrupt uses to which they would be put,
and the havoc they would bring into human lives. The great bunches, not
yet ripe, but promising a splendid harvest, looked tempting enough to
one who had only seen them on fruit stands, or in market thrown together
in unartistic confusion.
Reached Westfield in the evening, having made twenty-two miles for the
day. Owing to my late arrival, I saw very little of the place, but
understand that it has quite large manufacturing interests, a lively
trade, two good schools for its young people: and that unfailing sign of
prosperity--a newspaper. I recalled here, another Westfield, many miles
away in Massachusetts, which I passed early in May. The two places
appeared as unlike as possible, which was due, no doubt, to one being in
the "Bay," and the other in the "Empire" State, which some travellers
will concede makes quite a difference.
Forty-ninth Day.
_Haynes House_,
NORTH-EAST, PENNSYLVANIA,
_June Twenty-eighth_.
Rode away from Westfield at ten in the morning, halting just beyond the
village at the pretty home of W. N. Allen, where I passed a very
pleasant half-hour. While looking after the interests of a large farm,
Mr. Allen and his family were very much interested in art matters, and
showed me several valuable paintings which they had recently purchased.
I was delighted to find such refinement and taste, for one is apt to
believe that where people are not in direct intercourse with congenial
elements, they are apt to lose their interest in the arts. As I looked
over their well-kept acres, and model buildings, I thought of the
influence such lives must exert over the community in which they are
passed. On my way toward North East, I passed again through a fine fruit
region, stopping for dinner at a little hamlet known as State Line.
[Illustration: A COTTAGE ON THE HILLSIDE.]
At first the prospects for the "inner man" looked rather doubtful, as I
came up to the solitary State Line House, but a few moments' search
brought me to the landlord, who was hoeing in a cornfield, and my wants
were soon supplied. By five o'clock I was riding into the borough of
North-East, where I found a number of people awaiting me. Upon
dismounting, I learned that I was announced to lecture in the Town Hall
that evening. This was a surprise, but I was ready to comply. The
village band escorted me after supper to the hall, taking a position in
front of the audience, and giving us "Hail Columbia" before, and "The
Sword of Bunker Hill" after the lecture. The hall was so crowded that
many were compelled to stand, and if hearty applause is an evidence of
satisfaction, I may consider my effort to entertain the North-Easters a
success. Captain Bronson Orton, a lawyer of the place, made the
introduction, and I afterwards had a chat with him about experiences in
Georgia, as he was with Sherman's army during its march from Atlanta to
the Sea, and was quite familiar with many of its incidents. I too had
followed the great strategist through that State, although in a very
different capacity; it having been my lot to drop into the rear of his
conquering legions during my escape from Southern prisons. The trying
circumstances which I passed through, when I evaded the guard at
Sylvania, the cautious tramps by day, and vigilance by night, in the
friendly swamps, came back after the intervening twelve years, with all
the vividness of yesterday. I related my experiences with the negroes
and, meeting with good old March Dasher, who led me rejoicing into
the Federal camp.
None of the events of those exciting days escaped my memory, and the
chance of talking them over, with one of the men who had been with
Sherman, was a rare pleasure. In the course of our conversation, we
touched upon Captain Orton's present home, which is in a very pretty
corner of the "Keystone" State, and which apparently has reached the
golden mean between business and pleasure. Its residence portion
suggests ideal comfort, while its office-buildings and stores are built
upon a substantial and convenient plan.
Fiftieth Day.
_Reed House_,
ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA,
_June Twenty-ninth_.
Upon my arrival at Erie, I was pleasantly surprised to find a letter
from Colonel F. H. Ellsworth, proposing to make me his guest at the Reed
House during my stay in that city. I gladly availed myself of his kind
invitation, and although my time there was necessarily short, I had,
through the thoughtful interest of my host, every opportunity to see the
city, and to hear something of its development.
Through Erie, Pennsylvania comes in contact with the great commercial
interests of the Lakes, and although she only holds a small share of the
valuable shore line, there is every advantage for reaping a large
benefit. The harbor is most perfect, being protected by a strip of land
known as "Presque Isle," and which, long before the persistent waves
wore away its southern end, was connected with the mainland. Two
lighthouses stand at its entrance, and guide the night traveller to one
of the prettiest ports in this part of the country, while from the
bluffs on which the town is built shine myriads of answering lights. The
streets are wide and regular and lead to many handsome homes, which they
say will bear comparison with the finest on the Lakes. Several parks
relieve the monotony of brick and stone, and add to the sightliness of
the place.
Besides her present importance as representative of her State on the
great inland seas, Erie has had her share on the page of history since
1795; among her proudest annals being the departure from her port of
Oliver Hazard Perry, who went in 1813 to meet the English in the
splendid naval action which has made his name famous. There are many
memorials of this engagement among the city's relics, which bring back
the reality of those stirring times more forcibly perhaps than the
volumes describing them.
Like Buffalo, Erie's leading enterprises are her iron works, where
stoves, machinery and steam engines are made. Large quantities of coal
and petroleum, the contributions from Pennsylvania, are sent here for
shipment, and form a good share of the varied products which make their
way through the large water channels to different parts of the United
States. Her educational system is excellent and there are nearly half a
hundred public schools, which offer quite good advantages to the
children who help make her population of nearly twenty-five thousand.
Erie undoubtedly has a bright future before her, which her rapid
increase in population since 1870 predicts, and she may, in a measure,
balance the power in the opposite corner of the State, where the "City
of Brotherly Love" reigns supreme. Having seen so much of the place as
time would allow, and heard its story from those who knew it best, I
ended the day by lecturing at the Academy of Music, Hon. C. B. Curtis
introducing.
Fifty-first Day.
_Farm House_,
SWANVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA,
_June Thirtieth_.
Passed a very busy morning at Erie attending to business correspondence
with advance agents, making notes, and with the assistance of Mr.
Farrington brought my scrap-book up to date. I called also upon a few
old acquaintances whom I had known in the East, and whose faces were a
welcome surprise at this stage of my journey. The editor of the Erie
_Dispatch_ called after dinner and spent an hour with me in a general
discussion of the incidents of my trip since leaving Boston, which had
been, however, more pleasant than exciting. In this way the afternoon
slipped by, and it was not until five o'clock that I found myself ready
to leave Colonel Ellsworth's hospitable roof. Had I not been fully
determined to make some headway before night, the cordial request of my
host that I stay longer with him might have dissuaded me at the last
from starting so late, but I resisted the inclination, and having bade
good-bye to my newly-made friends put spurs to _Paul_, who soon carried
me far beyond the city limits on the road to Swanville. I had long
since learned that in a case of this kind, the charms of hospitality,
like those of Circe, were fatal to the interests of him who heeded. Made
the eight and a half miles to Swanville in fair time, and was soon
settled for the night at the home of John Joseph Swan, an old resident
and pioneer, after whom the hamlet is named.
Fifty-second Day.
_Farm House_,
SWANVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA,
_July First_.
Was compelled to remain in this place two days on account of my lecture
appointment for Girard, and was singularly fortunate in having cast my
lot with the Swans, who were untiring in their efforts to make my stay
agreeable. The head of the family was eighty-three years old and quite
patriarchal in appearance. From him I learned something of their
military record, which reaches over quite an extended period of our
country's history, and which makes a noble background for the peace and
comfort they now enjoy. Mr. Swan's father was a captain of militia in
pioneer days, and his son Andrew was a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry
during the late war. He was a participant himself in the war of 1812,
and both he and his father were pensioners. In fact they have grown up
with the country, having shared its trials and its triumphs. Mr. Swan
was one of the earliest settlers in Erie County, and although more than
half a century had passed since he had settled there, this veteran still
remembered and vividly described the scenes and events of those
stirring times. He saw the first steamer launched on the lake and said
it was regarded as an evil omen by the Indians, who called it "The
Devil's Canoe" and who ran frightened from the shore at its approach.
His stories were most amusing, and their personal narration gave them a
freshness which was untiring. While I was with these people, I had the
pleasure of meeting Miss Eliza Swan, a talented daughter of the family,
who had just returned from Paris, where she had been studying under
Jules Le Fevre, the well-known painter. Among her better productions I
was especially pleased with her portrait from life of an old man, for
which she was awarded a medal by Peter Cooper.
Fifty-third Day.
_Central House_,
GIRARD, PENNSYLVANIA,
_July Second_.
Took a walk with Mr. Swan over his farm in the morning, looking at his
stock and grain and quietly admiring the thrift and enterprise
everywhere apparent. The comfort and refinement of these country homes
had made a strong impression, and I became quite enthusiastic over the
American farmer. My host took especial pleasure in showing me the
changes which half a century had wrought upon his premises, and which
certainly were surprising. It was difficult to realize that the fields
which we were viewing had, within the memory of my companion, been
transformed from a wilderness to cultivated acres. While strolling over
the farm, the sky became clouded and by noon a torrent of rain deluged
Swanville. Owing to this caprice of the elements, I was unable to leave
until three o'clock in the afternoon. Made the six miles and a half
between the two places in easy time. As I rode into town I was greeted
by the Girard Brass Band, which, while it amused me, rather surprised
_Paul_, who during our "triumphal procession" to the Central House did a
little "dancing," greatly to the delight of the onlookers.
After lecturing at the Town Hall in the evening, where I was introduced
by Jacob Bender, editor of the _Cosmopolite_, I was serenaded at my
hotel by the indefatigable band, which certainly made me feel welcome. I
was sorry that the limitations put upon my time by appointments ahead
allowed me so small an opportunity to meet the people, and get a better
idea of their occupations. I should have liked to visit the lumber and
brick yards, which are the chief enterprise, but was obliged to content
myself with only a "cursory glance," as our newspaper friends say. The
soil of the region is almost entirely composed of clay, and is thus
peculiarly adapted to the manufacture of brick.
Fifty-fourth Day.
_Fisk House_,
ASHTABULA, OHIO,
_July Third_.
A bright sun and clear blue sky gave promise of an exceedingly pleasant
day, as I seated myself in the saddle at Girard at eight o'clock.
Before leaving I bade good-bye to Mr. Farrington, who had been with me
from Boston, but who now found it necessary to return to his home at
Elmira, New York, owing to business interests there. I regretted
exceedingly his retirement, as he had rendered invaluable service in
connection with my lectures, and had been a most genial and
companionable fellow-traveller, whenever circumstances brought us
together along the route.
I found the people everywhere engaged in preparations for the Centennial
Fourth, which, as it was to be one of our greatest holidays, was to be
celebrated with unusual enthusiasm. Owing to the excitement which
prevailed, and to the fact that almost every man and woman was employed
upon some active committee, I decided to waive my lecture at Ashtabula,
and enter into the public demonstration. The Rev. Mr. Fisher, who had
intended introducing me to my audience at this place, came to see me at
the Fisk House soon after my arrival, and talked of the arrangements
that were being made for the morrow. In the evening I called upon Rev.
L. W. Day and had a chat with him about Ashtabula. The town is the
capital of Ashtabula County, and lies at the mouth of a small river of
the same name, in the midst of a good farming district. The principal
products are wheat, maple sugar and those of the dairy. The chief
interests of the town are its manufactures, which I understand are quite
important.
As in all such towns, the population is varied. The combination of the
farming and manufacturing elements gives a decidedly picturesque
aspect.
Fifty-fifth Day.
_Farm House_,
NEAR PAINESVILLE, OHIO,
_July Fourth_.
This day has been indeed the greatest holiday in the history of the
United States. Such grand preparations and such lavish display have
probably never been witnessed before on this continent, and although I
chanced to be in a comparatively obscure corner of the Republic, I found
the prevailing sentiment as deep as though I were in one of the great
centres. I doubt if there was sleep for anyone during the preceding
night, for the wildest excitement was manifested, and the dawn of the
Centennial Fourth was presaged by the booming of cannon, the blowing of
engine whistles, the ringing of bells and discharge of firearms of every
conceivable calibre and description.
The townspeople were stirring at an early hour, and although I had found
very little rest, I was in the saddle by nine o'clock. A thunder-shower
overtook me about noon, thanks to the generous use of gunpowder, and I
took shelter under a tree, from whence I was invited to dinner by Daniel
Flower, a neighboring farmer. With him and his family I passed a
comfortable hour, and then moved forward in the direction of
Painesville.
[Illustration: HAYING IN NORTHERN OHIO.]
Toward evening I reined up in front of an inviting-looking house--a
feature which the traveller soon learns to observe--and asked one of the
farm hands if Mr. Lee was at home. Before the man had time to answer, a
young girl came running down the path toward the gate, saying, "Are
you Captain Glazier?" I acknowledged that I was that humble person,
whereupon Miss Lee asked me to dismount and "come right in," while Jack
would take care of the horse. Her father and mother had gone to
Cleveland in the morning, to celebrate the Fourth, and were expected
back the same night. The little lady insisted upon my stopping
overnight, and bustled about with all the importance of a housewife in
preparing supper. I naturally felt some hesitation in accepting her
invitation to remain all night, but she insisted that I be her guest,
and made every effort to amuse me. After tea, I was ushered into the
parlor, where my hostess soon joined me, saying that I was her "very
first caller" and that she was going to entertain me "the best she knew
how." Suiting the action to the word, she took her place at the piano,
and began to play some national airs suitable to the occasion; but as
the evening slipped away I began to feel the effects of the day's ride,
and begged to be allowed to retire. This, however, the young lady seemed
at first disinclined to do, asking me to wait for her father and mother,
but finally I insisted as gently as possible; so she showed me to my
room herself, wishing me a hearty good-night. Dawn was ushered in by the
rattling of milk pans and the creaking of a pump under my window, so,
knowing that further rest was out of the question, I dressed and went
downstairs, where I met Mr. and Mrs. Lee. I found them very kindly
people, and knew that their daughter had inherited from them her share
of good nature. That odd little miss was up at the first cock-crow, and
was waiting to bid me good-morning. As I was about to mount _Paul_
after breakfast, she asked the privilege of a ride on him, and, bounding
into the saddle, galloped down the road with the grace of an Indian.
When she bade me good-bye at the gate, where her father and mother were
standing to see me off, she asked me in her unsophisticated way to
remember her as my "Centennial girl," which I solemnly promised to do,
and as I looked back from the road I could see her waving her
handkerchief as a parting salute.
Fifty-sixth Day.
_Farm House_,
NEAR WICKLIFFE, OHIO,
_July Fifth_.
Starting rather late from Painesville, a town just beyond Mr. Lee's, and
riding leisurely during the day, I found it necessary to keep to the
road until dark, in order to place myself as near to Cleveland as
possible, before halting. Reached Willoughby, the seat of a Methodist
College, nineteen miles east of Cleveland, just before sundown, where I
was tempted to stay over night, knowing that to ride farther would be
gloomy and uninteresting, but in my eagerness to reach the "Forest
City," towards which I had looked for several days, I pressed forward.
[Illustration: JUST OUT OF CLEVELAND.]
As there was no hotel at Wickliffe, I passed through the little hamlet
of that name and secured lodgings at the farm house of Thomas Lloyd, an
old settler of Lake County, and a very large land-owner. He told me the
history of his pioneer life in this section of Ohio, and of his start in
the pursuit of a fortune, which gave me a bit of the early history of
Ohio from another standpoint. It may seem odd that during the "flying
visits" which I sometimes paid to these small places, there was
opportunity to hear anything about them, but country folk are accustomed
to early rising, and as I learned the art, years ago, of waking with the
birds, I very often joined my host, and had a chat with him before
breakfast. The settlement near which I stayed overnight is six miles
west of Willoughby, which brought me within thirteen miles of Cleveland.
It boasts of nothing more than the necessary blacksmith shop and
"store," and "looks up to" its big neighbor with due reverence. It lies
in the fertile county of Lake, a northeastern corner of Ohio, measuring
some two hundred and sixty square miles, of which a large portion is
covered with forest, and whose surface is generally hilly or
undulating.
CHAPTER XIII.
FIVE DAYS AT CLEVELAND.
Found a good night's rest at the quiet farm-house of the Lloyds, on the
night of the fifth, and after an early breakfast on the following
morning called for my horse and started for Cleveland. On my way out,
near Wickliffe, I overtook a troop of girls on their way to school. One
of them, a bright-faced little maid, giving her name as Ettie Warren,
and saying she was a granddaughter of Mr. Lloyd, asked me to accept a
bouquet, which had no doubt been intended for her teacher. It was a mass
of gay colors, which had been gathered from the home garden, and its
huge proportions quite appalled me. However, I accepted it with mock
gravity, and as she and her small companions kept beside me, I could
overhear a whispered conversation of very secret import, which resolved
itself into the question, "Do you like apples, mister?" I confessed my
fondness for the fruit, and was soon the chagrined possessor of a
pocketful of green ones, which this sunburned little daughter of Eve
generously offered. Before riding into town I was obliged to consign
these gifts to the roadside, but not without a certain guilty feeling,
and sympathy for the cheated school ma'am.
Passed through the village of Mentor, a pleasant little place six miles
from Cleveland, the home of Hon. J. A. Garfield, then an Ohio
Congressman.
Noting much excitement as I approached Euclid, I dismounted to learn the
cause, and found it was due to a rumor that General Custer and his
entire command had been massacred by Indians. The source of this
information made it appear reliable, and yet comparatively few were
disposed to believe it. My long association with the General during the
War of the Rebellion led me to take the thought of his death very much
to heart, although I was yet unwilling to credit what I had heard. At
the Forest City House, whither I had been escorted by a delegation of G.
A. R. friends, the truth of the report was discussed, and the deepest
regret manifested, should such a fate have befallen the brave
cavalryman.
In the evening I lectured at Garrett's Hall, where Major E. M. Hessler
introduced me. Later, in behalf of a number of citizens, the Major
proposed a banquet in my honor, but this I felt justified in declining,
owing to imperative duties in connection with my journey. The rest of my
time here was passed in looking about the city, and in talking with some
of the "Forest City" people, who are pardonably proud of their home on
Lake Erie. This part of the State was a great hunting-ground for the
Indians in former days, who came to make war on the bear and beaver.
They started eastward in the autumn and paddled down the lake, entire
villages at a time, to the mouth of the Cuyahoga River, on whose banks
they piled their birch canoes and then scattered through the
neighboring forests. Returning in the spring to a small cabin which had
been built near their landing-place by the Northwestern Fur Company,
they disposed of their spoils, and when their business with their white
brothers was over, re-embarked for their summer homes on the Maumee and
Sandusky.
When General Moses Cleveland came with a surveying party in 1796 to lay
out the site of the chief city of the "Reserve" for the Connecticut Land
Company, the cabin of the fur-traders was still standing, but was in too
dilapidated a condition to be of use. Two more cabins were therefore
raised, one for the party, and the other for Job Stiles, and his wife
Tabitha, who was housekeeper. When the plans were finished the woman of
the settlement found herself the possessor of one city lot, one ten-acre
lot, and one one hundred-acre lot, a donation from the directors and
stockholders of the company, made no doubt in consideration of her
services, and from the fact that she was the first white woman to take
up her abode on the new ground. Two more gifts of the valuable land were
made, one to Nathaniel Doane, the company's blacksmith, who had kept
their pack-mules shod, and the other to James Kingsbury and his wife,
the first who emigrated independently to the Reserve. Within eighty
years the worth of this property had increased surprisingly, but the
first owners had long since ceased to care for worldly goods, and the
land had been resold many times. Buildings that would have astonished
those early folk had replaced their simple cabins, and thousands of
strange feet were treading in their old haunts.
For several years, in fact until the opening of the Ohio Canal in 1834,
the population of Cleveland increased very slowly. A year after the
survey, the homes "under the hill" along the right bank of the Cuyahoga
had to be removed to the ridge, for even at that time fever and ague
began to trouble the settlers. This disagreeable malady, wittily
personified as "Ague-agueshakershake,"--the God of Lake Erie--was a
continual bugbear and made yearly attacks upon the families. So
widespread was the reputation it had gained that a stranger stopping at
Buffalo, then a rival port, was told that if he went to Cleveland he
"would not live over night." On the highlands the exposure was much
less, and soon all the cabins were built there. Then they began to
spread out along the ridge toward the east, in the direction of Euclid,
following the line of the Euclid Road, which even then was a popular
place on which to have a section and build. In 1801, the first well in
Cleveland was dug on this thoroughfare, and was walled in with stones
which the Indians had left from their wigwam fireplaces. Two years later
Connecticut ceded her Western Reserve, which she had held under an old
charter, to the General Government and the chief city transferred her
allegiance to the new State of Ohio.
Gradually the settlement spread out into the surrounding country, where
ambitious hamlets, having enjoyed their brief season of independence,
ultimately cast their fortune with the larger city, and became a sharer
in its triumphs. One of these, which had attained more importance than
the rest, had started up on the opposite bank of the Cuyahoga, and
assumed the bravado of a rival. Cleveland made several advances to her
which were met with coolness, and at last both villages applied for
charters; the one on the left bank receiving hers first and glorying in
her new name of "Ohio City." Again Cleveland besought a conciliation and
tried to persuade the independent little rival neighbor to change her
name, and become one with her, but with ill success. As time wore on,
however, population decreased on the left shore and increased on the
right, and signs of union became apparent from the fact that "Ohio City"
reached out to the southeast, while Cleveland met her half-way by
extending toward the southwest. We are not sure how matters were
arranged between the two rivals when the final step was taken, but at
any rate it was a felicitous event, and now that the coveted neighbor
has become the West Side, some Clevelanders find it difficult to
determine which is the "better-half."
In those early days before the railroads reached her, this new Ohio town
was obliged to look about for other means of transportation, and we hear
of one of her pioneers establishing a boat yard in the woods a mile and
a half from the lake. Here the engineer cut his timber and carried out
his plan for the first boat built at Cleveland. The framework was raised
in a clearing of the forest, from whence a rough road led to the water,
and in this wild but convenient spot the schooner was finished, and
ready to be introduced to the world as "The Pilot." The farmers of the
surrounding country were invited to assist in the launching and
accordingly came into town on the all-important day, with their oxen, to
haul the craft down to the shore. The ceremony was greeted with
resounding cheers, and Levi Johnson received his first congratulations
from his fellow-townsmen. This was in 1814. He afterwards built a
steamboat and gave it the name of one of his own characteristic traits,
"Enterprise."
In 1816, although the itinerant preachers who had visited the place
would scarcely have credited it, a church was organized and an
Episcopalian form of worship established, which later grew into Trinity
Church and Parish. Hitherto a bugle had called the people together when
a clergyman appeared, and the most primitive services followed. On one
of these occasions, well-known to those who lived in Cleveland when it
was still a churchless community, Lorenzo Dow was announced to preach.
He was an eccentric man and the place reputed to be a bad one. His
congregation, who were waiting under a large oak, did not recognize the
solitary figure approaching in his shirt sleeves, and, as he quietly sat
upon the ground in their midst, and his head dropped upon his knees in
silent prayer, one in the crowd enquired if he were Lorenzo Dow. Some
one answered, "Yes," but another irreverently said in an undertone,
"It's the devil." Dow overheard the remark, and rising, preached to his
hearers such a sermon on Gehenna that they never forgot it, or him.
In 1821, the "Academy" became an institution, and began a course of
instruction upon a very liberal basis, giving its pupils the full course
for four dollars a term, and separate branches for much less.
In the year 1836 the city was incorporated, and with the new honor seems
to have looked to the improvement of her appearance. The public square,
which had previously been little more than a grazing-place for cows, was
seriously considered as a possible ornament, and was graded and made
more attractive, until now it bears little resemblance to the common on
which the irrepressible Indian, "Omic," breathed his last. It has
changed its name since then, and has become "Monumental Square," from
the marble statue of Commodore Perry, which adorns its southeastern
corner. A good view of the liveliest part of the city can be had from
here, and from early morning until late at night there is a continuous
stream of people passing through it.
[Illustration: ON THE SHORE OF LAKE ERIE.]
Superior street, which forms its southern boundary, is lined with retail
stores, and its fine buildings and neat pavements hardly suggest the
indifferent houses and plank road of forty years ago. Ontario is another
busy thoroughfare running north and south, and bisecting the square.
Where it begins, at Lakeside Park, it is lined with private residences,
but beyond the square it develops into a genuine work-a-day business
street. In 1813 there was a small stockade on the lake shore just below
it, for Cleveland was a depot for supplies, and was waiting to give a
warm reception to the English. Most of the public buildings are on or
near the square--the Post Office, Custom House, City Hall, and several
of the churches. Not far away is the library of the Young Men's Literary
Association, which has had a singularly favored career. Established in
1845 upon a very unpretentious basis in the Case Building, it was soon
given a perpetual lease by the owner, and later received a large sum of
money for its extension and support from a son of Mr. Case. The Public
Library is located in the old High School Building on Euclid avenue
and has 26,000 volumes in circulation. The Board of Trade is another of
the city's time-honored institutions, having been founded in 1848. It is
now in the Atwater Building on Superior street.
Euclid avenue, which from its rustic popularity in pioneer days, came to
bear the proud distinction of being one of the handsomest streets in the
world, stretches off eastward from the square, for four and a half
miles, until it reaches Wade Park, a beautiful spot, still shaded by the
groves and forests which have been left from the wilderness. It was a
gift from Mr. Wade, one of Cleveland's millionaires.
From this point the avenue continues for a mile and a half until it
finds its terminus in Lake View Cemetery, a magnificent stretch of
woodland overlooking the lake from a height of two hundred and fifty
feet.
The avenue is in its entire length a feast of beauty. The homes that
line it on either side are fine specimens of architecture, and the
gardens surrounding them show a lavish devotion to the sweet goddess
Flora. Thousands of people who are unable to leave town during the
summer find a grateful change of scene here, and it so impressed Bayard
Taylor that he bestowed upon it the splendid praise of calling it the
most beautiful street in the world. Nor is its charm purchased at the
expense of squalid surroundings, for the streets of Cleveland are well
kept and almost all of its homes have their little gardens around them,
while the tenement house is "conspicuous by its absence." In fact the
people have chosen rather to sacrifice a trifle more to time and expense
and less to space. They have expanded and have built longer street-car
lines in proportion.
The old eyesore of dilapidated huts and rubbish heaps along the river
and lake shore was soon swept away after the railroads came, and a fine
park substituted. The undertaking was a large one, but it proved to be
well worth the labor and money expended upon it, and is now one of the
city's chief adornments and one of her most delightful rendezvous.
The stranger, as he nears the "Forest City" wearied with his travels and
sensitive to his surroundings, finds nothing to meet his curious gaze
but a neat shore line on one side, and on the other the green slope of
Lakeside Park, with its grottos and fountains, and an occasional
suggestion of graveled walks. The top of the ridge is an excellent place
whereon to take a morning stroll, and get a good breath of fresh air,
and from this eminence the lines of the five railroads which centre here
can be seen converging towards the Union Depot, where a large portion of
the coal, petroleum and lumber is received that makes its way from
distant points.
"The Flats" along the lake and river fronts are alive with business, and
present a fascinating scene from some overlooking point. There are
factories, ore docks and coal and lumber yards famous the country over,
and water craft of every kind and size. One of the most important
enterprises is that of the Cleveland Rolling Mill Company, whose
buildings occupy thirty-two acres, and whose yearly pay-roll reaches
more than $2,000,000. On the West Side is the Cuyahoga Steam Furnace
Company, noted for having manufactured a patent horse-power cannon for
the Government, and for having turned out the first locomotive in the
West. The great Standard Oil Company, begun in the sixties and later
developing into a stock company under its present name, is located here,
and its cars, surmounted by the familiar white keg, are seen on almost
all the railroads of the country.
Out from the river's mouth stretch two long piers, two hundred feet
apart, which represent the final triumph of the engineer over the tides
which have wrought such incessant mischief ever since a certain captain
and his crew were delayed in the harbor of Cleveland sixty years ago by
a sandbar. There is a lighthouse at the end of each pier, and one high
up on the shore which was built by the Government in 1830 at a cost of
$8,000.
Now, through this inviting gateway, large lake boats steam into port
without hindrance, bringing with them the rich copper and iron ores of
Lake Superior, the limestone of the Lake Erie Islands, and the
miscellaneous products which they take up along their route. With these
valuable cargoes, to which have been attributed much of her prosperity,
Cleveland receives a large amount of coal from the mines of Ohio and
Pennsylvania, having access to the latter through the Ohio Canal, which
has been such an impetus to her growth.
On the other side of the river are her large Water Works, the incessant
pumping of whose engines supplies this city of 140,000 inhabitants with
water. The Reservoir lies upon the top of a cliff, and is a favorite
resort in summer. From its crest a fine view of lake and river can be
obtained, and if one were to allow his imagination a little freedom,
this would be the most satisfactory place to get a retrospective view
of Cleveland as it was to the pioneer. About here the Indians stayed
unmolested long after they had sold their land to the white man, and
across the river on the slope the first log cabin stood. The scene which
takes its place is almost bewildering with its network of factories,
lake and river craft and housetops. Here and there a dot of green rises
above the buildings, betraying the presence of the elms and maples which
have been jealously preserved and which are one of the characteristic
beauties of the "Forest City."
During my stay here, nothing was more gratifying than a walk or ride
through the broad streets in the shade of these trees. It made summer in
the city something to stay for, and not something to run away from.
There were many drives leading out beyond the limits daily frequented by
pleasure-seekers, and inviting out-of-the-way places for those who were
unable to go elsewhere. Beside these, the lake, though the shallowest in
the chain and sometimes treacherous on that account, is a continual
clarifier and beautiful to look upon. As for the old-time "God," and his
attendant maladies, who tyrannized over the pioneer, they seem to have
vanished, and now I venture to say there is no healthier city in the
country than Cleveland and certainly none more attractive.
[Illustration: SUNDAY AT THE FARM.]
CHAPTER XIV.
CLEVELAND TO TOLEDO.
Sixty-first Day.
_Lampman House_,
BLACK RIVER, OHIO,
_July 11, 1876_.
At eight o'clock, my favorite hour for beginning a day's ride, I mounted
_Paul_ in front of the hotel at Cleveland, but before leaving the city I
stopped at Major Hessler's office to hand him the proceeds of my lecture
at Garrett's Hall, which were donated to the Soldiers' Monument Fund at
Dayton. This brought me two very kind acknowledgments: one from General
James Barnett, who forwarded the money, and the other from Rev. William
Earnshaw, custodian of the Monument Fund. These letters, written in
behalf of three thousand disabled veterans, amply satisfy me for any
sacrifice I may have made, and are among my most prized possessions.
General Barnett wrote as follows:
_Post No. 1, Department of Ohio, G. A. R._,
CLEVELAND, _July 12, 1876_.
CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER,
COMRADE: Through your unsolicited generosity I have the pleasure to
acknowledge the receipt of the net proceeds of your lecture on
"Echoes from the Revolution," delivered in our city July 6, 1876,
and by your direction have forwarded the amount to Chaplain William
Earnshaw, President of the "Soldiers' Home Monument Fund," at
Dayton, to assist in erecting a monument to the memory of the
veterans who by the fortunes of war await the long roll at the
National Military Home, and may your reward be no less than the love
and gratitude of our unfortunate comrades.
By order of
GENERAL JAMES BARNETT, _Commanding_.
E. M. HESSLER, _Quartermaster_.
There are certain results following every undertaking which are looked
upon either with gratification or dissatisfaction, and which, through
side issues, very often assume the importance of those desired to be
attained. The recollection of the splendid scenes through which I have
passed, the people whom I have met, the cities I have visited, will be a
lifelong satisfaction, but the opportunity to help perpetuate the memory
of fellow-soldiers and to do others honor while they yet live, will be
the most gratifying outcome of my journey. Knowing this, the following
letter from Chaplain Earnshaw holds an important place among the papers
of my correspondents.
_National Soldiers' Home_,
DAYTON, OHIO, _July 27, 1876_.
CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER,
MY DEAR COMRADE: We have received, through Major E. M. Hessler, your
generous donation to aid in erecting the Soldiers' Monument at the
Home. You have the hearty thanks of three thousand disabled veterans
now on our rolls; and a cordial invitation to visit us whenever it
is your pleasure to do so. Again, we thank you.
Very respectfully,
WILLIAM EARNSHAW,
President Historical and Monumental Society.
[Illustration: A COTTAGE IN THE WOODS.]
On leaving the city several gentlemen gave me the pleasure of their
company for some distance, among them Alexander Wilsey, who before
the war had been a scholar of mine back in Schodack, New York.
Meeting him was only one of many similar experiences, for here and there
along my route I found old acquaintances, whose faces I had never
expected to see again.
After a ride of six hours, I rode into Black River and found it quite an
enterprising village, but hardly suggesting its old position as the
principal port in the county.
Sixty-second Day.
_Huron House_,
HURON, OHIO,
_July Twelfth_.
Left the aspiring village of Black River or "Lorraine," as the
inhabitants are disposed to call it, at nine o'clock, stopping at the
Lake House, Vermillion, for dinner. The scenery is very attractive along
the Lake Shore Road between Black River and Huron, and I followed it all
day and for two or three hours after nightfall, covering a distance of
twenty miles. My sense of the beautiful was somewhat dimmed, however, by
the cloud of mosquitoes which beset my path, and which were hardly
persuaded to part company at the hotel. There were nearly seven hundred
people in Huron, and I must confess that upon entering the slumbering
village I began to be generous in the hope that my attentive little
tormentors would adopt the principle of equal distribution among the
inhabitants. But for the rapacious mosquito the course of the traveller
by night upon these highways is serene and uneventful, for, of all the
hordes of wolves, wildcats, buffaloes and panthers that made their
homes about this part of the country in the times of the Indian,
scarcely a vestige remains.
The race of the red man is becoming slowly exterminated, and his friends
of the forest seem to be disappearing with him, while the white man and
the mosquito fill their places. I am sure no one of average reason,
especially our logicians of New Jersey, would deny that this is another
proof of the survival of the fittest.
Although it was dark before I came into Huron, I could get a very good
idea of its character, and had formed some notion of the place which was
to shelter me. In 1848 it was spoken of as having been "formerly the
greatest business place in the county," and this reputation, although it
has not made it a Sandusky or a Cleveland, has left it a spark of the
old energy.
Sixty-third Day.
_West House_,
SANDUSKY, OHIO,
_July Thirteenth_.
I was fortunate in having a comparatively short distance to travel
between Huron and this city. It is only nine miles, and I did not start
until two o'clock, allowing myself a two hour's easy gallop with the
lake on my right all the way.
Along this shore more than a century ago, General Bradstreet, with three
thousand men, sailed to the relief of Fort Junandat, while Pontiac, the
great Ottawa warrior, was besieging Detroit. Reaching Fort Sandusky he
burned the Indian villages there and destroyed the cornfields; passed on
up to Detroit to scatter the threatening savages, and returning went
into the Wyandot country through Sandusky Bay. To have attempted to ride
alone on horseback in those days would have been a foolhardy, if not a
fatal undertaking. Now the screech of an engine-whistle announced the
approach of a train on the Lake Shore Road, the great wheels thundered
by, and _Paul_, alert and trembling, was ready to dash away. How
different it would have been in those old pioneer times! The horseman
would have been the one to tremble then, his hand reach for his rifle,
his eyes strained towards the thicket from whence the expected yell of
the savage was to come.
Among the first proprietors of this section were the Eries. These were
followed by the resistless Iroquois, and after them the Wyandots and
Ottawas, who seem to have left the strongest impress upon the hills and
valleys of Ohio. One of these tribes, the Wyandots, called the bay near
which they built their wigwams Sæ-san-don-ske, meaning "Lake of the Cold
Water," and from this the present name of the city comes. In the early
days it was called Ogontz, after a big chief of that name who lived
there before the year 1812. All about were rich hunting-grounds, which
accounts for its having been chosen by the Indians in times of peace;
and even now Sandusky is held to be one of the greatest fish-markets in
America.
The place was bound to be attractive to the white man, and any one might
have safely prophesied that a city would rise here. The ground slopes
gradually down to the lake, the bay forms an ideal harbor, and looking
off upon the boats and water, the eye rests upon a scene picturesque and
striking.
My attention was called to Johnson's Island, which was used for the
confinement of Confederate officers during the late war. I learned that
they were allowed the luxury of an occasional bath in the lake, under
guard, of course, and in squads of a hundred men--a luxury which the
boys in Libby and Charleston and Columbia would have thought "too good
to be true."
Under the city are the limestone quarries, which furnish an
inexhaustible supply of building-material and which give an added
distinction to this bright little city of the lakes.
On the evening of my arrival I spoke in Union Hall and was introduced by
Captain Culver, who referred to my military record and the object of my
lectures. Captain Culver is a comrade in the G. A. R. and was a
fellow-prisoner at Libby and other prisons. He did much towards making
my stay at Sandusky most agreeable.
Sixty-fourth Day.
_Fountain House_,
CASTALIA, OHIO,
_July Fourteenth_.
My Sandusky friend, Captain Culver, called at the West House for me soon
after breakfast, and we spent the forenoon strolling about the city. I
was shown the newly completed Court House, of which Sanduskians are very
proud; met several of the officials and found much to admire. Left at
five o'clock in the afternoon and by six had reached Castalia, five
miles distant, which I soon found had something to boast of back of its
classic name. As a stranger I was of course immediately told of the
wonders of the "waters," which I learned form quite an attraction in
summer and keep the little place in a flutter of excitement.
Marshall Burton came in 1836 and laid out this prairie town at the head
of Coal Creek. Finding the source of the stream in a cool, clear spring,
now known to be two hundred feet in diameter and sixty feet deep, named
the place "Castalia," from the famed Greek fountain at the foot of
Parnassus. The waters of this spring are so pure that objects are
plainly seen through the sixty liquid feet, and they say that when the
sun reaches meridian, these objects reflect the colors of the rainbow,
which might suggest to Castalians that the ancient sun-god, Apollo,
favored the western namesake of his Delphian fount. I met no poets here,
but possibly inspiration is not one of the powers guaranteed. Indeed if
it should treat devotees of the Divine Art, as it does everything else
that is plunged into it, we should have petrified poets.
These petrifying qualities of the water, caused by the combined action
of lime, soda, magnesia and iron have made the mill-wheels which turn in
Coal Creek incapable of decay.
At a little distance from the town is a cave of quite large dimensions,
which was discovered accidentally through a dog running into the opening
in pursuit of a rabbit. This cave I believe makes up the complement of
natural attractions about the village. The chief attraction, the social
life of the people, cannot be guessed at by the rapid glance of the
traveller. But even a short sojourn here is apt to be remembered long
and pleasantly. Ohioans are notably hospitable.
Sixty-fifth Day.
_Ball House,_
FREMONT, OHIO,
_July Fifteenth._
I was awakened at twelve P. M. the previous night at Castalia by two
villainous imps, who seemed determined to make an impression. Their
evident object was "more rum," which to the credit of the landlord was
not furnished them. Exasperated by this temperance measure, they
attempted to enter the house, and finding the doors locked began a
bombardment with fists and feet. This novel performance was kept up
until the object of their wrath and his shot-gun appeared. Owing to this
my ride of nineteen miles to Fremont was not as refreshing as it might
have been.
As I approached the town I thought of President Hayes, who is so closely
identified with it. Here he began the practice of law, and won such
popularity, not only among his townsmen, but throughout the State, that
in 1864, after a succession of honors, his friends were pushing him for
Congress. In answer to a letter written from Cincinnati, suggesting that
his presence there would secure his election, he said, "An officer fit
for duty, who at this crisis would abandon his post to electioneer for
Congress, ought to be scalped. You may feel perfectly sure that I shall
do no such thing," and in a letter to his wife, written after he had
heard of Lincoln's assassination, he expressed another sentiment quite
as strong when he said: "Lincoln's success in his great office, his hold
upon the confidence and affection of his countrymen, we shall all _say_
are only second to Washington's. We shall probably _feel_ and _think_
that they are not second even to his."
Fremont of course is justly proud of the name and fame of Rutherford B.
Hayes. Two years before he returned to his home, after refusing Grant's
offer of an Assistant Secretaryship, but the people of Ohio were not
satisfied with this. Their feelings were probably voiced by the words of
a personal friend of Hayes, who said: "With your energies, talents,
education, and address, you are green--verdant as grass--to stay in a
country village." Soon afterwards, at the urgent and repeated requests
of the people, he gave up his quiet life and once more entered the
political arena, with results which the election of 1876 shows.
There were apparently many who were dissatisfied with the Nation's
choice, but in Ohio, and especially where he was known personally, he
was much beloved and admired. His uncle, Sardis Birchard, who died some
years ago, leaving his property and fortune to his namesake, has given a
park and a fine library to Fremont.
The town is on the Sandusky River, at the head of navigation, and has
quite a brisk trade for a place claiming only a little over five
thousand inhabitants.
Sixty-sixth Day.
_Elmore House,_
ELMORE, OHIO,
_July Sixteenth._
My accommodations at the Ball House, Fremont, were quite in contrast
with those placed at my disposal at Castalia. I heard no stories of
"mineral springs" or wonderful freaks of Nature, but shall remember
Fremont as the delightful little city where I had two nights' sleep in
one.
I began my day's journey at eight o'clock with Elmore as the evening
objective. Halted a few moments at a hotel known in that locality as the
Four-Mile House. Took dinner at Hessville, where I remained until four
o'clock in the afternoon and then rode on to Elmore.
[Illustration: COUNTRY STORE AND POST OFFICE.]
CHAPTER XV.
FIVE DAYS AT TOLEDO.
Ordered _Paul_ and saddled him myself at Elmore, on the morning of July
seventeenth. In fact it was my usual custom, while riding through the
rural districts, to personally groom, feed and care for my horse, as I
learned soon after leaving Boston that, unless I attended to his wants
myself, he was most likely to be neglected by those in whose hands he
was placed, and from a selfish standpoint, knowing also the importance
of keeping him in the best possible condition, I never overlooked
anything which was likely to add to his comfort.
On my way from Elmore, I stopped for lunch at a country grocery, hotel
and saloon, four miles from this city. A small piece of bread, a bowl of
milk, and a few crackers covered my refreshment at the "Jack of All
Trades," as upon asking for a second piece of bread I was informed that
I had just eaten the last in the house. There being no further appeal, I
remounted and rode off in the direction of Toledo, where I lectured in
the evening at Lyceum Hall, under the auspices of Forsyth Post, being
introduced by Doctor J. T. Woods, a surgeon of our Volunteer Army
during the late war, and now an active comrade in the G. A. R.
Doctor Woods and I had a long and animated talk at the Boody House over
old times, and especially of Custer, who was greatly admired by both of
us, as he was by every one who knew anything of him. Doctor Woods had
collected a number of articles referring to the General which he thought
of especial interest, among others the following lines which seem to
bear the very impress of Custer's martial spirit:
"The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast.
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past.
No war's wild notes nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
The breast that nevermore may feel
The raptures of the fight."
When our conversation turned upon Toledo, it became more cheerful. The
city, after having survived many reverses of fortune, is now on the eve
of rapid development, and can hardly be said to have a rival in Northern
Ohio. The long and hard battle fought for the soil on which it now
stands is almost forgotten, and instead of arousing the interest of the
stranger with thrilling tales of massacre and war, the Toledoan now
points to the emblems of peace.
Not so far away but that the patriotic citizen may become familiar with
the place is the old battle-field of "Fallen Timbers," where "mad
Anthony Wayne" brought the Indians to bay, and having conquered, pursued
them for ten miles along the Maumee, until he reached Swan Creek, now
in the centre of the town.
This battle is one of the most dramatic in the records of Indian
warfare. It was at a time when the Wabash and Miami tribes had refused
to accept any overtures from the Americans, and when they were
determined to fight out their cause with the help of the British.
Knowing that pacific measures were then superfluous, and that the matter
must be decided by war, Wayne at the head of a splendid support, marched
to the Maumee, erected Fort Defiance at the junction of the Au Glaize,
and then proceeded to a point where he knew the forces of the enemy were
concentrated. The place was in every way favorable to the party in
possession--the river on the left, heavy thickets on the right, and in
front natural breastworks formed by fallen timbers, the result of a
tornado. Into this trap it was necessary to march in order to meet the
foe. Wayne's simple plan of attack was this: to rouse the savages from
their lair with an irresistible bayonet charge, "and when up, to deliver
a close and well-directed fire on their backs."
The result was a victory for the Americans. The Indians and their white
allies, completely routed, made a precipitous retreat, leaving the
battle-field covered with their dead. Hotly pursued, their cornfields
and wigwams destroyed on the way, they were finally ready to acknowledge
that peace was better than war. So ended the great battle of the Maumee,
one of the most fatal in its effect upon the destiny of the red race.
It was after this, when actual contest was over, and the Indians had
been provided for west of the Mississippi, that the Cincinnati Company
laid out a town on the present site and called it Port Lawrence, after
the famous flag-ship in which Perry met the British on Lake Erie. Later,
Major Stickney, a historic pioneer, whose sons, "One" and "Two" Stickney
are equally immortal, laid out Vistula, which afterwards joined Port
Lawrence, under a name destined to become a power in the State--Toledo.
The fortunes of the new town were fluctuating as April weather, and the
faith of property-holders must have grown weak through wavering. Most of
these hard times were due to malaria, which was bred in the neighboring
swamps and forests, and which was an ever-present menace; yet when the
cloud of contention lowered over the tract of land lying between the
territory of Michigan and the State of Ohio, Toledo, the very centre of
the trouble, being claimed by both, was animated enough, although her
neighbor, Monroe, was wont to vex her with such taunts as this:
"The potatoes they grow small, on Maumee,
And they eat them, tops and all, on Maumee."
Potato-tops must have possessed singular virtue, for there was no want
of spirit when the test came "On Maumee."
The "Toledo War," much talked of and laughed over in its day, is passing
slowly into oblivion, and now only an occasional grey-beard brings its
scenes back with amusing reminiscence. The cause of the trouble lay in a
mistake of Congress, which established an impossible boundary line
between Michigan and Ohio, so that the "bone of contention" was a tract
of land eight miles wide at the western end, and five at the eastern,
which both claimed. The people living in this tract were therefore
between two fires, some preferring to be governed by the laws of the
territory, and the others giving their allegiance to Ohio. The
respective governors were the principals in the quarrel, and showed a
strong disposition to fight, while the chief executive at Washington,
being unable to interfere, was obliged to assume the role of a
spectator, advising, however, that the interested parties defer action
until the convening of Congress.
The advantages were pretty evenly divided, except that Michigan, as a
territory, in attempting to prevent the State from enforcing her
supposed right, aroused a strong State pride among the "Buckeyes." The
militia was called out on both sides and Michigan threatened with arrest
those who should attempt to re-mark the boundary line--the compliment
being generously returned by Ohio.
In the midst of these hostilities the Legislature of Ohio created a new
county, calling it Lucas, after the Governor, which included a portion
of the contested territory, and had for its seat the town of Toledo. To
hold court at this county-seat without the intervention of the
authorities of Michigan would virtually decide the case in Ohio's favor,
but how this bold _coup d'etat_ was to be accomplished, and on the date
appointed--the seventh of September--was a question that puzzled the
Governor himself. General Brown, in charge of the Michigan militia, was
reported to be in Toledo at the time, with a force twelve hundred
strong; while Colonel Vanfleet, the Ohio warrior, was to rely upon the
stout hearts of a hundred men, who were to act as _posse_ for the
protection of the court.
When the judges, sheriff and attendants met at Miami to perfect their
plans, on Sunday the sixth of September, they were somewhat fearful of
the issue, and finally left the decision of the matter in the hands of
Colonel Vanfleet. This intrepid Leonidas immediately assumed the
championship of his State with admirable skill, and, walking up and
down, sword in hand, in front of his hundred followers, for a moment's
meditation, turned at last to the judges with these impressive words:
"If you are women, go home; if you are men, do your duty as judges of
the court. I will do mine. If you leave this matter entirely with me, I
will be responsible for your safety and insure the accomplishment of our
object; but if otherwise, I can give you no assurance!"
In the light of present knowledge, the reader of these words, while he
respects and admires the spirit in which they were uttered, and the man
who spoke them, cannot avoid a mild sense of amusement. But this is not
to the point. Matters proceeded seriously on that sixth of September,
1835. Vanfleet called for twenty volunteers, and these having quickly
responded to the call, the Colonel then informed his protégés, probably
not to their surprise, that the seventh of September would begin
immediately after midnight; that the law did not specify any time for
the opening of court, and that if they would rely upon his protection,
they could accomplish their purpose in the face of the foe.
"Governor Lucas wants the court held," he added, "so that by its record
he may show to the world that he has executed the laws of Ohio over the
disputed territory in spite of the vaporing threats of Governor Mason.
Be prepared to mount your horses to start for Toledo at precisely one
o'clock in the morning. I will be ready with my escort."
The appointment was met, and Toledo was reached at three o'clock. The
party proceeded directly to a school-house, and there court was held in
due form of law, its proceedings written out on bits of paper being
deposited in the tall crown of the clerk's hat. When business was over,
the entire party went to a tavern near by for refreshments. Just as the
men were about to indulge in a second cup of cheer, some one called out
that General Brown, with a strong force, was on his way to arrest them.
Glasses were dropped, the little matter of indebtedness to the
saloon-keeper was waived without ceremony, and a moment later not a sign
of the Ohio dignitaries remained.
When they had placed a sufficient amount of the contested soil between
themselves and General Brown, they halted upon a hill to fire a salute,
but at that time it was learned that the clerk's hat, containing the
all-important papers, had been knocked off his head by the limb of a
tree during the retreat. To return might mean capture and the failure of
their plan. To abandon the recovery of the missing hat would be equally
deplorable. Vanfleet accordingly sent back a small detachment to search
the road; "the lost was found," and, at last triumphant, a loud salute
was fired. To say that the men did not then let the grass grow under
their feet is but a mild assertion. It has been said by good
authorities, that if the retreating party had charged General Brown's
regiment with half the force they employed in getting away, they could
have routed a force twice its size. When Congress convened, however,
they had the satisfaction of having a favorable verdict pronounced upon
their "unlawful act, lawfully committed," although Jackson had
previously expressed himself in sympathy with the cause of Michigan. The
defeated party, to even up matters, was given the northern peninsula
between Superior and Huron, now her richest section.
During the course of the "war" Toledo was full of Michigan troops, who
left many anecdotes behind them and whose generally harmless behavior
raised many a laugh among the townspeople. As one of these stories goes,
Major Stickney, walking out into his garden one morning, noticed
something that looked like a human figure in his potato vines. He called
out to the mysterious object and asked what was going on there? The call
brought to his full length a soldier in uniform, who stretched up and
replied:
"Drafting potato-tops to make the bottoms volunteer, sir!"
And so, half in jest, and half in earnest, the affair continued and
ended.
[Illustration: AN OHIO FARM.]
When the forests were cleared away and the swamps drained, the dread
malaria partnership was dissolved; good health brought good cheer, and
prosperity followed. Very soon after the trouble with Michigan, the
Miami and Erie Canal was built, which has been one of the important
factors in making the "Corn City" so strong commercially. Besides this
great inland water-way, eight railways bring into her marts the
products of the rich farms of Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Ohio.
From her ports enormous quantities of grain are yearly shipped to
England either direct, or _via_ Montreal, and her people say, without
expecting to be contradicted, that no city in the United States can
point to such a wonderful development of commercial resources. This
scarcely suggests the time when Toledo was little more than the dead
carcass of speculation, the prey of the tax-gatherer, waiting the
resurrection that followed the War of the Rebellion, when men remained
her citizens simply because they had no money with which to get away.
Commerce takes the lead here, but there is one enterprise of which
Toledoans seem to be even prouder, and to see which they take the
visitor "whom they wish to impress with their greatness." This is the
thriving and truly imposing Milbourn Wagon Works, put into operation in
1875 and already become famous. The brick buildings are unusually fine
and, architecturally, would leave the uninformed stranger under the
impression that they might belong to some institution of learning.
I was enabled to see more of the city than I had expected, owing to an
unforeseen circumstance. A little friend who lived in Detroit, and who
was dying with consumption, had expressed a wish to come to Toledo to
see me and my horse before it was too late. I therefore remained longer
than I intended, that her friends might bring her down by boat, although
they hardly hoped that she would survive the journey. She was given the
pleasure of a quiet trip to Put-in-Bay, the well-known resort, and with
this and the gratification of seeing _Paul_, in whom she was deeply
interested, her visit ended.
Of all the strangers who come to this bright and busy city, active with
the impetus given it by fifty thousand souls, I doubt if any take more
keen delight in looking upon its business enterprises and individuality
than did this bright-minded girl, just about to relinquish her hold upon
earth. She knew nothing of the dark pages in its history, and only
guessed at the wealth and strength back of the thronged harbor. To her
it was a happy place--the temporary home of friends.
CHAPTER XVI.
TOLEDO TO DETROIT.
Seventy-second Day.
_Erie Hotel_,
ERIE, MICHIGAN,
_July 22, 1876_.
My Toledo friends were ready at the Boody House to give me good-bye when
I mounted at nine o'clock, and I received a right hearty send-off. Upon
leaving the city, instead of continuing westward as usual toward the
"Golden Gate," I had determined for various reasons to swing off from
the direct course, and ride northward to Detroit, moving thence to
Chicago. This new route would take me through Monroe, a town with which
the life of General Custer was more closely associated than any other,
and knowing that I would find much there that would give me a more
intimate knowledge of the man, I looked forward to this part of my
journey with eager anticipation.
The ride to Erie being at some distance from the lake, and over a flat
region, was rather monotonous. Erie itself is a small unimportant hamlet
at the western end of the lake, and a modest landmark in my journey
from Toledo to Detroit. _Paul_, probably impressed with the air of peace
that enveloped the place, made up his mind upon his arrival to give the
good people a display of his mettle, and accordingly tore through the
village streets in the wildest fashion. Having thus introduced himself,
he pranced after I had dismounted until he had had enough; then
returning to his master, his eyes seeming to flash mischief, he looked
as though he would have said, had he been given the power of speech: "I
have been having a fine time, haven't I? and would you like to mount me
and enjoy the fun too? but I dare you!"
When his superabundant spirits had found vent, I had him led away and
myself attended to his wants. Beyond this animated exhibition of my
horse the day passed uneventfully, and at night I enjoyed to its fullest
extent the quietude of a country inn.
Seventy-third Day.
_Erie Hotel_,
ERIE, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-third_.
Weather cool and pleasant; went to church in the morning and listened to
a sermon by Rev. E. P. Willard, on the text, "Remember the Sabbath Day
to keep it holy." Doubtless the preacher had his reasons for bringing to
the minds of the Erieans this particular command, but judging from
appearances they needed a very mild admonition. It looked as though
every day were Sunday here.
A letter reached me at this point from my wife, full of concern as to
my welfare if the journey were to be continued across the Plains; and as
she was in very indifferent health at the time, I was about to abandon
my purpose and return. The news of Custer's tragic death had reached the
East, and my intended route running as it did across the Indian country,
filled my friends with apprehension. Closely following this letter,
however, came another, informing me that my wife was improving, and,
with this assurance, I decided not to turn back. By this time, the
freedom and charm of this mode of travel had aroused my enthusiasm; the
imaginary line, losing itself in the Pacific, promised a rich
experience, and the opportunity was golden. The good news from home was
therefore joyfully received.
Seventy-fourth Day.
_Strong's Hotel_,
MONROE, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-fourth_.
I was detained at Erie until after dinner, spending part of the forenoon
in a blacksmith shop, where _Paul_ was being shod. By two o'clock I was
on the road again, riding briskly toward Monroe, for the weather was so
much cooler than it had been during the previous week, that I could move
comfortably at a good pace. _Paul_ seemed very proud of his new shoes,
and, although I halted two or three times, covered something over ten
miles by five o'clock.
As I reached the outskirts of Monroe, I was considerably surprised to
find a large number of people assembled on the picnic grounds. They were
accompanied by a band, and greeted me with several national air,
including "Hail Columbia" and the "Star-Spangled Banner." The Custer
Monument Association received me at the City Hall, where I had been
announced to lecture in the evening, as it was my intention to speak in
the interest of the Fund; but the date was changed to the Thursday
following my arrival, with a view to giving its members an opportunity
to co-operate with my advance agents.
Great enthusiasm was everywhere apparent, and the people of Monroe
needed no urging to lend their patronage, when the movement was likely
to reflect honor upon their illustrious dead.
My emotions upon entering this town, long the dearest place in all the
world to Custer, can better be imagined than described. That it was a
favorite with him is not strange, for aside from the tender associations
which it held for him, its pretty homes and broad streets, deeply shaded
by maples, make it a most lovely spot and the very type of peace.
Seventy-fifth Day.
_Strong's Hotel_,
MONROE, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-fifth_.
Wrote to my mother in the morning, and after dinner took a stroll about
town. Beyond its associations with Custer, Monroe is interesting through
its connection with one of the most romantic and sanguinary scenes
connected with the war between Great Britain and the United States; for
on the banks of the River Raisin, which runs through it to the lake,
occurred the famous Indian massacre of 1812. Relics of the bloody
encounter are still found on the field.
It was at a time when the British were making successful inroads upon
Michigan, and General Winchester, at the head of eight hundred
Kentuckians, had been ordered to Frenchtown, the old name for Monroe,
the same point toward which General Miller had previously moved on a
mission equally fatal.
Winchester was warned of the advance of the enemy, but thought there was
no cause for immediate alarm, and on the night before the engagement, he
crossed to the side of the river opposite his men, leaving the camp open
to attack. The result was, that he awoke the next morning to find
Proctor's troops putting his men to rout, at the point of the bayonet,
while their Indian allies were adding to the confusion by their deadly
assault.
Although a part of the Americans escaped on the ice of the river, the
field was covered with their dead and wounded, General Winchester being
among the former. When the engagement was over, Proctor rode away,
leaving a detachment to guard the prisoners and wounded, with
instructions that no violence was to be committed; but some of the
savages who followed him having become intoxicated, returned and fell
upon the prisoners with unrestrained frenzy. Most of the latter had been
placed in two small cabins. These were fired, and the victims perished
in the flames, the Indians pushing them back when they attempted to
escape through the small windows. The remainder were massacred and their
bodies left a prey to the wolves. It was this horrible affair that
aroused the Americans and particularly the Kentuckians to revenge; and
when Tecumseh, the Shawnee warrior, who was the chief instigator of
these atrocities, urged the British to hazard an engagement at the
Thames, after their defeat by Perry, they prepared to return with full
interest the blow given their comrades on the Raisin. The battle of the
Thames is well known. Tecumseh, with the war cry on his lips, met his
reward through a Kentucky bullet early enough in the fight to be spared
the shame of defeat. With him fell a powerful foe, but one whom we must
admire even in his death.
"Like monumental bronze, unchanged his look,
As one whom pity touched, but never shook;
Train'd from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook.
Unchanging, fearing but the shame of fear,
A stoic of the woods, a man without a tear."
Seventy-sixth Day.
_Strong's Hotel_,
MONROE, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-sixth_.
Received a large forwarded mail from my advance agents and others, which
I attended to in the afternoon. I was also favored with Detroit papers
referring to my proposed lecture in that city, and the following notice
from the Monroe _Monitor_, which, together with letters from the Fund
Association, I kept as souvenirs of my stay at this place:
"The lecture announced to be given for the benefit of the Custer
Monument Fund, on Monday evening, at the City Hall, was postponed
for various reasons until Thursday evening, at the same place. On
Monday evening several members of the association met Captain
Willard Glazier, and were most favorably impressed with him. They
are convinced that he is thoroughly in earnest, and that his
proposition is a most liberal one. He offers to give the entire
proceeds of his lecture to the association; and not only in this
city, but throughout the State, he generously offers to do the same
thing. This is certainly deserving of the warm recognition of our
own people, at least, and we hope on Thursday evening to see the
City Hall filled. Captain Glazier comes with the strongest
endorsements from well-known gentlemen in the East, both as to his
character as a gentleman and a soldier, and his ability as a speaker
and writer. The Captain served under the late General Custer in the
cavalry, and has something to say regarding his personal knowledge
of the dead hero."
When I started from Boston in May, I little dreamed that before my
journey was finished the troubles in the West with the Sioux would bring
such a result as _this!_ It is true, affairs in Montana and Wyoming
territories had assumed a threatening aspect, but no one doubted the
efficacy of "Custer's luck," and those who followed the campaign looked
upon it as a dramatic and striking incident, rather than a tragic one.
News was slow in reaching points east of the Mississippi and was then
often unreliable, so that if I may judge from personal observation, the
people were wholly unprepared for the final result which was flashed
across the country on the fifth of July.
Seventy-seventh Day.
_Strong's Hotel_,
MONROE, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-seventh_.
Rose at an early hour in the morning, and was very busily occupied
during the day with correspondence and preparations for my lecture. The
people of Monroe had asked that I would tell them something of my
experience with Custer during the late war before beginning the lecture,
as everything relating to him was at that time of the most thrilling
interest to them. It was not difficult to comply with this request. The
old scenes of 1863 were as fresh in memory as though they had been
witnessed but yesterday.
My first meeting with Custer was at the third battle of Brandy Station
on the twelfth of September, 1863, as the Cavalry Corps then acting as
the advance of the Army of the Potomac was moving toward Culpeper in
pursuit of Lee's retreating columns. Custer had but recently been
commissioned brigadier-general and this was the first time he went into
action at the head of his brigade. His appearance was very conspicuous.
A mere boy in years, gorgeously equipped, in short, bearing upon his
person all the gold lace and other paraphernalia allowed his rank, he
formed a striking figure--such a one as is seldom seen on the
battlefield. His arrival at Brandy Station was at a critical juncture,
and while we were momentarily expecting a conflict with Stuart's
cavalry, then directly in our front, all had a curiosity to see how the
gayly dressed brigadier would acquit himself. It seemed to be the
general impression that he would not have the nerve to "face the music"
with his bandbox equipment, but he soon proved himself equal to the
occasion. Being ordered to charge the enemy, he snatched his cap from
his head, handed it to his orderly, drew his sword and dashed to the
front of his brigade, then formed in column of squadrons. The command
"Forward!" was instantly given. A moment later "Trot!" was sounded; then
"Gallop!" and "Charge!" and before the Confederates had time to realize
that we really intended an attack, they were swept from the field, and a
section of a battery with which they had been opposing our advance was
in the possession of the young general and his gallant cavalrymen.
No soldier who saw him on that day at Brandy Station ever questioned his
right to a star, or all the gold lace he felt inclined to wear. He at
once became a favorite in the Army of the Potomac and his fame was soon
heralded throughout the country. After this engagement I saw Custer at
Culpeper and Cedar Mountain, and in the skirmishes along the Rapidan
during Lee's retreat from Gettysburg; later, when Lee again advanced
through Northern Virginia, at Sulphur Springs, Newmarket, Bristoe and in
the action of October 19, 1863, near New Baltimore, where I was taken
prisoner.
The incidents which I recalled were those of war, but Custer's friends
here gave me the incidents of peace. Mr. J. M. Bulkley, who is perhaps
more intimately acquainted with the General's early life than any other
man in Monroe, was his old school-chum and seat-mate at Stebbin's
Academy.
When this institution was broken up, and its property sold, Mr. Bulkley
bought the old desk at which he and Custer had sat, and on which as
school-boys they had cut their initials. It stands in his store, and in
it are kept all the papers relating to the Monument Fund.
Custer's next experience was in the Monroe Seminary, and it was while he
was a student there that the pretty little face of his future wife
flashed into his life. The story of this meeting is laughable and odd.
Custer, then a rough, flaxen-haired lad, coming home one afternoon, his
books under his arm, was passing Judge Bacon's residence, when a little
brown-eyed girl swinging on the gate called out to him, "Hello, you
Custer boy!" then, half-frightened by the blue eyes that glanced toward
her, ran into the house. The little girl was Libbie Bacon, daughter of
the Judge. It was love at first sight for Custer, and although they did
not meet again for several years, he was determined to win the owner of
those brown eyes.
[Illustration: OUTSKIRTS OF A CITY.]
Having finished a preliminary course of study and wishing to enter West
Point, he urged his father to apply to John Bingham, then a member of
Congress for the district in which Monroe was situated, for an
appointment. This his father hesitated to do as Mr. Bingham's politics
were opposed to his. The young man was therefore obliged to rely upon
his own efforts. He called upon the dignitary himself. Mr. Bingham was
pleased with the applicant, promised to lend his influence, and the
result was that George Armstrong Custer ultimately received a formal
notification from Washington, bearing the signature of Jefferson Davis,
to the effect that the recipient was expected to report immediately to
the commanding officer at West Point. His course there was about
finished upon the breaking out of the late war. He went at once to
Washington, and through General Scott was launched upon his military
career. What sort of a soldier he was the world knows. What his
character was the following incident may partially suggest. It occurred
early in the war when Custer was beginning to feel somewhat discouraged
over his affairs. He had already done much that was worthy of promotion
and, having a boy's pride and ambition. Fate seemed to be against
him. The clouds vanished one day, however, when the Army of the Potomac
was encamped on the north bank of the Chickahominy near Richmond.
General Barnard, of the Engineers, starting out to discover if the river
was fordable at a certain point, called upon Custer to accompany him.
Arrived at the bank of the stream, he ordered the young officer to "jump
in." He was instantly obeyed, although the pickets of the enemy were
known to be on the opposite side, and dangerously near. Nor did Custer
return, after having found that there was firm bottom, until he had made
a thorough reconnoissance of the Confederate outposts.
Upon their return, Barnard rode up to McClellan, who was about to visit
with his staff his own outposts, and began reporting the recently
acquired information, while his late aide, wearied with the undertaking,
and covered with Chickahominy mud, had fallen to the rear. Gradually it
came out that Custer, and not Custer's superior officer, had performed
the important duty. He was immediately called for, and to his great
embarrassment, for his appearance was far from presentable, was asked by
McClellan to make a report of the situation himself. At the end of the
recital he was asked by his commander, to his amazement, how he would
like to join his staff. McClellan had, by a rare power peculiar to him,
in that short interview, won Custer's unfailing loyalty and affection,
and when Custer was asked afterwards how he felt at the time, his eyes
filled with tears, and he said: "_I felt I could have died for him._"
This promotion marked the beginning of his future success. In recalling
his career, these simple lines, written by a poet unknown to me, and
with which Frederick Whittaker, in his admirable life of Custer, brings
his biography to a close, involuntarily suggest themselves:
"Who early thus upon the field of glory
Like thee doth fall, needs for his fame
Naught but the simple telling of his story,
The naming of his name."
Seventy-eighth Day.
_Varney House_,
ROCKWOOD, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-eighth_.
Before ordering _Paul_ in the morning, I called again at the home of the
Custers. The General's father seemed greatly interested in my journey,
and asked many questions concerning my plans for crossing the Plains. I
was shown the rich and interesting collection of relics from the Indian
country which Custer had accumulated, and which adds a picturesqueness
to every corner of the house, and with these, some very striking
photographs of the General taken in every variety of position and
costume. After a pleasant chat, in the course of which Mr. Custer
assured me of his kind solicitude, he walked back to the hotel with me
to see me off.
While riding out of town, I met Mr. Bulkley, and was introduced to
several gentlemen of his acquaintance, many of whom were schoolmates of
Custer during his boyhood. Mr. Bulkley, speaking for the Monument
Association, assured me that everything would be done that could
further my wishes in Michigan.
The lecture last evening was well attended and proved a financial
success. It was therefore gratifying to give the entire proceeds to the
treasurer, Judge T. E. Wing, although he generously offered to divide.
Parting with Mr. Bulkley, I continued on my route, my mind filled with
the events of the three preceding days. Just beyond the town I halted to
look back, and then, determined to prevent any sombre thoughts, which
might follow, put spurs to _Paul_, who very soon covered the thirteen
miles between Monroe and this place. As we neared the village, I caught
sight of Huron River, the _Wrockumiteogoe_ of the Indians, meaning,
"clear water." On its banks are found those mysterious legacies of the
Mound Builders--whether dwellings or tombs, remains for the antiquarian
to determine.
Seventy-ninth Day.
_Farmers' Hotel_,
ECORSE, MICHIGAN,
_July Twenty-ninth_.
Moved from Rockwood at ten A. M., halting for a few minutes at
Trenton, a small village seven miles north of Rockwood; and from there,
riding on to Wyandotte, which I reached about one o'clock, and stopped
only a moment at the Biddle House, finding that dinner was awaiting me
at a private residence. I was ready to answer the hospitable summons
promptly. Between two and five o'clock, I occupied part of the time in
looking about the village, which is chiefly noted for its iron
industries. Farm implements, iron ships, iron rails, and in fact
everything that can be made out of iron, is produced here. After dinner
I rode on to Ecorse, which is three miles beyond, and there found
letters and papers telling me that I was expected at the Russell House,
Detroit, on the evening of the coming Monday. Once within my hotel, I
found the heat almost unbearable, but following a certain method which I
had found by experience to be a successful one, I was enabled in a
measure to improve my surroundings. To those who might think my _modus
operandi_ somewhat unbecoming, I would only suggest that they try my
mode of travel through the same region of country, and at the same
season of the year. Personal experience might change their opinion.
Having been shown to my apartment by the landlord or one of his
assistants, I quietly entered and secured the door, betraying no
surprise upon seeing the inevitable "feather bed." Taking off my coat, I
began by removing the layers of mattresses, which had in them a
wonderful reserve force of July heat. I then took my lamp and held it so
that its lambent flame could warm the cockles of every mosquito's heart
clinging to the ceiling. The mosquitoes, quite averse to the intense
heat, quietly dropped into the little purgatory which I had prepared for
them, and troubled me no more.
So did I secure my repose at the Farmers' Hotel, and in the morning was
in the humor to give the good-natured proprietor, Louis Cicotte--a
typical French Canadian--a very hearty greeting, and an assurance of my
refreshment.
Eightieth Day.
_Farmers' Hotel_,
ECORSE, MICHIGAN,
_July Thirtieth_.
The weather was oppressively warm again on this day, and business in
Ecorse was apparently not "booming." I found the place quite in keeping
with the majority of French villages along the Detroit River--unambitious
and lifeless.
Two acknowledgments came from Monroe soon after I left, referring to the
aid which I had the pleasure of giving to those interested in the Custer
Monument. One was a brief and courteous bearer of thanks, and is as
follows:
_Headquarters,
Custer National Monument Association_;
MONROE, MICHIGAN,
_July 28, 1876_.
This is to certify that the proceeds of the lecture by Captain
Willard Glazier, in this city on Thursday evening, July 27, 1876,
have been paid into the treasury of this association, for which the
members hereby tender him their sincere thanks.
T. E. WING,
_Treasurer._
The other was a letter of introduction and explains itself:
_Headquarters,
Custer National Monument Association_;
MONROE, MICHIGAN,
_July 28, 1876._
TO AUXILIARY SOCIEITIES AND ASSOCIATIONS OF THE CUSTER MONUMENT
ASSOCIATION:
Captain Willard Glazier, having kindly and generously volunteered to
devote the proceeds of his lectures through Michigan to the fund
being raised by this Association, for the erection of a monument to
the memory of the late General George A. Custer, has made
arrangements to remit to our treasurer here the money derived from
such lectures, and we bespeak for him your earnest endeavor in aid
of our common, glorious cause. Respectfully,
J. M. BULKLEY,
_Secretary._
Our second day at Ecorse ended pleasantly. In the afternoon my brother
and I went for a row on the river, and in the evening took a walk into
the country. We did not meet with any game, although natural history
proclaims this section the haunt of many varieties of bird and beast.
The first settlers even remember having a casual acquaintance with the
deer, bear, wolf, wild cat, and a variety of smaller game, including
that interesting little quadruped, the wolverine, whose name has become
the nickname of Michigan.
CHAPTER XVII.
FOUR DAYS AT DETROIT.
After a much-needed rest of a day and two nights at Ecorse, I left that
quiet retreat on the afternoon of July thirty-first, with Detroit as my
evening objective. At Fort Wayne, I was met by Babcock, who brought me
the sad intelligence of the death of my little Detroit friend, Kitty
Murphy, who had failed very rapidly after her brief visit to Toledo. We
rode forward together, reaching the Russell House at five o'clock, and
there I was met by General William A. Throop and others, who were
appointed as a committee to receive me. In the evening I lectured at St.
Andrew's Hall, being introduced by General L. S. Trowbridge and was
accompanied on the platform by several Grand Army comrades.
Immediately after the lecture, I hurried to the home of my bereaved
friends, where I found the mother and sisters of the dead girl
completely prostrated with grief. The one who had gone was their
favorite, for whom they had the highest hopes, and it was hard to be
reconciled to the passing away of a life so full of promise and noble
purposes. I was proud to know that one universally loved and admired
had thought of me in her last moments and had left a token of her
friendship.
On the morning of August first, I arranged my affairs so as to be able
to attend the funeral services of my young friend the following day.
The proceeds of my lecture were handed to the Monument Fund committee
with a letter from me to be forwarded to Monroe, and its representatives
here acknowledged this in the following note:
_City Hall_,
DETROIT, MICHIGAN,
_August 1, 1876_.
Received of Captain Willard Glazier, forty dollars, for the benefit
of the Custer Monument Association, as the proceeds of his lecture,
at Detroit, on the evening of July 31, 1876, in aid of such
association.
[_Signed_] L. S. TROWBRIDGE,
WILLIAM A. THROOP,
_Committee_.
On the afternoon of August second, I went to Kitty's grave with her
family and friends, where we arranged on the little mound our gifts of
flowers. I placed my own offering--a crown--at her head. It was the last
tribute, the "farewell" which we hoped might one day be lost in
"welcome."
During my stay here, many friends extended invitations to visit them,
but I was able to accept very few. Among those whom I met was my old
comrade, Captain Charles G. Hampton, who was at the Russell House to
greet me when I arrived. No one could have been more welcome. Captain
Hampton and I began our somewhat peculiar acquaintance as classmates in
the State Normal College at Albany, New York, in the spring of 1861,
where we joined a military organization known later as the "Normal
Company" of the "Ellsworth Avengers"--Forty-fourth New York
Infantry--whose members were put through a course of drills in
anticipation of future necessity, our voluntary drill masters being
Professors Rodney G. Kimball and Albert N. Husted.
It was argued by the principal and by the faculty generally, that while
young men were learning how to teach the schools of the State, it would
be well also for them to be prepared to defend the flag of the State. We
had just closed our term when President Lincoln issued his call for
seventy-five thousand volunteers, and as it was not at this time the
apparent intent of the Normal Company to enter the service as a body, we
decided to enlist in some other organization.
Hampton went to Rochester where he joined the Eighth New York Cavalry,
while I enlisted in the Second New York-Harris Light Cavalry, at Troy.
We did not meet again until November, 1863--when, by the fortune of war,
we both became inmates of Libby Prison. The circumstances that brought
us there were, on his side, wounds and capture in an action with
guerrillas under Mosby; on mine, capture in a cavalry battle near New
Baltimore, Virginia, during Lee's retreat from the field of Gettysburg.
During our imprisonment at Richmond, Danville, Macon, Savannah, and
Charleston, Captain Hampton and I belonged to separate messes, so that,
while we met daily, we had very little intimate intercourse. At
Columbia, however, it was different. We arrived there in the midst of a
violent thunder-storm, and were marched to our "quarters," in an open
yard where the water was running in streams. Hampton had managed to get
possession of a board about twelve feet long when he met me, and
immediately asked if I had anything to stand or lie on. Upon receiving a
negative answer he said: "Come on, let us share this plank together."
From this time we were messmates, being joined later by Lieutenant
Arthur Richardson of Albany. When I escaped from Columbia I intrusted to
Captain Hampton a small box in which I had kept some manuscripts and
sketches, that I intended to use in future work. This he managed to keep
until his exchange, when he expressed it to my home in Northern New
York. We did not meet again until after the close of the war. The
possession of the contents of this box was of inestimable value to me in
getting out my first book, "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape." Being
embarrassed for funds before the first edition of it was published, I
wrote to Captain Hampton, and by the next mail received a generous sum
sufficient to carry me through that critical period. Since then he has
been a most loyal friend and comrade, and during my stay here, did much
to make enjoyable my visit to the city which he had chosen for his home.
One needs no friends though, to make Detroit attractive, for its past
history and present beauty give it an unfailing interest. As to the
latter, it can never be justly drawn, however vivid the description, nor
truly understood, however careful the reader. It must be _seen_. As to
its history, that is general and belongs to the country, and I know of
no great American city which has a more romantic past.
In the days of the early explorers the present site was looked upon as
favorable for a settlement, commanding as it does a rich tract of
country and lying at the very entrance to the Upper Lakes. The Iroquois
were then in possession and their village was known as Teusha Grondi.
Both the English and French coveted this point, but the latter were more
enterprising, and anticipated their rivals by making an appointment with
the Iroquois for a great council at Montreal, in which the
Governor-General of Canada and others were to have a voice. The wary
Frenchmen presented their claims very plausibly, but failed to win the
approbation of the equally wary Indians. They were told that their
brothers, the Englishmen, had been refused, and that it was not well to
show partiality; but this excuse had very little weight with the
subjects of the Grande Monarque, who had been accustomed to make
themselves at home generally. The Governor-General in an impressive
speech replied that neither the Iroquois nor the English had any right
to the land which belonged to the King of France, and that an expedition
had been already sent out to establish a fort on the Detroit River!
This was indeed the case. La Motte Cadillac, with a Jesuit missionary
and one hundred men, was on his way, while his countrymen, with the
consistency which has ever marked the dealings between the red and white
races, were asking permission of the Indians. The French fleet, composed
of twenty-five birch canoes bearing the colors of France, reached the
Detroit River in July, 1701. There was a telling significance in the
floating of that flag over the boats decorated with Indian symbols and,
if the savages had discerned it, the French commander and his followers
would never have reached their destination. As it was, they came
quietly as friends, and were allowed to establish themselves without
interference.
On the first rise of ground overlooking the river, the palisades were
raised and the guns set, and by the close of August, Fort Ponchartrain
became a reality. The Miamis and Pottawattomies were soon induced to
make a settlement near by, and afterwards a few Huron and Ottawa bands
collected on the opposite shore of the river near the site of Windsor.
The point quickly attracted the fur trader, being in a direct line from
Michilimackinac to Montreal and Quebec. For sixty-two years the French
held possession of Detroit, profiting by her superior location, and the
friendship of the Indians, but their day ended when the sharp eyes of
Wolfe discovered the steep ascent to the "Plains of Abraham," in Canada,
and pointed a way for British supremacy.
The Treaty of Paris, which was the outcome of the French and Indian War,
called for the surrender of all the forts held by the French, but news
travelled so slowly that when Captain Rodgers with his two hundred
rangers came to take possession of Fort Ponchartrain, he found still
floating over it the flag of France. While on his way to execute this
mission, he was met by Pontiac, the Ottawa chief, who was angered by the
transfer of claimants to his land, and who demanded of Rodgers "what
right he had in entering the dominion of the great Indian King without
permission." The answer he received was far from satisfactory, but he
bided his time to make his dissatisfaction felt. The same feeling was
manifested everywhere by the Indian allies of the French, but their
wrath was concentrated upon Detroit, on account of its being the great
stronghold of the West.
In 1763, Pontiac had arranged his famous scheme for either annihilating
the obnoxious new-comers or driving them east of the Alleghenies. They
did not treat him so considerately as the old claimants, and he was
far-seeing enough to realize the result. Aflame with hatred and
determined to save his people from the fate that awaited them, he
visited the great tribes that were friendly, and sought their
co-operation. In a speech at the great council held at Ecorse on the
twenty-seventh of April, 1762, he said, "As for these English--these
dogs dressed in red who have come to rob you of your hunting-grounds and
to drive away the game--you must lift the hatchet against them and wipe
them from the face of the earth." The plan was worthy of a Napoleon. The
confederated tribes were to attack simultaneously all the Western forts,
while his particular band was to be brought against Detroit. This point
he had expected to take by stratagem and would no doubt have succeeded
but for the betrayal of the plot by an Ojibway maiden who was in love
with the British commandant. The day before its execution this Indian
girl brought Major Gladwyn a pair of moccasins which he had asked her to
make for him, and on her way home with the remainder of the deer-skin,
which he had furnished for the same purpose, she lingered about the gate
so as to attract the attention of the sentinel. He saw that she seemed
to be troubled about something, and asked her to return. Wavering
between love and duty to her race, she hesitated; but finally the
impulse of her heart prevailed, and returning to the room of the
commandant, she told him the terrible secret.
Pontiac was to come to the fort on the morrow ostensibly to hold
peaceful negotiations with his white brothers, but really to massacre
them. His warriors, who had cunningly shortened their rifles by sawing
off a part of the barrels, so that they might carry them concealed
beneath their blankets, were to fall upon Gladwyn and his men at a given
signal. This news was lightly received although the statements of the
Indian girl seemed to be verified by a slight thread of evidence which
had from time to time been brought to Gladwyn's notice. He laughed at
the thought of danger at such a time, when the peace which had lasted
for two years appeared so likely to continue; but while he doubted
Pontiac's real intentions, he decided to be prepared for any issue. The
guards were doubled, sentinels were stationed on the ramparts, and when
the great chief came in the guise of friendship, he was completely
nonplussed by the show of discipline in the garrison. Entering the north
gate with his sixty blanketed conspirators, he found himself confronted
by a double line of red-coated soldiers, their muskets held at "present
arms." At the corners of the streets were groups of fur traders, and at
regular intervals the silence was broken by the beating of drums.
Surprised at every turn, and fearing that his plot had been discovered,
Pontiac walked on sullenly endeavoring to conceal his annoyance. When he
reached the council-house he said to Gladwyn, "Why do I see so many of
my father's young men standing in the streets with their guns?" The
commandant lightly replied that he had just been drilling them to
preserve discipline and that it was moreover a custom with the English
to thus honor their guests. These suavely spoken words failed to
reassure the chief, who sat down for a few moments without speaking; but
having recovered his self-possession and assuming with it an habitual
expression of stoical defiance, he arose and began his harangue.
Gladwyn, he noticed, instead of listening to what was being said, kept
his eyes steadfastly upon the movements of the other Indians, and when
the belt of wampum was taken up and the chief began to reverse it in his
hands--the signal for attack--Gladwyn made a quick motion and in an
instant the dusky semi-circle was startled by the grounding of arms and
the beating of drums.
Thus interrupted and foiled, Pontiac took his seat in silence. Gladwyn
then arose, and began his speech as though nothing unusual had occurred;
but after a few moments he changed his tone, accused Pontiac of
treachery, and stepping quickly to the nearest Indian threw open his
blanket and disclosed the hidden weapon. He then told Pontiac to leave
the fort at once, assuring him that he would be allowed to go in safety.
The unfortunate result of this act of clemency was very soon felt, for
as soon as the Indians were outside of the gates, they turned and fired
upon the garrison, thus beginning the terrible siege which was to last
fifteen months.
Autumn approached, and, as the crops were poor, several of the tribes
withdrew for the winter, but Pontiac, untiring in his efforts to harass
his enemies, remained, sending messages in the meantime to several of
the French posts, asking their help. In November he received word from
the commandant of Fort Chartres on the Mississippi telling him that it
was impossible for the French to give any help as they had signed a
treaty with the English; and later similar messages reached him from
other points. Still he did not give up. His allies had captured eight
forts, and if he could take Detroit success would undoubtedly follow.
In the spring the tribes returned to renew the attack upon the wellnigh
exhausted garrison, keeping up their fiendish tortures, capturing
vessels sent with supplies and reinforcements, and bringing the handful
of brave men within the palisades to the verge of despair. As summer
advanced the anxious watchers, hearing the sunset gun thunder out across
the water, thought that each night might be their last; but off in the
East, General Bradstreet and his large force were starting to the
rescue, and by midsummer they had crushed the hopes, if not the proud
spirit of Pontiac. Sending one of his officers to this chief with terms
of peace, his advances were received with the coldest disdain. Captain
Morris, who was the ambassador, was met beyond the Indian camp by
Pontiac himself, but the chief refused to extend his hand, and bending
his glittering eyes upon the officer said, with a voice full of
bitterness and hatred, "The English are liars!"
All attempts at conciliation were made in vain. Pontiac, taking with him
four hundred warriors, went away, revisiting all the tribes, sending the
wampum belt and hatchet stained with vermilion far and wide, and
exhorting the Indians to unite in the common cause, threatening, if they
refused, to consume them "as the fire consumes the dry grass of the
prairie." He failed to rouse them, however, and was forced at last to
return to Detroit and accept peace.
The feelings that surged in his savage heart, when he found himself thus
defeated, can only be guessed. Chagrined and disappointed, he retired to
Illinois, and there perished by the hand of an assassin. No stone marks
his burial-place, "and the race whom he hated with such burning rancor
trample with unceasing footsteps over his forgotten grave."
The early history of Detroit is full of tragedy, and although the
beautiful river and its islands, the splendid forests and sunny fields
that encompass it, seem to have been intended for peace and the play of
romance, they were instead the scenes of treachery and carnage. During
the war of the Revolution, Detroit and Mackinaw, far from the field of
action, nevertheless had their share in it. From their magazines Indians
were furnished with arms and ammunition and were sent out with these to
harass and destroy the frontier settlements of New York, Pennsylvania,
Virginia and Kentucky, receiving a price upon their return for the
scalps which they brought! Besides these Indian expeditions, the local
militia went out, at one time under Captain Byrd, and again under Henry
Hamilton. The latter, in an attempt to protect the British interests on
the Wabash, was cleverly captured at Vincennes by General George Clarke,
who advanced upon this post with his men supported by a formidable but
harmless device in the form of a cannon cut out of a tree. Hamilton,
dreading the artillery, surrendered, and the people of Detroit,
believing that the victor would march against them, erected a new fort
near the present corner of Fort and Shelby streets, which they named
Lenault. During the war of 1812, this name was changed and the post
became known as Fort Shelby.
After the treaty of 1783 the western posts did not at once acknowledge
American jurisdiction, and among these Detroit seemed to be the most
defiant, but when Wayne effectually weakened the strength of the
Indians, there was a general surrender, although the United States
forces did not take actual possession until July eleventh, 1796. With
childish spite, the British, upon leaving this fort, broke the windows
of the barracks, filled the wells with stones and did all they could to
annoy those who were to succeed them, and when General Hull came there
as governor of the territory, it is possible that the ruin which he
found was occasioned by the same spirit of revenge.
During the succeeding years, Detroit was again one of the points towards
which an unpropitious fate pointed a finger. The Indians, still
believing that the Americans were driving them from their land, were
making preparations to attack the settlements, led on by the powerful
influence of the two chiefs, Tecumseh and the Prophet.
At a grand council the assembled tribes were told, according to the
policy of these chiefs, that the Great Spirit had appeared to chief
Tront and had told him that He was the father of the English, French,
Spaniards and Indians, but that the Americans were the sons of the Evil
One! Under such influence the uprising which resulted in the war between
Great Britain and the United States began.
When General Brock, seconded by Tecumseh, marched on Detroit, he
requested of the Chief, in case the place was taken, that the
inhabitants should be spared massacre, to which the haughty savage
replied, "that he despised them too much to have anything to do with
them." The result of this attack, and the inexplicable conduct of
General Hull, had aroused a strong feeling of disgust, and universal
sympathy was felt for those brave men, who, upon hearing that their
superior officer was surrendering without an attempt at resistance,
"dashed their muskets upon the ground in an agony of mingled shame and
indignation."
Victories elsewhere finally obliged the British to evacuate, and on the
eighteenth of October, General Harrison and Commodore Perry issued a
proclamation from this fort, which once more assured the people of
Michigan of protection.
Passing through the test of fire and sword, Detroit has gradually
progressed in all those ways which go to make up a great and prosperous
city. Fulfilling her natural destiny she has become one of the most
important commercial centres in the United States, and as a port of
entry can boast with reason of her strength. The narrow lanes which were
enclosed within the pickets of Fort Ponchartrain, and trodden by men in
the French uniform, in English red coats and in the skins of the deer
and beaver, have reached out over many miles, and have become an
intricate maze of streets and avenues, lined with homes and business
houses which bear no trace of the old time block house and trader's
cabin.
Here and there, where history is preserved, one finds a few relics of
the "dead past" embalmed in paint or print or labelled within the glass
case of a museum; but the present Detroit is interesting enough without
these. In every direction it is brightened by parks and adorned by
fountains; and the broad avenues lined by generous borders of grass and
shaded by cool lines of trees, are something for Americans to be proud
of, especially when they recall the fact that "Johnny Crapeau" once
asserted that this particular corner of the new world belonged to the
Grande Monarque; and "John Bull" in turn claimed it for his own.
One of the prettiest parts of the city, and perhaps within the
possibility of description, is the Campus Martius. On it stands the
suggestive if somewhat unusual monument designed by Randolph Rogers and
erected by the city at a cost of sixty thousand dollars. The surmounting
figure is that of an Indian maiden representing the State, and on the
tablet beneath, the inscription tells us that it was placed there "in
honor of the martyrs who fell and the heroes who fought in defence of
Liberty and Union." Everywhere are evidences of a high appreciation of
beauty and comfort, and if the people of Detroit are sometimes tempted
to seek a change and rest on some of the little island resorts of the
river, or on Lake St. Clair, it is not because their own homes are
unattractive. Some one has said, "if places could speak, they would
describe people far better than people can describe places," and this is
especially true of this great city. It is impossible by words to do it
justice. The public buildings, the thronged streets, the busy harbor,
the shady avenues, must be seen to be appreciated, and there are very
few places which will justify praise and repay expectation more
liberally than this splendid City of the Strait.
CHAPTER XVIII.
DETROIT TO CHICAGO.
Eighty-fifth Day.
_Inkster House,_,
INKSTER, MICHIGAN,
_August 4, 1876._.
Having before me a lecture appointment at Ypsilanti, which, considering
the object I had in view through Michigan, I felt must be met, I rode
out of Detroit at three o'clock in the afternoon, somewhat reluctantly
perhaps, but within a very short time the love of travel was again upon
me, and I found myself easily reconciled. _Paul_ being in the most
delightful spirits, after four days of unbroken rest, displayed quite a
little animation as I mounted him in front of the residence of friends
on Cass Avenue, and when we had reached the open country, I gave him the
rein and allowed him to trot or gallop, as he felt inclined. The edge of
his impatience having worn off, he resumed his habitual easy canter
which made the saddle so enjoyable, and at this pace we covered fourteen
miles, reaching our destination a few minutes after six o'clock. There
was an agreeable if not decided contrast between the last
stopping-place and the present one. A hundred towers announced the
approach to a great city, as we neared Detroit; but here a solitary
spire rose against the sky, and while the Detroit River teems,
throughout its entire length with water-craft of all sorts, the almost
unknown little river that winds along between Detroit and Inkster, is at
this point as quiet as one of the untravelled streams of the North. The
Michigan Central Railway follows its shore for many miles, and as I kept
to the highway in the same direction, I could see it shining
occasionally through an opening in the trees. The waters of this river
are no doubt full of fish, as are all the streams of Michigan, and they
have besides a fine characteristic--a sparkling clearness.
Eighty-sixth Day.
_Hawkins House_,
YPSILANTI, MICHIGAN,
_August Fifth_.
A forbidding sky hung over Inkster as I took my seat in the saddle at
ten o'clock, but "Forward" was the watchword, and there was moreover a
charm in variety, for sunny skies had become rather monotonous and,
under the circumstances, uncomfortable. The dust was well laid when we
had gone only a short distance, but it rose again in a new form as
_Paul_ quickened his pace, so that we did not present a very dashing
appearance to the Ypsilantians, after sixteen miles of such travel.
[Illustration: A SUMMER AFTERNOON.]
Several times I was obliged to turn from the road, once taking shelter
under a tree and again in a woodshed. There were in town, however, those
who could excuse the appearance of a bespattered traveller--brave men
who had gone from Ypsilanti in the early days of the Rebellion, and who
had learned from long campaigning to look upon their comrades without
criticism. The brave Fourteenth Infantry started out from here under
Colonel Robert Sinclair, and joining Sherman in Georgia took a lively
part in all the movements of his army, until the fall of Atlanta;
numbering among their proudest achievements the repulse of the enemy at
Bentonville, North Carolina, where the hurriedly constructed works of
the Federals were charged and taken and then regained at the point of
the bayonet; and their part in the battle of Jonesboro, Georgia, in
1864, which was the last of Sherman's brilliant operations around
Atlanta. Many of these brave fellows perished on the field of battle,
but enough remain to keep fresh the memory of those stirring days and to
add the influence of their patriotism to the young Ypsilanti.
Eighty-seventh Day.
_Hawkins House_,
YPSILANTI, MICHIGAN,
_August Sixth_.
On the previous evening I met a large number of men of the town, who
gave me a hearty welcome, and as many of them were old soldiers, they
expressed their satisfaction with the purpose of my lecture, favoring me
with considerable enthusiasm in Union Hall.
The patriots of Michigan have many proud deeds to tell of, and are
distinguished for their gallant service. Their military leaders were
invariably zealous, and their civil leaders unceasing in their
encouragement. "We cannot consent to have one star obliterated from our
flag" was the sentiment, and with the saving of the Union at heart, the
men went into battle.
During Wheeler's repulse at Strawberry Plains in August, 1864, eight
Michigan men were left to guard McMillan's Ford on the Halston. One of
these, knowing the danger of his position, deserted, leaving his seven
companions to "hold the fort." This handful kept back a brigade under
the Confederate general almost four hours, but the Rebels crossed above
and below the ford and captured the guard. One of their number, a
farrier, was wounded, and Wheeler coming up to him began a conversation.
Finally Wheeler said, "Are all the Tenth Michigan like you fellows?"
"Oh, no," said the other, "we are mostly horse farriers and blacksmiths
and not much accustomed to fighting." "Well," said Wheeler, "if I had
three hundred such men as you, I could march straight through h--l!"
Eighty-eighth Day.
_McKune House_,
CHELSEA, MICHIGAN,
_August Seventh_.
Left Ypsilanti bright and early in order to save time, for although
nearly the middle of August, I still felt the intense heat, and the dry
dusty roads often made my daily journeys far from agreeable. For several
days the mercury ranged between 85° and 90°, and as the route was at
this time due west, the sun nearly stared me out of countenance in the
afternoon. Ann Arbor was reached about ten o'clock, but I did not take
more than a passing glance at the University, noticing, however, that
women as well as men were among the students--a recent and wise change
in the law of the institution. The people were raising a flag over one
of the buildings as I rode through, and on it in conspicuous letters
were the names of Tilden and Hendricks.
Delhi, with no signs of a Lalla Rookh, and Scio, modest under the
dignity of its suggestive Latin name, were quaint landmarks along my
way, but I rode on a mile beyond to have dinner at Dexter. The Huron
River has its source near here, in one of a cluster of lakelets,
bordering on Livingstone and Washtenaw counties. All Michigan is covered
with these small bodies of water, which, with the streams, lie upon its
green surface like pearls in a network of silver.
Leaving Dexter, I had company all the way to Chelsea. Large flocks of
sparrows flew along, lighting upon the telegraph wires, and as I
approached they would fly away and settle again farther along, keeping
up a kind of race, which was evidently fun for them, and which greatly
amused me. It seemed as though they were tireless, and when I and my
horse reached our destination fatigued, after twenty-six miles of travel
in the sun, these strong-winged fellows were ready for another flight. I
do not doubt that they easily accomplished the return journey, for we
cannot compute the distance they can cover in a day. They are hardy
little fellows and, despite the objections urged against them, have many
admirable qualities, not the least among which is their tenacity of
purpose.
Eighty-ninth Day.
_Hurd House_,
JACKSON, MICHIGAN,
_August Eighth_.
A few minutes after seven in the morning found me in the saddle at
Chelsea. I stopped on my way at the _Herald_ office and then struck off
towards the main road, along which I cantered to Grass Lake, where I had
dinner and remained until three o'clock. This rest was thoroughly
enjoyed, the more so perhaps, as I learned before leaving Chelsea that
if my advance agents had not made arrangements for me elsewhere, the
people would have asked me to lecture here. In that event I should not
have been so familiar with the quiet charms of Grass Lake.
Probably there are those who, if they had been in my place, would have
denied themselves these halts along the way, but they would have been
deprived of a double gratification. In the first place they would miss
much of the character of the country through which they passed, the real
difference in the manners and customs of the people; and they would miss
the opportunity of assuring the credulous that they were not making a
test ride across the continent within a certain time and for a certain
reward.
News often travels incredibly fast when there are no evident means of
communication, and I was often amused by the curiosity which my advent
excited and the reasons which were whispered about in the villages
through which I passed, as to the object of my journey. Indeed many
Michiganders, from quiet haunts in their native wilds, made short
pilgrimages "to town" in order to look at one whom they fancied might
hold a proud place for having crossed the continent in so many days,
hours and seconds. My horse even was looked upon with awe, as "the
charger upon which General Washington rode during the war of the
Revolution!" But this anachronism belongs to New York.
Leaving Grass Lake late in the afternoon, it was necessary to make
better time in order to cover the remainder of the twenty three miles
lying between Chelsea and Jackson. The pace quickened. I came into the
latter city at six o'clock, and rode directly to the hotel.
Ninetieth Day.
_Hurd House_,
JACKSON, MICHIGAN,
_August Ninth_.
I clipped the following notice from the _Citizen_ of this date, as a
memento of my stay at Jackson. It chronicled the fact that:
"Captain Willard Glazier lectured last evening in the interest of
the Custer Monument Fund. His lecture was a good historical review
delivered with graceful rhetoric and at times real eloquence. The
Captain is still in the city giving his horse a rest; a noble
Kentucky Black Hawk, whom he has ridden all the way from Boston, and
whom he expects to carry him to San Francisco. He starts to-morrow
morning for Battle Creek, where he lectures on Saturday evening."
My advance agent, Babcock, went on to Battle Creek in the morning, where
arrangements were made with local committees for my lecture on the
twelfth. After he had gone I made a leisurely inspection of the city.
It was impossible to do more on account of the extreme heat.
This may no doubt be considered the centre of the closely populated
southern end of Michigan, a region dear, in times past, to the heart of
the Indian, but which knows him no more. A Chippewa chief standing upon
this soil, once said: "These lakes, these woods, these mountains were
left to us by our ancestors; they are our inheritance, and we will part
with them to no one." He knew not the strength of the pale faces who
listened; for within a few years they were ready to claim, on the same
grounds, those hills, and lakes, and mountains for their own.
Compared to the peninsula, whose mineral-laden shores are washed by
Superior, Michigan and Huron, there is the greatest contrast; and La
Hontan, making a little exploratory trip up there before anyone else,
called it "the fag end of the world." These words might still be applied
to some of the wildest northern points, but here is the very heart of
civilization.
Jackson lies in the coal fields that reach down through several of the
southern counties. This deposit is not rich, owing to the amount of
sulphur in it, and the demand is chiefly local. The Grand River divides
the town and, with the bridge that spans it, adds much to the
picturesque effect.
Ninety-first Day.
_Cooley House_,
PARMA, MICHIGAN,
_August Tenth_.
Spent the forenoon in my room at the Hurd House, Jackson, writing
letters to my wife, Major Hastings and others. In the afternoon there
was a street parade of Howe's London Circus which was a very fantastic
affair, but which seemed to be hugely enjoyed by everybody. Later in the
day the great tent was upset by a gust of wind, accompanied by a
thunder-shower, and a droll scene followed, which caused considerable
excitement. The people were left exposed with the rain coming down upon
them in torrents. So far I have seen nothing more amusing than the
country boys and girls rushing up town drenched, and for once at least
indifferent to the charms of the "big show."
The storm having passed, I ordered _Paul_ after supper, rode down to the
office of the _Patriot and Citizen_, and after a few minutes'
conversation with the editor, hurried on toward Parma, which was reached
late in the evening. The ride in the dark was cool, but somewhat lonely.
It was probably on such nights as this that young Dean, the enterprising
settler of years ago, played his nocturnal tricks upon his neighbors. He
came out to Michigan when it was a wilderness, to make his fortune by
clearing land at ten dollars an acre, and while he was drudging he
expected to have a little fun. It was his habit to work away all day
chopping trees within an inch of the falling point, and then about ten
o'clock, when the settlers were well asleep, to go out and give a blow
to the end tree, so that it would fall against the others and send them
crashing like a row of ninepins. How the old forests must have rung with
their thundering and how that plotter Dean must have relished his
mischief!
As I approached Parma, in the darkness I could see nothing about the
village to suggest that other Parma, far away under an Italian sky, but
there is a resemblance, for the European duchy and its modest American
namesake both lie in a rich agricultural region; and if I mistake not
the dull white freestone that is quarried here in such large quantities,
finds a prototype over the sea.
[Illustration: THE COUNTRY PEDDLER.]
Ninety-second Day.
_Witt House_,
MARSHALL, MICHIGAN,
_August Eleventh_.
As there was a heavy rainfall in the morning, I waited in Parma until
nearly ten o'clock, and even then was obliged to start in a
thunder-shower in order to keep my appointment for the following evening
at Battle Creek. This required no sacrifice, for, excepting the
discomfort of wet clothes, the change was agreeable. I reached Albion in
time for dinner, and immediately made myself comfortable at the hotel.
Rest and refreshment having the desired effect, I afterward took a short
stroll through the town, which I found very wide awake, although the
Methodist college, the life of the place, was still closed for the
summer vacation. In the meantime the men of the village had met, and
before I remounted, came to me and persuaded me to return by rail and
deliver the Ouster lecture on the fifteenth. Glad to do all I could for
the "Benefit Fund," I readily consented and started away with the good
wishes of the impromptu committee. Marshall, being only twelve miles
beyond, was reached early in the evening, so that before dark I had time
to get a mental picture of the place. Calhoun County has its capitol
here, and in 1853 it was looked upon as one of the most flourishing
towns in Michigan. It has not reached the predicted pinnacle of
importance, but it has a pleasant situation, some flourishing flour
mills, and is altogether a credit to the "Wolverines."
Ninety-third Day.
_Potter House_,
BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN,
_August Twelfth_.
As soon as _Paul_ was led out in front of the Witt House at Marshall, a
large crowd gathered about us; and when I had taken my seat in the
saddle, one of the number stepped forward in behalf of the townspeople
to invite me to return at a time which had previously been agreed upon
and lecture on the heroes of the Revolution. Giving them the best
promise I could, I hurried away as I had a good six hours' ride before
me.
Since the day before there had been a decided change in the weather. The
sun blazed down with almost tropical heat, drying up the roads and
making my way a veritable fiery furnace. I had a rare opportunity for
watching "Old Sol" on these solitary rides, as he appeared unfailingly
in the morning, swung through the heavens, and vanished in the west at
night. It was now harvest time, and since that early day in May on which
I started westward, I had kept my eye on him like a true worshipper,
half understanding the pagan with his devotion to Apollo, and half in
sympathy with the Indian who greets the Sun-god and weaves the splendid
symbol into pouch and canoe and mocassin. Between the hours of ten and
four particularly the heat was intense, but in other respects the day
was uneventful.
Ninety-fourth Day.
_Private House_,
BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN,
_August Thirteenth_.
On the preceding evening a full house greeted me at Stuart's Hall, where
I was introduced by a comrade of the G. A. R., Lieutenant Eugene T.
Freeman. After the lecture I met several of the leading men of the town
and later was invited to a private residence, where I was made at home
during the remainder of my stay. The Lieutenant called for me on Sunday
morning, and I accompanied him to church, meeting the pastor, Rev. L. D.
Palmer, who spoke with animation and warmth and made the service an
effective one. I enjoyed it all the more perhaps as I realized that
before many Sundays I would be on the Great Plains beyond the
Mississippi, where churches are known to be very rare. Continuing his
courtesies, my comrade friend drove me out to the favorite resort, Lake
Goguac, in the afternoon and there I had several fine views of the
surrounding country. This little incident suggests an interesting theory
concerning one of the pre-historic races who are supposed to have
occupied this section of the country. It seems that in the ancient
symbolic manuscripts of the Aztecs frequent mention is made of a land
which they called Aztelan, compounded of the symbols A. T. S. and
signifying "Lake Country," from which also their own name is derived,
making it to mean "the people of the lake country." They refer to their
former home as a country lying towards the north and giving further
details which might be descriptive of the Peninsular State--so the
theorist thinks. As a coincident, but advanced nevertheless as a strong
argument, the learned gentleman states that the Wyandots have a
tradition to the effect that hundreds of years ago, the builders of the
mounds were driven southward by invaders from the northeast; and
pursuing the magic thread, he suggests that the Aztecs were usurpers in
Mexico according to their own traditions and the corroboration of
Spanish history. If this is the case, my comrade and myself, in visiting
this pretty little lake, may have trodden upon the same soil which had
been pressed by the feet of the mysterious builders of the mounds. I am
personally a trifle sceptical on this point, and believe that the key to
this part of ancient history is yet to be found.
Ninety-fifth Day.
_Kalamazoo House_,
KALAMAZOO, MICHIGAN,
_August Fourteenth_.
On this day I passed a fine wheat-growing section in the valley of the
Kalamazoo, whose richest part is probably near the Big Village--its
namesake. This river, which drains Hillsdale, Kalamazoo, Calhoun and
Allegan counties, and is navigable for forty miles above its mouth, has,
I believe, more traffic than any one of the rivers of Michigan.
Throughout its length of two hundred miles it flows through pine and oak
forests, through the richest section of a State famed for its
agricultural products, and like the Nile, if I may so compare the relics
of a great people with those of one comparatively unknown, is looked
down upon by the silent monuments of the past. To me the comparison is
not unreasonable, for I consider the tumuli of those mound-builders
scattered over the hills and valleys of America, worthy of as much
interest and respect as the more splendid remnants of a higher
civilization.
At this point the stream is still broad and picturesque. As to its name
I am undecided. According to some it is a corruption of Ke-Kenemazoo,
meaning "the boiling pot," and according to others of Kik-alamazoo, "the
mirage river," because to the fanciful Indian the stones that jutted,
dark and wet, out of the river-bed looked like otters. The village on
its banks was settled in 1829, and after being known for two years by
the name of its first settler, Bronson, became, in 1836, Kalamazoo. It
is thoroughly alive, has a population of about 18,000, and its position
as the half-way place between Detroit and Chicago adds considerably to
its importance. I lectured here to a full house, being introduced by
Major R. F. Judson, formerly of General Custer's staff, and bearing a
high reputation as a soldier. Intercourse with one who had known the
General so well, and who held him in such loyal regard, gave me a new
insight into the life of
"That mighty man of war,
A lion in battle, and a child by the fireside."
Ninety-sixth Day.
_Albion House_,
ALBION, MICHIGAN,
_August Fifteenth_.
I came back to this place from Kalamazoo on the afternoon train and was
met at the station by R. A. Daniels, who went with me to the hotel. The
introduction at the Opera House where I lectured in the evening was made
by Captain Rienzi Loud. When I concluded, I found that the good old
custom of "passing round the hat" had not yet lost favor, for two
gentlemen, having furnished the "hat," assumed the role of collectors
and the "Fund" was within a very short time substantially increased.
When this ceremony was over a man in the audience rose and said:
"Captain Glazier! I came in after the hat was passed, but I want to give
something toward the 'Monument;'" and suiting the action to the word he
made his contribution. The whole ceremony was so suggestive of a certain
little church up in St. Lawrence County, New York, where the same custom
prevails on Sundays, that I came very near fancying myself the parson,
and if some of my comrades had not come up immediately and given me a
hearty greeting, I might have been guilty of pronouncing a benediction!
As it was quite late when I reached this point, having made twenty-five
miles since ten o'clock, there was very little time for sightseeing, but
I learned that here was the seat of Ames College, a thriving Methodist
institution admitting both men and women, and proudly referred to by the
people of Albion.
Ninety-seventh Day.
_72 West Main Street_,
BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN,
_August Sixteenth_.
Called at Captain Loud's law office at Albion in the morning, and had a
delightful chat over old times, our topic an inexhaustible one--the
battles and incidents of the late war. As this town was only a short
distance away, I was tempted to prolong the chat into a visit, finding
the Captain a cordial comrade.
According to previous agreement I lectured in the evening at Wayne Hall,
Marshall, having an introduction by Colonel Charles W. Dickie.
My horse was now in Michigan City, being treated for the sore on his
back by an old comrade, who since the war had attained quite a
reputation as a veterinary surgeon. The delay was somewhat annoying as I
anticipated trouble in crossing the Rockies, if I did not reach them
before the season was too far advanced; but there was a possibility of
disabling the animal if his affliction were neglected, and my sympathies
were with him. As the delay could not be avoided I availed myself of the
"Iron Horse" and on it made brief tours to the neighboring towns.
At this time it was very easy to agree with the theory of the fatalist
that "whatever is, is right," for by an accident I was enabled to meet
more agreeable people, to enjoy their hospitality, and to see more,
which was my chief purpose in crossing the continent.
A philosopher never worries about little hindrances, for he soon learns
that a delay often proves to be an advantage. Such was my case.
[Illustration: A MILL IN THE FOREST.]
Ninety-eighth Day.
_72 West Main Street_,
BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN,
_August Seventeenth_.
Soon after breakfast I left Marshall for Battle Creek on a freight
train, as there were no passenger coaches over the road until the
afternoon. This mode of travel, if not the most luxurious, was at least
novel, and we made very good time. Between the two places the face of
the country hardly changed in appearance. There were the same fields of
wheat and corn, and at Battle Creek evidently as much business in the
flour mills as at Marshall.
The creek, uniting here with the Kalamazoo, after a serpentine course of
forty miles, supplies the water-power and gives the necessary impetus to
trade.
I have heard that the tributary won its bellicose name through a little
difficulty between the first surveyors of public land who came to mark
this section and some Indians. The quarrel ended seriously, and, as the
tradition goes, two of the Indians were killed.
It may have been that the latter were making an attempt to hold the
ground, and that it was but one of the many similar occurrences which
were to convince the red man that he was superfluous. Calhoun County was
certainly worth making a stand for. Its soil was rich, providing
abundantly for the simple wants of the savage, and in the clear waters
of the St. Joseph and the Kalamazoo tributaries many a paddle had
descended with a deft stroke, upon the gleaming back of pike and
pickerel.
Ninety-ninth Day.
_32 Portage Street_,
KALAMAZOO, MICHIGAN,
_August Eighteenth_.
At nine o'clock I was once more on _Paul's_ back possessed of a stronger
sense of satisfaction than had been mine for many days. The truth is, I
had missed my four-legged companion sorely. Reached Augusta at noon. I
had a good old-fashioned dinner; and the horse something that was quite
satisfactory, and at four o'clock we started on again for Kalamazoo.
Soon after I left the village a thunder-shower came up, but there was a
convenient tree at hand and we were not slow in reaching it. Thinking
that all was well I again put spur to _Paul_ and we started forward,
this time coming in sight of the little village of Comstock, three miles
east of Kalamazoo, before our progress was interrupted. Off in the
distance the warning whistle of an approaching train broke in upon the
stillness; the familiar rumble of wheels followed, and in a moment more,
as it was rushing by, _Paul_ made a leap of forty feet over the
embankment. He was good enough to leave me and the saddle behind. It was
a narrow escape and I was severely stunned, but was soon up again
getting my bearings. I found my horse standing in the stream stripped of
everything except the bridle, and, with the exception of a slight trace
of nervousness in him, looking as though nothing unusual had occurred.
We reached Kalamazoo a little later, and there I wrote to Mr. Bulkley as
follows:
KALAMAZOO, MICHIGAN,
_August 18, 1876_.
J. M. BULKLEY, ESQ.,
_Secretary Custer Monument Association,
Monroe, Michigan_.
DEAR SIR:--I have the pleasure of transmitting to Judge Wing,
through Major R. F. Judson, the net proceeds of my lecture,
delivered in this place on the evening of the sixteenth instant. I
desire to accompany my gift with an acknowledgment of many
courtesies extended by the press and band of this patriotic village.
I resume my journey this afternoon and shall speak at Niles, South
Bend, and Laporte before the close of the present week. Hoping that
your brightest anticipations for the "Monument" may be most fully
realized, I remain
Very sincerely yours, WILLARD GLAZIER.
This letter I preserved, as I wished to have all the correspondence upon
the subject of the "Monument" for future reference.
One Hundredth Day.
_Dyckman House_,
PAW PAW, MICHIGAN,
_August Nineteenth_.
Had an early breakfast at Kalamazoo. Ordered _Paul_, and mounting him
rode through the Big Village to take a last look. Before leaving I
called upon Major Judson and Colonel F. W. Curtenius. The latter of whom
has had a brilliant career. Graduating from Hamilton College in 1823, he
studied law and later went to South America, enlisting in the cause of
the Brazilians. He served through the war with Mexico, was appointed
adjutant-general of Michigan in 1855, holding this office until 1861,
having received the high title of Senator in 1853 and being re-elected
to the office in 1867. The Colonel's father was a general in the war of
1812, and was for many years a member of the New York Legislature. I am
only familiar with Major Judson's military record, but his services as a
citizen are no doubt as honorable as was his career as a soldier.
With these gentlemen I entrusted the proceeds of my lecture and the
letter to Mr. Bulkley, with the request that they be transmitted to the
Monument Association at Monroe. They expressed their appreciation of my
gift in warm terms and handed me the following acknowledgments:
_August 19, 1876_.
Received of Captain Willard Glazier the net proceeds of his lecture
at this place, which sum is to be applied to the fund for the
erection of a Monument to the memory of the late General Custer at
Monroe City, Michigan. We take great pleasure in speaking of Captain
Glazier in the highest terms, not only on account of the
self-devotion he has manifested in a noble cause, but of his
indomitable perseverance and energy. We trust he will, wherever he
goes, receive the unanimous support of the citizens whom he
addresses.
F. W. CURTENIUS,
_Late Colonel U. S. Volunteers_.
I take great pleasure in fully endorsing the above, and recommending
to public confidence and support Captain Willard Glazier, in his
efforts in behalf of the Custer Monument Association,
R. F. JUDSON,
_Late Aide to General Custer_.
With an exchange of salutations and good wishes from the friends whose
courtesies I considered it an honor to receive, I left Kalamazoo for Paw
Paw. The ride between these towns was unusually trying. _Paul's_ back
was still tender, the heat was intense, and under these circumstances it
was necessary to cover fourteen miles before any refreshment could be
had.
One hundred and first Day.
_Dyckman House_,
PAW PAW, MICHIGAN,
_August Twentieth_.
This Sunday was a perfect day for rest, and I indulged in a generous
amount. Had breakfast at eight o'clock, after which I strolled through
the streets of the Van Buren County capital, finding them generally like
all other village streets, but with enough individuality about them to
make them interesting. The High School stood, with the usual dignity of
educational institutions, prominent among the neat cottages, and in the
business portion two or three newspaper offices gave unfailing proof of
local alertness.
The east and west branches of the Paw Paw River meet here and hurry on
to pay their tribute to the Kalamazoo, offering their united strength to
the business concerns which man has erected on their shores. The
outlying farms thus naturally irrigated are very rich, and give, with
the extensive lumbering interests, a very flourishing and prosperous
appearance to this section of country and a certain briskness to the
trade at Paw Paw.
On returning to my room I copied the testimonials given me by Colonel
Curtenius and Major Judson of Kalamazoo, wrote several letters, attended
to some neglected dates in my journal, and made my plans for the next
few days. It was my intention to go to South Bend by rail the following
morning, to lecture there in the evening and then proceed to Grand
Rapids, where I was announced for Tuesday. My horse was in the meantime
undergoing new and vigorous treatment which I hoped would permanently
cure him.
One hundred and Second Day.
_Grand Central Hotel_,
SOUTH BEND, INDIANA,
_August Twenty-first_.
At ten o'clock I left Paw Paw, reached Decatur at noon, registered at
the Duncombe House and then continued my journey by rail. I hardly
realized that I was out of Michigan in this town on the St. Joseph, for
the river belongs to the "Wolverines" with the exception of the
capricious South Bend, and the streets have the breadth and abundance of
shade that have won so much admiration for the cities of Michigan. It
has, besides, the Hoosier enterprise, and began to be an important
manufacturing place fifteen years ago. The first settlement began in
1831 with a handful of houses and a population of a hundred souls. It
has now reached over 10,000. Prominent among the resources to which its
growth may be attributed is its proximity to the hard-wood forests of
Northern Indiana and Michigan.
These woods have proven a bonanza to South Bend. Enterprising
manufacturers have drawn from their unfailing source; prominent among
them being the Studebaker Brothers, who have had an enviable career.
These enterprising men started in 1852 with a cash capital of
sixty-eight dollars, and a knowledge of blacksmithing which they had
acquired at their father's forge on the Ohio. Thus equipped they went
to work, turning out two wagons the first year. The present output makes
that humble beginning seem almost incredible. Studebaker's wagons are
famous and the firm controls capital stock amounting to a million of
dollars. The other notable enterprise is the Oliver Chilled Plow Works,
founded in 1853 by James Oliver, a Scotchman, who came to Indiana to
follow the vocation of an iron master, and who ultimately had the
satisfaction of exporting his manufactures to his native country.
The most distinguished citizen of South Bend at the time of my visit,
and the most prominent man in Indiana, was Hon. Schuyler Colfax, whose
career as a statesman was a singularly brilliant one. For over a quarter
of a century he had been eminent in state and national politics.
Beginning life as an editor he founded in 1845 the _St. Joseph Valley
Register_, an organ of considerable popularity and which at the time had
a strong influence in local Whig circles. His subsequent duties as
Speaker of the House of Representatives and the friend and adviser of
Lincoln, kept him out of editorial work, and later he was entirely
engrossed with affairs of state. In 1868 he was elected to the office of
Vice-President under General Grant as chief executive.
One Hundred and Third Day.
_Sweet's Hotel,_
GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN,
_August Twenty-second._
My birthday. Went by rail from South Bend to Kalamazoo in the morning;
had dinner at the latter place, and then caught an early train for
Grand Rapids, where, finding that George had made unusually good
arrangements, I spoke in Luce's Hall to one of the largest audiences
which greeted me in Michigan, General W. P. Innes, well known in Grand
Army circles and a mason of high rank, introducing me. A large and
strongly executed painting of the Battle of Lookout Mountain, stretching
across the rear of the platform, made a striking effect and gave zest to
my reference to the War for the Union.
My reception at this place was so hearty that I should have enjoyed a
longer visit; but plans already laid prevented. I knew the town itself
well, for I had previously been there. It is full of interest both on
account of its past history and its present activity. The city lies on
both sides of the Grand River and seems to be hedged in by the great
bluffs that reach along at the water edge of the valley two miles apart.
Below is a stratum of limestone rock, forming the bed of the river, for
about a mile and a half with a descent of eighteen feet causing the
rapids and supplying the water-power. Gypsum is quarried here in large
quantities, and this industry supplemented by manufactures and fruit
culture gives it its commercial importance. Perhaps its most striking
peculiarity is to be found in the large proportion of Hollanders who
swell the population. Their churches, their newspapers and their general
thrift give them a high standing in the community, and what they have
ever been accorded--a reputation for being loyal and enterprising
citizens.
In 1760 there was a very different state of things here. The Ottawa
Indians had a large village below the rapids, and there Pontiac's voice
was heard, calling upon the chiefs to aid him in his projected siege of
Detroit. Here the fur traders had their grand depot, and the
missionaries labored in the cause of Christianity; and when in 1834 the
Indian settlement began its metamorphosis, some bold prophet declared
that it would soon be "the brightest star in the constellation of
western villages." This prophecy has been more than fulfilled, for Grand
Rapids is the acknowledged metropolis of Western Michigan. In the mail
that awaited me was a copy of the South Bend _Herald_, containing a
pleasant notice which chronicled in true newspaper diction the fact that
"Captain Glazier delivered his lecture 'Echoes from the Revolution'
at the Academy of Music last evening. Promptly at eight o'clock the
lecturer, with Mr. J. F. Creed, appeared on the platform. Mr. Creed
in introducing the lecturer stated the object of the lecture to be
in aid of the Custer Monument Association of Monroe, Michigan. He
also read several letters introducing Captain Glazier to the public,
from well-known citizens of Michigan, and acknowledging receipts of
the proceeds of the lectures delivered in Detroit and Kalamazoo. The
theme of the lecturer afforded a fine field for the display of his
talents as a speaker. Possessing a fine imagination, good
descriptive powers and the real qualities of an orator, he could not
fail to please the really intelligent audience which greeted him
last evening. Probably one hour and a half were consumed in its
delivery; but the interest and attention did not flag nor tire, and
when the speaker took leave of his audience he was greeted with
several rounds of applause."
One Hundred and Fourth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_August Twenty-third_.
Came down from Grand Rapids in the morning intending to stop on the way
at Lawton, but was carried by through the carelessness of a brakeman
who neglected to announce the stations. The town is quite an important
point on the road for its size owing to the extensive fruit orchards of
the surrounding farms. This common industry which has sprung up in all
parts of the State, but especially in the southern portion, and which
attracts more attention than anything else, is a contradiction to the
statements of those who examined the country while it was yet a
wilderness.
In 1815 the surveyor-general of Ohio made a journey through the State
and soberly reported that not more than one acre in a thousand in
Southern Michigan would in any case admit of cultivation, yet
notwithstanding that worthy's opinion, six hundred thousand peach trees
flourished in Southwestern Michigan in 1872! Surely that is a fact to be
proud of. On my arrival at Decatur I found the _Eagle_ of Grand Rapids,
containing mention of my lecture at that place as follows:
"A very large audience gathered at Luce's Hall last night to hear
Captain Willard Glazier. The speaker was earnest and impassioned,
his lecture was delivered with a force and eloquence that pleased
his hearers, and all who were in the hall went away glad that they
had been there, and ready to add to the praises that have been
bestowed on Captain Glazier as soldier, author and orator."
Such notices were gratifying--not for the leaven of flattery which they
contained, but because they helped along the cause which was to raise a
shaft to the deserving dead. For this reason I appreciated the comments
of the press and owed much to its co-operation. It is a pleasure to me
to acknowledge my indebtedness to this most powerful agent of modern
times.
One Hundred and Fifth Day.
_Dyckman House_,
PAW PAW, MICHIGAN,
_August Twenty-fourth_.
Took the Michigan Central to Lawton, and changing cars there continued
my journey to this place by the Paw Paw Road. Thinking that it might
facilitate matters, I had my saddle padded here, and had a talk with the
saddler besides, as the delay was becoming serious. At this crisis, if
man and horse could have set up a partnership, like the fabled Centaurs,
how we could have flown before the wind--or even outstripped the
Michigan Central--as we galloped across country towards the setting sun!
That old myth was an inspiration. Was it invented by some fanciful
traveller-horseman hindered on his way to Rome or Athens, by a saddler
or a veterinary surgeon?
During my forced visit, the people of Paw Paw were very kind, making the
time pass agreeably and giving me a pleasant recollection to take away.
These small social influences carried great weight with them, and helped
to bear out the universally acknowledged fact that associations are all
powerful.
It is not strange that people, rather than their abode or works,
strongly impress themselves, nor that, realizing this, they should be
cordial in their hospitality. If, then, I praise the beauty or
enterprise of these American towns, I bear witness at the same time, to
the kindness and courtesy of their inhabitants. Whether East or West,
these qualities were everywhere apparent, proving the universality of
generous feeling.
One Hundred and Sixth Day.
_Private House_,
NILES, MICHIGAN,
_August Twenty-fifth_.
Leaving Paw Paw after breakfast I went down to Lawton by rail, where I
changed cars, taking the Michigan Central to Niles, this for the purpose
of making use of the extra time that now hung heavily upon my hands. A
good proportion of the six thousand inhabitants came to Kellogg Hall in
the evening to manifest their interest in the Custer Monument and the
old Revolutionary heroes, Mr. J. T. Head giving the introduction.
Reaching Niles before noon I had ample time to look about, and to hear
from old residents something of Berrien County and their home here on
the St. Joseph.
[Illustration: NO ROOMS TO LET.]
For those who delight in searching out events from the doubtful past,
there is suggestion enough here to keep them occupied for at least a
week. Even this small town possesses records that date back to 1669,
when Pere Allouez came along down the river on a voyage of discovery and
who may have encamped on the very site of Niles, for all that the people
who live there now know. But putting this aside, it is certain that in
1700 the Jesuits had a mission a short distance south of the present
city, and that there were forts built here and there in the vicinity as
a protection against the Indians. Later, when matters were settled and
the English and French had long since withdrawn, the Reverend Isaac
McCoy came out into the wilderness with his family and established
Cary Mission, probably in sight of where the old Jesuit Mission stood.
This was in 1820. Six years afterwards a handful of cabins made their
appearance, and out of this nucleus the town of Niles was evolved. This
is a mere outline without the adornment of those pleasant little
fictions that cling about the sober history of every inhabited place on
earth, and which delight the ear of most travellers, for there may be
those who follow me who echo the sentiment of the Michigan pioneer,
"From legend and romance, good Lord, deliver us!"
One Hundred and Seventh Day.
_Private House_,
LA PORTE, INDIANA,
_August Twenty-sixth_.
Was compelled to avail myself of livery accommodations in order to meet
my evening engagement at La Porte. Rode in a hack to South Bend, and
finally reached my destination by way of the Michigan Central and
Southern Indiana roads. My advance agent, Babcock, met me at the
station, and I accompanied him to the home of a Mr. Munday, who I
discovered was the father of an old fellow-prisoner at "Libby."
I was delighted with the situation and appearance of the town. It rises
on the border of a beautiful and fruitful prairie, its northern end
bounded by a chain of seven lakes which make an ideal resort in summer,
and is at a sufficient distance from the great body of water which dips
down into that corner of the State, to enjoy a comparatively mild
climate. Its population is about 8,000, of which a good share is
employed in the foundries, machine shops and mills that make up its
business activity. The younger element is provided for in good schools,
and that luxury of modern communities--the public library--is zealously
supported. On a line with it, as a free and instructive institution, the
Natural History Association, founded in 1863, holds an honored place,
and unlike most societies of a similar character has succeeded in making
its researches of interest. In fact for its size the city has made great
progress in literary and educational directions.
One Hundred and Eighth Day.
_Jewell House_,
MICHIGAN CITY, INDIANA,
_August Twenty-seventh_.
After my lecture of the previous evening at La Porte, I took the first
train to this city--emphatically the City of Sand. Time and winds have
raised great hills of sand on every side, and from their crests one can
look off for miles over the lake, getting perhaps a deeper impression of
its vastness than from a less monotonous lookout.
These sand dunes are supposed by some to be caused by a peculiar
meteorological phenomena of currents and counter-currents acting
vertically instead of horizontally. Whatever the cause, they have made
Indiana's only port of entry a place of such striking peculiarity, that,
once seen, I doubt if it would ever be forgotten.
In the forenoon I went out on the lake in a small yacht; but finding
the little craft unequal to the heavy waves which were rushing in from
the north, I soon turned back, having gained by the venture a better
idea of the dunes and of their extent as they stretch along the western
shore.
The fact that they are "building upon the sand" gives the people of
Michigan City very little concern, probably because they know there is
_terra firma_ somewhere beneath their foundations.
Ames College occupies a site here, and the Car Shops are important and
extensive.
One hundred and Ninth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_August Twenty-eighth_.
Taking an early train, I returned to this place in the morning, where I
had decided to remain for a few days in order to allow more time for the
treatment of my horse, and to give my brother and Babcock an opportunity
to insure a full house at Farwell Hall, Chicago, where I was announced
to lecture on the eleventh of September.
I had begun to fear that the irritation on _Paul's_ back would develop
into that most disgusting and painful disease of horses known as
fistula; and although he never showed any impatience, I had not the
heart to ride him while in this condition.
My quarters were quite comfortable at the only hotel in town, and I
thanked my stars that I was not stranded in some little backwoods place
with the choice of "the softest boards on the floor for a bed," and
other accommodations to match--a state of affairs which a waylaid
journeyman once had to face, who, with the soul of a Stoic, left on his
window-pane the comforting couplet:
"Learn hence, young man, and teach it to your sons:
The easiest way's to take it as it comes."
In fact I was doubly fortunate. No sooner had I reached Decatur than I
lost the consciousness of being "a stranger within the gates," having
been so cordially made to feel that I was among friends, and that the
cause which I had taken up in Michigan met with their hearty sympathy.
[Illustration: RURAL SCENE IN MICHIGAN.]
One hundred and Tenth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_August Twenty-ninth_.
Met George L. Darby, an old comrade of the "Harris Light," in the
afternoon. He had noticed my signature on the hotel register, and came
at once to my room, where after the heartiest of greetings we sat down
for a long talk. Thirteen years had slipped away since the time of our
capture at New Baltimore, Virginia, which led him to Belle Isle and me
to Libby Prison, and yet as we discussed it all, the reality of those
events seemed undiminished. Kilpatrick, Stuart, Fitzhugh Lee--their
clever manoeuvring, and our own unfortunate experiences on that day, kept
us as enthusiastically occupied as though it were not an old story: but
soldiers may be pardoned for recurring to those events which, while
they impressed themselves upon witnesses with indelible distinctness,
may yet have lost their bitterness, when it is remembered that before
many years they and their stories will have passed away. To those who
indulge in the absurd belief that such topics are discussed with
malicious intent, no justification need be made.
Led on from one thing to another, I found Darby finally plying me with
questions of kindly interest about my peaceful march from Ocean to
Ocean, and anxiously asking about my horse, which I had previously left
in his care. He offered to do all he could for the animal and with this
comforting assurance took his leave.
One hundred and Eleventh Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_August Thirtieth_.
Early in the afternoon Darby called with fishing tackle and proposed
that we go out to Lake of the Woods and try our luck with hook and line.
The expedition was not successful as far as fish was concerned, but we
had a delightful boat ride and plenty of talk.
The lake, a pretty little dot lying, as its name implies, in the heart
of the woods, is an ideal spot for rest and enjoyment, and its miniature
dimensions bear no resemblance to its famed namesake of Minnesota. As we
had such poor success with our tackle I took no note of the kind of fish
that make their home within its sleepy borders, and my companion gave me
very little information. The truth is, we were more interested in our
concerns and the serious affairs outside the sport which so fascinated
Izak Walton.
One hundred and Twelfth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_August Thirty-first_.
Albert W. Rogers, to whom I had been previously introduced, called late
in the afternoon, and invited me to drive with him, determined, he told
me, that I should see something of Decatur's surroundings. The time was
favorable for agreeable impressions. It had been a typical summer day,
with blue sky, a slight breeze and the mercury at 70°; in short, just
such weather as I had encountered in this section of Michigan throughout
the month of August, and as evening approached, I was prepared to enjoy
to the utmost the pleasure which my new acquaintance had provided.
[Illustration: SPINNING YARNS BY A TAVERN FIRE.]
On the outskirts of the town one gets a view of gently rolling country
under a splendid state of cultivation, the yellow of the grain fields
predominating, and dotted here and there with farmhouses. Dark outlines
against the horizon suggested the forests of oak, ash, maple, birch and
elm, which stretch over such large tracts of Van Buren County, and which
have made a little paradise for lumbermen. Wheat, maize and hay appeared
to be nourishing; but I believe that agricultural products do their best
in the rich bottom-lands bordering the rivers. I have dwelt so
enthusiastically upon this fertile country that to say more would seem
extravagant, so I will bring my note, the chronicle of a most
delightful day, to a close.
One Hundred and Thirteenth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_September First_.
Received and answered a large mail after breakfast, and in the afternoon
took a walk through the village. One is, of course, reminded of the
gallant Commodore whose name, once among the greatest in America, now
honors this modest Western town, and whose deeds, once upon every lip in
the young republic, are wellnigh forgotten. The question even suggests
itself as to how many of those who live here, where his name is
perpetuated, are familiar with his life and character.
His capture of the frigate _Philadelphia_, which had been seized and
held in the harbor of Tripoli in 1801, during the pacha's seizure of our
merchantmen, was said by Admiral Nelson to be "the most daring act of
the age," and his diplomacy at Algiers and Tunis and Tripoli, where in
1812 his demands were acceded to, received the applause of all
Christendom, especially because those demands included the release of
the Christian captives at Algiers and of the Danish and Neapolitan
prisoners at Tripoli, and ended, forever, the pretensions of the Barbary
powers.
After the trial of Commodore Barron for cowardice, Decatur made some
remarks which the former thought should not be allowed to pass
unnoticed, and accordingly called upon his accuser to retract them. This
Decatur refused to do, but attempted to bring about a reconciliation.
Barren refused this and threw down the gauntlet, and when shortly
afterwards the two met to settle the difficulty "with honor," both fell
at the word "Fire!"--Decatur mortally wounded. The affair was
universally deplored, for his loyal services had endeared Decatur to his
country, and when his remains were taken to the grave, they were
followed by the largest concourse of people that had ever assembled in
Washington.
One Hundred and Fourteenth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_September Second_.
This was a great day for Decatur. With the morning came the completion
of arrangements for a Republican mass-meeting, and a rustic band from an
adjacent village arrived at nine o'clock in a farm wagon. The "Stars and
Stripes" floated majestically over the heads of the patriotic musicians,
and the people were drawn from every quarter to the stirring call of
fife and drum, eager to see their leaders and to listen to their views
upon the vital questions of the day. The "Silver Cornet Band" of
Dowagiac co-operated with the "Decatur Fife and Drum Corps," in rousing
the dormant element of the place, and, as its imposing appellation would
imply, did so with dignified and classical selections.
The political campaign which had been slumbering since the nomination of
Hayes and Tilden reached an interesting stage of its progress at this
time, and the friends and champions of the rival candidates were fully
alive to the issues of their respective platforms.
By nightfall the place was the scene of great activity, and to an
onlooker produced a singular effect. Men were collected in groups
engaged in excited conversation, torches flared in every direction,
while at brief intervals all voices were drowned in some lively tune
from the silver cornets or the fife and drum.
At an appointed hour the speakers of the evening appeared, and I noticed
among them Hon. Ransom H. Nutting and Hon. Thomas W. Keightly--the
latter a candidate for Congress from this district. The meeting closed
at a late hour, after a succession of heated addresses, and yet the
politicians of Van Buren County seemed not at all averse to continuing
their talking until sunrise.
One hundred and fifteenth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_September Third_.
Accepting an invitation from Albert Rogers, I accompanied him to the
Presbyterian Church in the morning, where Rev. Mr. Hoyt, a young
clergyman, conducted the services and preached a very good sermon. I was
pleased by the courtesy extended me when he said, in the course of his
announcements. "I take pleasure in calling attention to Captain
Glazier's lecture at Union Hall to-morrow night. I shall be present
myself, and recommend all who wish to listen to an instructive and
patriotic lecture to be at the hall before eight o'clock." When the
service was over Mr. Rogers and I waited to have a few words with Mr.
Hoyt, who was evidently very much interested in my journey across
country and who intended to lend his influence in behalf of the
"Monument Fund." We then returned to the hotel where I passed the
remainder of the day quietly in my room.
One hundred and Sixteenth Day.
_Duncombe House_,
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_September Fourth_.
Lectured to a full house at Union Hall in the evening. My sojourn of a
week at this place and the interest felt in the effort to perpetuate the
memory of Custer, brought about the most gratifying results. Among those
who were with me on the platform were Hon. Ransom Nutting, Rev. Mr.
Hoyt, Prof. Samuel G. Burked and Albert W. Rogers. I was presented by
Mr. Nutting, after which testimonials from the Monument Association were
read by Prof. Burked, and later the following pleasant acknowledgment
from these gentlemen was handed me:
DECATUR, MICHIGAN,
_September 4, 1876_.
CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER,
MY DEAR SIR: We take this means of expressing to you our
appreciation of the highly instructive and very entertaining lecture
delivered by you at Union Hall this evening. Truly we admire your
plan and your generosity in giving the entire proceeds to the Custer
Monument Fund. Our endorsement is the expression of our village
people generally. You have made many friends here.
May success attend you throughout your journey.
Very respectfully,
S. GORDON BURKED,
RANSOM NUTTING,
ALBERT W. ROGERS.
Such greeting as this, extended to me all along my way, gives
substantial proof of the universal kindness with which I was received,
and of the spontaneous hospitality of the American citizen.
One hundred and Seventeenth Day.
_Seymour House_,
DOWAGIAC, MICHIGAN,
_September Fifth_.
There was a large gathering in front of the Duncombe House in the
morning when I mounted _Paul_ and faced westward, turning my back upon
the hospitable little village in which I had spent so many pleasant
days, and where I felt that I had indeed made many friends. Mr. Rogers
and a young man of the place, whose name I am sorry to have forgotten,
escorted me out of town intending to ride with me to Dowagiac, but an
approaching rain-storm obliged them to turn back. As I came in sight of
the village I noticed unmistakable signs of a stream which I discovered
was the Dowagiac River, a tributary of the St. Joseph, entering it near
Niles. It has been put to good account by the millers, who have
established themselves here, and in its small way adds to the blessings
of the Michigan husbandmen on its shores.
One hundred and Eighteenth Day.
_Private House_,
NILES, MICHIGAN,
_September Sixth_.
The threatening storm which led my Decatur friends to turn back on the
previous afternoon, set in soon after my arrival at Dowagiac, and I
considered myself very fortunate, as it was accompanied by the most
violent thunder and lightning that I had yet encountered.
Notwithstanding this disturbed condition of the elements, I was greeted
by a full house at Young Men's Hall, where I was introduced by Dr.
Thomas Rix.
I found a few familiar faces at Niles which I had seen during my
previous visit, and several new places of interest about the town.
Navigation on the St. Joseph ends at this point, and the narrowed stream
is spanned by a railroad bridge; and the water-power increased by a dam.
There is a brisk business carried on at the water's edge.
The mills are well supplied with grain from outlying fields, and boats
are continually plying back and forth laden with lumber, grain, flour
and fruit, which are shipped from here in large quantities. In fact, for
its size--it claims I believe, a population of something over
4,000--Niles is full of energy and ambition. I found myself on this
second visit very much interested in the place and pleased that
circumstances had made necessary a second halt.
One hundred and Nineteenth Day.
_Konnard House_,
BUCHANAN, MICHIGAN,
_September Seventh_.
Resumed my journey at two o'clock in the afternoon at a small way place
between Niles and Buchanan, where I rested at noon. The heavy rains of
the preceding days had left the roads in a most wretched condition, and
the distance was considerably lengthened as it was necessary to avoid
pools and washouts, so that it took two hours of slow riding to reach my
destination. Darby, who had gone forward with my advance agents, was the
first to greet me at this place and to inform me of the arrangements
made for my lecture in the evening.
As my day's journey had been undertaken leisurely, I started out on a
tour of inspection, after having first made comfortable provision for
_Paul_. I found a flourishing village, having a population of something
over 2,000, and prettily situated on the St. Joseph River. As I walked
in and out through its streets and looked for the last time upon the
stream, which for its romantic history and natural charm had forced
itself upon my notice so often, I could not avoid a certain feeling of
regret that this was to be my last halt in the great State through which
I had made such a pleasant and profitable journey. Pictures of orchard
and meadow, of wheat field and river, passed in review once more, and
with them the recollection of the splendid part the patriots of Michigan
bore in the War for the Union, than whom was none more loyal than the
heroic Custer, for whose memory I had spoken and received such warm
response.
One hundred and Twentieth Day.
_Private House_,
ROLLING PRAIRIE, INDIANA,
_September Eighth_.
Called for my horse at Buchanan at nine o'clock in the morning,
intending to stop at New Buffalo, but once on the road, I decided
instead to make this village my evening objective. A heavy rain-storm,
setting in early in the forenoon, compelled me to take refuge at a farm
house for about an hour, where I was initiated into the home life of the
Northern Indiana "Hoosier." I am sorry to say that during this day's
ride I encountered the worst roads and the dullest people of my journey.
Many who have resided in this part of Indiana for thirty and even forty
years are not only exceedingly illiterate, but know much less of the
topography of the country than the average Indian--and absolutely
nothing of the adjacent towns. As a consequence I was obliged to trust
to chance, which brought me to Galion, a tiny hamlet on the outskirts of
a swamp, where I had dinner. My ride thither was made under
circumstances which suggested the ride of the belated Tam O'Shanter, and
while my tortures could not compare with his, they were none the less
acute while they lasted. I was met on the edge of the swamp by a swarm
of mosquitoes--known in France as _petite diables_--who forced their
attention upon me without cessation, in spite of the fact that I urged
my horse forward at breakneck speed, _Paul's_ steaming flanks and
mire-covered legs attesting to the struggle, when we drew up in front of
Galion Inn.
[Illustration: A HOOSIER CABIN.]
One hundred and Twenty-first Day.
_Jewell House_,
MICHIGAN CITY, INDIANA,
_September Ninth_.
I considered myself fortunate, during my ride from Rolling Prairie to
Michigan City--a distance of sixteen miles--in having a sandy road
and no rain from the time of setting out in the morning until my arrival
here in the evening, but I was less favored than usual in obtaining
information.
The Presidential campaign was now at white heat and very little outside
of politics was discussed. I found, however, that the ideas of many of
the farmers were confused upon the issues. The three candidates in the
field made the canvass unusually exciting. Hayes and Tilden were, of
course, the central figures, but Peter Cooper of New York had many
staunch supporters and a few enthusiasts rallied around Blaine, Conkling
and Morton. The proprietor of the Jewell House--a Cooper man--was at
this time much more interested in the success of his favorite than in
the receipts of his hotel, and his halls and parlors were the rendezvous
for men of all parties.
One hundred and Twenty-second Day.
_Jewell House_,
MICHIGAN CITY, INDIANA,
_September Tenth_.
As it was Sunday and I had a desire to visit the most imposing
institution connected with Michigan City--the Northern State
Penitentiary, I decided to make the two miles on foot, and be there for
divine service. I found everything admirably conducted, and although
such a place is not the most cheerful in the world to be shown through,
I was well satisfied that I had gone, and was strongly impressed with
the effect of the stern hand of the law. In the afternoon a heavy rain
and wind storm came up, and I stayed in my room, the greater part of the
time, writing up my journal, and arranging for my lecture tour across
Illinois and Iowa, thereby accomplishing certain duties which fair
weather might have tempted me to neglect.
It was my intention to go by rail to Chicago on the following morning,
where I was announced to lecture at Farwell Hall.
Darby, to whom I have previously referred in connection with Decatur,
and who was acting as advance agent in the small towns and villages that
lay along my route, was with me during my stay at the Jewell House, and
we had frequent talks over our adventures in the "Harris Light"--Second
New York Cavalry--in which most of our active service was passed.
[Illustration: A CIRCUS IN TOWN.]
CHAPTER XIX.
THREE DAYS AT CHICAGO.
On the eleventh of September, I took the 7.50 morning train at Michigan
City for Chicago, instead of going forward on horseback, as I had
discovered by a study of the map of Illinois, that I could save _Paul_
some thirty miles, in my journey across the State, by riding directly
from Michigan City to Joliet, and I saw no good reason why I should ride
him up here, especially at a time when he was greatly in need of rest.
When I had registered at the "Grand Pacific," I went to the Fidelity
Safe Deposit Company to attend to some business matters and then over to
the Express and Post offices, concluding my rounds by a call upon
friends on West Washington street.
Lectured to a full house at Farwell Hall in the evening, the
introduction being given by Major E. S. Weedon, editor of the _Army and
Navy Gazette_. The Major alluded in eloquent and touching terms to the
record of the gallant Custer and immediately put my audience in sympathy
with me. My brother-in-law, Madison H. Buck, of Lake Mills, Wisconsin,
called upon me in the evening and was with me on the platform. The
lecture closed before ten o'clock, and I hurried over to McVicker's
Theatre, to see the last acts of "Mulberry Sellers," in which John T.
Raymond was playing his favorite rôle. The play was having quite a run,
and one heard at every turn the expression that had caught the popular
fancy--Mulberry's inimitable assurance, "There's millions in it!"
On the morning of the twelfth, I settled with George and Babcock. The
former went forward to Ottawa, and the latter to Joliet. It was my
intention at the time to push on to Omaha and Cheyenne as rapidly as
possible in the hope of passing Sherman, at the summit of the mountains,
before the snow was too deep to interrupt my journey. Eight general
halts had been decided upon between Boston and San Francisco, and these
were Albany, Buffalo, Toledo, Chicago, Omaha, Cheyenne, Ogden, and
Sacramento. I had now reached my fourth objective and felt the
importance of more haste and less leisure and sightseeing. My time,
therefore, in this great city was necessarily cut short.
The Exposition had just opened at the time I reached Chicago, and this
enabled me to see more in a few hours than I could have possibly seen in
any other way, and gave me quite an idea of the industries carried on in
Cook County.
I had never seen a finer local affair of the kind and was confident that
its object--the encouragement of agriculture and industry--would be
successfully accomplished. Anyone who sees the way in which Chicagoans
throw themselves into an undertaking of this sort, and in fact into
everything that has to do with the enterprise or prosperity of their
city, cannot but be struck with admiration.
Their irrepressible hopefulness, which effected such marvelous results
after the great conflagration of 1871, is a case in point, and those who
have been fortunate enough to see the transformation, are forced to
admit that the calamity was, after all, not so much to be deplored. Out
of the great waste in which the business portion was laid, handsome
buildings have sprung up with almost magic rapidity and auguring well
for the future of the "Windy City." Especially is this feature striking
in the vicinity of the City Hall, where finer edifices rose upon the old
ruins.
The very name of Chicago carries us back to the barbaric scenes of more
than two hundred years ago. Where the beautiful city now stands, those
days of long since past knew only a morass, an oozy, desolate stretch of
water-soaked swamp. There was a stream in this desolate region, the
banks of which, tradition tells us, were parched and cracked and
blackened by the frequent ravages of lightning. The early explorers
found on its banks an old stone mound, supposed to have been erected for
the sacrifice of human victims to propitiate the wrath of the Indian
deity Chekagua, the Thunder God.
On the oldest map of this region now extant, one published in 1684, the
little river itself bears the name Chekagua, and it may be, that our
fair Western metropolis of to-day was also a namesake of that same weird
divinity.
Others, claiming a more propitious christening, assert that Chicago was
a derivative from Chacaqua, the Indian term for the Divine River.
Or perhaps the city was named from the successive titles of the proud,
old Tamawas Chiefs.
"Not a monarch in all that proud Old World beyond the deep" bore more
haughtily his inherited title of Herod or Caesar than did one of these
Tamawas rulers exult in the ancient title of Chacaqua. If this theory of
the origin of Chicago's cognomen be accepted, then indeed can the "Windy
City" claim a royal title from the first.
In 1673, certain Catholic missionaries became interested in exploring
the Western Wilds. They were especially enthusiastic in regard to the
waterways of darkest America. The Mississippi they had heard of. Was it
possible that it ever could be made to join hands with the Great Lakes,
of which they had some knowledge?
So questioning, Fathers Marquette and Joliet took two canoes and five
men from the upper lake regions, and started to explore the charming
Valley of the Mississippi.
On their return they reached the mouth of the Illinois, where they were
informed of a new way of reaching Lake Michigan.
"Taking the Des Plaines branch, they were able to reach the water shed,
but eight feet higher than canoeable waters, crossing which they
launched into the stream which conducted them into the lake."
In so doing they made perhaps the greatest discovery of their
time--namely, a discovery of that supremely important portage which
insures Chicago's supremacy so long as American civilization exists.
In October, 1674, Marquette returned to this spot and erected the first
white man's dwelling which was ordained to be the beginning of the
great metropolis of the West. His little hut was both a home and a
sanctuary. Here he wintered, shooting turkey, deer and buffalo from his
door. Here in the spring, from toil and exposure, he died, mourned by
the savages whom he had taught.
Thus was Chicago begun in embryo.
There in that lagoon, filled with ooze, with its impassable fens, and
drifting sands, civilization and religion had their representative who
laid the foundation of the great Coming City bravely with teachings of
"The love of God, and the brotherhood of man."
We have good maps of 1688 which show us that a little later this lake
end of the water communication with Louisiana was made a military post,
called Fort Chicagon.
This place became at one time a favorite settlement for French
missionaries. However the spot is supposed to have been abandoned about
1763, after which date for about one hundred years white men avoided it.
In 1774 the site of Chicago, with all the surrounding country, became a
part of Virginia, being conquered by a military expedition from that
State.
In 1778 the region became known as County of Illinois, State of
Virginia.
After the close of the Revolutionary war, Virginia "divided herself by
the Ohio River," ceding all the territory beyond that boundary to the
United States for the "common benefit of all the people."
In 1795 the Indians also ceded to the general government any rights
which their tribes possessed to "one piece of land six miles square, at
the mouth of Chekajo River, emptying into the southwest end of Lake
Michigan, where a fort formerly stood." This extinguishment of the
Indian title in 1795, being in the nature of a quit-claim deed for
lands, is sometimes called the earliest real estate transaction in
Chicago.
Thus, she who was to become the "Queen City" of the West, made her
_debut_ into the Union, where, possibly, she may yet,
"The fairest of her daughters,"
rule supreme.
In the midst of all the down-town rush, at a point where noise and
confusion scarcely cease, one notices upon a decidedly modern building a
white stone tablet which informs the stranger that it was upon this spot
Fort Dearborn stood--the oldest landmark that remained to tell the tale
of the wilderness. In 1804 two block-houses were built here and a
subterranean passage made from the parade to the river, the whole
surrounded by a picket and furnished with three pieces of light
artillery, the object being "to supply the Indian wants and control the
Indian policy." The tribes of Pottawatomies overran the country round
about and with the little group of French and Canadian settlers made the
life of the isolated post. In 1809 Tecumseh marked it out as one of his
objects of vengeance, but fortunately other schemes occupied his
attention, and it remained in comparative security until the war of
1812. Then, when all the country was disturbed and the Indians were
making mischief everywhere, the commander of Fort Dearborn was betrayed
by the Pottawatomies and every vestige of a settlement destroyed.
It was not until 1818, after Fort Dearborn was again demolished, that
the pale face was courageous enough to establish his home at this point.
Nor was courage alone required, for the unfavorable position--on a
morass where vehicles invariably floundered in its black loam, and where
the air was necessarily unhealthy--was well known; but these first men
whose rude homes constituted the embryo city must have possessed to a
great degree that indomitable spirit which has become the very
foundation of Chicago.
Nine years from this time a most unfavorable report of the place was
sent to the Government and from this report the picture is called up of
a wretched, unclean and disreputable community. But this state of
affairs was not to last long. An event of importance took place here in
1833, when the United States commissioners and chiefs of the
Pottawatomie, Chippewa and Ottawa tribes met, that the former might
persuade the latter to give up more of their valuable land in Illinois
and Michigan and ultimately to relinquish it altogether. The exact
amount stipulated for was twenty millions of acres. Then population
increased, for one of the points agreed upon, along with the land, was
that the Indians should move west of the Mississippi. As a result,
Chicago became the centre of much speculating. Eastern capitalists were
interested, invested and lost heavily, but after the depression which
inevitably followed, the people went to work in earnest and brought the
town out of her trouble.
The one point of advantage that Chicago possessed--her possibilities as
a commercial post--was put to the test, and so rapidly did she advance,
that in 1842, after several remarkable advances, she sent out 600,000
bushels of wheat. She was already becoming a big cattle market, ranchmen
further west driving their stock here and helping to increase the
importance of the place as a centre of trade. At this time a canal was
in process of construction, to connect the Illinois and Chicago rivers,
thus making Chicago the centre for commerce between the Southwest and
East, and giving her the opportunity to extend her business from the
Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean.
This was a splendid opening, and, with the co-operation of the railroads
which soon afterwards were extended to this point, the future prosperity
of the place was secured. It then only remained for Chicago to improve
her appearance and sanitary condition. This she did by having the
streets drained, filled up and graded. Local pride was manifesting
itself in various improvements and in private and public buildings, so
that by 1871 there was plenty of fuel for the great fire which laid so
much of the city waste.
The well-known origin of the conflagration was in a barn where "Mrs.
Scully's cow" innocently turned over a lighted lantern on some dry hay.
Soon the barn was in flames and the fire quickly spread to the lumber
yards along the river and from thence, the dry timber and wind favoring,
leaped along and licked up the homes on the North Side and the business
houses on the South Side.
The first stroke of the alarm sounded about nine o'clock in the evening
of October 8, 1871. "By eleven o'clock 100,000 people were hurrying
through the streets of the doomed city," spreading terror as they went.
"All over the city it was as light as day, and, in the remotest suburb
fine print was read by the glare of the conflagration three or four
miles away. By midnight nearly every vehicle in the city had been
pressed into service, and the frightened animals attached to them, in
many cases beyond control, went flying through the streets in all
directions, making a racket and a rumble which, coupled with the hoarse
shouts of men, the moaning of the gale, the roar of the conflagration
and the crash of falling buildings made a conglomeration of sight and
sound so appalling that none who saw it, or were of it, are ever likely
to forget. Few in the city took any notice of the break of day or the
rising of the sun. These occurrences seemed to make little difference in
the quantity of light. It was only now and then that Old Sol was visible
through the almost impenetrable smoke clouds. Nothing could be seen but
smoke, smoke, smoke, here and there interspersed by dark rolling masses
of flames. It was chaos come again. The earth was seemingly resolved
into its original elements."
At the end of three days, 300,000 people were destitute, 100,000 were
absolutely homeless, 200,000 were without water. The food supply was
doubtful for all. Robbers and incendiaries were at work. The gas was
gone--blown sky high. Churches, newspapers, police, telegraph offices
and public institutions were gone, while nineteen-twentieths of all the
mercantile stock in the city was consumed.
The tract destroyed was about a mile in breadth, and the losses were
roughly estimated at $200,000,000. Still, so alive was public sentiment
and hope, that at the time of my horseback journey, five years later,
scarcely a trace remained to tell the tale of this disaster, and that of
1874, except the records of history.
The story of just how Chicago proved herself a veritable Phoenix is a
very interesting one.
On the evening of October ninth, only twenty-four hours after the
commencement of the conflagration, a car-load of provisions arrived from
Milwaukee. By the next morning fifty car-loads had come to the afflicted
city. Donations of food and clothing kept pouring in until Chicago was
fairly sated. By October eleventh every person had food enough and each
one's pressing physical necessities were attended to. On the eleventh,
also, the Board of Trade met and resolved to require the honoring of all
contracts. On the twelfth the bankers met and resolved to pay all
depositors in full. The State sent an instalment of $3,000,000 with
which it then voted to re-imburse the city for its expenditures for the
canal enlargement, thus placing the city in the possession of
much-needed funds. From all over the civilized world came contributions
in money for the resurrected city. The amount so received within three
months after the conflagration being about $4,200,000.
The Relief Society alone built four thousand houses within five weeks of
those dreadful days when all seemed lost.
In two years after the fire, sixty-nine million, four hundred and
sixty-two thousand dollars were expended in erecting buildings of brick,
iron, and stone, while miles of humble frame houses were built, each
costing from $500 to $10,000.
Now, in place of the original city of wood, there stands by the Great
Lake, a city of stone and iron, able to vie with any other city in
growth, enterprise and wealth, bearing the distinction of being the
greatest grain and lumber market in the world, and boasting a
population, at the time of my journey, of about five hundred thousand.
From the Atlantic to the Pacific I rode into no city that made such an
impression of grandeur, business power and wealth as this youthful
"Queen of the Lakes."
Chicago's baptism of fire seemed but to prove an inspiration, goading
the city to more activity, to greater success.
The aggregate amount of business done in the city the year after the
fire--entirely excepting the building trades--greatly exceeds that done
the previous year, as the following figures will show. During this one
year the wholesale merchandise trade increased fifteen per cent.
Receipts of grain increased 8,425,885 bushels; receipts of live-stock by
872,866 head. Deposits in the city banks increased $1,910,000.
So much for the splendid pluck of Chicago.
The Pacific coast has Chicago for her smelting furnace, four large
silver mills being located here.
From the Pacific coast also, she has a considerable trade in the
productions of the Orient. In the first half of 1873, Chicago received
assignments of three-million pounds of tea, two million pounds of
coffee, eight hundred thousand pounds of foreign wool, and three hundred
and nine thousand, seven hundred and twenty four pounds of foreign silk.
Cotton came to her from the Pacific Isles, and nuts from South America.
Some idea of the commercial importance of Chicago's trade may be reached
by the amount of some of her exports by rail during 1872: namely, two
hundred and thirty-four million pounds of meat; eighty million, two
hundred and fifty thousand pounds of lard; one million, nine hundred and
sixty-five thousand whole swine; four hundred and eighty-four thousand
head of cattle, and one hundred and sixty-two thousand head of sheep.
I found Chicago justly proud of her public schools. It was roughly
estimated that in the city about fifty thousand children between six and
twelve years of age received daily instruction.
The graded system employed in these schools is so advanced, and has
proved so successful, that it has become a general model for all the
schools of the great Northwest.
More than that, it has been adopted, in part, by the Minister of
Education in France, and at the late Vienna Exposition a reward for
progress, in the shape of a beautiful medal, was awarded to the school
system of Chicago. Chicago claims for herself absolute superiority in
two particulars over all the public schools in the United States, the
"Hub" institutions of Boston not excepted. _First:_ Perfect discipline
is said to be attained without the use of corporal punishment. _Second:_
The musical culture of the school children is said to far excel anything
attained before on this Continent.
I found that the city contained a number of colleges, theological
seminaries and universities. The University of Chicago occupies one of
the most elegant and commodious buildings in the West.
The Dearborn Observatory, which is a part of this University, contains
the famous Clark Telescope, one of the most magnificent instruments of
its kind in existence.
The Chicago Theological Seminary is noted for the beauty of its chapel
and lecture rooms, and the extent and quality of its library. The
Academy of Science was incorporated in 1865. It has a vast building,
well stocked with natural curiosities.
The Historical Society organized in 1856 possesses a rare collection of
public and private documents, as well as a library of nearly one hundred
thousand volumes.
There are two hundred and thirty-eight houses of public worship in
Chicago; all of the great religious denominations, and perhaps some new
ones, being well represented. Differing as they do, they are, as some
one says: "Agreed on one point, namely, an uncommon sense of mutual
toleration and mutual love for each other, and a feeling of
Peace and sweet good will to all mankind."
There is a good deal of fine pulpit oratory to be heard every Sabbath in
Chicago; and the people of the surrounding country know it. It is no
uncommon thing for the Saturday night incoming trains to be crowded with
young men, some of them from homes one hundred miles away, who are yet
regular attendants at the religious services of the city. Having enjoyed
these to the full, the Sunday evening sleeping cars are again crowded
with the same youthful army, very sleepy, but very happy, making the
return trip.
Chicago is justly proud of her streets. About eighty feet wide, and
meeting at right angles, they present a beautiful object lesson to some
of her elder Eastern sisters.
The city is said to contain thirteen million dollars' worth of hotel
property. Perhaps no structure for which any part of this immense sum
has been expended is more beautiful and remarkable than the Palmer
House. This building is said to contain more bricks than any two hotels
on the Continent, and more iron than most of them put together. The
flooring contains ninety thousand square feet of marble tiling laid in
massive beds of cement. The beams are laid in beds of cement also.
The immense carriage court is entered by three _porte cochéres_. There
are said to be one hundred miles of electric bell wires in the building.
The magnificent office is twenty-four feet in height. It is wainscoted
with Italian marble, studded with panels of remarkably rich rose
brocatelle marble, and with many natural mosaics of rare and curious
beauty. The wainscoting of the counter is made of the same exquisite
material. The grand staircase is made of the same.
Mr. C. M. Palmer travelled extensively for some time, before building,
throughout Europe, making an especial study of continental hotels, with
a determination to surpass the excellences of them all in his beloved
Chicago.
Mr. Palmer's spirit seems to be characteristic of all true Chicagoans.
To have their city excel, to have it something more extensive, more
impressive, more famous, grander, nobler than any other place which the
sun shines on, this is their hearts' desire. Some one said to a great
man:
"What paramount word of advice would you give to young men?"
The answer came,
"Aspire."
"What would your next advice be?"
"Aspire."
"But what then?"
"Aspire."
Chicago believes in that advice. She has always believed in it. Nay,
more, she has lived it.
CHAPTER XX.
CHICAGO TO DAVENPORT.
One hundred and Twenty-sixth Day.
_Jewell House_,
MICHIGAN CITY, INDIANA,
_September 14, 1876_.
In the morning I settled with Darby, and in the afternoon he returned to
Decatur.
At nightfall here, the excitement which had been rising during the day
reached its climax when the Michigan City Democrats repaired to the New
Albany depot to hold a mass meeting.
Notwithstanding my own sentiments, I went too, and was highly
entertained by the speakers, among whom were Hon. Daniel W. Voorhees of
Terre Haute, Hon. James Williams--better known in the Hoosier State as
"Blue Jeans" Williams--and Hon. Morgan Weir, of La Porte.
When Voorhees arrived his enthusiastic partisans had him driven in state
from the station in a carriage drawn by four white horses. He was no
doubt the lion of the occasion and his energetic language drew forth
frequent applause. The strong features, straight brows and broad
forehead of this politician would proclaim him a man of force anywhere.
A large crowd had gathered at the appointed place and business began at
eight o'clock. As time passed the excitement grew more intense, and
towards the close of the meeting an amusing incident was noted, when the
honorable senator took issue with his opponents. I then became aware
that there were others present of a different faith, besides myself, for
no sooner were Voorhees' anti-Republican sentiments voiced than a
vehement champion of the Republican party jumped to his feet denouncing
as false the statements made, winding up his remarks by thumping his
cane on the benches and saying that all that had been spoken was a "pack
of lies!" Off in another part of the building an excited Irishman also
jumped up crying out: "Mr. Voorhees is a perfect gintleman, sor!" A
compliment which the Hoosiers quickly took up and the depot rang with:
"Mr. Voorhees is a perfect gintleman, sor!"
My co-partisan was silenced, if not convinced. The other speakers scored
several points for their cause and the meeting closed with three cheers
and a tiger for the Democratic candidates.
One hundred and Twenty-seventh Day.
_Jewell House_,
MICHIGAN CITY, INDIANA,
_September Fifteenth_.
Being detained on account of the condition of my horse, and as the
weather now was most delightful, I made the best of the situation by
looking about the place, since I had seen comparatively little of it up
to this time. Possibly no city or town along my route labors under
greater disadvantages from a geographical or commercial point of view
than this "city of sand," situated as it is at the extreme southern end
of Lake Michigan, with the water splashing against it on one side and
the wind and sand storms beating against it on the other.
However, it has overcome these obstacles to a certain degree and is
hardly lacking in enterprise, as the mass meeting of the preceding day
testified. Here, perhaps, more than at any other of the towns and cities
lying around Lake Michigan, one is impressed with the resistless force
of this splendid inland sea, and so unique an impression did the place
make upon me that my detention did not become irksome, although all the
fascinations of the Great West lay beyond.
One hundred and Twenty-eighth Day.
_Hobart House_,
HOBART, INDIANA,
_September Sixteenth_.
Did not get on the road until nearly eleven o'clock. The rest and
treatment which _Paul_ had received at Michigan City put him in
excellent spirits for a rapid journey and he stepped off nimbly when I
gave him the reins in front of the Jewell House. I was greatly
encouraged by the condition of my horse and now that the word was once
more "onward," all the fascination of the ride came back.
Although the scenes I passed through were very like others, there being
nothing of marked interest to the traveller in this section of Indiana,
I still found much pleasure in looking over the farms as I passed them
and noticing the variety of methods and effects.
A good stimulating breeze came inland from the lake and by noon it had
added zest to my appetite. I stopped for dinner at the village of
Chesterton and then pushed on to this place which was reached in the
evening by seven o'clock--twenty-eight miles having been covered during
the day.
The only accommodation to be found was nothing more nor less than a
beer-saloon with sleeping rooms attached, a characteristic, I regret to
say, which I observed in many of the small towns through this section of
the country. As immediate environment has an influence in making
impressions, my opinion of this halting-place on the borders of
"Hoosierdom" was not the most exalted.
One hundred and Twenty-ninth Day.
_Rohmer House_,
RICHTON, ILLINOIS,
_September Seventeenth_.
Owing to the late hour of my arrival at Hobart the previous evening I
was unable to observe my usual practice of looking through the place and
making a note of its striking points in my journal, and for this reason
I was not in the saddle until ten o'clock A. M., although the time was
spent more in seeing than in chronicling what was seen.
_Paul_ was still in the happiest of spirits and I rode away from Hobart
at a gallop, stirring the dust of this sleepy little village as it had
possibly not been stirred for many moons. The cheerful fact was made
clear to me before leaving that I was as far from Joliet at Hobart as I
had supposed myself to be at Michigan City.
In the course of the day, in which twenty-eight miles were again
covered, Centralia, Sherryville and Dyer were passed, these towns being
on Grand Prairie, across which I rode from morning till night. At four
o'clock I reached the boundary between Indiana and Illinois, realizing
that at this point six States had added their rich scenes and splendid
enterprises to my memory.
As I was moving along on the prairie just before dark my ears caught the
sound of a peculiar barking and soon a pack of what I supposed to be
dogs were following me. I noticed that _Paul's_ manner changed and he
appeared disturbed, but attributed this to the barking and the
persistent keeping at his heels of the little animals. To a man whom I
met later, I explained that I had been followed for some hours by a pack
of dogs, when he promptly informed me that they were doubtless prairie
wolves. Of course to an Easterner this news gave an added interest to
Grand Prairie.
[Illustration: COUNTRY ROAD IN ILLINOIS.]
One hundred and Thirtieth Day.
_Robertson House_,
JOLIET, ILLINOIS.
_September Eighteenth_.
Had _Paul_ brought out at eight o'clock. As soon as he was saddled at
Richton the man who attended to him threw the rein over the neck of the
horse, and a moment later he made his appearance unaccompanied in
front of the Rohmer House. This being an undoubted sign of his anxiety
to be off, I mounted at once and we were soon lessening the distance to
Joliet, our evening destination, twenty-one miles away.
Was all day again on Grand Prairie, which may give some idea of this the
greatest and truly the grandest prairie yet passed on my route. Its
proximity to Chicago is doubtless one of the chief causes of the high
winds for which the "Windy City" is noted; and if Chicago could, she
would gladly change her inconvenient environment.
At Lenox I halted for dinner, reaching Joliet at four P. M. In riding
through Jefferson street, I was met by Babcock who seemed much surprised
at my early arrival. Notwithstanding the fact that "Rip Van Winkle" was
being played at the opera house, Robert McWade, a young actor of some
prominence, taking the leading _rôle_, I found a fair audience awaiting
me at Werner Hall in the evening, which proved that interest was still
felt in the Custer Monument movement.
One hundred and Thirty-first Day.
_Hopkins House_,
MORRIS, ILLINOIS,
_September Nineteenth_.
On calling for my bill at the Robertson House, Joliet, in the morning,
Mr. Conklin the proprietor, declined to accept any pay for my
accommodations, and when I insisted, said he wished the pleasure of
making me his guest during my stay. I did not get a very early start,
as a family by the name of Horner, upon hearing of my arrival, called at
the hotel and at their solicitation I made them a short visit. They knew
of my journey and interest in the Custer Association, and being
patriotic made this their reason for wishing to meet me. Their
friendliness was but another proof of the hospitality of the people of
Joliet, among whom I had come the day before as a comparative stranger,
but whom I left with the kindliest of feeling.
Before leaving, Mr. Conklin suggested that I ride along the tow-path of
the Michigan Canal from Joliet to Chanahon, and I followed his advice,
having dinner at the latter place. It happened that the innkeeper was
well supplied with sweet cider and I helped him to dispose of it by
drinking the contents of six well-filled glasses. Beyond Chanahon, on
the Illinois River, I borrowed a hook and line of a farmer who was
fishing and caught twenty-three perch in half an hour.
At four o'clock I reached the summit of a hill on the border of a
prairie from which I could look off for fifteen or twenty miles over a
fertile country through which two silver streams wound to unite just
below--the Kankakee here paying tribute to the Illinois. The atmosphere
was perfect--clear and pure; the trees were tinged red and yellow with
the first frosts, and to all this was added the glory of the sunset
which I lingered to admire before turning away from so charming a scene.
Such a view leaves a deep impress on the memory, and stirs recollections
of more youthful days. Emotions like these have a purifying effect upon
all men.
[Illustration: AN ILLINOIS HOME.]
One hundred and Thirty-second Day.
_Clifton House_,
OTTAWA, ILLINOIS,
_September Twentieth_.
I rode out of Morris in the morning just as the public school bells were
ringing nine o'clock. My journey now lay along the north bank of the
Illinois River, and took me through some of the finest cornfields I had
ever seen. Acres and acres, miles and miles stretched in all directions
as far as the eye could reach whenever the elevation of the road was
high enough above this waving sea of grain to permit of my looking
about. Otherwise I passed through it completely shut in, except as I
could look ahead and behind and see the avenue of giant stalks. My
horse, sixteen hands high, did not elevate me sufficiently to enable me,
sitting in the saddle, to look over the corn tops, and they still
towered above my head like so many small trees.
Those who are privileged to see this agricultural wonder must, however,
associate it with that other source of pride among Illinois farmers--the
"hogs"--for most of this splendid harvest is fed to these animals and
they, well-fattened thereby, are driven to market. Thus the enterprising
farmer is saved the expense of hauling his corn to Chicago or other
points, as the pork, into which it has been transformed, is able to
carry itself.
All along my route across the "Sucker State," I encountered, day after
day, white hogs and black hogs, hogs of every grade and shade, my horse
often stepping aside in equine dignity to allow a drowsy or pugnacious
porker to pass.
As I had determined to reach Ottawa by nightfall, I was compelled to
ride nearly all day in a drizzling rain which at noon was followed by a
heavy thunder shower. This I took advantage of by stopping at Seneca for
dinner, and then pushed forward. Was forced to halt again at three
o'clock on account of rain, and being near a farm house was invited to
"come in" while the good people took care of my horse.
Overtook a troop of boys on horseback near Ottawa and had their lively
company into town. There I met an old acquaintance--Mr. Kean--who was
among the first to greet me. My time was passed pleasantly here, and I
would do injustice to the proprietor of the Clifton were I to forget the
many courtesies politely extended to me while his guest.
One hundred and Thirty-third Day.
_Harrison House_,
LA SALLE, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-first_.
Left the Clifton House, Ottawa, at two P. M. The weather was still in an
unsettled condition which obliged me to make my way as best I could
between showers in order to keep my lecture appointment at La Salle. I
considered it fortunate that my route was now along the west bank of the
Illinois, a stream in which I had long been interested owing to the
important part it played as a convenient and favorite water course for
the early explorers of the Valley of the Mississippi. Between its
verdant banks, Joliet, Marquette, La Salle and others glided on their
way to the great stream. How the lover of history and adventure thrills
at the accounts of La Salle's Fort Crève-Coeur, and his colony scattered
over this same region of country!
Probably none of these historic men paid a more flattering tribute to
"La Rivière des Illinois" than Hennepin, the priest, who, when passing
down it to the Mississippi was not too much oppressed with anxiety to
admire its charms. What a different appearance its shores presented in
1680 to that of 1876! In place of the forest, waving corn fields under
high cultivation attracted my attention on every hand, and in contrast
to the wilderness inhabited by the savages whom Hennepin encountered, I
saw an emigrant train peaceably moving along on its way from the East to
the promising country west of the Mississippi.
One hundred and Thirty-fourth Day.
_Harrison House_,
LA SALLE, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-second_.
The equinoctial storms were now at their height and as my lecture at
Davenport was not to be delivered for some days, I decided to spend a
day or two in this pleasant little city, until "Old Sol" had "crossed
the line."
I found that this is the centre of important coal and lead mines, which
I should have visited and examined, superficially at least, had not the
inclement weather prevented. Through the courtesy of Colonel Stephens,
editor of the _La Salle County Press_ and a colonel in the volunteer
service during the late war, I was introduced to many of the citizens
who told me much of the history and enterprises of their town.
One hundred and Thirty-fifth Day.
_Harrison House_,
LA SALLE, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-third_.
Rode down to Peru in the morning accompanied by Colonel Stephens, who
wished to show me the pride of the county--the big plow works, which
constitute the leading industry of the place. Was introduced to members
of the firm and shown through the various departments of the
establishment, which were certainly imposing in the way of machinery and
in the evidence of mechanical skill. We returned to La Salle at four
o'clock and my hospitable comrade proposed that we take a stroll through
the city, to which I quickly consented.
Colonel Stephens introduced me to my audience in the evening, and made
pleasant reference to the brave and chivalrous Custer. My entertainment
here was most gratifying and I was warmly assured of the good will of
the people through the local press.
I have proved that everywhere in this country the spirit of hospitality
reigns. Whether in large cities or small towns, the utmost cordiality
prevails, and the stranger can always rely upon a hearty welcome.
One Hundred and Thirty-sixth Day.
_Farm House_,
NEAR HOLLOWAYVILLE, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-fourth_.
Upon leaving La Salle at three o'clock in the afternoon, I was told that
I would have no difficulty in securing accommodations for myself and
horse at Hollowayville, so, with the assurance of finding everything
lovely here, I jogged along over the intervening twelve miles at my
leisure.
My feelings can better be imagined than described when, on my arrival at
the little hamlet, I was looked upon with suspicion. The simple-minded
inhabitants hinted that I might possibly be a "highwayman" or a "horse
thief," or, for aught they knew, one of the James or Younger brothers.
These desperadoes were then exciting the people on both sides of the
Mississippi and my equipment, set off with high top boots and gauntlets,
with the peculiar trappings of my horse, only made matters worse.
Finding it impossible to secure lodging in the village, I rode on into
the country, stopping at a farm house which looked inviting. I entered
the front yard slowly and with dignity to dispel the horse thief
suspicion. The farmer's daughter, a young girl of seventeen or eighteen
years, and a few farm hands, stood about, of whom I asked if the master
of the place was at home. The girl took me within, and Monsieur and
Madame Croisant received me. They were both in bed, ill, but looking
quite comfortable with their heads pointing in different directions.
They carried on a lively conversation in French, the daughter
interpreting, and in conclusion, after assuring them that I was a
harmless person, very tired and hungry, they decided, if the clergyman
of the place thought it safe, that I might stay with them. The dominie
was called, looked me over a few minutes, cross-questioned me, and
approved.
My room that night was unique in more ways than one and would have been
punishment enough for Jesse James himself.
When I retired I detected a strong odor in the room and found it due to
a collection of _sabots_, or wooden shoes, seemingly centuries old,
which were arranged in a row under my bed. What to do with them was a
question, as, under the circumstances, I did not think it best to tamper
with the feelings of my host and hostess. As my room was on the ground
floor, I decided to place the _sabots_ carefully outside under the
window and take them in in the morning before the family was up.
Unfortunately it rained and I overslept, so the shoes were discovered
full of water before I appeared. However, nothing was said and I ate my
breakfast in peace, the good people probably thanking their stars that
they and their house had not been robbed.
Before leaving in the morning the _La Salle County Press_ was handed me
by Miss Croisant, in which I read the following flattering notice of my
lecture in that city and which in some measure compensated for my
unpleasant reception at Hollowayville:
"We have not often met with a more agreeable and pleasant gentleman
than Captain Willard Glazier, who entertained a very respectable
number of our citizens at Opera Hall on Saturday evening by
delivering a lecture on 'Echoes from the Revolution.' The captain
has a fine voice and his manner of delivery is decidedly
interesting, while his language is eloquent and fascinating. His
description of the battles of the Revolution, and the heroes who
took part in them, from the engagement on the little green at
Lexington down to the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, was grand
indeed, and was received with frequent and enthusiastic applause. In
conclusion he referred in an eloquent and touching manner to the
'Boys in Blue,' who took part in the late war for the Union, and all
retired from the hall feeling that the evening had been spent in an
agreeable and profitable manner.
"Captain Glazier served under Generals Kilpatrick and Custer during
the late war, since which time he has devoted much labor to writing
and is now making the attempt to cross the continent from Boston to
San Francisco on horseback, for the purpose of collecting material
for another work. He left Boston the early part of May, and will
endeavor to reach the Sacramento Valley before the fall of the deep
snow. His horse, _Paul Revere_, is a magnificent animal, black as a
raven, with the exception of four white feet. He was bred in
Kentucky of Black Hawk stock, has turned a mile in 2.33, but owing
to his inclination to run away on certain occasions, was not
considered a safe horse for the track. The captain, however, has
broken him to the saddle, and also convinced him that running away
is foolish business; consequently, he and the captain have become
fast friends, and with _Paul_ for his only companion, the gallant
cavalryman proposes to cross the continent. Success attend him!"
One Hundred and Thirty-seventh Day.
_Ellsworth House_,
WYANET, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-fifth_.
The equinoctial storms which had been raging since I left Ottawa, were,
for a few days at least, at an end, and a bright autumn sun greeted me
every morning as I rode onward. Rich cornfields stretched away on either
side of the road, their monotony broken here and there by fine apple and
peach orchards just coming into their glory. Another characteristic of
Illinois--fine stock farms--were also noticeable, and thus for another
stage of fourteen miles, surrounded by evidences of fertility and
thrift, I passed on, reaching Wyanet early in the evening.
One Hundred and Thirty-eighth Day.
_Private House_,
ANNAWAN, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-sixth_.
Before leaving Wyanet I had _Paul's_ bridle--a Mexican make--repaired,
and when it was again used he chafed at the restraint of the curb. Not
for long though, for we were soon on the prairie, he evidently enjoying
it as much as his master. The roads were rougher than usual and there
was a change here in the soil, its black clayey loam being very rich and
productive, making Henry County noted for its fine farms. Eighteen miles
of grass-covered prairie, diversified by cultivated fields, brought me
to Annawan, where I was the guest of O. T. Buttermore, and while at this
place I received the following gratifying communication from Colonel
Stephens of La Salle--further proof of the good will to "the stranger
within their gates," of the citizens of La Salle:
_September 25, 1876_.
TO CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER:
I take pleasure in expressing to you on behalf of many of our
citizens, the gratification afforded our people who listened to your
instructive and entertaining lecture given at Opera Hall on Saturday
evening last. While in conversation with several of our prominent
citizens, among them, W. A. Work, superintendent of our public
schools; A. J. O'Connor, clerk of the city court; W. T. Mason, Esq.,
and others, all of whom were present and heard your lecture, I was
requested to write you and tender their hearty thanks for the
entertainment and their good wishes for your success in your ride
across the continent. Should you ever again visit our city you can
rest assured you will be most cordially received.
Very truly yours,
R. C. STEPHENS,
_Late Colonel U. S. Volunteers_.
[Illustration: A HAPPY FAMILY.]
One Hundred and Thirty-ninth Day.
_Farm House_,
BETWEEN GENESSEO AND MOLINE, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-seventh_.
Started away from Annawan at nine o'clock but after riding about a mile
and a half I discovered that I had left my journal and was obliged to
return for it. All day I was on a seemingly endless prairie, dotted here
and there with cornfields and apple orchards. Illinois takes the lead in
stock-raising, and the horses and cattle seen in this day's ride were
fully up to the best standard.
Had dinner at the house of a coal miner, whom I found very intelligent,
and was well entertained by a talk on mining industries in Illinois from
a practical point of view. This is a bituminous coal region and there
are mines in operation all over the State.
My host, Pullman by name, had recently returned from the Pacific coast
and to my eager inquiries was able to tell me much about the country
between Omaha and Sacramento.
At night, after having made twenty-one miles, I reached this place and
was domiciled with the family of Mrs. Charlotte Bills, who came formerly
from Jefferson County, New York. As my native county of Saint Lawrence
adjoins Jefferson, the Bills and I had a lively talk on "Old York
State," and I became much interested in the work of this enterprising
woman and her family.
Mrs. Bills has succeeded in a direction which has not generally been
attempted by women; this is the management of a farm. She does a good
business and supports herself and children by raising corn for which, in
this stock-raising locality, she finds a ready market. The corn is
generally bought for hog feed and as these animals quickly fatten upon
it, it is profitable. The practical rather than the romantic has place
with these Western people who are striving for a livelihood. Each day
gave me new ideas of people and their occupations--but this woman-farmer
was something unusual and certainly very praiseworthy.
One Hundred and Fortieth Day.
_Milan House_,
MILAN, ILLINOIS,
_September Twenty-eighth_.
Mounted my horse at eight o'clock and by easy riding reached a farm
house in Rock River Bottom, where I passed the noon hour. After dinner I
made good time as the weather had changed and become cold, reminding me
of the necessity of hurrying on if I would avoid the deep snows which
the traveller is sure to encounter in the elevated regions farther west
and it was every day more evident that I could not well afford to allow
my lecture appointments to conflict with the dispatch of my journey.
[Illustration: AN ILLINOIS VILLAGE.]
On starting from Genesseo in the morning it was my intention to make
Moline the evening objective, but I was compelled to halt at
Milan--twenty miles from the morning starting-point--where the bridge
was torn up that crossed Rock River at this point. Being delayed, I sent
a note forward to Davenport informing Babcock that I would cross the
Mississippi the following afternoon at three o'clock; in the meantime
waiting, with what patience I could muster, for the bridge work to
proceed.
CHAPTER XXI.
FOUR DAYS AT DAVENPORT.
I left the Milan House at two P. M., _Paul_ being eager for the start.
Before proceeding far I dismounted and ran ahead leaving him to follow
me if he would. I ran over two or three small hills and the faithful
animal broke into a gallop and was soon by my side mutely inviting me to
remount. About four o'clock we crossed the Mississippi on the fine
Government Bridge which unites Rock Island and Davenport, and proceeded
to the Burtis House--since named the Kimball. Colonel P. A. J. Russell
was one of the first to greet me. Moore's Hall having been engaged for
my lecture, I spoke at the usual hour to a large audience, to whom
General Sanders introduced me. The local band in full uniform
volunteered their services for the occasion. The lecture was a financial
success.
The next three days were occupied in making my acquaintance with the
city. It is only fifty years ago that the first cabin was erected here
by white men. By the side of the great river a bluff rises gradually to
an elevation of about one hundred and fifty feet, and on its side and
at its base the city of Davenport is built. Over a bluff we come upon a
beautiful rolling prairie, and back as far as Duck Creek the land is
covered with fruit, vegetable and flower gardens, and presents a picture
of uncommon beauty. Views of the Mississippi are obtained from the
summit of the bluff; also of Rock Island Arsenal and Rock Island City on
the opposite shore of the river.
In 1832, General Winfield Scott made a treaty with the Indians of the
Sac tribe for the purchase by the United States of the land occupied by
them bordering on the west side of the river. The city of Davenport was
named after Colonel George Davenport, the first white settler. Antoine
Le Claire was the first to own land in Davenport. His mother was the
daughter of a Pottawatomie chief and his father a French Canadian. At
this time the Northwest territory was peopled entirely by Indians, with
here and there one of a different race fearless enough to brave the
dangers of a frontier life. Le Claire purchased the claim upon which the
city of Davenport was laid out for one hundred and fifty dollars. In
1835, he sold it to a company who commenced the building of the city.
The first ferry between Davenport and Rock Island dates from 1835. It
was a flatboat propelled by oars. At present a large steamboat is
constantly employed in transferring passengers and freight between these
cities. The river is about a mile in width at this point.
Davenport excels all the other cities of the State in the beauty and
advantages of its location. The view from the hill-tops is scarcely to
be equalled for picturesqueness by anything I saw during my journey.
The city has made great and rapid progress in its industries, wealth and
population. The education of the young is well provided for. It has a
high school built at a cost of $65,000. Griswold College--Episcopalian--
occupies a very picturesque site, overlooking the river. The Catholic
College is in a retired and quiet spot, surrounded by beautifully shaded
grounds, the buildings being elegant and commodious. The churches are
numerous, every denomination being represented. Grace Church, the
protestant Cathedral, is a fine substantial edifice, erected at a cost
of $80,000.
The Public Library on Brady street, founded by Mrs. Clarissa Cook, a
lady of wealth, is a highly prized and flourishing institution. The
Academy of Sciences embraces a most valuable and unique collection of
rare curiosities, both ancient and modern, among others, relics from the
mounds of Iowa and adjoining States, including skulls and skeletons of
pre-historic man.
The population of Davenport is now about 20,000. On account of its being
built on a declivity the drainage is perfect. It is surrounded by a most
fertile country and possesses every element for the growth of a large
city.
[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE CHURCH.]
Recrossing the magnificent bridge spanning the river between Davenport
and the Illinois shores, I found myself on Rock Island. The Island lies
to the north of the city, the latter not being located on the Island but
on the mainland of Illinois. Since 1804 the Island proper has been the
property of the United States Government, although not occupied until
1812, on the breaking out of the war with England. The surface is very
fertile, and coal and limestone are found in large quantities. It is
about three miles long, covering nine hundred and sixty acres. An
arsenal and armory are located here. A fort was erected in 1816, and
named Fort Armstrong. It was garrisoned until May, 1836, when it was
evacuated. An ordnance depot was established by the Government in 1840.
In 1862, by Act of Congress, the Island was made a United States
Arsenal. General Thomas J. Rodman was the first appointed to the command
and held the position until his death. In 1869, Congress appropriated
$500,000 for a bridge across the Mississippi uniting the Island with the
city of Davenport. This fine structure is a railroad and wagon bridge
and affords all necessary facilities for the movement of military
stores. General Rodman was succeeded in the command of the Arsenal, in
1871, by Colonel D. W. Flagler of the Ordnance Corps, and the Island has
become, under his management, the strongest military post on the
Mississippi. Substantial quarters for the officers of the garrison and
barracks for the soldiers, have been erected, also a bridge connecting
the Island with the city of Moline.
Rock Island is connected with Rock Island City on the Illinois shore and
with Davenport on the opposite side of the river, and also with Moline
on the east side about three miles above Rock Island.
In the spring of 1828, there were only nine white men and their families
on the site now occupied by Rock Island City; the Indians of the Sac
tribe were much aggrieved by the whites taking possession of their lands
while the latter were away on their hunting expeditions. Black Hawk,
chief of the tribe, took great offence and protested strongly against
it, and as the number of white settlers increased the discontent of the
Indians grew stronger. They were urged by the commanding officer of the
Island and the Indian agent, Colonel Davenport, to move across to the
west side of the river in compliance with their treaty with the United
States Government; but Black Hawk refused to move and contended that the
Island was his property. The Fox tribe crossed the river and established
themselves there. The lands on the Illinois side were now surveyed and
sold to the settlers by the Government, but Black Hawk and the Sacs
still refused to leave. Depredations were committed by the Indians of
which the whites complained, and in 1831 Black Hawk gave notice to the
settlers to leave his lands. Some neighboring tribes it was now feared,
would unite with the Sacs in an attack on the settlers, who petitioned
the military authorities and the Governor of Illinois to protect them,
and in this way what is known as the Black Hawk War originated.
In response to the complaints of the settlers, Governor Reynolds, of
Illinois, called out sixteen hundred mounted volunteers and marched them
to the Island and General Gaines at Saint Louis proceeded immediately to
the scene of action with the Sixth United States Infantry. General
Gaines ordered all the settlers to move to the Island, and then invited
Black Hawk to talk over the situation. The military and settlers met in
the Council House, and Black Hawk, with about one hundred warriors in
their war paint, approached and entered and soon commenced shouting in
an intimidating manner. It was thought that an attempt at a general
massacre would be made. An Indian called "The Prophet" raised his voice
very high, gesticulating and speaking rapidly in an angry tone as if he
desired to excite the warriors to an attack. At length quiet was
obtained and General Gaines spoke to Black Hawk, reminding him of the
sale of the lands in dispute to the United States Government. Black Hawk
and his followers claimed that the lands had never been sold. The treaty
was then read and explained to the chief, which seemed to enrage him
greatly. Black Hawk shouted: "The white people speak from paper, but the
Indian always speaks from the heart." He further said that their lands
had not been sold, that the men who signed the treaty had no authority
to do so, or to sell their land. And even if it was sold, they were not
paid for it. The General said that the Government had assigned him and
his people land on the west side of the Mississippi. His only answer was
that he would neither leave nor fight and if the whites attempted to
drive him off, he would sit down in his wigwam and they might do what
they liked with him. General Gaines understood by this that he would
defend what he considered his rights.
Preparations for an attack were now made by the commanding officers and
Governor Reynolds, and on June 19, 1831, troops were assembled near the
mouth of Rock River. The next morning they moved upon the Indian
village. Black Hawk, however, and all his people had left in the night,
crossed the Mississippi and were camped a few miles below Rock Island.
Ten days after, the chief presented himself on the Island with
twenty-seven warriors and voluntarily signed a treaty of peace with
General Gaines and the Governor of Illinois, the latter representing
the National Government. The terms of this treaty included a pledge on
the part of Black Hawk not to return to the east side of the river or
give any more trouble to the white settlers.
In the following winter, Black Hawk refused to keep the treaty any
longer and in April, 1832, he and about five hundred of his braves
crossed the Mississippi at Burlington and moved up the east bank of the
river with his women and children, intending to drive out the settlers
and return to their old village on the Island. The Winnebagoes and other
Indians were to have assisted him in recovering the land. This news soon
reached Saint Louis and Colonel Atkinson with a body of infantry left
that city for Rock Island. Zachary Taylor, afterwards President of the
United States, was in command of a company, and Lieutenant Jefferson
Davis, afterwards President of the Confederate States, was attached to
the same regiment throughout this campaign.
About two thousand volunteers were brought forward by Governor Reynolds
of Illinois, assembling at Beardstown and marching to Yellow Banks,
fifty miles below Rock Island. They moved to the mouth of Rock River
where they were joined by Colonel Atkinson and his regulars. The
volunteers were under the command of General Whiteside, and Abraham
Lincoln, afterwards President of the United States, served under him as
captain of a company. The Indians had ascended Rock River and halted
opposite Rock Island, the women and children having been sent higher up
the river in canoes. Black Hawk now made an attempt to capture Fort
Armstrong. He crossed to the Island with his warriors in the night, but
a violent storm arising interfered with his plans that night, and in the
morning Colonel Atkinson's Infantry arrived and drove them from the
Island. They followed their women up Rock River, pursued by Colonel
Atkinson and the volunteers under General Whiteside.
Nearly the whole of Black Hawk's band was destroyed in the following
months of May, June, July and August, and Black Hawk himself was
captured and removed as a prisoner to the Island. He and his son
Seoskuk, and other chiefs, were afterwards taken to Washington and other
eastern cities. On his return from his eastern tour, Black Hawk settled
down with a remnant of his own tribe on Des Moines River, where he died
in 1838.
The Sacs and Foxes are believed to have originally come from the
vicinity of Montreal, Canada, about the year 1700, and had lived on or
near, Rock Island over one hundred and thirty years. After the close of
the "Black Hawk War" there were no hostilities with the Indians at Rock
Island.
During the late Civil War the Island was converted into a military
prison and upwards of 12,000 Confederate prisoners were confined here.
About 2,000 died and were buried on the Island.
A pleasant day may be passed in wandering over the Island, which is now
an important United States Arsenal for the Mississippi Valley.
Rock Island City is situated on the mainland on the Illinois bank of the
river. East of the city, stretching away to Rock River, are some
picturesque bluffs and scenery of great beauty. On the sides of the
hills are many comfortable residences of well-to-do citizens. The city
is about midway between Saint Louis and Saint Paul, and immediately
opposite the larger city of Davenport, Iowa. The iron bridge owned by
the United States Government and connecting the two cities is open to
the public free of toll.
The water power produced by the rapids has largely contributed to the
growth of Rock Island City, and also of Moline--a city of
factories--within an easy walk of its neighbor. In the latter I found
many establishments for the manufacture of plows, cultivators and other
farming appliances; also wagons and carriages, together with foundries
and machine shops.
Rock Island City has a commerce and trade second to no city of its size
in the Union. The centre of a system of railroads, the city has a busy
aspect at all times. The population at the time of my visit was about
16,000.
Three miles from Rock Island City, inland, is a resort frequented by the
residents of both sides of the river. Its traditions and associations
are romantic. It is known as _Black Hawk's Watch Tower_. The _tower_
consists of a rock and is the summit of the highest hill, overlooking
Rock River and affording an extensive picture of the surrounding
country. The rock derives its name from its having been used by Black
Hawk as a point from which he could survey his lands for many miles.
Tradition says it was selected by the chief's father and overlooked the
tribe's first village on the banks of Rock River. Black Hawk gave the
following account of the place to Antoine Le Claire in 1833: "The tower
was my favorite resort and was often visited by me alone, where I could
sit and smoke my pipe and look with wonder and pleasure at the grand
scenes that were presented, even across the mighty river. On one
occasion a Frenchman who had been resting in our village, brought his
violin with him to the Tower to play and dance for the amusement of my
people who had assembled there, and while dancing with his back to the
cliff, accidentally fell over it and was killed. The Indians say that at
the same time of the year soft strains of the violin can be heard near
the spot." He further relates that in the year 1827, a young Sioux
Indian, who was lost in a violent snow-storm, found his way into a camp
of the Sacs, and while there, fell in love with a beautiful maiden. On
leaving for his own country he promised to return in the summer and
claim his bride. He did so, secreting himself in the woods until he met
the object of his affection. A heavy thunder-storm was coming on at the
time, and the lovers took shelter under a rocky cliff on the south side
of the Tower. Soon a loud peal of thunder was heard; the cliff was rent
into a thousand pieces and they were buried beneath them. "This, their
unexpected tomb," says Black Hawk, "still remains undisturbed."
In the spring, summer and autumn many hundreds of visitors climb to the
Tower, especially on Sunday and holidays, and while breathing the pure,
healthful atmosphere, enjoy delightful views of the surrounding country
and the majestic river at their feet. The Davenport family own the
property, which, however, is accessible to all visitors.
CHAPTER XXII.
DAVENPORT TO DES MOINES.
One Hundred and Forty-fifth Day.
_Farm House_,
NEAR BLUE GRASS, IOWA,
_October 3, 1876_.
Weather cold, but clear and bracing. Mounted _Paul_ at three o'clock P.
M. and halted at the office of _The Democrat_, to say good-bye to
Colonel Russell. On the road I overtook S. N. Garlock, a farmer, who
invited me to spend the night at his house, which I agreed to do and was
made very comfortable. I soon discovered that Mr. Garlock was a native
of the Empire State, but came to Iowa twenty-seven years ago, and was
now the owner of a prosperous farm near the village of Blue Grass. He
spoke of visiting his old home in the East and his intention to proceed
by way of Philadelphia and spend a day or two at the Centennial
Exposition. He said that many Western people were making arrangements to
go to the "Exposition" and at the same time visit their old homes and
the old folks whom they had not seen for many long years.
One Hundred and Forty-sixth Day.
_Iowa House_,
MOSCOW, IOWA,
_October Fourth_.
Moscow is a small agricultural hamlet twenty-nine miles west of
Davenport, with a population of less than three hundred, but increasing
in number as the surrounding region is occupied. On the road here from
Blue Grass I found the weather becoming very cold and was compelled to
dismount several times and walk some heat into my body. The country is
rich in fertility of soil--generally rolling prairie. The villages along
the road are said to be growing very rapidly.
One Hundred an Forty-seventh Day.
_St. James Hotel_,
IOWA CITY, IOWA,
_October Fifth_.
Reached here at six o'clock P. M., fifty-five miles from Davenport.
Weather, most of the day, cold, cloudy and generally disagreeable. I
learn upon inquiry that the land about here for miles is, for the most
part, settled by a thrifty, intelligent and enterprising people, and is
well adapted to all the wants of the agriculturist. The railroad brings
all the produce into market and farmers and manufacturers have their
labors rewarded. The soil is a rich, black loam, and often, I am told,
from five to ten feet in depth.
Had supper and retired to my room to attend to my correspondence.
One hundred and forty-eighth Day.
_St. James Hotel_,
IOWA CITY, IOWA,
_October Sixth_.
The weather continued extremely cold. Babcock completed necessary
arrangements with the proprietor of Ham's Hall for my lecture the
following evening. In the meantime I took a look at the city which was
for many years the State capital. Its most salient feature appeared to
be the State University, in which both sexes continue their education
with commendable zeal, under competent professors. There are also a high
school, a female college, a commercial college and several common
schools. Four or five daily and weekly newspapers keep up the interest
of the people in local affairs and national politics; and four banks
encourage the thrifty to place their spare cash with them at interest.
Woollen and flax manufactures give employment to a considerable number
of young people, and the mills are said to be in a flourishing
condition.
The city has a large internal trade as well as with the several
surrounding villages.
One hundred and forty-ninth Day.
_St. James Hotel_,
IOWA CITY, IOWA,
_October Seventh_.
The former State House is a fine and capacious building and an ornament
to the city. On the removal of the seat of government to Des Moines,
one hundred and twenty miles farther west, the building with its
extensive grounds was granted by the Legislature to the State
University.
I also noted several large places of business here, including dry goods,
groceries and hardware. There are several lumber yards, flouring mills,
plow factories, iron foundries, for manufacturing machinery; also due
proportion to the population.
The newspapers published here are, according to all accounts, ably
conducted and well sustained. The surrounding country is well adapted to
all the wants of the agriculturist and is thickly settled.
In the evening I delivered my promised lecture to a very full
house--Hon. G. B. Edmunds introducing me to the audience. The walls were
covered with flags and a profusion of flowers greeted me on my arrival
on the platform.
One hundred and fiftieth Day.
_Tiffin House_,
TIFFIN, IOWA,
_October Eighth_.
Mounted _Paul_ in front of the Saint James to continue my journey and
felt the need of an overcoat. Drew rein at Tiffin, a few miles from Iowa
City. Of Tiffin little more can be said than that it has a rustic
population of about fifty souls. The accommodations at the Tiffin House
I must leave to conjecture, as any description would fall short of the
reality. The only guests were a Methodist parson, two farmers on an
expedition in quest of apples, and an overland tourist. The nabob of the
village came into the public room in the course of the evening--a farmer
and former State senator. This "Hon." gentleman engrossed our attention
for about three hours by a long-winded description of the varieties of
the "genus hog"--how to breed, how to feed and fatten, and how to drive
him to market; all of which would probably have been edifying and
elevating to the average Tiffinite, but it made me and the parson drowsy
and I retired to dream of hogs and fat bacon until awakened by the
daylight.
One hundred and fifty-first Day.
_Grand Pacific Hotel_,
MARENGO, IOWA,
_October Ninth_.
In my journey from Tiffin I found it necessary to dismount several times
and walk in order to drive away the sensation of cold. Reached Marengo
in the evening and registered at the Grand Pacific Hotel. Winter seemed
to be approaching with rapid strides at this time and I was warned that
it was necessary to lose as little time as possible at the different
resting-points.
[Illustration: AN IOWA VILLAGE.]
Marengo is eighty-five miles from Davenport. There is a good bridge
crossing the Iowa River here, which adds much to the facilities for
doing business. A thriving community of farmers occupy the surrounding
land. Among the most important villages and towns in this and adjoining
counties, are Newton, Grinnell, Montezuma and Millersburg, all growing
in size and importance. Marengo is the county-seat of Iowa County,
and contains a population of nearly two thousand.
The State of Iowa, taken as a whole, is one of the most fertile in the
United States. The native prairies are fields almost ready-made for the
farmers' hands; their rich black soil returning him reward for his labor
a hundred fold.
One hundred and fifty-second Day.
_Skinner House_,
BROOKLYN, IOWA,
_October Tenth_.
My ride to-day from Marengo has been over fine prairie land with
occasionally a farm in the distance like an oasis in the desert.
Brooklyn is one hundred miles from Davenport and, as some evidence of
its prosperous condition, has four hotels. I was fortunate in selecting
the Skinner House, the proprietor of which knows how to make his guests
comfortable. _Paul_ also seemed happy to-night when I shut him in a clean
and well-appointed stable with his supper.
Brooklyn is a village of over twelve hundred inhabitants, and wears the
impress of success. There are several grain elevators, foundries, flour
mills and business houses of all kinds; also graded schools, banks, and
daily and weekly papers. The streets are clean and well paved, which is
more than can be said for its Eastern namesake. The surrounding farms
are large and well cultivated, and the country presents a most
attractive appearance.
One hundred and fifty-third Day.
_Moore House_,
KELLOGG, IOWA,
_October Eleventh_.
In front of the Skinner House, _Paul_ caused me some little anxiety by
dashing up the street from the front where I had left him with loose
rein for a moment while settling my bill. Coming back he gave me to
understand, by a toss of his head, that he only wanted to shake a little
dust from his feet. I was soon mounted and off at a gallop, covering
thirty miles, when I stopped at a farm house for dinner.
On reaching the outskirts of Grinnell, I hailed a party of boys who were
"playing _ball_." One bright little fellow gave me the time, two
o'clock, and the distance to Kellogg. I then pushed on without stopping
at Grinnell. Amused myself with some little boys in front of a country
school house who were "playing _horse_." I inquired of the youngest if
he went to school, and his brother answered for him in the affirmative.
I then asked, "What does he learn?" "He don't learn nothin'," answered
the youth. "Then why do you take him to school?" I inquired. "So, when
the boys go out, he can 'play _horse_' with us."
Have seen some of the finest scenery and grandest farms to-day that I
have encountered along my journey. The day has been unusually bright and
pleasant, and the country looks lovely in the extreme. Reached Kellogg
to-night, half an hour after dark. Caught a young snipe about a mile
from the village and offered it to a young girl if she could name its
species. She could not, and a boy claimed the prize.
Amused some of the guests in the evening with incidents of my journey,
and they, in turn, gave me some useful information about the Far West,
North Platte, Green River, and Humboldt Valley.
One hundred and fifty-fourth Day.
_Pacific Hotel_,
COLFAX, IOWA,
_October Twelfth_.
Arrived at Colfax in the evening after a glorious ride over the prairie.
The grain on the farms waved in the breeze as the fields were passed and
numerous streams crossed finding their way to the rivers that intersect
the State. This prairie is not entirely devoid of timber, for groves dot
the extended landscape like islands in a green sea; while from the
higher grounds I viewed the prairie decked with wild hay and autumn
flowers.
--"Broad on either hand
The golden wheat-fields glimmered in the sun,
And the tall maize its yellow tassels spun."
The prairie here is from twenty to forty miles in width. A variety of
minerals are found and mined to a limited extent. Time will work many
changes. A quarter of a century hence, Colfax will probably be known as
an important mining town with large and varied interests. Its growth
will be gladly noted by many who have faith in its future.
One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Day.
_Jones House_,
DES MOINES, IOWA,
_October Thirteenth_.
Mounted _Paul_ at eight o'clock and rode twenty miles, which brought me
to Des Moines. Most of the journey was over prairie land; the sun shone
brightly and afforded me an agreeable warmth as _Paul_ stepped out
bravely--cheered, possibly by the prospect of entering a large city and
resting for a day or two. We know nothing of a horse's prevision. The
country along my route is rich in fertility of soil, but its resources
are not yet fully developed. I am told that but little snow falls on
this prairie, the winter being made up of cool, sunshiny days, and
clear, frosty nights. There is nothing, I think, to hinder this part of
Iowa from being one of the most healthy portions of the United States.
One Hundred and Fifty-sixth Day.
_Jones House_,
DES MOINES, IOWA,
_October Fourteenth_.
I have not seen a brighter or more stirring city in my line of march
than Des Moines, the capital of the State of Iowa. Under the escort of
Professor E. T. Bowen, city editor of _The Leader_, and two other well
informed gentlemen, I visited the Iowa State Perpetual Exposition and
was introduced to the secretary, who courteously showed me over the
buildings.
The city stands at the mouth of the Raccoon River, is three hundred and
fifty-eight miles west of Chicago and one hundred and forty-two east of
Omaha. Its shape is quadrilateral--four miles long by two miles wide.
The Des Moines River flows through its centre, dividing the East from
the West Side. The city stands on a declivity, its highest part
extending to about one hundred and sixty feet. The Post Office, Court
House and city offices, the principal depots and hotels, and the greater
portion of the business houses, are situated on a plateau about a mile
long and half a mile wide, rising about fifteen feet above high water;
and on the higher ground beyond are some of the handsomest and largest
private residences.
On the East Side is another business locality. Capitol Square contains
ten acres on an elevated site commanding a fine view. The State House
was erected at a cost of nearly $3,000,000. The Public Library contains
some 30,000 volumes. There are over twenty churches of all denominations
in the city. The Post Office and Court House buildings are of marble and
cost $250,000. There is also a State Arsenal, a large County Court House
and many public improvements found only in first-class modern cities.
Two daily and upwards of a dozen weekly papers are published here. In
the vicinity are mines of excellent coal and a number of manufactories
of various kinds are in operation.
Before leaving the Jones House it is but just that I should say that I
was not more courteously treated during my journey than by Messrs.
George W. Jones and Son. Professor Bowen and Captain Conrad with many
others saw me off.
The next day a copy of the Des Moines _Leader_ reached me, in which the
following notice appeared. I insert it here as one of many pleasant
references to my journey.
"Captain Willard Glazier, the horseback traveller across the
Continent, took in the Exposition on Saturday evening with intense
gratification. He says he has seen no place on his route from Boston
more promising than Des Moines. Among the calls he received at the
Jones House was one from Captain Conrad, a prominent attorney from
Missouri and now settled in his profession in this city, who was a
fellow-captive with Captain Glazier in Libby Prison during the
Rebellion. The Captain continued his journey westward yesterday with
the best wishes of the friends he has made during his short stay
here."
[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO MILL.]
CHAPTER XXIII.
DES MOINES TO OMAHA.
One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Day.
_Byers House_,
ADEL, IOWA,
_October 15, 1876_.
Left Des Moines with pleasant thoughts of the cordial reception I had
met with, and pursuing my way westward over the prairies, reached this
village in the evening after a twenty-five miles' ride over a section of
the country strikingly beautiful. The soil of the prairie, I am
everywhere informed, is almost invariably of the most productive
character. No other State, in short, has finer facilities for growing
all the cereals of the temperate zone than Iowa.
Adel is the county-seat of Dallas County, situated on the Raccoon
River--generally called the "Coon." At the period of my visit the
village had a population of less than one thousand, and although
agriculture is the leading industry, considerable attention is given to
manufacturing. The prairie land in the vicinity was, as yet, sparsely
settled, but every inducement was offered settlers to establish
themselves here. I noticed some broken fields, and blue smoke curling up
from farm houses in the distance; and after eighteen miles of enjoyable
exercise in the pure prairie atmosphere, reached this small village,
where I concluded to halt for the night.
One Hundred and Fifty-eight Day.
_Private House_,
DALE CITY, IOWA,
_October Sixteenth_.
Weather warmer, pleasant and more invigorating than during the past few
days. Left Adel at eight o'clock A. M., and passed through Redfield at
eleven, still on the great prairie which appears to have no limit. From
the hill-tops the valleys wear the aspect of cultivated meadows and rich
pastures; and on the level spreads the wild prairie, decked with
flowers, its long waves stretching away till sky and prairie mingle in
the distance. Twenty years ago the red men chased the elk and buffalo
where now are prairie farms and prairie homes. As I advance, I meet
occasionally with trees skirting the streams that find their way to the
rivers that intersect this beautiful State.
[Illustration: A NIGHT AMONG COYOTES.]
Had dinner at a prairie farm house and talked politics with the farmer,
whom I found was an enthusiastic admirer of Peter Cooper. He did not
expect his political favorite would be elected, but as a matter of
principle would vote for him. I told him if he called himself a
Republican, he should cast his vote for Governor Hayes, but my advice
probably had little effect upon him. Reached Dale City about one
o'clock. It was a small village in Lyon County, with about two
hundred inhabitants.
One Hundred and Fifty-ninth Day.
_A Night with Coyotes_,
BETWEEN DALE CITY AND ANITA, IOWA,
_October Seventeenth_.
My journey to-day led me again over the seemingly endless
prairie--extending beyond the range of human vision. Halted at a farm
house for dinner, near Dalmanutha, an agricultural settlement in Guthrie
County. Wishing to reach Anita before stopping for the night, I
continued on the road after dark, contrary to my usual practice.
For some time before sunset I had not seen a farm house or even a tree
as far as the eye could reach, and now could see nothing of road or
trail. Accordingly I gave _Paul_ the rein and left him to pick his way.
He followed a sort of blind road which led to a haystack. I thought I
could do no better than make my bed on the sweet hay, and decided to
spend the night there supperless. I had scarcely settled myself when a
troop of coyotes, or prairie wolves, came howling and barking in front
of me. This made things uncomfortable, and I at once jumped to my feet
and, revolver in hand, faced the enemy. Several were killed by my fire.
The remainder, however, continued to threaten an attack. I was puzzled
as to what was best to do when I was suddenly re-inforced by a friendly
dog, who, attracted doubtless, by the report of the pistol and the
barking of the coyotes, came to my rescue, and kept the animals at bay
for the remainder of the night. At daybreak I was not sorry to bid adieu
to the haystack and, neither, I believe, was _Paul_, who had also spent
a restless night, notwithstanding the abundance of good fodder at his
disposal.
It may be mentioned that the coyote seems to partake of the nature of
the dog and the wolf. In the winter, when food is scarce, these animals
will attack man, but, unlike the wolf, if a bold resistance is offered,
they will speedily decamp. A pack of coyotes, however, are not pleasant
company on a dark night.
One Hundred and Sixtieth Day.
_Pacific Hotel_,
ATLANTIC, IOWA,
_October Eighteenth_.
Was again all day on the prairie inhaling the pure, invigorating air as
_Paul_ and I faced a stiff breeze from the Northwest; and at four
o'clock arrived at Atlantic, a thriving village of over three thousand
inhabitants, dependent, like all the villages I had passed, upon the
surrounding farms. These farms are mostly in a flourishing condition,
are fenced and under good cultivation, divided into meadows and fields
of every variety of grain. The village is delightfully situated. As an
evidence of its prosperity it supported two ably conducted daily papers
and three weeklies, three banks and several graded schools. I was now
eighty-two miles from Des Moines. The prairie here is gently undulating
and the soil composed of vegetable mould and sand. Atlantic, I infer
from its busy appearance, has a destiny above that which it has
attained.
One Hundred and Sixty-first Day.
_Columbia House_,
AVOCA, IOWA,
_October Nineteenth_.
Weather cloudy, threatening rain as I rode out of Atlantic in the
morning at ten o'clock. Covered twenty miles and stopped for dinner at
another farm, near Walnut. On my road saw a man at work in a large
cornfield and, hailing him, inquired the distance to Avoca. After a few
words had passed between us, I was surprised and pleased to discover
that he was from my native county--St. Lawrence, New York, and knew many
of my old friends and acquaintances in that quarter. Our conversation
turned upon old localities and associations, much to our mutual
enjoyment. The days of our youth were recalled, and although we had
never met before, we parted after half an hour's chat as if we had been
friends of many years' standing. My friend expressed perfect
satisfaction with his rustic life on the prairie and was quite
enthusiastic over the prospects of his farming operations. The soil he
said was excellent, easy to cultivate and, in fact, second to none in
the State.
Avoca is a purely agricultural village with a population of about 1,500,
all, more or less, interested in the big farms within a radius of one to
two miles of the busy town. Two weekly newspapers kept the citizens _en
rapport_ with the outside world and the hustling life of the large
cities.
One Hundred and Sixty-second Day.
_Neola House_,
NEOLA, IOWA,
_October Twentieth_.
A drizzling rain on leaving Avoca made the prospect of my ride to this
point somewhat gloomy. Over the interminable prairie again my journey
lay, as it had done ever since I entered the State of Iowa, but a more
magnificent sight I never saw than presented itself before me this
afternoon on reaching the summit of an extensive table-land between
Avoca and Minden.
Halted a few minutes for lunch at Minden, and met a gentleman there who
had attended my lecture at Detroit, upon which he was pleased to
compliment me. Neola is a small prairie settlement of about three
hundred inhabitants and is surrounded by several good farms. Of the
Neola House I can only say that I shall not easily forget it and its
proprietor--especially the nocturnal serenade of all the cats of
Neola--which deprived me of sleep throughout the night; and the
extremely scant accommodations provided for the guests.
The soil here is inferior in quality to that of no other section of the
State. The land is well watered and was gradually filling up with an
industrious class of citizens.
[Illustration: OMAHA, NEBRASKA, IN 1876.]
One Hundred and Sixty-third Day.
_Atlantic Hotel_,
OMAHA, NEBRASKA,
_October Twenty-first_.
Left Neola at eight o'clock and reached Council Bluffs at three P.M.
Found the road on approaching the city, in bad condition, but the
splendid country through which I had passed since entering the State was
perhaps equal to anything ever trodden by the feet of man. The surface
of Western Iowa is very different from that of the prairie region in the
eastern part of the State, being rougher and more hilly. The numerous
streams proceeding from springs bursting from the hillsides, are clear
and swift. Near the Missouri River, high and precipitous mountain bluffs
are ranged, and the region contiguous is very hilly. The highest hills
are covered with verdure--grass and timber. The soil generally is light
and to appearance poor, but is loose and sandy, and found to be easily
cultivated. Creeks and smaller streams of water occur frequently and
afford power for mills and machinery, and furnish abundant supply for
farming uses and stock.
The first white settlement in Western Iowa was made in the year 1847, by
a company of Mormons or Latter-Day Saints, who had been exiled from
Illinois in poverty and destitution. They passed through a part of the
country then only inhabited by savages. They planted small colonies at
places on the route, the main body pushing on to the bluffs near the
Missouri River. A considerable number, unable to go farther, remained
here, commenced clearing the land for farming, and two years later, in
1849, began the building of a town on the site now occupied by the city
of Council Bluffs. Their new town they named Kanesville after one of
their leaders. Several stores were built and opened, and the population
was soon largely increased by people who were not Mormons and had no
sympathy with them. The new settlers being greatly in the majority,
virtually drove out the "Saints," who finally left in a body to join
their people at Salt Lake City.
Council Bluffs is now the most populous and flourishing city of Western
Iowa. At the time of my visit, the inhabitants numbered only about
8,000, but it was then growing rapidly and bid fair to become one of the
big cities of America. There is a large trade here employing an immense
capital. The most important manufactures are the iron works and machine
shops, the agricultural works, carriage factories, steam plows, and
mills of various kinds, the city has ample railroad communication by
means of several lines converging here. Omaha, on the opposite bank of
the Missouri, is only four miles distant. The fine, substantial bridge
connecting the two cities is 2,750 feet in length and has eleven spans.
It has a railroad track, and accommodation for horse-cars and ordinary
travel.
The most important public buildings are the County Court House, City
Hall, High School building and the ward school houses. There were three
banks and two daily and three weekly newspapers. The Catholics have a
seminary for young ladies and a boys' parochial school. The State
Institute for the Deaf and Dumb is near the city.
[Illustration: HIGH SCHOOL, OMAHA, NEBRASKA.]
CHAPTER XXIV.
A HALT AT OMAHA.
Omaha, the capital of Douglas County, the chief commercial city and
metropolis of Nebraska, is the half-way station across the Continent. It
is aptly called the "Gate City," seeming, as it does, a sort of opening
to the great railroads, the great waterways, and the whole fascinating
great beyond of western enterprise and western commerce.
As I rode into the city it seemed that it would be hard to find a more
attractive place.
"A fine plateau nearly a mile broad, and elevated fifty or sixty feet
above the Missouri, is occupied by the chief business portion of the
city," while the beautiful bluffs, the low, rounded, tree-covered hills,
forming a semi-circle on the west and south, are thickly dotted with
tasteful and elegant residences and buildings surrounded by carefully
laid-out grounds.
The streets cross at right angles. Most of them are one hundred feet
broad; but Capitol avenue is one hundred and twenty feet in width.
On high grounds, just southwest of the city limits, is Hanscom Park, a
fine, natural grove, beautified by art for the delight of pleasure
seekers.
Conspicuous on the west is the extensive Poor House Farm, containing the
fine brick poor house.
To the north, on a high wooded hill, solitary, apart from the city, yet
always within sight of its bustle and rush, lies, in its solemnity,
Prospect Cemetery.
In the northern section of the city, also, we find the Douglas County
Fair Grounds, the Omaha Driving Park, and Fort Omaha.
A bridge, the erection of which cost $1,500,000, spans the Missouri and
connects Omaha with Council Bluffs.
I found Omaha not only fair to look upon, but also interesting in many
ways. It is the key to the Rocky Mountains and the gold mines of
California. Its wholesale trade amounts to about $15,000,000 annually
and is constantly increasing. Its industries include smelting, brewing,
distilling, brick making, machine and engine building and meat packing.
The trade in the latter branch being only excelled by that of Chicago
and Kansas City.
Its manufactures are constantly increasing. The Union Pacific Machine
Shops alone employ about seven hundred men. Omaha has a linseed oil mill
which turns out yearly millions of oil cakes and thousands of gallons of
oil. One of the city's distilleries is so extensive that it pays the
United States Government a tax of $300,000 per year.
The educational advantages of this metropolis are unsurpassed by any
city of its size in the West. It has eleven fine ward school buildings
and one high school. The latter occupies the former site of the old
territorial capitol. It is a fine, large building, erected in 1872, at
a cost of $250,000. Its spire is three hundred and ninety feet above the
Missouri River, and its cupola commands a view embracing many miles of
river scenery.
Creighton College is a Jesuit institution, endowed by Mrs. Edward
Creighton to the amount of about $155,000. It will accommodate four
hundred and eighty pupils and opens its hospitable doors to all
students, irrespective of creed or race.
A four-story stone Post Office stands on the corner of Dodge and
Fifteenth streets. That building, together with the furniture which it
contains, is alleged to have cost $450,000; and Omaha people claim that
it is one of the handsomest government buildings in all the land.
By the way, self-respect, humble pride, an appreciation, a love and
admiration of every good thing the "Gate City" contains, is a
characteristic of all honest, true-hearted Omaha men--God bless them!
They are even proud of their jail, which is universally conceded to be
the handsomest and strongest penal institution in the West.
Omaha is headquarters for a military division known as the Department of
the Platte. A great part of the financial supremacy of the city is due
to the heavy purchase and distribution of military supplies. The General
Government, some time since, acquired eighty-two and a half acres of
land, two miles north of Omaha, christened it Fort Omaha, and spent over
$1,000,000 in erecting military buildings upon it.
Statistics change rapidly in this Gate to progress and improvement. In
the year 1877, improvements were added to the city amounting to about
$800,000; in 1878, amounting to $1,000,000, and in 1879, to about
$1,222,000.
Such was the Omaha which I rode into. How thought-compelling a place it
was! How typical of the push, vigor, enterprise and pluck which have
proved so masterful in the development of our once "Wild West." It is
with pleasure that the mind runs over its history.
The first knowledge we have of the region in which Omaha is situated,
comes to us, like many another crumb of information, from Father
Marquette. He visited that tract in 1673, explored it and mapped out the
principal streams. At that time the region was claimed by Spain, and
formed a part of the great Province of Louisiana. It finally became a
French possession, and was sold by that nation to the United States in
the year 1800, for $1,500,000.
On the twenty-seventh of July, 1804, Messrs. Lewis and Clark came up the
Missouri, and camped on the Omaha plateau, where the waters of the river
then covered what is now the foot of Farnam street, and that part of the
city where the Union Pacific Machine Shops are now located, also the
smelting works, warehouses, distillery, extensive coal and lumber yards,
and where numerous railroad tracks form a suggestive network.
In 1825, T. B. Roye established an Indian trading station on the present
site of the city.
In 1845, a band of Mormons, driven from Illinois, settled slightly north
of the Omaha of to-day. They came as "strangers and pilgrims," and
called their little settlement by the suggestive title of "Winter
Quarters." The Indians, however, insisted that the Mormons should not
remain. So pressed, the saints divided their little party. A few
families, under the leadership of Elder Kane, crossed the Missouri and
started a settlement destined to become Council Bluffs.
The balance of the inhabitants of "Winter Quarters" placed themselves
under the leadership of Brigham Young, and with one hundred and eight
wagons migrated to Utah, where they immediately staked out Salt Lake
City, and began to build their Temple.
By so slight a circumstance Omaha missed being next door neighbor to, or
even becoming herself, the New Jerusalem of the Saints.
William D. Brown is conceded to have been the first white settler who
staked out a claim on the plateau now occupied by Omaha. He started for
the California gold fields. On his way it occurred to him how profitable
it would be to establish a ferry across the Missouri to accommodate the
thousands passing westward. Putting in practice his idea, in 1852, he
equipped a flatboat for that purpose. He named this venture of his "Lone
Tree Ferry," from one solitary tree on the landing, just east of where
in Omaha to-day stand the Union Pacific Shops.
In the spring of 1853, Mr. Brown staked out a claim embracing most of
the original town site of Omaha.
July 23, 1853, Brown became a member of the Council Bluffs and Nebraska
Ferry Company, whose object was to open a steam ferry, and to establish
a town on the west bank of the river. Despite protests from Indians and
without consent of the United States, in the winter and early spring of
1854, what is now Douglas County was nearly covered by staked-out claims
of "sooners" and speculators.
May 23, 1854, Nebraska was admitted into the Union as a Territory, and
in the same year Douglas County was created. Immediately, upon a
beautiful plateau, a town site was selected, laid out, and christened
Omaha.
The first house in Omaha was commenced before Omaha itself legally
existed. It was built by Thomas Allen. It was a log house, was named the
St. Nicholas, was used as a hotel, a store, or anything else which the
public demanded.
In July of the same year another house was built--this one being of pine
flooring. It was on the present site of Creighton College. Here, a few
weeks after its erection, the first native Omaha boy first saw the
light, and from this same house, a few days later, an Omaha citizen
first passed out to that mysterious country
"From whence no traveller returns."
The third house was called "Big 6." Its owner opened "A general
assortment of merchandise suitable for time and place," and "Big 6" soon
became a place of note.
House No. 4 was opened by a house warming, which was attended even by
settlers from the adjacent State of Illinois.
In the same year, that of 1854, the so-called Old State House was built
by the Ferry Company to accommodate the first territorial legislature.
It was not an architectural beauty, and consequently, in 1857, it gave
place to a large, brick Capitol.
[Illustration: SPORT ON THE PLAINS.]
In this, to Omaha, memorable year of 1854, the first doctor, the
first lawyer and the first minister settled in her boundaries, also the
first steam mill began running.
January 15, 1855, the large frame Douglas House was opened by a grand
ball. It did an immense business for many years, and became notedly the
headquarters for politicians and speculators.
The first territorial legislature convened January 16, 1855, and
remained in session until March seventeenth of the same year. Where that
legislature should meet became a question of vital importance to a
number of Nebraska towns. The matter was hotly contested but the
metropolis won the prize, acting Governor Cummings designating Omaha as
the favored spot.
Traffic by steamboat did much to develop the "Gate City." Sometimes
boats arrived seven or eight times a week, bringing new inhabitants,
timber, machinery, provisions, furniture, and piling their cargo--human
or inanimate--out upon the since washed away levees, to be taken care of
as best the embryo city could.
The first boat of the season was the event of the year. Down the
inhabitants ran to meet it, without regard to age, sex or race; down
they trooped, laughing, shouting, rejoicing that communication with the
great world was once more open. Many a "cotillon" was danced on the deck
of that first boat, while the unloading was being vigorously carried on
below.
There was little crime in the new city. In the three formative years
only one murder is known to have been committed, and no criminal was
legally executed until 1863.
There was never much Indian trouble in this vicinity. However, Omaha
several times raised troops to protect the whites of Douglas County. In
1864, a large band of Indians appeared on the Elkhorn and so frightened
the settlers that they poured into Omaha before daylight. Business was
suspended, a meeting called in the Court House at two o'clock P. M., and
before sunset every able-bodied man was armed. This promptness and
efficiency so impressed the Indians that no outbreak took place.
In the late Civil War, Omaha responded nobly to the call of the General
Government. The First Regiment of Nebraska Volunteers, the First
Battalion, the Second Regiment Nebraska Volunteers, the First Nebraska
Veteran Cavalry, and four companies of Curtis' Horse, came almost
entirely from Omaha.
The first telegraph line reached Omaha in 1860.
The first breaking of ground for the Union Pacific Rail Road took place
in Omaha, December 3, 1863.
The first train from the East reached Omaha by the Chicago and
Northwestern route, January 17, 1867.
So Omaha grew and prospered. It took about twenty-seven years to bring
it out of original wildness to the state of excellency in which I found
it as I passed through on my horseback journey. Yet it seems but
yesterday since no human dwelling occupied the place now covered by our
young city. Here the Indian council-fires burned; on the bluffs, with no
more civilized weapon than his bow and arrow, he hunted deer, buffalo,
elk, bear and wolf. Here his war-whoop rang out clear and unmolested.
Here brave, free, unfearing, he dwelt,
"Monarch of all he surveyed."
[Illustration: PAWNEE INDIANS, NEBRASKA.]
And now he is completely effaced from this region. Gone and only
remembered by some quaint name still attached to stream or mountain.
To-day "the moving millions, both in this country and Europe, are making
earnest inquiry for Nebraska." 50,000 new inhabitants came to it in
1880. The close of the late war brought many ex-soldiers and their
families here to claim land privileges near Omaha, and from "the four
quarters of the globe the swelling thousands have come to settle with
those that made their way thither. From Maine and Texas, and from every
territory of the Rocky Mountains, they came." "The rank and file, the
bone and muscle, were men who came to stay, who counted the cost, who
measured the sacrifice." Under their faithful hands the desert has been
made to "blossom like the rose." "The dug-out and the log house have
given place to the elegant mansion, and thousands of groves have sprung
up almost as if by magic all over the prairies."
These brave pioneers knew it would be so. They believed in the embryo
city. By faith they saw the fields blossoming for the harvest. They
heard the song of harvest home, they saw the smoke of the rising city,
the highways of commerce, and some of them saw the highways of nations,
so long a fable to the American people, stretching up through their
valleys to the everlasting mountains and on to the broad Pacific. To-day
the day-dream of these brave men is realized--
For lo! it has all come true.
CHAPTER XXV.
OMAHA TO CHEYENNE.
As winter was approaching and the days were now becoming considerably
shorter, it was incumbent upon me to hasten my departure from Omaha, if
I would reach my destination as contemplated at the outset. Having
learned from frontiersmen that Eastern horses are not available in the
Alkali Region of the Plains, I placed my faithful _Paul_ in a boarding
stable in Omaha, purchased a mustang of a Pawnee Indian and forthwith
continued my journey westward.
Webster defines a _mustang_ as the "Wild Horse of the Prairie." My
experience with him has taught me that he is sufficiently docile under
the restraint of a tight rein; will travel a longer distance over a
rough road in a given time than the average horse, and scarcely ever
shows fatigue even if the road is all up-hill. Of course, some of them
are vicious, and will make things uncomfortable for the rider; but in
this particular some civilized horses are not unlike them. I found the
Mexican saddle more convenient than the "McClellan" which I had hitherto
used, and thought much easier for the animal.
[Illustration: NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA.]
My mustang proved tractable and made excellent time; and having obtained
in Omaha all the information within my reach concerning the remaining
half of my journey, I determined to use all despatch and avoid as far as
I could the cold weather of the Rockies and Sierras.
I may here state that in consequence of the long rides I was now
compelled to make, with very few stoppages except at night, the original
plan of the journey was somewhat changed, and my journal necessarily
fell into disuse; my chief object being to get over the mountains as
quickly as possible. I was, therefore, unable during the remainder of my
ride to refer so much to daily incidents, but confined myself to jotting
down in a general way whatever I thought might prove of interest to the
reader.
Over the Great Plains that lie between the Missouri and the Rockies my
nerve was thoroughly tested, and not less so the mettle of my mustang
which carried me a distance of five hundred and twenty-two miles in six
days. Halts at this time were few and far between, except for necessary
food and sleep. The weather had become very cold since leaving Omaha,
and the ascent had been gradual but continuous.
The surface of Nebraska is extremely varied. There are no elevations
that can be dignified with the name of mountains, but in its northern
and western parts there are lofty hills. Along the Niobrara and White
Rivers, extending into Dakota, there are sand-hills with a very scanty
vegetation and very difficult to traverse on account of the loose sand.
The gently rolling lands of three-fourths of Nebraska appear very much
like the suddenly petrified waves and billows of the ocean. Minerals
had not yet been found to any considerable extent, and the scarcity of
coal rendered more valuable the extensive beds of peat found in some
parts of the State. The _salt_ basins of Nebraska are rich and
extensive. The principal one is located in Lancaster County, covering an
area of twelve by twenty-five miles. Fossil remains, of great interest
to geologists, have been discovered in great quantities. Indian
hieroglyphics, which ante-date the traditions of all living tribes, are
cut deep in the bluffs along the Missouri River, in places now
inaccessible.
The Platte or Nebraska River, from which the Territory received its
name, is a broad and shallow stream. It is claimed that there is not a
foot of land in Eastern Nebraska that is not susceptible of cultivation.
High winds sweep over the plains, and the storms are sometimes of
terrible severity. The climate is dry and exhilarating, and the nights
generally cool throughout the summer. There is no part of the United
States better adapted for stock-raising than the prairies of Nebraska.
There is a well-equipped university at Lincoln, a normal school for the
training of teachers and an institution for the blind at Nebraska City.
After a fifty miles' ride from Omaha a halt was made at the Sherman
House, Fremont, Dodge County, for supper and lodging. The journey had
been pleasant and the landscape charming in its quiet beauty. The south
wind was neither too warm nor too cold for perfect comfort, and my
mustang looked as if he could carry me another fifty miles without any
inconvenience to himself.
Fremont had a population of nearly 3,000, and has a large trade in
grain, cotton and lumber. It has a court house, a high school, three
banks and four newspapers.
Left early the following morning and at night slept in a wigwam with
Pawnee Indians, in the absence of other shelter, and they gave me of
their best. At Lone Tree, a post office in Nance County, I stopped at
the Lone Tree House for the night, and next morning at dawn, the weather
being very fine, hurried forward on my journey. Reached Grand Island,
where I was accommodated at a private house with bed and board.
Grand Island is in the Great Platte Valley on Platte River, one hundred
and fifty-four miles west of Omaha. It stands 1,800 feet above sea
level. The Island, on which the town is built, is fifty miles long.
Wood River, my next resting-place, is a township in Hall County with a
population not exceeding one thousand. On the following day good headway
was made, but I could find no better accommodation for the night than at
a Pawnee camp. On the succeeding night, after a hard day's ride, I
stopped at Plum Creek, two hundred and thirty miles west of Omaha, and
was accommodated at the Plum Creek House. A bridge spans the Platte
River at this point. The population was only three hundred, but a weekly
paper had been started and was well supported. The next evening, the
McPherson House, McPherson, received me and my mustang and treated us
hospitably. Then followed North Platte, one hundred and thirty-seven
miles from Grand Island, where I lodged for the night at a private
house, the home of a pioneer. The repair shops of the Union Pacific
Railroad were located here; also a bank and two enterprising
newspapers. The population of the township was nearly three thousand. At
Sidney, which is a military post, I stopped at the Railroad Hotel.
Sheep-farming is a leading industry of Sidney and its vicinity. My last
stopping-place in Nebraska was at Evans Ranche, Antelope, a small
village on the Elk Horn River.
Crossing the boundary into Wyoming Territory and reaching Cheyenne, I
made my entrance into this most interesting region--a great plateau of
nearly 100,000 square miles, its lowest level 3,543 feet, its highest
altitude more than 13,000 feet above the sea. Some one has said that it
seems "a highway, laid out by the 'Great Intelligence,' in the latitude
most favorable, at all seasons, for great migrations to the shores of
the Pacific."
Shales bearing petroleum, iron, limestone, soda, sulphur, mica, copper,
lead, silver and gold, are all there for the taking.
There, volcanoes are still at work.
There, great mountains, great canyons, and great cataracts make the face
of Nature sublime.
There, in past centuries, "at some period anterior to the history of
existing aboriginal races," lived a mysterious, to us unknown people,
traces of whom we still find in neatly finished stratite vessels,
"knives, scrapers, and sinkers for fish lines made of volcanic sandstone
or of green-veined marble. Such is the tract of territory called
Wyoming."
[Illustration: PLUM CREEK, NEBRASKA.]
Beginning at the southeast corner of this tract, we encounter, not far
from the boundary, a semi-circular range, about 2,000 feet above the
general level, known as Laramie Hills. The north branch of the
Platte, coming from the south, sweeps in a long curve about it; and just
at the base of this Laramie range nestles the so-called "Magic City,"
Cheyenne, the capital of Wyoming.
White men first explored this region in 1743, and in 1744, when Sieur de
la Verendrye and his sons came down from Canada, lured by the then
unexplored Rocky Mountains. But the region was fearfully wild. Not only
was the face of Nature most strange, but the whole tract was overrun by
belligerent savages.
In 1804 a few brave white men began hunting beaver there. But it was
many long years before civilization took possession of the spot. Not
indeed until mining was begun on the summit of the Rocky Mountains in
Dakota.
Then the fact of railroad construction brought great crowds to the North
Platte country, crowds composed of two diametrically opposed elements,
namely workers and loafers. These two elements joined hands for once,
strange as it may seem, and together they settled Cheyenne. They located
it near several military posts, and just as close to Denver as they
could get it, and still keep it in Wyoming. At Denver was a bank. They
wanted to be near that institution, and so came within one hundred and
six miles of it. Such were a settler's ideas of propinquity!
Several items contributed to making this young settlement a success. The
most important of these items was that, in 1867, the Union Pacific
Railroad Company began to locate its shops there. That was rarely fine
bait for mechanics. The coal and iron mines in the suburbs proved good
bait for miners.
So, from these humble beginnings, Cheyenne came into existence, awoke,
bestirred herself, became fired with ambition, and made the summer of
1867 one never to be forgotten in her boundaries.
On July first of that year, the agent of the Union Pacific Railroad
erected in Cheyenne the first structure belonging to that company.
In August, the city government was formed, H. M. Hook being chosen
mayor.
On September nineteenth, the first issue of the Cheyenne _Evening
Leader_ was published.
September twenty-seventh, a meeting was held for the purpose of
organizing a county to be called Laramie.
On October eighth, an election was held to vote for a representative to
Congress, to elect county officers, and to locate the county-seat. It
was decided that every citizen of the United States, who had been in the
territory ten days, might vote. One thousand nine hundred votes were
cast, and Cheyenne was declared the county-seat.
On October twenty-fifth, telegraphic communication with the East was
opened.
November thirteenth, the first passenger train came through from Omaha,
and one month later the track was laid to Fort Russell.
About July first of that year, a Mr. Post bought two lots in Cheyenne
for six hundred dollars. He then went to Denver on business, stopped to
stake out his claim in a coal mine, and returned to find that city real
estate had become so inflated in his absence that he was enabled to sell
a fractional part of his six hundred dollar lots for five thousand six
hundred dollars.
[Illustration: CATTLE RANCHE IN NEBRASKA.]
About July first, the Union Pacific Railroad sold lots for one hundred
and fifty dollars per lot. A month later, they were worth one thousand
dollars apiece, increasing in price at the rate of one thousand dollars
per lot each month for some time after.
On July 1, 1867, Cheyenne was simply a little corner of the wilderness.
On January 1, 1868, it was a city of six thousand inhabitants.
Was it not indeed a "Magic City," which could furnish a six months'
record like the above?
However, this was but the _Quatre Bras_ before the Waterloo.
Cheyenne's real struggle for life, for advancement, for culture and
permanent prosperity, was to begin with this new year of 1868. We know
how grandly the young city conquered, not by "magic" this time, but
better still, by patience, pluck, and indomitable will. But to her
honest and law-abiding citizens, at the outset of 1868, things looked
dark indeed.
Cheyenne was the terminus of the Union Pacific Railroad that winter, and
the scum of the floating Western population drifted thither.
Houses were insufficient, and many wintered in tents and dugouts.
To make things worse, great numbers of squatters came, and began seizing
town lots.
"Shootings were frequent, and every manner of vice abounded. A canvas
saloon would answer as well as another for gambling, drinking, and the
purposes of the dives. Various men and women made the place intolerable.
It was never disputed that this town exceeded in vice and unwholesome
excitement any of the new cities of the West." The police were
overwhelmed. Crime, theft, and assault were rampant. Patience ceased to
be a virtue.
The commander at Fort Russell was appealed to, and a battalion was sent
by him to escort the squatters beyond the city limits.
After that, the good people of Cheyenne took matters into their own
hands, deciding to
"Take up arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them."
A vigilance committee, that _dernier_ resort of the order-loving
Westerner of that period, was formed.
On January 11, 1868, this committee arrested three men for robbery. The
criminals were bound together and placarded with the following notice:
"$900 stole. $500 returned! Thieves F. St. Clair, W. Grier, E. D.
Brownell! City authorities please not interfere until ten o'clock
A.M. Next case goes up a tree! Beware of Vigilance Committee!"
Comparatively gentle measures, like the above, were useless. Authority
in that wild land had to be made of "sterner stuff." Not until the
vigilants had hung and shot a dozen men did comparative order prevail.
There was many a dark day for the well-wishers of Cheyenne; yet they
lost
"No jot of heart or hope,
But pressed right boldly on,"
and gradually peace came out of strife, order out of confusion, and
civilization reigned supreme.
In 1869, Cheyenne became the great _entrée_ port of the vast regions
north and west.
On September seventh of that year the first term of court was held in
the city.
[Illustration: A MOUNTAIN VILLAGE.]
In that same month of September, an election for members of the first
Territorial Legislature took place.
That Legislature held a sixty days' session. Some of its _dicta_ were as
follows:
Gambling was allowed.
Taxes were placed upon all property, real or personal, excepting only
United-States and public property; and in cases of individuals,
exempting clothing and furniture, amounting to one hundred dollars.
Jails were to be placed in every county.
And, "last but not least," Cheyenne was declared the seat of the
territorial government, and an appropriation was asked for with which to
build a capitol.
Surroundings change rapidly in the rush of a new community, and 1870 saw
Cheyenne established, strengthened, purified, settled.
The floating riff-raff had passed away, leaving a solid, intelligent
population of sixteen hundred.
The city had at that time one public school and two private ones; the
latter containing about sixty pupils. It had five well built and well
furnished churches. The orders of Masons, Knights Templar, Odd Fellows,
and Good Templars were all represented in Cheyenne at that time. The
city had two large banks, three tobacconists, three hardware houses, two
shoe stores, one confectionery, two bakeries, one livery stable, two
first-class hotels, many common ones, a daily newspaper, two weeklies, a
well organized fire department, and "an acqueduct, nearly completed, for
bringing water from a source seven miles away into the city."
Cheyenne was now well governed, orderly, at peace, and only three years
old.
She has not stood still--the brave little "Magic City!"
She keeps on growing, becoming more beautiful, more prosperous. The best
we can wish for her is that her future may prove as phenomenal and
brilliant as her past has been.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CAPTURED BY INDIANS.
Cheyenne was at length left behind, and, with the object of securing
companionship in my journey across Wyoming and Utah, I made the
acquaintance of two herders--rough men and plain of speech, but
apparently reliable and trustworthy. During the few days spent with
these pioneers of the Plains, I learned but little of their past lives,
yet I was thoroughly satisfied from the first that they would prove
invaluable guides in my otherwise lonely ride over the Rockies.
My new companions, Israel Gordon and a Mexican with unpronounceable
name, were on their way to Salt Lake City with a few mustangs and Indian
ponies, and we at once arranged to journey together as far as our
respective routes carried us.
On our first day out from Cheyenne we were much favored, having a clear
sky and a southwest wind, which tempered pleasantly the usual chilliness
of the season. A ride of thirty-three miles on an up-hill road brought
us to Sherman, the highest point touched in the Rocky Mountains by the
Union Pacific Railway. Here we halted for the night, had supper, and
slept under our blankets in the open air.
After a light breakfast the following morning, November first, we
continued our journey along the line of the Union Pacific. Still favored
with fine weather and our mustangs being in excellent condition, good
progress was noted in the march westward. I had now become quite well
acquainted with my new-made friends, and, as our ponies shook the dust
of many miles from their feet, we talked of the strange region through
which we were passing, and of the routes which led to objective points
beyond the mountains. During these conversations I learned that Gordon
was born in Vermont, and lived in that State until the close of the
Civil War, when he emigrated to Nebraska, and later to Wyoming, where
for several years he led a wandering life among the hunters and cow-boys
of the Far West. My other companion told me that he began life in New
Mexico, and at the age of twenty-one drifted into Colorado, from which
Territory he migrated to Cheyenne, in 1867. Both men were robust, strong
of limb, and thoroughly accustomed to the habits and practices of the
mixed population of the Plains.
As the reader may have observed, I have undertaken from the outset in
this chapter to give some idea of the life and habits of my
fellow-travelers, for, as will be discovered on another page, they were
destined to share with me the most trying ordeal of my journey from
Ocean to Ocean.
[Illustration: CAPTURED BY INDIANS.]
On reaching a point about a mile east of Skull Rocks, on the Laramie
Plains, we were surprised to find ourselves confronted by a band of
Indians--thirteen in number. This caused no uneasiness at first, as
Indians are often seen on these Plains. We soon discovered, however,
that they were on no friendly errand, and, upon a nearer approach, the
herders pronounced them a raiding party of Arrapahoes. They were
evidently in pursuit of plunder, were decked in war-paint, and as soon
as we came in range of their rifles sounded the war-whoop and bore down
upon us, in a manner that betokened anything but a peaceful visit, and
left no doubt in our minds as to the motive of their attack.
The Arrapahoes were at this time the friends and allies of the Sioux,
and the chief objects of their raid were doubtless revenge for white men
and horses for their warriors, who were then rendezvoused in the Black
Hills.
Fully convinced that we were in the presence of an enemy determined to
kill or capture our little party, no attempt was made to parley. The
ponies were hurriedly drawn together so as to form a barrier against the
assaults of the Indians, who were now in short range and gradually
closing in upon us. As they galloped around us, the Indians formed a
circle and kept up an incessant fire, to which we replied over the backs
of our ponies, but with little effect, as from their mode of attack they
were a constantly shifting target and difficult to reach, even with the
best weapons in use. My own equipment consisted of a carbine, such as I
had used in the cavalry service during the Civil War, and a 22-calibre
Colt's revolver. Gordon and the Mexican were each provided with a
Winchester rifle and navy revolver, while nearly all the Arrapahoes were
armed with Winchesters and revolvers.
But few moments were required to settle the unequal contest. Four of our
horses fell in rapid succession, including my own mustang; in the
meantime we brought down one Indian and three ponies. The Indian was
instantly killed by a shot from the Mexican.
On seeing one of their number fall, the Arrapahoes rushed upon us with
deafening yells, and with such force as to render resistance useless.
Our arms were taken from us, our horses quickly seized, and, in much
less time than it takes to tell it, we were mounted and riding at a
rapid pace to the northward, under a guard of six well-armed Indians,
who were carefully instructed as to their duties by their chief, Lone
Wolf. The remainder of the band were more or less occupied in scouring
the country for horses and other plunder, wanted for their encampment in
the Black Hills.
[Illustration: DECIDING THE FATE OF THE CAPTIVES.]
We rode at a trot or gallop until about ten o'clock at night, when a
halt was ordered by the chief, and all dismounted; a fire was built and
some antelope meat, secured during the day, was partially roasted and
distributed among the Indians and their captives. We were for some time
squatted around a big fire--our captors engaged in earnest conversation.
Gordon understood enough of their language to interpret that the
discussion related to their prisoners--that the friends of the Indian
killed at Skull Rocks, and who were in the majority, were in favor of
putting all of their prisoners to death for having shot one of their
number. Lone Wolf, however, interposed, saying it would be enough to
take the life of him who had killed their brother. Supper over, four
Arrapahoes approached us and seized the herder who had fired the fatal
shot. They led him to a stake which had been driven in the ground
about fifty yards from the bivouac; to this stake he was firmly bound by
lariat ropes. All of the Indians then began dancing around and torturing
their victim in the most brutal manner conceivable. Arrow-heads were
heated in the fire and held against his naked person. Three or four of
the Indians made a target of their captive, and amused themselves by
hurling at him their sharp-pointed knives, which, penetrating his body,
remained imbedded in the flesh, until he was nearly exhausted with pain
and loss of blood. These tortures were continued until our unfortunate
comrade lost consciousness, when one of the Arrapahoes, more humane than
his associates, advanced and ended his sufferings by a pistol-shot in
the head.
In the meantime Gordon and I were seated on the ground, bound together,
and unable to offer any relief to our suffering companion, who bore his
tortures with a greater degree of composure and fortitude than I ever
witnessed on the battle-field or within the walls of the dungeon, and,
while no stately column or monumental pile marks his resting-place, he
deserves to sleep beside the heroic martyrs of the border who have
risked life and suffered privation and hardship for the advancement of a
higher civilization.
Having disposed of the Mexican, several of the Indians now approached
Gordon and myself, and, separating us, seized me roughly by the arms,
and, dragging me to the stake, bound me to it and commenced a series of
dances, accompanied by much gesticulation and taunting, which they
doubtless intended as a sort of introduction to tortures which were to
follow. Lone Wolf, who had from the first seemed friendly, but who was
at this time some distance from the camp-fire, now rushed to my rescue
and dispersed our inhuman captors, who were loath to desist from their
devilish work. A few minutes later a brother of the Indian killed at
Skull Rocks removed the scalp of the Mexican, and, after he had fastened
it to his belt, all began dancing around the fire, singing and shouting
until they were thoroughly exhausted, when they squatted upon the
ground, apparently regretting that they had not been permitted to put
more trophies in their scalp locks.
An object of interest to us at this time was the horses which were
tethered by long lariat ropes to stakes which had been driven in the
ground at a convenient distance from the encampment. Could we but elude
the guard and mount the mustangs we were riding when captured, our
chances for escape would be all we could wish. As usual, we were bound
together, with two stalwart Indians in charge. The other Indians
disposed themselves around the fire and slept. I and my companion slept
very little, but pretended to do so. We were always on the alert and
seeking opportunities to escape. About two o'clock in the morning our
guards were relieved by two others, and all was again quiet around their
camp-fire. At the first streak of dawn, the Indians were up and had a
scant breakfast of dried buffalo meat and venison, which had been
secured from the ranches of frontiersmen during their raid of the
previous day; of this they gave us barely enough to satisfy hunger.
As soon as all were ready for the trail, Gordon and I were each given a
pony, which we mounted under the close scrutiny of the guard, and the
entire party started northward at a brisk trot. No real attempt to
escape had thus far been made and the watch became somewhat relaxed, the
attention of the Indians being devoted chiefly to foraging. When
opportunity seemed favorable for the capture of horses or cattle, a halt
was called by the leader, and three or four of the party were detailed
for this purpose. These foragers were expected to keep themselves and
their prisoners supplied with meat and such other rations as could be
found in the straggling cabins of frontiersmen, but, as their raids
often proved fruitless, we were, at best, scantily provided for, and
many times entirely without food.
[Illustration: ESCAPE FROM THE ARRAPAHOES.]
We were now skirting the Black Hills, and I had discovered by this time
that our captors were making their way to the Arrapahoe rendezvous,
about one hundred miles from Deadwood.
At the end of the second day the routine of the previous night was
repeated: the Indians built a fire, cooked and ate some antelope meat,
which had been brought in by the foragers during the afternoon, and then
lay down around the fire for the night, their two prisoners being again
bound together, with a guard on each side. Notwithstanding these
precautions, however, on the part of the Arrapahoes, I was quietly on
the alert, and, although feigning sleep, was wide awake and prepared to
take advantage of any circumstance which might prove favorable to an
escape. I passed the fingers of my right hand over the cord that bound
the left to my fellow-prisoner and felt sure that with patience and
persistence the knot could be untied and our liberty regained.
While the guards dozed and slept, as on the previous night, our eyes
steadily sought the arms and ponies. We were quite certain that any
attempt to escape, if detected and defeated, would result in immediate
torture and death; but were, nevertheless, firmly determined to make the
effort, let the consequences be what they might, for by this time we
were thoroughly convinced that, if taken to their encampment in the
Black Hills, the Indians would be most likely to detain us as hostages
for a long period, and in the end possibly, should the inclination seize
them, subject us to brutalities that only savages can devise. With such
reflections and but indifferent opportunity to put our plans for escape
to the test, we passed our second night in captivity.
At dawn of the third day, November second, after the usual breakfast of
antelope, Lone Wolf called his band together and, mounting, continued
his march northward, halting occasionally for rest and refreshment.
About eight in the evening all dismounted and bivouacked for the night.
The weather was now extremely cold in this high altitude, and was keenly
felt by the Arrapahoes and their white captives.
Shivering with cold and without blankets, Gordon and I, still bound
together at the wrists, lay down to sleep with our captors around a
smouldering fire. The Indians sought sleep--their prisoners thought only
of possibilities for escape.
With the experience I had gained in Southern prisons during the Civil
War and the herder's thorough knowledge of the Plains, I felt confident
that we could make our escape if we were constantly on the alert for the
opportune moment. During the early hours of the night we had each fixed
our eyes upon a pony. These animals were grazing near the camp-fire,
with their saddles on, ready for immediate use if required. Under the
pretence of being asleep we began snoring loudly, and the guards,
feeling at ease concerning their prisoners, slept at intervals, although
restless until midnight, when we found them sleeping soundly.
I now worked at the cord which bound me to my white companion and
ascertained that I could untie it. While making the attempt one of the
Indians moved in his sleep and I ceased my efforts for the moment, and
all was quiet again. The opportunity arrived at length, the knot was
loosened, and the noose slipped over our hands, which gave us liberty.
We quickly took possession of two revolvers, but the guards, being
awakened by our movements, were about getting on their feet, when we
dealt them stunning blows with the butt of the revolvers, forced them to
the ground, and gained needed time for our escape. Each rushed for a
pony, leaped into the saddle, and, before Lone Wolf and his band had
shaken off their slumber, we were urging our mustangs to their utmost
speed southward.
But a moment elapsed before all of the Indians were mounted and in
pursuit of their escaping captives; but this had the effect only of
spurring us to still greater speed. Finding several of our pursuers in
short range I turned in my saddle and sent a bullet among them; another
and another followed. One Indian fell from his horse, but the darkness
prevented our seeing if the other shots had told. The Arrapahoes
returned the fire, but luckily without any worse result than increasing
the pace of our flying ponies.
Away we tore over hill-top and through canyon until but three or four
Indians could be seen in pursuit, when Gordon, saying it would be much
better for both to take separate routes, at once dashed off through a
ravine to the right. One Indian considerably in advance of his
companions was at this time closing upon me, but I sent a bullet into
his horse, which put a temporary stop to pursuit and would have enabled
me to distance my pursuers in the saddle had not my own horse fallen an
instant later through a well-directed shot from the Indian I had just
dismounted.
I now dropped into a gulch, remaining hidden until morning. With the
coming light I found the coast clear, and, emerging from my place of
concealment, set out in a southwesterly direction, which brought me to a
cattle ranche late in the afternoon, grateful, indeed, for liberty
regained and for the freedom which enabled me to continue my journey
toward the shores of the Pacific. After listening to my story the
generous ranchmen whom I here met supplied me with food and a fresh
mustang. Again facing westward I pursued my course over the Rockies,
striking the Old Government Trail near Fort Steele at the end of three
days.
CHAPTER XXVII.
AMONG THE MORMONS.
In my ride across the Territory of Utah amid its snow-capped mountains,
hot sulphur springs and its great Salt Lake, I met no hostile Indians,
but on the contrary many hospitable Mormons; in fact, my reception by
both Mormon and Gentile was invariably kind and generous. I saw
something of the social life of Utah as well as the wonderful country
through which I passed, and was favorably impressed with the material
development of the latter, as witnessed in its farms and mechanical
industries. The men I conversed with were fairly intelligent--some
exceptionally so; and hesitated not to explain and justify their
peculiar faith and domestic life. They are certainly neither monsters
nor murderers, but men possessing good manners and many of them refined
tastes. In short, I found much good human nature among this people as
well as social culture. Business intelligence and activity is a marked
feature in their intercourse with strangers.
In Utah agriculture is the chief occupation of the people. The long dry
summers and the clayey character of the soil insure defeat to the
farmer, unless he helps his crops by artificial means. Irrigation is
therefore universal, and the result--the finest crops to be found
anywhere in the West.
The Territory of Utah covers the region drained by the Great Salt Lake
and many miles more, both in length and breadth, but the Mormon
settlements extend one hundred miles further into Idaho on the north and
two hundred miles into Arizona on the south. These settlements are
mostly small, but there are some places of considerable importance, as,
for instance, Provo at the south and Ogden at the north.
On July 14, 1847, Brigham Young, a Mormon leader, and his followers
entered the valley of the Great Salt Lake. The lake itself is one of the
most remarkable bodies of water on the globe. It is seventy miles long
and forty-five miles broad, and stands 4,250 feet above the sea-level.
It bears a strong resemblance to the Dead Sea of Palestine, but, unlike
that sea, it abounds in animal life. When Young entered the valley Utah
belonged to Mexico, and the leader believed he could found whatever
character of institution should suit him and his people best. It has
been alleged that Brigham Young had "chains on men's souls." There is no
doubt that superstition and the machinery of the Mormon Church were in
some degree the secret of his irresistible power over his followers; but
back of the superstition and the marvellous church organization stood
the brain of a great and masterful man. His power, he knew, must rest
upon something material and tangible, and this something he reasonably
discerned to be the prosperity of the people themselves. He proved
himself to be an organizer of prosperity, and this was the real source
of his strength.
Mormonism is the religion of 250,000 of the world's inhabitants. The
Territory of Utah has a population of 160,000, and of these, probably,
110,000 are Mormons. Their doctrines may be explained in a few words:
They believe that both matter and spirit are eternal, and both are
possessed of intelligence and power to design.
The spiritual realm contains many gods, all of whom are traced back to
one Supreme Deity.
This Supreme Deity and all the gods resemble men and differ only in the
fact that they are immortal.
In form they are the same as men, having every organ and limb that
belongs to humanity. They have many wives, and are as numerous as the
sands upon the sea-shore.
Among the gods, Jesus Christ holds the first place, and is the express
image of the Supreme Father.
A general assembly of the gods, presided over by the Supreme Deity, is
the creating power.
When this world was created, Adam and Eve were taken from the family of
gods and placed in it. In the fall they lost all knowledge of their
heavenly origin, became possessed of mortal bodies, and only regained
what they had lost by the quickening of the Holy Spirit and continuous
progress in knowledge and purity.
Among other creations of the gods are innumerable spirits which can only
attain to the rank of gods by the rugged road of discipline and trial
trod by our first parents. These spirits are constantly hovering over
our earth waiting for fleshy tenements in which to begin the steep
ascent.
As soon as a child is born, one of these spirits takes possession of it
and is then fairly launched forth upon its heavenly voyage.
Those who do not listen to the teachings of the church here will, at
death, enter upon a third estate or probationary sphere, when they will
have another opportunity, when, if they improve it aright, they will,
with all the faithful, enter upon the fourth estate, which is the estate
of the gods.
The Holy Spirit is a material substance filling all space, and can
perform all the works of the Supreme Deity. It is omnipresent; in
animals it is instinct, in man reason and inspiration, enabling him to
prophesy, speak with tongues, and perform miracles of healing and many
other wonderful things. The Holy Spirit can be imparted by the laying on
of hands by a priesthood properly constituted and duly authorized.
The two prominent features of Mormonism are polygamy and lust for power.
Salvation is not so much a matter of character as of the number of
family.
Such is the teaching of Brigham Young in his sermons, and of George Q.
Cannon, Heber Kimball, and of all the leading Mormons.
Social life among this people may be judged of from the Mormon estimate
of woman. She exists only as a necessity in man's exaltation and glory.
Her only hope of a future life depends upon her being united in
"celestial marriage" to some man. Thus joined, she will have a share in
her husband's glory. In marrying her, her husband confers upon her the
greatest possible honor, and for this she must be his obedient slave.
In order that she may be contented with her lot as a polygamous wife,
she is taught from childhood to look upon conjugal love as a weak and
foolish sentiment, and upon marriage as the only way to secure a future
life.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT, WYOMING.]
The Mormons have been largely recruited in numbers by immigrants who
have been brought into Utah through the efforts of missionaries sent by
the church to other parts of America and to Europe. About six thousand
missionaries are thus employed. They leave their homes in Utah and go to
any part of the world to which they may be assigned by the authorities
of the church, paying their own expenses, or collecting the money for
their sustenance from their converts. These missionaries usually travel
in pairs, and preach, for the most part, in ignorant communities. It is
estimated that about 100,000 immigrants have gone to Utah under their
leadership. The organization of the missionary force is very complete
and effective. The immigrants, though for the most part ignorant, are
always able-bodied, and are usually industrious, frugal, and obedient to
discipline. The average yearly immigration is about 2,000 persons.
Mormonism has lately spread into the State of Nevada, and into Montana,
Idaho, Wyoming and Arizona.
The sect was founded by Joseph Smith at Manchester, New York, in 1830.
Smith was born December 23, 1805, at Sharon, Vermont. When only fifteen
years old he began to have alleged visions, in one of which, he asserts,
the angel Moroni appeared to him three times and told him that the Bible
of the Western Continent--a supplement to the New Testament--was buried
in a certain spot near Manchester. Four years after this event he
visited the spot indicated by the angel, and asserts that he had
delivered into his charge by another angel a stone box, in which was a
volume, six inches thick, made of thin gold plates, eight inches long by
seven broad, and fastened together by three gold rings. The plates were
said to be covered with small writing in the Egyptian character, and
were accompanied by a pair of supernatural spectacles, consisting of two
crystals set in a silver bow and called "Urim and Thummim." By aid of
these the mystic characters could be read. Joseph Smith, being himself
unable to read or write fluently, employed an amanuensis to whom he
dictated a translation, which was afterward, in 1830, printed and
published under the title of the "Book of Mormon." The book professes to
give the history of America from its first settlement by a colony of
refugees from the crowd dispersed by the confusion of tongues at the
Tower of Babel. These settlers having in the course of time destroyed
one another, nothing of importance occurred until 600 B. C., when Lehi,
his wife and four sons, with ten friends, all from Jerusalem, landed on
the coast of Chili, and from that period, according to the Mormon
theory, America became gradually peopled.
OGDEN.
Having heard much of the city of Ogden in Northern Utah--of its peculiar
origin and rapid progress--I resolved to rest there for a day or two
before proceeding to Corinne and other points in my route toward the
Sierras.
The pretty city of Ogden has had one of the wildest and most thrilling
of birthplaces.
To-day it reminds the stranger of one of the peaceful little cities of
old Massachusetts, nestled among the Berkshire Hills, wide of street,
stately of architecture, redolent of comfort and refinement.
But in reality Ogden is the child of Utah. Mines of precious metals are
its neighbors. It has been the scene of daring explorations, of Indian
raids, and of many murders and massacres. Its original inhabitants were
fanatics, so enthused with, so overwhelmed by their tenets, as to
believe themselves of all the world the favorites of the Almighty, the
only original handful of His saints, the small remnant of the human
family to which constant revelations from Heaven were vouchsafed.
Upheld by this fanaticism, drawn with it as by a magnet from all over
the United States, from Canada, from the countries of Europe, proselytes
came to join the Mormons. They journeyed by mule trains over the Plains,
or they walked perhaps, pushing their all in hand-carts before them.
They encountered persecution, suffering, and even death, undaunted. Some
of them, on their perilous journey to the Promised Land, subsisted on
roots. Some boiled the skins of their buffalo robes and ate them. Some
pushed their little carts on the last day of their lives and then laid
down to freeze before the land of their desire was in sight. Graves or
skeletons frequently marked their route of march, but still they came,
and having come they prospered.
Their farms throve; their boundaries increased; their settlements became
many.
With foolhardiness, but also with desperation, with dauntless
effrontery, with infinite pluck, they defied the United States and her
army, using the tiny handful of Mormon soldiery in a way that makes
one's mind run back to the story of Thermopylæ.
Such was the blood that settled Ogden.
It was such inhabitants that Brigham Young, in 1850, advised to "put up
good dwellings, open good schools, erect a meeting-house, cultivate
gardens, and pay especial care to fruit raising," so that Ogden might
become a permanent settlement and the headquarters for the Mormons in
the northern portion of the Territory.
So well was his advice carried out that in 1851 the city was "made a
stake of Zion," divided into wards, and incorporated by act of
legislature.
From the very first, everything connected with the city seemed to have a
spice and dash about it.
Away back in 1540, Father Juan de Padilla and his patron, Pedro de
Tobar, went on an exploring expedition. On his return the priest spoke
of a large and interesting river he had found in that "Great Unknown,"
the Northwest.
The account so fired the hearts of his brother Spaniards that Captain
Garcia Lopaz de Cardenas was sent to explore further into that
wonderland. He returned telling of immense gulches, of rocky
battlements, and of mountains surrounding a great body of water. Many
believe that in that far distant time, about the time that Elizabeth
ascended the throne of England, before Raleigh had done himself the
honor of his discoveries and settlements in Virginia, Signor Cardenas
was simply taking a little vacation trip through Utah.
But however fabulous that may be, we know of a surety that on July 29,
1776, two Franciscan friars set out from Santa Fé to find a direct route
to the Pacific Ocean. In their wanderings they strayed far to the north,
where they came across many representatives of the Utes, who proved to
be a loving, faithful, hospitable people. From their lips the Spaniards
heard the first description ever listened to by white men of the region
of country containing the present site of Ogden. "The lake," the Utes
said, "occupies many leagues. Its waters are injurious and extremely
salt. He that wets any part of his body in this water immediately feels
an itching in the wet parts. In the circuit of this lake live a numerous
and quiet nation called Puaguampe. They feed on herbs, and drink from
various fountains or springs of good water which are about the lake, and
they have their little houses of grass and earth, which latter forms the
roof."
So the Great Salt Lake makes its entrance into comparatively modern
American history.
In 1825, Peter Skeen Ogden, accompanied by his party of Hudson Bay
Company trappers, pursued his brilliant adventures, and left behind a
record which induced the naming of the city after him.
In 1841, the country around the spot where the city now lies was held,
on a Spanish grant, by Miles M. Goodyear, who built a fort and a few
log-houses near the confluence of the Weber and Ogden rivers.
On June 6, 1848, a man named James Brown came from California with his
pockets stuffed with gold dust; nearly five thousand dollars' worth of
the precious thing had he. With part of it he bought this tract of land
from Goodyear. It proved to be a most fertile spot. Brethren came to it
from Salt Lake City. Gentiles came from everywhere. The settlement grew
and prospered.
In 1849, people began to talk of locating a city right there at the
junction of the two rivers.
In 1850, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, and others, laid out the
settlement and called it Ogden, after Peter Skeen Ogden, the explorer,
long since dead, but whose dashing, daring, brilliant adventures were
still charming to the men of that wild land. Every time the city's name
is mentioned it is another proof that although,
"The man might die, his memory lives."
Before a year was over a school house was built in the city.
Then came that un-American sight, a wall of protection built around a
city. It cost $40,000, which amount was raised by taxation.
About this time several suburban settlements were formed, but bears,
wolves, and Indians soon drove the venturesome suburbanites within city
limits.
Just then a party of immigrants encamping on the Malade River shot two
Indian women. By way of reprisal the savages killed a pioneer named
Campbell who was building a saw-mill near Ogden, and threatened to
massacre the entire population of the town. Matters began to look
serious, and the commander of the Nauvoo Legion gave the Indians chase,
and so overwhelmed them that they at once retreated, taking with them
no captives more important than many horses and cattle belonging to the
white settlers.
[Illustration: SHEEP RANCHE IN WYOMING.]
October 23, 1851, the first municipal election was held in Ogden.
1852 found one hundred families living within city boundaries.
In 1854, a memorial was addressed to Congress, by the territorial
legislature, urging the construction of an overland railroad. But it was
May, 1868, before a contract was made between Brigham Young and the
superintendent of construction of the Union Pacific Railroad for grading
between Echo Canyon and the terminus of the line. At Weber Canyon there
was blasting, tunnelling, and heavy stone work for bridges to be done.
This work earned 1,000,000 or perhaps 1,250,000 dollars' worth of wages.
The labor was splendidly done, but the remuneration came slowly.
Finally, however, the Union Pacific Railroad turned over 600,000
dollars' worth of rolling stock, and other property to the Mormons. On
May 17, 1869, ground was broken for a railroad between Salt Lake City
and Ogden. So the city grew and flourished.
Ogden has an elevation of 4,340 feet. The ground plan of the city is
spacious, the drainage good, the climate exceedingly healthy.
About the time I rode through, the population numbered 6,000 souls. The
city contained one of the finest schools in Utah, a hotel which ranked
among the best in the Union, a daily paper, a theatre, three banks,
numerous Gentile churches, a 16,000 dollar bridge across the Weber, a
reservoir, and a Court House, which was such an architectural beauty
that all Utah may well be proud of it.
So Ogden came through narrow ways to broad ways! So she
"Climbed the ladder, round by round!"
She has won the respect and admiration of all who have watched her. May
her industry never fail, her enthusiasm never lessen, her pluck remain
indomitable, and may good fortune perch forever on her banners!
CHAPTER XXVIII
OVER THE SIERRAS.
Sierra is the Spanish word for 'saw' and also for 'mountain,' referring
to the notched outline of the mountains as seen against the sky.
[Illustration: MINING CAMP IN NEVADA.]
My main object now was to push on to Sacramento. At Kelton, in Utah,
where I remained only a few hours, I was still seven hundred and ninety
miles from my destination. Stock is extensively grazed here and cattle
shipped to the Pacific coast in very large numbers. Leaving Kelton, I
rode thirty-three miles to Terrace, a small settlement in the midst of a
desert; thence to Wells in the adjoining State of Nevada.
Nevada belongs to the "Great Basin," a table-land elevated 4,500 feet
above the sea. It is traversed, with great uniformity, by parallel
mountain ranges, rising from 1,000 to 8,000 feet high, running north and
south. Long, narrow valleys, or canyons, lie between them. The Sierra
Nevada, in some places 13,000 feet in height, extends along the western
boundary of the State. The only navigable river is the Colorado, but
there are several other streams rising in the mountains and emptying
into lakes which have no visible outlet. Lake Tahoe is twenty-one miles
long, ten miles wide and fifteen hundred feet deep. Although it is
elevated 6,000 feet above the sea level, the water of this lake never
freezes and has a mean temperature of 57° for the year. Nevada has its
hot springs, some of which have a temperature of two hundred degrees.
A heavy growth of timber, particularly of pine, fir, and spruce, covers
the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada, many of the trees attaining
enormous size. There are numerous alkaline flats, and extensive sand
plains, where nothing grows. The first discovery of silver ore was made
on the Comstock lode in 1859, from which more than $100,000,000 have
been taken. This has been the most valuable silver-bearing lode ever
discovered in the world, exceeding in wealth the mines of Peru and
Mexico. It is now exhausted and yields only low-grade ores.
Wells, my first resting-point in the Sierras, stands at an elevation of
over 5,600 feet, and had a population of less than 300. Farming and
stock raising are its principal industries. Formerly it was a watering
and resting-place for old emigrant travel, where pure water was
obtained--a luxury after crossing the Great Desert; and an abundance of
grass for the weary animals. Some of the wells here are 1,700 feet deep.
Stopped next for the night at Halleck, a small village--over 5,000 feet
elevation--thirteen miles from Camp Halleck, where United States troops
are occasionally stationed. Leaving Halleck after a night's rest and a
hearty breakfast of ham and eggs, I rode twenty-four miles to Elko, six
hundred and nineteen miles from San Francisco. This important town
stands at an elevation of 5,063 feet above sea-level and is on the
Humboldt River. The State University is situated here. Silver smelting
works and manufactures of farming implements were the principal
industries. One daily and two weekly papers were well supported. There
were also three large freight depots for the accommodation of the
railway business. I noticed several Indians about the town. The hot
mineral springs of Elko are considered of great value for bathing.
Population at the time of my visit, about 1,700, but the town is
destined to develop into an important city. The money paid for freights
consigned to this place, averaged $1,000,000 a year.
Leaving Elko, I pushed on for thirty miles. The pastures and meadows,
with isolated cottages, were soon passed and I reached Palisade in the
evening, a village of 250 inhabitants. Remained here for the night. For
the last two hundred miles the road had been a gradual descent and the
change of temperature was very perceptible. Palisade is a growing little
place with a population of about 400 souls. It is located about half-way
down a canyon, whose rocky, perpendicular walls give it a singular but
picturesque appearance.
My mustang carried me forty-one miles next day, to Argentina, where I
rested. This village is located in the midst of alkali flats and seemed
to me an unattractive place for a residence. Continuing my journey along
the foot of Reese River Mountain, I soon found myself at Battle
Mountain, at the junction of Reese River and Humboldt valleys. The town
of Battle Mountain has several stores, a public hall, a good school
house and an excellent hotel; with increasing trade. The mountain from
which the town derives its name is about three miles south of the latter
and is said to have been the scene of a conflict between a party of
emigrants and a band of Indians.
Golconda was reached on the evening of the following day--four hundred
and seventy-eight miles from San Francisco. Here are gold and silver
mines, but the place was small and calls for no further remark.
Remounted at sunrise the following morning and rode to Winnemucca, the
county-seat of Humboldt County. The town has a fine brick Court House,
together with several stores, a hotel, shops and a school house.
Reached Humboldt the following day, where I was reminded that I was
still in the land of civilization. Stopped at the Humboldt House, a most
comfortable hostelry, its surroundings recalling my home in the East.
Humboldt is the business centre of several mining districts and has a
bright prospect before it.
Lovelocks, the next point reached, is also on the Central Pacific
Railroad. It is a grazing region, and large herds of cattle are fattened
upon the rich native grasses. Leaving Lovelocks, I found myself again on
a barren desert, covered in places with salt and alkali deposits.
Another station in the midst of this desert is Hot Springs. Pushing
forward I reached Desert, three hundred and thirty-five miles from San
Francisco. The village is rightly named, for it is, in truth, a dreary
place. I was much relieved on reaching Wadsworth, a town of about 700
inhabitants, and only three hundred and twenty-eight miles from the end
of my journey. Some large stores here do a flourishing business. There
are also several good hotels, in one of which I was soon comfortably
housed. For several days I had seen nothing but dreary, monotonous
plains, and now, almost another world opened to my view--a world of
beauty and sublimity. It was with reluctance I left Wadsworth and
crossed the Truckee River. The trees, green meadows, comfortable
farmhouses, and well-tilled fields, were pleasant to look upon, and with
the prospect of soon reaching my final destination, I rode on, and
crossed the boundary into California.
[Illustration: A ROCKY MOUNTAIN RIVER.]
Truckee, although within the State of California, is in the Sierra
Nevada, one hundred and twenty-one miles from Sacramento. The village is
handsomely built, the surroundings picturesque and finely timbered, and
there is a line of stages running to the beautiful Lakes Tahoe and
Donner.
CHAPTER XXIX.
ALONG THE SACRAMENTO.
From Truckee I rode along the line of the Central Pacific Railroad,
stopping for the night at villages intermediate between Truckee and
Sacramento, the principal of which were Summit, Colfax and Auburn.
Summit is the highest point of the pass through which the railroad
crosses the Sierra Nevada, its height above sea-level being 7,042 feet.
The population was only a little over one hundred. Colfax, fifty-four
miles from Sacramento, had a population of nearly six hundred, mostly
employed in the gold mines in the vicinity. Auburn, thirty-six miles
from Sacramento, is also a gold-mining village. Its population was given
me as over 1,200. Two weekly papers are published here, and three hotels
offer good accommodations to tourists and others. Sacramento was reached
November twenty-first, and here I found myself within a hundred miles of
my destination.
California has the Pacific Ocean for its western boundary. Along the
seaboard lies the Coast Range of mountains, while for an eastern
boundary of the State stretch the Sierras. Between these two chains lies
many a hill, yet, in the main, the whole interior of the State is a
great depression, called the Valley of California. The northern portion
is called again the Sacramento Valley; the southern, the Valley of San
Joaquin, both named for the streams that water them.
[Illustration: A LAKE IN THE SIERRA NEVADAS.]
The inhabitants are a motley set; English, Celts, Spaniards, Mexicans,
Indians, and above all the man from the eastern part of the United
States, leaving his impress on all, Americanizing all.
Sutter's Fort, as already explained, was founded in 1839, very near the
junction of the Sacramento and San Joaquin valleys, by a Swiss named
John A. Sutter. It stood on a small hill, skirted by a creek which falls
into the American River near its junction with the Sacramento, and
overlooked a vast extent of ditch-enclosed fields, and park stock
ranges, broken by groves and belts of timber. The settlement consisted
of the Fort and an old adobe house, called the hospital. A garden of
eight or ten acres, filled with vegetables and tropical fruits,
surrounded the Fort, cattle covered the plains and boats were tied to
the wharves.
Sutter's confirmed grant contained eleven leagues.
The Fort, so called, was a parallelogram. Its walls were of adobe, its
dimensions five hundred by one hundred and fifty feet. It had
loop-holes, bastions at the angles, and twelve cannon.
Inside of the walls were granaries, warehouses, storehouses, shops, and
in the centre of it all the house of the commander, the potentate,
Sutter. His house was rough, "Bare rafters and unpanelled walls." Many
of the rooms were roughly furnished, crude benches and deal tables. Fine
China bowls did duty for both cups and plates, and silver spoons were
the only luxury which marked the service of the meals.
For his private apartments Sutter obtained from the Russians a clumsy
set of California laurel furniture.
In front of his house, yet within the stockade, was a tiny square
containing one brass gun, by which, day and night, paced a sentry,
stopping only at the belfry post to chime the hours.
The Fort was a business centre. In it was located a blacksmith, a
carpenter, and a general variety and liquor store. Prices were booming.
Four dollars were charged for shoeing a horse. Wheat sold for one dollar
per bushel, peas for a dollar and a half per bushel.
A sort of gravel road led to the spot, over which horses galloped, and
heavy wagons rolled.
Sutter owned twelve thousand cattle, two thousand horses and mules, from
one thousand to fifteen hundred sheep, and two thousand hogs.
This unique Fort was "the capital of the vast interior valley, pregnant
with approaching importance."
In 1846, Sutter staked out the town of Sutterville, three miles below
the Fort on the Sacramento, and built the first house there. His example
was shortly followed by a man named Zims, who erected the first real
brick structure in the State.
The Fort and town kept up regular communication with San Francisco by
means of a twenty-ton sloop owned by Sutter, and manned by a few savages
in his employ.
There was a ferry at the Fort, which consisted of a single canoe handled
by an Indian.
The strangest of populations gathered about the settlement. Emigrants
were there, many Mormons among them. Native Californians were there,
wearing sombreros, sashes, and jingling spurs. Half-subdued Indians
abounded, wrapped in their blankets, and decked with beads and feathers.
While here and there appeared a shrewd Yankee, come across mountains of
snow and rocks to seek his fortune.
The climate of Sacramento is charming, the average temperature in winter
being 45°; that in summer 69°. The thermometer does not vary ten degrees
between night and day. The sea breezes are constant, leaving rarely an
uncooled night. Rainfall is a tenth less than on the Atlantic Coast.
Early autumn finds this region dry and arid; its small streams dried up,
the green fields sere, the weeds snapping like glass.
The winter rain begins in November, after six months of clear weather,
and under its grateful ministry the region "buds and blossoms like the
rose."
John A. Sutter, potentate of the region, in 1847, needed lumber, and
therefore needed a saw-mill. His neighbors wanted lumber, too, and there
would be a good market for it in San Francisco. Therefore a saw-mill
would be profitable; but no trees suitable for this purpose could be
found short of the foot-hills. Consequently the foot-hills were selected
as the spot upon which he would build.
He engaged a motley company of all nationalities to erect his mill,
appointing James Wilson Marshall, a native of New Jersey, as
superintendent of the venture.
In August they started for their new field of enterprise, taking their
belongings in Mexican ox-carts, and driving a flock of sheep before them
for food.
By New Year's day, 1848, the mill frame was up.
On the afternoon of January twenty-fourth, Superintendent Marshall was
inspecting the tail-race of the mill. There had been a heavy flood,
which had previously retreated, and to his surprise Marshall found the
ground thickly strewn with a peculiar yellow dust. He stooped down and
gathered some of it, remarking quietly, "Boys, I believe I have found a
gold mine!" Then he began some simple tests upon the metal. Gold must be
heavy. He weighed it. That was all right. Gold must be malleable. He bit
and pounded it, and it stood the test. Then he applied _aqua fortis_ to
it, and it responded as it should. And so the truth was known at last.
It was gold, and the ground was full of it.
Marshall saddled his horse, and dashed over to consult with Sutter, and
together they agreed to keep the matter quiet, and if possible to buy up
the surrounding land. But how to buy it. That was the question! They
leased it from its semi-barbaric owners, paying for it in hats and
trinkets, but that title seemed insecure. The Mexican government could
no longer give grants. The United States government was appealed to in
vain. The answer came that California was held as a conquered province,
and no title deed could be executed.
And meantime the precious secret leaked out. Sutter was impelled to
write the wonderful news to friends at a distance. All the men at the
saw-mill knew of the discovery. One of them, named Bennett, while in a
store near Monte del Diablo, pulled out of his pocket a bag of gold
dust, exclaiming, "I have something here which will make this the
greatest country in the world." The same man took a specimen of the
precious metal and showed it at San Francisco. A few days later an
intoxicated Swede offered, at a store, to pay for his drink in gold
dust. Then a Mormon must tell his fellow-saints of the discovery. So the
secret was out, and the precious mystery became public.
Both Sutter and Marshall were backwoodsmen, unsophisticated, child-like,
trustful, slow. They hesitated, they faltered, they delayed mining, and
they were lost! Before they fully comprehended the matter, the great
world had rushed in, and taken possession of the treasure.
In the last issue of _The Californian_ appears this only too true
statement: "The whole country from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and
from the sea-shore to the base of the Sierra Nevada, resounds to the
sordid cry of gold! GOLD!! GOLD!!! while the field is left half planted,
the house half built, and everything neglected but the manufacture of
shovels and pick-axes, and the means of transportation to the spot where
one man obtained one hundred and twenty-eight dollars' worth of the real
stuff in one day's washing, and the average for all concerned is twenty
dollars per diem."
In the rush Marshall and Sutter were crushed.
Marshall had little or no money to invest. He was particularly
unfortunate in locating his small claims. Worst of all, the miners,
knowing him to be the great discoverer, followed him _en masse_,
believing that he knew the secrets of the hills and rivers. The crowds
so overwhelmed him, that he had no chance to mine. They even threatened
to hang him if he did not lead them to the finest diggings. In a few
years after, he died, miserable, broken-hearted, poverty-stricken.
[Illustration: A CASCADE BY THE ROADSIDE.]
Sutter fared but little better. True, he sold a half-interest in his
saw-mill for six thousand dollars, and he gained something from the
mining of his Indians, but Sutter's Fort was, for the time being,
ruined. Let him tell the story in his own words. He says:
"My grist mill was never finished. Everything was stolen, even the
stones. There is a saying that men will steal everything but a
mile-stone and a mill-stone. They stole my mill-stones. They stole the
bells from the Fort, and gate-weights; the hides they stole, and salmon
barrels. I had two hundred barrels which I made for salmon. Some of the
cannon at the fort were stolen. * * My property was all left exposed,
and at the mercy of the rabble, when gold was discovered. My men all
deserted me. I could not shut the gates of my Fort, and keep out the
rabble. They would have broken them down. The country swarmed with
lawless men. Emigrants drove their stock into my yard, and used my grain
with impunity. Expostulation did no good. I was alone. There was no
law."
In face of all these disadvantages he struggled on until farm helpers
demanded ten dollars per day, then, a hopeless old man, he gave up the
struggle, and in 1849, with his Indians, he moved into Hock Farm, little
dreaming that his Fort was to be the nucleus for Sacramento, the second
city as to size in California.
He retired, but his son took the reins out of the father's feeble hands,
and staked out a town around the Old Fort, down to the embarcadero, and
along the river front, naming the settlement Sacramento. The streets
were laid out eighty feet wide, except the centre one, M street, which
was one hundred feet in width. The purchasing of more than four lots by
one person was discouraged.
At first Sacramento was a "city of tents, with its future on paper;"
but by April of that year, 1849, building lots were selling at from one
thousand to three thousand dollars a piece; at that time there were
twenty-five or thirty stores upon the embarcadero, and, in the vicinity
of the Fort, eight or ten more. There was a hotel, a printing office,
bakery, blacksmith's shop, tin-shop, billiard room, and bowling alley.
In that month of April, the city had the honor of becoming a port of
entry.
By June of the same year, one hundred houses graced the city.
A few months later the city hotel was completed at a cost of one hundred
thousand dollars, and rented to Messrs. Fowler and Fry for five thousand
dollars per month.
In 1850, the scourge of cholera broke out, carrying off one-fifth of
those remaining in Sacramento. The city was full to overflowing with a
transient population. Accommodations were scant and primitive, vice and
disorder prevailed. The disease became rampant. Patients at the hospital
were charged sixteen dollars per day. Then it was that the order of Odd
Fellows came nobly forward, setting to that plague-stricken district an
example of charity and philanthropy long to be remembered, and accenting
the fact "that simple duty has no place for fear!"
On February 25, 1854, Sacramento was designated as the seat of
government of California. The dignity of being the State capital gave
new life to the city. Her growth is instanced by the assessment on real
estate, which rose from $5,400,000 in 1854, to $13,000,000 in twenty
years.
When I rode through, the population was 21,400.
In 1853 the streets were planked, and provided with sewers. In 1854 a
gas company was formed. The street railroad came in 1870. There were ten
churches in the city as I found it.
The first public school came in 1855, the high school in 1856.
When I was there the city had sustained from time to time about forty
daily papers and twenty-four weeklies.
The State Library is a brilliant feature of the place. Various large
manufacturing interests thrive in the city. Its commerce is
awe-inspiring.
Sacramento sent to the east in one year 90,000,000 pounds of fruit, her
entire east-bound shipments being over 130,000,000 pounds.
The annual manufacturing and jobbing trade is over $60,000,000.
Looking at these statistics, one is reminded of the magic tent of Prince
Ahmed. At first it was no bigger than a nut-shell. Surely it could hold
nothing; but it did. People flocked to it. Surely it could not cover
them;--but it did! it did!! The army flocked to it;--but the tent was
elastic. It covered all; it sheltered all; it welcomed all.
Has not Sacramento proved itself the magic tent of the Golden Age, ready
to cover, shelter, welcome the whole world should occasion require?
From Sacramento to San Francisco my route lay along the eastern shore of
the river, and few halts were made between the two cities. I was anxious
to reach my final destination, as a feeling of fatigue was now
overcoming me, which, however, only served to stimulate and urge me
forward. I passed several places that strongly tempted a halt for
refreshment and rest, and finally entered the Western Metropolis on the
twenty-fourth of November, registering at the Palace Hotel.
CHAPTER XXX.
SAN FRANCISCO AND END OF JOURNEY.
San Francisco, the chief city on the Western Coast of North America, is
in every respect a wonderful city, not least so in its origin and
development. Not very long ago--less than a century--the Pacific Coast
was almost an unexplored region. The great State of California--next to
Texas, the largest in the Union--now teems with populous cities and new
settlements, and produces meat and grain abundantly sufficient for the
supply of a large portion of the country. It has a coast line on the
Pacific Ocean of seven hundred miles and, extending from the coast, a
breadth of three hundred and thirty miles. California has also the most
wonderful gold fields of the world. They were discovered in the middle
of the last century by the Jesuits, who kept the knowledge a secret.
In 1848, as previously stated, Captain Sutter found gold on the land of
one of his farms, and the news of the discovery at once spread. The
excitement extended throughout the Union and the "Argonauts of '49" came
swarming to the gold fields. People ran about picking up the precious
lumps as "hogs in a forest root for ground-nuts." The golden product of
1848, was $10,000,000; 1849, $40,000,000; and that of 1853, $65,000,000.
Silver mining has been attempted in many localities in the State, but
generally with poor results. There are valuable deposits of iron ore,
coal, copper, tin, platinum, manganese, asphalt, petroleum, lead and
zinc. Fruits are abundant, of great size, and are sold in all the
Eastern markets.
The constitution of California requires a free school to be supported in
each district six months in each year, and the system includes primary
and grammar schools, high schools, evening schools, normal schools,
technical schools, and the State University, which is free to both
sexes, and is a perpetual public trust. The schools of California are
justly famous.
Upper California was discovered in 1538 by a Spanish navigator. In 1578,
Sir Francis Drake visited it and gave it the name of New Albion. The
Spaniards planted the first colony in 1768. The territory was purchased
from Mexico by the United States in 1847 for $15,000,000. A constitution
was adopted in the same year, and in 1850, California, without ever
having been under a territorial government, was admitted into the Union
as a State.
The progress of California has been of the most substantial character.
Gold mining has become a staple industry, but in the agricultural
capabilities of her soil lie the possibilities of her greatest wealth.
Among the most valuable of her industries in the future will be those of
the orchard and the vineyard. The grape growers of the State can now
sell their grapes with as much certainty as the farmer his wheat. There
is sent to the Atlantic coast more wine than is imported from France,
the heretofore wine market of the world.
In Central California a little peninsula juts out from the main land, a
great harbor is on one side, a great ocean on the other. The lofty
mountains, lower just here, form, as it were, a natural gateway to the
great interior beyond.
Here, in 1836, an American named John P. Lease settled, and here, in
time, a little town called San Francisco grew up around him. Two miles
to the south loomed up the antiquated building of the Catholic Mission
Dolores, with its pretty old gardens. The opposite shores of the bay
presented a most beautiful park-like expanse: the native lawn, brilliant
with flowers and dotted by eastward bending oaks, watered by the creeks
of the Alameda, San Lorenzo, San Leandro, and their tributaries, and
enclosed by the spurs of the Diablo Mountains.
San Francisco was on the soil of Mexico, under the flag of Anàhuac,
governed by an Alcalde and a sapient council, yet the spirit of the
United States breathed in it, built its stout wooden houses, and
thronged its busy wharves. Animated by this spirit, it was destined to
become the metropolis of the Pacific, one of the noted cities of the
globe.
Before the "Golden Age," while California was a peaceful settlement, of
no especial importance, it was said that around San Francisco Bay there
was raw material enough, of different types, to develop a new race.
San Francisco was not in the gold region, but it was the gate to that
region.
Two weeks after Marshall first discovered the precious metal, a bag of
it was brought to the city for analysis, and one day early in May, 1848,
"Samuel Brennan, the Mormon leader, held a bottle of gold dust in one
hand, and jubilantly swinging his hat in the other, passed through the
streets of San Francisco shouting, 'Gold! Gold!! Gold!!! from the
American River!'"
This started the enthusiasm, the fever, the madness for gold.
Carson writes his sensations when first looking upon a well-filled bag
of gold dust. He says:
"A frenzy seized my soul, unbidden my legs performed some entirely new
movements of polka steps. * * Houses were too small for me to stay in. I
was soon in the street in search of necessary outfits; piles of gold
rose up before me at every step."
All yielded more or less to the subtle influence of the malady. Men
hastened to arrange their affairs, dissolving partnerships, disposing of
real estate, and converting other effects into ready means for
departure.
Stores were rummaged for miners' tools.
One man offered as high as fifty dollars for a shovel. By the middle of
June, San Francisco was without male population. The once bustling
little town looked as if struck by a plague. Sessions of the town
council were at an end. There were no church services. Stores were
closed. Newspapers dropped out of existence. Merchandise lay unhandled
on the docks. The sailors deserted the ships that lay at anchor in the
bay.
One day a Peruvian bark came to anchor in the port. Amazed at the
desolation which he beheld, the captain inquired the cause. He was
answered, "Everybody has gone northward, where the valleys and mountains
are of gold." Instantly upon hearing this marvellous assertion his own
crew joined the innumerable throng.
[Illustration: VIEW IN WOODWARD'S GARDENS. SAN FRANCISCO.]
The San Francisco _Star_ of May 27, 1848, says:
"Stores are closed and places of business vacated, a large number of
houses are tenantless, various kinds of mechanical labor suspended or
given up entirely, and nowhere the pleasant hum of industry salutes the
ear as of late. * * Everything in San Francisco wears a desolate and
sombre look; everywhere all is dull, monotonous, dead."
Apparently the Californian of that day was thoroughly imbued with the
saying of the Cyclops, "The wise know nothing worth worshipping but
wealth."
The Pacific Mail Steamship Company was incorporated in 1847, to sail
from New York to New Orleans and Chagres, and from Panama to such
Pacific port as the Secretary of the Navy might designate. Later, when
the existence of gold in her mines made California the cynosure of all
eyes, San Francisco was decided upon as the western terminus of the
route.
On October 6, 1848, the "California," the first vessel of this line,
steamed out of New York harbor, with but a small number of passengers.
As this ship was intended for use on the Pacific coast alone, she was
obliged to take the tedious and perilous route through the Strait of
Magellan to reach her destination. Arriving at Panama, she found the
Isthmus apparently turned into pandemonium. The one time dingy, sleepy
city of Panama appeared to have fallen entirely into the hands of the
gold-seekers. Cholera had broken out with terrible malignity on the
banks of the Chagres. The panic-stricken travellers were fleeing from
the disease, some trying to reach the land of their desire by an old
trail, others were trying to make some progress in boats called
"longos," poled by naked negroes. The mass of the worn, weary, eager
wayfarers, however, were waiting as best they might, for that vision of
hope and comfort, the "steamer." At last she reached them, with
accommodations for about one hundred. She was mobbed by the frantic men,
and at last when she left port, over four hundred of them had embarked
upon her, many a man braving that adventurous voyage, with only a coil
of rope or a plank for a bed.
Steerage tickets for the trip are said to have cost one thousand
dollars, or over.
After spending four months in her passage, the "California" steamed into
the Bay of San Francisco, February 29, 1849, a day never to be forgotten
at the Golden Gate! The town was crowded with miners wintering there;
the ships in the harbor were gay with bunting; the guns of the Pacific
Squadron boomed out a salute to the new-comers. Bands of music played,
handkerchiefs waved, and men cheered in their enthusiasm, as the first
steamship of a regular line entered the Golden Gate, in pursuit of the
treasures of the "Golden Age."
That ship bore to California the new military commander, General
Persifor F. Smith.
So high ran the fever for treasure, that before the passengers had
fairly left the steamer, she was deserted by all belonging to her, save
one engineer, and she was consequently unable to start on her return
trip.
Nor was it alone the "California" which was deserted. Five hundred ships
lay in the San Francisco Harbor deserted, the crews, wild for gold,
carrying off the ship's boats in their eagerness to reach land; very
often the commander leading, or at least joining in the flight. Many
vessels that year were left to rot; many were dragged on shore and used
as lodging houses.
In the spring, San Francisco seemed deserted, only two thousand
inhabitants being left. The heart of the city began to quail. Thousands
thronging through her harbor, yet so few to stay! But winter brought the
miners back to civilization again, and the population swelled to twenty
thousand.
San Francisco was at this time mainly a city of tents, although there
was a sprinkling of adobe houses, and a few frame buildings. It was a
community of men. The census of 1850 showed that only eight per cent. of
the population were women. It was, moreover, a community of young men;
scarcely a grey head was to be seen in it.
Men were there from all the European nations, together with Moors and
Abyssinians from Africa, Mongols, Malays, and Hindoos from Asia and
Australia. Turks, Hebrews, and Hispano-Americans jostled the ubiquitous
Yankee, in the new streets of San Francisco.
The predominant dress, we are told, was "checked and woollen shirts,
mainly red and blue, open at the bosom which could boast of shaggy
robustness, or loosely secured by a kerchief; pantaloons tucked into
high and wrinkled boots, and belted at the waist, where bristled an
arsenal of knife and pistols. Beard and hair emancipated from thraldom,
revelled in long and bushy tufts, which rather harmonized with the
slouched and dingy hat. * * The gamblers affected the Mexican style of
dress, white shirt with diamond studs, chain of native golden specimens,
broad-brimmed hat, with sometimes a feather or squirrel's tail tucked
under the brim, top-boots, and a rich scarlet sash or silk handkerchief
thrown over the shoulder, or wound around the waist."
They were a buoyant race, brave, intrepid, light-hearted--above all
things free from restraint.
They had braved all hardships and dangers to reach the land of their
desire. They had reached there safely, however, and they exulted. They
overflowed with activity; they worked jubilantly and untiringly.
They shouted, they fought, they gambled, in their moments of recreation,
intoxicated with the bracing climate, with their excitement of success,
and with that rollicking freedom which threw off all shackles of custom
or self-restraint.
They worshipped success, and greatness with them meant "fitness to grasp
opportunity!"
In their eyes the unpardonable sin was meanness.
Fifty cents was the smallest sum which could be offered for the most
trivial of services.
Laborers obtained a dollar an hour, artisans twenty dollars per day.
Laundry expenses exceeded the price of new underwear.
They loved grandeur. Bootblacks carried on business in prettily fitted
up recesses furnished with cushioned chairs, and containing a liberal
supply of newspapers.
It was over such a San Francisco that the frightful plague of cholera
swept in 1850, carrying with it a lesser plague of suicide.
Doctors' fees were from sixteen to thirty-two dollars per visit, while
for a surgical operation one thousand dollars was the usual price.
In spite of plague and death, that part of San Francisco which escaped
continued to be jubilant.
Bull fights were in high favor, and the stage, though crude, was very
popular, but the great, enchanting delight of the city was gambling.
Money, gold, jewelry, houses, land and wharves were all put up to be
gambled for. The city abounded with men of elegant manners and striking
dress, who were professional gamblers. It was indeed an advance in
civilization and morality when in September, 1850, a law was passed
forbidding this pastime on the Sabbath day.
[Illustration: THE PACIFIC OCEAN--END OF JOURNEY.]
The news that California had been admitted as a State in the Union
reached San Francisco on the morning of October 18, 1850, when the
"Oregon" entered the harbor, flying all her bunting, and signalling the
good news. Business was suspended; courts were adjourned; and the whole
population, frenzied with delight, congregated on Portsmouth Square to
congratulate each other. Newspapers containing the intelligence from
Washington sold for five dollars each! The shipping in the harbor was
gaily dressed with flags; guns boomed from the heights; bonfires blazed
at night; processions were formed; bands played; and the people in every
way expressed their joy. Mounting his box behind six fiery mustangs
lashed to highest speed, the driver of Crandall's Stage cried the good
news all the way to San José--"California is admitted!!" while a ringing
cheer was returned by the people as the mail flew by.
The awaking of San Francisco during the five or six years following the
discovery of gold was wonderful. "Hills were tumbled into the bay, and
mud flats were made solid ground." Streets were graded, handsome
buildings were erected, and San Francisco began to rank among the first
cities of the land. So valuable was her water-front that, in 1853, four
small blocks on Commercial street sold for over 1,000,000 dollars. The
assessed valuation of property that year was about 10,000,000 dollars
over that of the previous year.
The population was then estimated at about 50,000; that being about
one-seventh of the then population of the State.
The city had, at this time, 1856, seventeen fire companies, twelve
military companies, and a number of social clubs, four hospitals,
seventeen public schools, thirty-two church organizations, thirteen
daily newspapers, and as many weeklies published in half a dozen
different languages.
From that time she has continued ever increasing, ever justifying her
title of the metropolis of the Pacific.
Her City Hall is one of the grandest buildings on the Continent. Its
construction cost 6,000,000 dollars. It stands five hundred and fifty
feet on Larkin street, seven hundred on McAllister street, and eight
hundred and sixty feet on Park avenue.
The Mint at San Francisco is the largest one in the United States. Its
architecture is Doric, and it is constructed of freestone and California
granite.
San Francisco is supplied with water from several large reservoirs,
having a united capacity of seventy billion gallons. Her harbor could
accommodate the shipping of the whole world.
Her commerce is immense. The trade of the Western Coast from Chili to
Alaska is her natural heritage, and she can justly claim a fair, large
share from China, Japan, India, Australia and the islands of the sea.
She has eighty-one public schools, sixty-nine clubs, nine public
libraries, one hundred and fourteen churches, and thirty public parks
and ornamental plazas.
What words could more aptly describe the career of San Francisco than
those lately written by Governor Markham?
"Originally San Francisco consisted of wind-swept hills, the shifting
sands of which seemed to defy either stability or cultivation. Now those
hills, graded by pick and shovel, are gridironed by streets and
railways, and crowned with the magnificent buildings of a populous city,
or transformed by the magic of water and patient tillage into miles of
verdant park, dotted by miniature lakes, ribboned with gravel drives,
crowded with grottoes, statuary, conservatories, and ornamental
buildings, enriched by luxuriant shrubbery and brilliant flowers, the
wonder of the tourist, and a delight to her contented people."
There are larger and more populous cities in America than San Francisco,
but few more deserving the designation of a Great City. The energies of
her people, the prodigal wealth of her territory, and her singularly
equable and temperate climate, form a sufficient guarantee of the
increasing greatness of her future.
* * * * *
Finding my quarters at the hotel comfortable and restful after the
strain I had endured as the result of two hundred days of rough riding,
I deferred terminating my journey until two days later. It will be
remembered that I undertook to ride from the Atlantic to the Pacific in
the saddle, and hence my tour would not be literally completed before I
reached the shores of the Pacific. Accordingly on the twenty-sixth of
November I remounted and rode to the Cliff House, a romantic resort
built on a rocky prominence overlooking the ocean. From here I descended
the Toll Road to the sandy beach. A westerly breeze rolled the breakers
up to the feet of my horse, and I forthwith walked him into the waters
of the Pacific. My self-imposed task--my journey from OCEAN TO OCEAN ON
HORSEBACK--was accomplished.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes: Punctuation and hyphenation have been regularised.
Obvious printer errors have been corrected.
Both "ranch" and "ranche" appear.
The page numbers in the TABLE OF CONTENTS do not match the actual page
numbers of the book.
The caption for the illustration on page 245 is "A
COTTAGE IN THE WOODS"; in the list of illustrations it is titled "A Home
in the Woods".
Several items in the list of illustrations are out of order. These have
been left as in the original.
End of Project Gutenberg's Ocean to Ocean on Horseback, by Willard Glazier
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